#I’m terrible with directions I can’t navigate without one :/ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

usermischief · 1 year ago

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♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Kira Yukimura, Lori Rohr ♜Tags/Warnings: getting together, explicit sexual content ♜Words: 8217 ♜Kinktober 2023: Reluctant Sex

ao3

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this funny feeling

“And, here you go.” The hotel employee pushes the door to the dining room open.

Stiles smiles at her. “Thank you so much. I’m terrible with directions.” And he’s a bit too tired after having to catch a fight at 3 am to navigate a hotel he’s never been to.

“That’s absolutely no problem, darlin’.” The woman smiles before returning to the reception. Luckily, it’s early enough that not too many people are out and about yet.

So, Stiles isn’t surprised when the only people he spots in the dining room are Satomi, Morrell, Brett and Lori, as well as two couples with newborns. He’d have preferred for Kira to be up as well, but he also can’t expect her to crawl out of bed at 7 am during her vacation.

Stiles’ heart jumps when Brett turns to look at him — and a smile blossoms on his lips. Fuck. This is the worst. He thought he’d be over him, still, every time he sees Brett again, his crush on the guy all but punches him in the face. Going to the same university for two years brought them a lot closer together. They were friends, surely. In the beginning out of convenience, but that changed later. They hung out daily, and Stiles’ heart did what it did best — it got attached. He did date other people during and after college, but it didn’t fucking matter. Every time he sees Brett again, he’s right back where he started.

Stiles takes a deep breath and crosses the room. “Good morning.” With a little awkward wave, he drops his bags on a chair next to Brett. “And thank you so much for the invitation. I know this is a pack thing…” A two week long vacation is exactly what he needs after the year he’s had, but he’s still a bit unsure about the whole thing. Part of him feels like he’s intruding on something private.

“Kira and Brett insisted to have you join us.” Satomi smiles up at him.

Brett too?

Surprised, Stiles glances at the werewolf, who jumps to his feet. “Let’s get you some breakfast. You must be starving.” He ushers Stiles away from his snickering sister and towards the buffet without waiting for a reply.

Stiles doesn’t have it in him to tell Brett that he already had breakfast, that usually ended in a very long discussion of his terrible eating habits. During college, Brett had made it his mission to make sure Stiles eats three times a day — even when he was stuck in one of his terrible relationships. Plus, Stiles doesn’t mind to spend as less time as possible with Morrell, who told him she’d kill him the last time they spoke, and Satomi, who still kind of scares him. He doesn’t get a read on her, and he’s not a fan of that.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Stiles asks as Brett pushes an empty tray into his hands. “I don’t want to intrude.” He glances back towards the table and catches Satomi’s eye. Great. Grinning awkwardly, he turns back to Brett. They’ve been close during college, but never meet-the-parents close.

“She likes you,” Brett tells him as he puts a bowl of scrambled eggs and two slices of toast onto Stiles’ tray.

Does she? “I don’t think I’ve ever talked to her.”

Contemplating the options, Brett merely shrugs. “You saved my life. She’d marry me off to you if that were still acceptable in today’s society.”

Stiles squints at the French toasts that are added to his tray. “That’s been a thing?”

“Yup,” Brett says, reaching for a bagel before he continues, “provide and protect are the most important features of a future mate.” Deciding against the bagel, Brett adds a couple of waffles before Stiles even has the chance to move away — who the hell is supposed to eat all of that? “It’s a stupid tradition. Nobody cares about that any longer.”

“I’m good.” Stiles grabs Brett’s arm, stopping him from adding anything else to his plate. “You provided me with enough food. More than enough, actually.”

Brett stares at him.

Stiles tries not to laugh.

“Asshole,” the werewolf mutters eventually, flicking Stiles’ forehead. “Keep that up and you’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Sleep on the—" Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he heard that right. That’s a joke. It has to be. “Are we sharing a bed?” Hopefully, that’s not the case. Stiles hardly survived sleeping on a pull-out couch with Brett after a party, how the fuck is he supposed to get through two weeks of not only sharing a room but also a bed?

“Yup,” Brett confirms as if that’s the most normal thing in the whole wide world. “Don't hog the blanket.”

Oh god.

———

Sighing, Stiles sits up and rubs his eyes. He doesn’t exactly fall asleep on the beach often. To be honest, the last time he did that was when his mum was still alive. The fact that basically passed out in public says a lot about how desperately he needs sleep. This vacation has barely started, and Stiles already misses this freedom. But there won’t be a lot of time to sleep once work is starting again.

Stiles crosses his arms over his knees and scans the beach for Brett. He’s not too far away, entertaining a group of the youngest werewolves with a girl Stiles has never seen before. They look awfully… domestic. Like this is a thing that is happening all the time. It hurts watching them. It hurts in a way Stiles didn’t expect. Feeling like this is fucking stupid. He shouldn’t. After all, he threw himself in every relationship he could find. He stayed in every relationship that was convenient enough, no matter how terrible it ended up being, just to keep his heart occupied because he was too afraid to get his heart broken by losing Brett if he told him he loved him.

The girl brushes her hand over Brett’s arm, something Brett doesn’t react to — either because it’s a too common occurrence or because he doesn’t care.

Please, don’t care.

“That bitch.”

“Lori!” Kira is sitting up on her own towel, staring at her friend in shock.

But Lori doesn’t react. She crouches down next to Stiles, arms crossed over her thighs. “You know I’m right.”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “Who is that?” He can’t deny the pang of jealousy, or the frustration gnawing at him — and he can’t help but wonder, however briefly, if he’s missed an opening, he’s never been aware of.

“It’s Finch’s daughter,” Kira informs him, propping her chin on her left knee.

Finch’s kid? So, she probably knows Brett well. They must be close with each other since Finch and Satomi have decided to go on vacation together. Maybe they’re close in a way that— Stiles shakes his head and curls his hands into his towel. Best not to think about that right now.

Lori looks as if she’s smelling something rotten. “Quinn thinks she and Brett will bring the packs together one day,” Lori drawls, her voice teetering somewhere between annoyance and disgust, “through marriage.” At that, Lori shoots him an exasperated look.

“Marriage?” Stiles laughs because if he didn’t do that, he might end up screaming. “Brett?” he keeps going, going, going, trying so hard not to let the fear creep in. “He’s never going to marry.” Every time they as much as scratched the topic of marriage, Brett instantly changed it.

Lori stands up. “Not her, at least. Come on.”

“What?” Stiles looks up at her, drawing his brows together.

“We’re going to go swimming.” Clearly not in the mood for discussions, Lori grabs him by the upper arm and quite unceremoniously yanks him to his feet. The Talbots’ bossy nature really is fucking exhausting. “Drop the shirt. Kira, let’s go.” Lori doesn’t wait for either of them to follow them.

Knowing a little too well that any discussion is pointless, Stiles yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it onto his towel. If Lori wants him to go swimming, he will go swimming with her. Kira seems to have come to the same conclusion since she’s joining him on his way to the sea.

That Quinn girl spots them first, her features darkening almost at once. Mrs. Finch disliked him ever since Stiles corrected her once during AP Biology. Clearly, she didn’t speak fondly about him in front of her daughter.

Fantastic.

“Lori, hold on.” To his surprise, she stops dead in her tracks — causing him to almost crash into her — and stares at him with the same intensity remembers very well from Brett. “I don’t want to cause trouble, okay?” For one, it’s the first day of his vacation, he doesn’t need thirteen tense days. His anxiety is going to kill him. For another, Stiles doesn’t need to make shit any more complicated between the two packs.

But Lori merely waves a hand. “You’re here to resolve some issues, trust me.” And with that, the discussion seems to be over for her. Instead, she turns around. “Quinn, the girls want to play mermaid, not sea witch. Feel free to leave.”

Kira covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. Clearly nobody like Quinn.

“Yukimura!” Brett bellows from somewhere to their right. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, shit.” Without warning, Kira grabs Stiles’ hand and yanks him around, hightailing it in the opposite direction. Her grip around his fingers is tight, unrelenting, almost as if she expected him to take a moment to tap into his fox again. He’s never been the biggest fan of the remains of the nogitsune still deeply anchored in his DNA.

But his body does remember its powers a lot quicker than he expected. “What’s going on?”

Kira lets go of his hand, probably realizing that Stiles can keep up with her, and scrunches up her face. “I may have made a bet with Brett,” she admits, glancing over her shoulder, “saying that there’s no way they could capture us.”

Us as in kitsunes, Stiles assumes, but before he can dwell on it too long, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. “A little warning would’ve been nice.” He grabs her around the waist and stops both of them in their tracks. Tierney and Jiang have cut off their path now that the beach has gotten a lot emptier. Both of them are brimming with excitement.

Stiles twists around, so he’s standing back to back with Kira.

And Brett is right there.

Fuck.

Stiles steps away from Kira, watching as Brett comes running at him fast. There’s an almost predatory grin on his lips. Heart hammering in his chest, Stiles chances a glance over his shoulder, hating that he can’t see Jiang and Tierney without looking away from Brett. The two of them, however, seem to be focused on Kira. Good. But going up against Brett isn’t exactly the outcome he would’ve preferred.

“Split up,” he says, and Kira doesn’t hesitate a second. She spins on around and dashes back the way she came from. Stiles does the same thing, rushing past Tierney in the opposite direction of Kira. They’re faster than wolves, for the most part, but running in sand is a fucking nightmare for Stiles. He’s more stumbling than running. Finding every fucking hole in the world is really on brand, meaning Stiles’ advantage is dwindling fast— because Brett is not a goddamn klutz while running.

Stiles glances over his shoulder, and instantly regrets his decision. He misses a quite deep hole and steps right into it. His shin smacks against the edge, and all he can do is trying not to eat sand. Cursing under his breath, Stiles pulls himself out. Before he has the chance to get his feet back under him, Brett’s arm is around his waist, and he spins him around, pushing him into the sand.

The grin on his lips is more than predatory. “You can’t run from me, little fox,” Brett whispers as he’s leaning down until their noses almost brush.

Stiles’ heart all but skyrockets. “Is that a threat or a promise,” he asks, and he hates how breathless he sounds, hates that his body wants to stay right here and not move whatsoever. He’s not exhausted, not in the slightest, and he’s here to win a bet.

“A bit of both,” Brett replies, sounding just as breathless. He doesn’t move either and remains kneeling over Stiles’ legs, fingers digging into the sand next to Stiles’ head.

Stiles licks his lips, breath catching in his throat when Brett’s gaze drops down to follow the movement. Despite himself, Stiles holds his breath for a moment, too scared to move a single muscle. What is going on? Why is he looking at his mouth like that? He sucks in a breath. “What’s going to happen now?”

Brett blinks and locks eyes with him again. “Ocean,” he mutters, brows slightly furrowed. It almost seems as if he’s not sure himself if that’s really what’s going to happen. He certainly doesn’t move to get Stiles any closer to the ocean. Instead, his gaze darts back to his mouth again. Brett swallows, licks his lips, and his gaze flicks up to meet Stiles’ again. “I—" Brett cuts off, and he cups his cheek.

Something clicks into place.

Oh god.

Brett is trying to kiss him. Brett wants to kiss him.

And for a second, Stiles considers letting it happen. Because why not? This is everything he wants. Kissing Brett has been on his mind since meeting him again in college. Stiles swallows, parts his lips. But he’s going to leave, and Brett is going to return to Beacon Hills — and he can’t do that to himself. He fucking can’t.

“Ocean,” Stiles repeats softly, but Brett doesn’t even react. His thumb is tracing his jaw, and Stiles’ heart feels like it’s about to leap out of his chest. Bad. Bad. “Shark!” Stiles yells, ripping his hand out of the sand.

Brett pulls away, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. Which is fair. It’s not like sharks are usually hanging out in the sand, but it’s really the only thing he manages to come up with to distract the werewolf — and open up a chance to push him off.

Something he does instantly, forcing a grin on his face and pretending as if Brett didn’t hear his heartbeat or pick on his chemo signals. “I’m not going to be captured by a wolf.” Twisting away, he gets to his feet surprisingly quickly and doesn’t hesitate to dash back in the direction of the others — in the direction of safety.

———

“You’re up early.”

“Look who’s talking.” Stiles grins up at Kira and pets the blanket next to him.

She plops down, body warm and sweaty from what’s very clearly been a morning workout. Her dedication is admirable. He didn’t make it a week, and he’d especially not do it on vacation. Kira yawns and pulls her legs to her chest. “What got you out of bed? Insomnia?”

Stiles wishes insomnia was the issue for once.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Aside from spooning him and giving Stiles the worst and most awkward morning boner, he’s had since fucking high school.

Kira cocks her head. “But he drove you out of bed at 5am?”

Stiles falls back and crosses his arms over is stomach. Only a second later, Kira does the same. They haven’t been able to do this in years. He’s been so busy working on getting the FBI’s supernatural division up and running, he hardly had time to even miss his friends. But right now, he hates being so far away, hates how occupied he is with travelling everywhere, sitting in hour-long meetings, trying to make supernatural creatures understand that he’s with them instead of against them.

And then he goes home alone, or crashes into a strange hotel bed in a strange town with no one to keep him company.

If everything goes well, Stiles will have another 12 months of this.

Stiles lets out a breath. “I can’t do this.”

“You still love him.” It’s not a question. It never has been a question.

“I can’t sleep in a bed with him for two weeks and walk away with my heart in one piece.” At this point, Stiles can’t even tell if he’s not too far down the rabbit hole already. How the fuck is he supposed to be this close to Brett and then act like nothing at all happened?

Kira turns onto her side, brushing strands out of her face. Her eyes are heavy on him, searching. “What if you tell him?”

“That I’ve been in love with him since college?” Stiles barks out a laugh, cold and humorless, a sound that hurts in his throat.

Kira gently pokes his side. “You’re not unlovable.”

Huffing out a breath, Stiles rolls onto his side too, facing her, and instantly, he’s transported back to college. How many nights have they spent exactly like this? More than he can count, that’s for sure. He’s never felt more peaceful. “But it’s Brett. Do you remember him ever being even remotely interested in a relationship?”

“But what if he is interested in you?” Kira urges, raising her brows in question.

Stiles pinches his. “Do you know anything?” It’s not necessarily unlike her to be this pushy, but it’s still a little unusual.

“No.” She shakes her head a little before propping herself up onto her elbow. “But Brett wouldn’t give away his right to a single room for just anyone.” That’s phrased very kindly. They both know Kira means that he wouldn’t give up his chance to have sex with various hot people hanging out at the hotel. “When I talked to him about inviting you, he instantly offered.” It’s not hard to see where she’s coming from. Brett wasting two weeks of sex with strangers without a second of hesitation isn’t exactly like him.

Stiles lets out a breath. “Okay, but even if he just so happens to like me back romantically…” he scowls a bit, but he cannot bring himself to say love. Just thinking about it makes him feel nauseous. “What good is it going to do? I’ll leave in two weeks, and there’s nothing I have to offer in terms of a relationship. I can’t even say when I’ve got the time to see him again. Do you know how hard it was to get these two weeks off?” He knows he’s being unfair by making it sound like this is some type of hardship. He wants to be here, but he’s a one-man-team at the moment. It’s a fucking nightmare. “Please, don’t get me wrong—"

“Oh, I know.” Kira sits up, smiling down at him over her shoulder. “But maybe things are easier than you think. You know how a different perspective can help.”

“So what?” Stiles its up too, bumping against her shoulder. “I should just tell him?” There’s no way that’s going to lead anywhere, not when Brett is Satomi’s second in command, and Stiles is the leader of the supernatural division. Maybe things will be calmer when everything is established.

Stiles squints at the storm in the distance, watching it creep closer minute by minute.

That’s a big fucking maybe.

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t knock it till you try it.” She bumps into him with a chuckle.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ll think about it.” But he’ll doubt he’s ever going to admit to his feelings. He doesn’t want to allow himself the type of hope that will eat him alive.

“And if it gets too much for you, I’ve got room in my bed too.” Kira wraps an arm around him and scoots closer, so she can prop her head on his shoulder.

The first rumble of thunder is audible when Stiles leans his head against hers. It won’t take much longer until the storm is right above their heads. But neither of them moves.

———

Instead, they ran inside through the rain, laughing and cursing and probably being a menace for the hotel staff. Stiles does feel a little bad in retrospect. They did leave behind a few tracks, but Stiles only cared about getting into the shower, and now he desperately needs to get some food into him.

But the moment he reaches the dining hall, Quinn steps in his way. “So, you’re this year’s conquest.” She leans against the wall right next to the door. As she shifts in front of him, Stiles has the weird feeling that she’s been waiting for him.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles glances from her to the rest of the room and back again. “Sorry?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Quinn’s smirk is about as pleasant as nails on a chalk board. “Every year, Brett finds someone, makes them feel special, fucks them, and then doesn’t even look at them the next day. Didn’t peg you as one to fall for that.”

Stiles stares at her, trying his best not to let his feelings get to him. It’s not like there’s a relationship in the cards; they’re living at opposite ends of this country. Stiles’ schedule with the FBI is a nightmare, and Brett, well, he’s supposed to be Satomi’s successor. He can hardly leave the pack. Stiles doubts he’d— why is the even thinking about this again? Only an hour ago, he’s talked this through with Kira, and as much as he’s trying to find it in himself to look for something positive, he can only focus on the negative. Probably because there are so much more arguments for keeping quiet.

Stiles shakes his head, deciding that not deigning this with a response is probably the best idea, and moves to walk away.

Quinn steps in his way.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“An apology.”

Stiles blinks. “For what?” They haven’t spoken a single word since he’s arrived. All she did was glaring at him from a distance.

“You’re ruining this,” Quinn tells him, stepping closer. Her eyes burn yellow, reminding Stiles that he should bring a weapon the next time he joins this type of fun. She looks ready to jump him. “Brett and I are supposed to—.”

“Bring the packs together?” Despite everything, Stiles has never been afraid of most werewolves. He whacked the fucking twins with a baseball bat when they were morphed into one weird as hell abomination, and he very colorfully told one of them what he’d do with a branch of mistletoe. He’s not going to be intimidated by Quinn. Raising his brows, Stiles leans forward a little. “I don’t care about your future plans, so back off before I forget that I’m with the FBI.” Stiles is really good at picking fights with people he doesn’t know. But this time, it’s at least not his fault.

Not entirely at least.

Quinn steps closer again, but before she has the chance to do anything, Brett appears out of nowhere and fits easily into the space between them. “Hey.” His voice is light and charming, but his rigid body speaks a different language. “Is there a problem?”

Stiles lets out a breath. Part of him wants to push Brett out of the way and deal with Quinn himself. He doesn’t need protection.

“You should find a different bitch, that one bites.” Quinn spits, stepping away from Brett with a sneer.

Stiles lunges forward, but Brett is faster than him. Grabbing his waist, he pulls him flat against his side, holding him back with no effort whatsoever. “Call him a bitch again,” Brett says in a low voice that’s so much more threatening than any growl could ever be. “I dare you. See what happens.”

For a moment, Quinn stands stock-still, staring at Brett as if she’s trying to figure out what the right thing to do is. She flares his nostrils as she takes a breath then gives Stiles a nasty smile. “We’ll continue this conversation probably much sooner than later,” she drawls, shooting Brett a look before stepping away. “Have fun.” Turning his back on them, Quinn walks into the dining hall.

Does she think Stiles is afraid of facing her alone? Because if that’s the case, she’s dead wrong. If Brett weren’t having an iron grip on him, Stiles would show her exactly what he thinks of her.

Fucker.

Brett doesn’t let go of him, holding him flush against his side, fingers digging into his waist, probably sensing that Stiles is very much itching to jump the other werewolf. “Let’s go outside.” It’s not a request, and he’s not waiting for a response anyway. Instead, Brett grabs him by the back of his shirt and yanks him around so fast, he almost lost this footing. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he informs him in a hushed tone.

Once through the door, Brett lets go of him with a shake of his head.

It’s stormy outside. Rain is pounding on the canopy of glass. The conversations from inside barely reach them here, even less when Brett pulls the door shut behind them. Stiles nudges a chair with his foot, barely repressing the urge to kick it across the patio and into the pool or turn around and snap at Brett as well. Just for good measure. He can’t believe the guy had the nerve to drag him around like a rag doll. Instead, Stiles takes a deep breath and directs his gaze to the dark horizon. “There’s a beach ten feet from here,” he mutters, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “why the fuck would they have a pool?” Stepping right up to its edge, Stiles contemplates throwing himself into the cool water. Maybe that would drown the anger.

Stiles gets the feeling this whole vacation was a terrible idea.

“Sharks.” Brett doesn’t hesitate to reply and comes to stand next to him, so close their arms are almost touching. “But I bet you don’t fear those either.”

Stiles shoots him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Humming softly, Brett shrugs. “Not many people would talk to a werewolf like that. You’d probably punch a shark in the nose before it got too close.”

“That’s how you lose a hand,” Stiles replies, fixing his gaze on the thunderstorm in the distance. “You want to hit the gills or eyes. Preferably the gills.”

“And threatening a werewolf is how you lose your head.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but Brett is probably right. “Noted.”

“Can we go back inside without you trying to kill her?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Stiles keeps staring towards the horizon.

Brett huffs out a breath. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at the dark clouds as if they’re to blame for this. “She came at me.” He doesn’t even understand why she’s so upset at him. After all, Quinn said herself that Brett is always hooking up with random people. Besides, if she knows him even a little, she’s fully aware that Brett isn’t at all interested in anything that’s even remotely like a relationship. The guy has serious commitment issues. If Quinn really believes Brett will settle down with her, she absolutely has to rethink her world view.

Sighing, Brett wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him close. “I know.”

Stiles hates how his body instantly melts against Brett’s. At this point, the guy doesn’t even have to be a werewolf to notice that something’s up. But waking up next to him, missing him since graduating from college — part of him is tired of hiding his feelings. Maybe Kira is right. Maybe he should say something. If Brett doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, he might be able to finally move on. “She believes you’ll settle down with her.” Stiles knows he sounds jealous, but perhaps this is another way to figure out what’s what without serving his heart on a silver platter.

“And?” Brett cups Stiles’ jaw, easily moving his head so Stiles has to look up at him. “What do you believe?”

That’s not the answer he hoped for.

Stiles swallows around a lump in his throat. “I can’t see you settling down,” he whispers, suddenly hit with an awful déjà vu.

“Not with her, at least,” Brett mutters, a smirk curling around his lips, and just like that, he leans down.

Slowly.

Giving Stiles time to react.

Panic floods his veins. The moment he kisses Brett, the moment he allows this to happen, there is no going back. There’s no way to stop his heart from free-falling. But he can’t be Brett’s hook-up for this vacation. He can’t do it. So, Stiles jerks backwards — and loses his footing completely. The pool, he realizes belatedly.

Fuck.

Stiles flails, knowing very well that there’s only Brett to hold onto, but Brett merely watches him, hand now pushes in the pockets of his jeans.

Asshole.

He crashes into the water, deciding that breakfast can very much be happening without him. There’s no way in hell he’s leaving his room today.

———

“Well,” Brett says, kicking the door shut behind him, “that day is going swimmingly, isn’t it?” With the most annoying grin this side of the universe, he sets down a box filled with various breakfast foods on the bet next to Stiles. The guy really makes it hard to be annoyed with him. Then again, it’s hard to blame Brett for letting him fall into the pool after pulling away from a kiss twice.

If not for his stupid heart, Stiles would jump at the chance to hook up with Brett fucking Talbot for two weeks straight. But he can’t do that to himself.

Shooting the werewolf a narrow-eyed look, Stiles pulls the box towards him. “Can’t wait for your full routine, Mulaney.”

“At least I’m not holing myself up in my hotel room to mope.” Brett toes off his shoes and collapses into bed next to him, his mood unbearably good.

“I’m not holing myself up,” Stiles shoots back, ignoring the pointed look towards the drawn curtains. Yes, he went straight to his room after falling into the pool. No, he did not come out to eat breakfast — and he will not leave it for lunch or dinner either. This day is very much over for him. “I hate thunderstorms, you know that.” He hates how accusatory he sounds. The storm is hardly Brett’s fault.

Quinn’s bratty behavior isn’t either.

For a moment, Brett doesn’t reply and instead watches him nibble on a waffle with near uncomfortable intensity. “You got up pretty early today,” he says then. It sounds like he’s been meaning to talk about this for a while now.

Stiles isn’t entirely sure what that has to do with anything, so he merely hums in agreement and hopes that’s the end of it. He’d love to watch IT since he, for one, paid money for it — ha — and for another, he really doesn’t want to go into any details of anything that may or may not have happened.

Not even in the slightest.

“Why? Nightmares?”

Stiles gestures towards the TV with his waffle. It’s not like he needs to watch it, he knows the movie inside out. He still very much prefers it over this conversation.

But Brett keeps pushing, “insomnia?”

Once again, Stiles doesn’t reply. Mostly because he has no idea what to say to get out of this. Because the truth is a terrible start.

“Or the fact that we cuddled, and you woke up horny?” Brett snatches the remote and turns the TV off without hesitation. “You know I noticed, right?”

Know would be a bit much, but Stiles somewhat suspected it. Shit like this is just his luck. “Listen,” he says as his cheeks grow uncomfortable warm, “I just…” what? What could he possibly say to get out of this? “Haven’t been close to anyone in a while.” Aside from sounding absolutely pathetic, it’s at least the truth. “Can I please get the remote back now?”

The gin curling around Brett’s lips is positively wolfish. “I’ll trade it.”

Stiles puts the waffle down and pushes the box of food towards Brett, raising his brows expectantly. Of course, that’s not what Brett meant at all. “I’m so not in the mood for this.” But Brett is a shithead, and there’s absolutely no way for Stiles to get out of this. He’s too drained to try and out-stubborn a Talbot. “What do you want?” For some awful reason, the question tasted bad in his mouth, as if part of him new he is making a huge mistake giving Brett’s stupid idea even a second of consideration.

“A kiss.”

His breath catches in his throat. “What?” Sure, Stiles probably should’ve expected it since Brett tried to kiss him twice already. Hearing it this bluntly, however, is a very different story. “The fuck is this coming from?” It’s also not technically a lie. Brett has never tried kissing him before.

A flash of surprise cuts through Brett’s expression of confidence. For all but a second, it seems as if he questions his calculations — no matter how quickly the grin returns. “You kissed Kira and Lydia.”

“That’s different.” Stiles regrets those words the second they leave his mouth. Why can’t he think before he speaks? Sure, technically, the situations have been a bit different; mostly because they haven’t been alone in a hotel room. He kissed them during a stupid game. It’s never been serious. Besides, he also didn’t have feelings for either of them when it happened.

Brett’s on his case like a fucking bloodhound. “Oh, is it? We’re friends too, aren’t we? Or is it because—"

Before Stiles can think any better of it, he leans over and presses their mouths together. The very second their lips touch, he pulls back again, not allowing himself to give this any thought at all because if he does, throwing himself out of the window might be the more painless option. “There,” he mutters, not daring to meet Brett’s eyes.

The laugh filling the room is surprisingly breathless. “You call that a kiss?”

“You didn’t specify—"

“A real kiss, Stiles. I thought that’s obvious.”

But it’s not. Nothing is obvious right now. Stiles is two seconds from running away; this time not into a relationship but into Kira’s room. Maybe he should’ve taken her up on the offer the second she made it. “This is fucking stupid.” Stiles sits back on his heels, still staring anywhere that’s not Brett. That, however, is stupid too. Setting his jaw, he locks eyes with the werewolf. “Are people falling for this shit?” He’s angry and defensive, and Stiles knows Brett is more than aware of it — of everything, even the feelings Stiles harbors for him. How could he not? “It’s so stupid.” And it’s certainly not funny.

Brett laughs, tapping the remote against his thigh. “You mentioned that.”

Stiles makes a grab for it. Unsurprisingly, he’s unsuccessful. “I’m really not in the mood.”

“You mentioned that too.”

Stiles wants to smother this asshole with a pillow. It certainly would solved absolutely all of his problems in one go. “Seriously, if you want to kiss me that bad—" stupid, stupid, stop talking “— just do it. Don’t act like a fucking middle schooler.” Stiles snaps his mouth shut entirely too late. With Brett, there’s always a risk that he might do it.

And, of course, Brett doesn’t hesitate.

He tosses the remote aside; because it’s never been about this fucking remote, because Stiles could tell things have been different since the moment he arrived, because Brett attempted to kiss him twice already. He would have, too, if Stiles hadn’t pulled away to protect what’s left of his heart.

But Brett doesn’t allow that this time. He pulls him in by the front of his shirt and crashes their mouths together.

The collar of his shirt digs into the nape of his neck, and Brett’s lips glide over his. He holds him there, doesn’t allow him to pull away again in any shape or form. He wants to, and he doesn’t want to. His body screams for Brett, begs for his hands and his mouth everywhere on him.

But he can’t do that to himself. He’ll have a night, if everything goes well, he has two weeks with Brett, two weeks of living his heart’s desire — and then reality comes crashing down on him.

Brett’s tongue traces Stiles’ lips, and his thoughts evaporate. Stiles cups the back of Brett’s head, holding him close. Brett wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. His eyes flutter shut, and his heart pounds in his chest.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Stiles sighs softly into the kiss, giving Brett the chance to deepen it. His tongue flicks Stiles’ teasingly. His whole body tingles, and Stiles shudders as the werewolf grabs his ass shamelessly. This fucking guy has a way to consume him entirely too easily. It’s not fair.

Before Stiles knows it, he’s on his back, Brett above him, his body warm and heavy. His kiss is desperate and bruising and eager for more.

So much more.

For something Stiles would rather not give.

Fuck.

Stiles let’s go of Brett and pulls away. “Wait,” he whispers breathlessly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Their relationship is meant to remain strictly platonic. There’s too much risk to ruin it, too much risk to ruin himself.

And he can’t.

Not this time.

But Brett clearly doesn’t get the memo. He kisses him again, and Stiles kisses him back because he really, really wants everything that’s happening so, so fucking bad; the way Brett tastes like orange juice, his nose bumps against Stiles’ and his hands are roaming his body, and the way he bites his bottom lip.

It makes him dizzy.

Stiles curls and uncurls his fingers then grabs Brett’s shoulders. “Stop,” he mutters into the kiss. Wait doesn’t set the right signals. “Stop.” And he finally manages to turn his head to the side. “Brett—" He really needs him to fucking stop.

Instead, Brett drags his lips down to his jaw, trails them further down to his throat.

Stiles leans his head back, gasping when Brett sucks on his sensitive skin. It’s so easy to just give in.

No.

“I said, stop!” Stiles gives Brett’s shoulders a shove and finally, finally, the werewolf raises his head, but he’s not moving off him. “I don’t— I don’t want this.”

Brett quirks a brow, clearly not buying it — not when Stiles’ body sends a very different signal. “I beg to differ.”

The amusement rubs him the wrong way, and he gives Brett another push. “I’m not going to sleep with you just because you offered me to stay in your room.”

Brett sits up as if Stiles slapped him in the face. “Is that what you think?” His voice is icy, his muscles rigid, and suddenly, the way he towers over him now is terrifying. It’s easy to forget how dangerous Brett can be — and he’s got every right to be pissed. “Do you believe Quinn? Do you really think I’d treat you that way?” They both know the answer to that question — and that’s most likely why Brett hasn’t kicked him out of the room yet.

Shaking his head, Stiles props himself onto his elbows.

Brett collapses onto the bed next to him. “Are you going to tell me the real reason?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t.”

Stiles drops onto his back and squints at the ceiling. “A bit of both, I guess.”

To his surprise, Brett laughs. It’s breathless and soft and everything but angry. “Can I tell you something then?” He rolls onto his side and props his head on his hand, studying Stiles’ face with sparkling blue eyes. He’s so pretty it hurts. “Something only Satomi knows?”

Stiles licks his lips and nods. Slowly. He’s not entirely sure what he might hear. “Sure.”

“I love you,” Brett tells him as bluntly as always. He chuckles when Stiles bolts upright — not entirely sure if his heart is going to stay inside his body in the foreseeable future. But Brett continues talking as he scoots behind him and wraps both arms around his waist, “and I can’t stand another year of being away from you.” His left hand slips under Stiles’ shirt.

A shudder runs down his spine, and Stiles grabs his wrist. He doesn’t stop him, not yet, merely holds on for dear life.

With ease, Brett pulls him closer, running his fingers over Stiles’ lower abs. “I wanted to take my time and try to figure out how you felt.” His lips are so close, every word is painted against the shell of his ear. All the while, his hand creeps lower at a snail’s pace. “But the bed is still drenched in your scent from this morning, and… I overheard you talking to Kira”

“Oh god,” Stiles breathes, not sure if it’s because of the admission or because Brett pushes two fingers past the waistband of his sweatpants.

The soft chuckle paves its way straight to Stiles’ dick. He wishes he could say it’s because he hasn’t been close to anyone in forever, but that’s not true — it’s Brett, all of this is fucking Brett.

“And I just can’t help myself,” the werewolf whispers, grabbing Stiles’ chin to turn his head just enough to brush their lips together. “I want your scent all over me.” He hooks a finger under the waistband of Stiles’ boxer briefs, tugging once, twice. A question. ‘Stop me’, it seems to offer.

Stiles lets go of Brett’s waist and curls his fingers into the sweatpants instead, blood rushing in his ears.

And Brett continues; he keeps talking, allows his hand to slip further into Stiles’ boxer briefs. “I hated seeing you with others. I hate how they treated you.” Just like that, Brett curls his long fingers around Stiles’ dick — the touch alone makes him almost jump out of his own body. “I knew I could treat you so much better. I will treat you better.”

Stiles groans and lets his head fall back.

Another chuckle.

Stiles tugs on Brett’s sweatpants.

“You smell so good,” Brett whispers, free and sliding from his chin to Stiles’ throat. His thumb rests right above his pule. He hums, sounding so smug, so fucking happy with himself.

It should be embarrassing that all it took were a few choice words to change Stiles’ mind, but it’s hard to feel bad with a hand wrapped around his dick. “Brett,” he breathes.

Brett hums again and kisses his temple. “Want me to make you feel good?”

“Please.”

Brett makes a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a grow. Everything after that is rushed. They’re moving, getting rid of clothes. Brett’s shoe refuses to cooperate. It’s fun to see Mr. Smooth getting frustrated enough over such a small thing. A moment later, the shoe is gone, and Brett is on top of him again, kissing him with a hunger that leaves Stiles lightheaded and painfully hard.

Biting his bottom lip, Stiles watches as Brett rummages through his backpack. He’s hard lines and muscle where Stiles is skin and bones, lack of training and time to eat carving their marks into his body. His dick is long and hard and, apparently, now exclusively for Stiles’ pleasure — well, and Brett’s, but that’s a given.

If Brett told him the truth, that is. Which he did, right? They’ve been friends for years. Brett wouldn’t lie to him just to get into his pants.

Right?

“I can hear you overthinking.” Brett drops the backpack next to the bed, flicking a bottle of lube at him.

Stiles catches it awkwardly. For a moment, he stares at it as if the weight of his future rests inside of it. “Are you sure about… this?” Stiles gestures vaguely around, not daring to look at him.

“You mean the sex thing, or the whole I-love-you speech?” Brett asks, and although he smirks at him, his blue eyes have gone unbelievably soft. “Because I fully intend to be your trophy boyfriend.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious about us. If you let me, I will come with you after this vacation. I’ll travel the US with you. I’ll make sure you eat and sleep, and I fuck you as often as you want me to.”

“And here I thought romance is dead.” Stiles can’t help but grin at the idea. It’s easy to see Brett by his side, to come home to him. Still, “it’s going to be boring for you, though, isn’t it?”

Brett raises his brows, shuffling closer until they’re nose to nose again. “Relaxing by the pool? No way.”

“I’m not staying in hotels like this.” Not usually, at least.

“Stiles,” Brett sounds exasperated, yet he cups his cheeks ever so gently. “I can deal with a year of ratty motels in the middle of nowhere if that means I’m with you, okay?” The moment Stiles opens his mouth for a reply, Brett leans over and kisses him, very clearly done with the conversation, and pushes him back into the pillows. “You’re not going to talk me out of this,” he whispers against Stiles’ mouth. “Stop wasting your breath.” With a chuckle, Brett plucks the lube from his fingers. “And relax, my love.”

Fucking hell.

Stiles runs his fingers through Brett’s hair and pulls him down for another kiss. He’ll allow himself to dream, to imagine this future Brett is painting will have a happy ending. Perhaps it does. He’ll never know if he refuses to try. So, he tries — tries to be an optimist, tries to relax as Brett’s hands and mouth explore every inch of his body, and tries desperately to hold onto his sanity as Brett’s tongue and fingers do their very best to make him fall apart.

Something that gets significantly harder the moment Brett thrusts in to the hilt. He presses their foreheads together, breathing heavily as he stays still for way too long.

Stiles hooks a leg around Brett’s thighs and rolls his hips. The way Brett moans his name makes him almost cum on the spot. “Fuck,” he breathes, “warn a guy.”

Brett chuckles as he captures his lips for another kiss mere seconds before he pulls back out and thrusts back in, fast and hard, yet not quite hard enough. Brett does it again, harder this time — testing how far he can go, or how much he has to hold back.

Stiles moans into the kiss when he does it for a third time, unable to stay quiet any longer.

“Okay?” Brett asks, stilling again.

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, “better than okay.”

Brett lets out a breath. “You’re perfect,” he mutters, and it almost sounds like a curse. But Stiles can’t be bothered. Now that they’re here, he’d like to feel it for as long as he can, even when Brett won’t be leaving his side anytime soon — or ever, hopefully. God, he wants his marks all over his body, wants to feel this with every step he takes.

Brett seems to be thinking along a similar vein because he keeps the pace, fucking Stiles as if he’s got every intention to leave his mark everywhere. His fingers curl around Stiles’ dicks again, adding more fuel to the fire burning absolutely everywhere inside of him.

Stiles digs his fingers into Brett’s back, feeling his muscles tighten as he rushes towards his orgasm.

They’re hardly kissing any longer, instead, they’re breathing, gasping, moaning against each other’s mouths — lips brushing against each other’s more an accident than purpose.

And then, it hits him. His orgasm cuts to his core, and Stiles throws his head back.

Brett holds him, fucks him, until he collapses on top of him, boneless, skin hot and sweaty, face hidden in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

His brain is still trying to catch up while his heart is already beating in sync with Brett’s. His body truly never fails to disappoint. Stiles lets out a soft breath and runs his fingers through the blond strands. “I could get used to this.”

Growling quietly, Brett nips at his skin.

Stiles flicks his ear. “What the hell was that for?”

Brett chuckles and props himself onto his elbows. His eyes are bright, his lips ever so kissable, and he ducks down and brushes their noses together. “I’m not going to get a quiet afterglow, do I?”

“Have you met me?” Stiles raises his brows, not exactly expecting an answer to a question that couldn’t be any more rhetorical if he tried. “I could offer you cuddles in exchange for the remote, though.” He’s going to finish that movie, even if he has to stay still in Brett’s arms for the rest of it.

Sighing dramatically, Brett kisses him again. “Fine.”

Stiles grins. “I love you.” Three words he’s been wanting to say for years.

“I love you too.” But hearing them feels so much better.

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #teen wolf #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #kinktober 2023 #*tv:teen wolf #*w:kinktober2023 #*w:complete #*s:briles

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voidsdamned · 1 month ago

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Wicked Natures - The Ghoul/OC (Female Character) Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Bounty hunters are frequent customers at Mulholland's Saloon, and Rue's taken quite a shine to one gunslinger in particular: a cantankerous, old Ghoul in a tattered duster. Witness her unabashedly lust after him in all his irradiated glory (as we are all currently doing), as well as navigate the precarious relationship she unfortunately has with local law enforcement.

Minors, do not interact.

Content Warnings: blood and violence.

Enjoy <3

Chapter Eighteen: Reckless, Rageful

The yowl-meowing hits Rue’s ears a few miles out of Poppy just as the sun starts sinking, and she smiles like crazy when she looks over her shoulder to see Eggshells padding her way quickly as they can on their big, old paws. The bobcat’s ears are flat and eyes narrowed, but they sure do purr when Rue crouches to give them chin scratches.

“There’s my beautiful baby,” she coos, the hand not petting away going for some gecko jerky. “Ya eaten?”

Even if they have, they chomp up the jerky in heartbeats and have a few licks of water out of her palm to wash it down.

“I’m glad you’re stickin’ with me,” she murmurs, getting some ear scratches in. “Sheriff Shitkicker made things messier than I thought he would, and I need an extra set of ears and eyes. …We probably won’t make it to nightfall without somethin’ goin’ down. We gotta be ready. Well, I know ya stay ready. Ya go after anything that so much as breathes in your direction.”

Maybe she ought to be a bit more like Eggshells, unblinkingly vicious. Ready to pounce. Not holding herself back even an ounce…. It’s a nice thought, going wild after so long of biting her tongue and clenching her fists. Leashing herself so tight.

Eggshells swats at her hand, their polite way of saying, “Quit touchin’ me.” She pulls away, only for the little darling to rub themselves against her skirt.

“Fickle lil’ thing,” she chuckles, standing and dusting her hands off on her skirt. The motions slow and still halfway through, her eyes fixing in the distance.

Two figures march her way, the wide space between making them appear as little more than blobs.

They could be travelers just like her, but Rue wouldn’t bet on it. She bets she had eyes on her the second she stepped out onto the streets of Poppy earlier and they were just waiting for her to march on out of town. Put herself out somewhere open and vulnerable with nowhere to hide. She bets there are more coming, too. She just can’t see them yet.

If they catch her, would they listen when she tells them she’s not missing? She’s out here on her own accord, and she has no intentions of going back? Maybe one or two might, but the rest of them… caps speak louder than she does. More persuasively, too.

Can’t risk it.

“I gotta carry ya,” she tells Eggshells, plucking up the kitty and getting throaty, unhappy growling for it. She clicks her tongue at them, kisses their head, and spins on her heel. “Hush you.”

They don’t hush, but their sounds become chainsaw purring, and they let Rue cradle them as she keeps a brisk pace. She needs more space between her and those blobs that look more and more like people every time Rue glances over her shoulder.

Darkness seeps across the landscape as Rue reaches a patch of the road that winds through rises and falls of rocky hills and buttes, and the cover they afford has her darting off the well-traveled and into riddling crevasses and ridges. Which is immediately not fun and so apparently a terrible idea (even though the idea was high ground and headshots) because of course she picks the narrow, snaky in-between that houses a handful of radscorpions –big boys, too. The kind that could take her head off her shoulders with a snip of their pinchers.

Rue scrambles back, and then up a steep incline, doing her best to keep Eggshells safe and get them to higher ground as click-clacking claws make grabs and tails sting forward.

Eggshells goes apoplectic in her arms, spitting and yowling and thrashing until Rue must let go or risk getting her arms and chest torn to shreds. The reckless, rageful bobcat throws itself at the closest scorpion with no regard, all teeth, spit, and claws as they go for eyes.

Freehanded and not wrestling a wily cat, Rue puts more distance between herself and the big boys and takes hold her rifle. She hastily lines up a shot at the scorpion Eggshells battles valiantly –and violently– and fires. It’s mean, little face spurts weird, greenish juices, and the way it backpeddles sends it crashing into its friends. They all take a tumble down the steep hill, and Rue snatches up an ornery Eggshells that starts back up with their pissy, throat noises.

Rue shushes them and runs, knowing she can’t fight so many radscorpions and that her tails would have heard that shot. Shit, she should really see about finding a suppressor for her rifle. A sharp crack like that can prick at ears for miles. Lead hunters and whoever right to her.

Focus, focus.

Landmarks. She needs landmarks –a way to get back to the road once she’s handled her tails. Her eyes pick along dim ridges and carefully ahead of her, searching for oddly-shaped fauna and formations. A good perch. There’s a cactus that sort of looks like a brahmin. An actual brahmin skeleton amongst a heap of brambles, bones, and scrap…. That’s a fucking deathclaw nest, and Rue is absolutely not coming back this way. Rue doesn’t need to be anywhere near here.

All the weird and twisting ways she goes spits Rue out in a flat expanse of cacti, cracked earth, and ants she brings her boot down on when they try to get at her ankles. Eggshells hops down from her arms and immediately runs off ahead of her to terrorize another ant.

Rue, winded, gives a breathy laugh, “You’re a menace. I love ya,” and picks up her stride again to catch up with them, her eyes on a large, looming shadow in the distance.

It turns out to be a building: a massive, sprawling, crumbly one on the opposite side of an upheaved highway. It sits amongst other structures that are little more than free standing walls or boxes full of sand and the husks of old vehicles. A weathered sign tells her it was once called “----hills Mall.”

Rue’s not sure what a mall is, but it looks like it would have lots of great ambush spots. She needs those, even if a warning of sharp-toothed stick figures is scrawled on the front doors.

Maybe there are cannibals inside she can convince into eating her stalkers?

Quietly, and with Eggshells padding along behind her, Rue enters the mall, fishing the small flashlight she never did give back to Doc Nguyen out of her pocket. She doesn’t need it initially. Moonlight spills in through holes in the ceiling in big, washed-out patches, illuminating benches, garbage cans, scattered tables, and all these storefronts and bars crammed in together. The ground and tabletops are littered with old food containers.

Rue tiptoes through it all, the wide, rounded room she stepped into opening into a long, long hall with hanging signs and glass walls as far as she can see –but that’s not terribly far anymore. It’s black as pitch ten feet ahead of her, inky and not particularly inviting. She clicks the flashlight on, using it to scan the signs and doorways blocked with shutters and gates. Through the glass, she sees mattresses. Appliances. Clothes. Knick-knacks....

"Ooh," slips so quietly out of her mouth when she spies a little cart with rows and rows of glasses upon it. A truly terrible pair snags her attention, red-rimmed and heart-shaped, and Rue can't resist the temptation. In her pocket they go.

She moves on, deeper into the darkness where her flashlight beam passes over a mannequin in a bolo tie. The light drags down and then snaps back, fixing on the most beautiful pair of boots Rue has ever seen. Even with a thick layer of dust coating them, the dark leather boots in the window are radiant. Perfect with red and pink roses stitched into the sides of them and a set of spurs hanging off the back. Rue could jingle-jangle just like her cowboy….

Fingers dragging down the glass, Rue clicks her tongue at the sudden sharpness in her chest.

She has not allowed herself to do much in the way of thinking about anything outside of survival and her destination. She’s on guard as she trudges through the desert. She’s exhausted when she decides to settle down, falling right asleep. But in this small, fleeting moment, the Ghoul is at the forefront of her brain accompanied by a deep longing. Worse than it’s ever been.

Rue wonders what he’s doing. If he’s okay. If he’s been back by and seen her note. Or maybe he’s seen her poster? Part of her wishes he was along for the ride, and they could pick him out a new pair of boots, too.

With him come thoughts of others: Hal, Mrs. Ira Jean, and Mrs. Rosa. Even Bo and his boys. Bell O’Neil and the Hendersons. They’re all of wonder and worry. Did Deck question everyone she holds near and dear? Did they go into a tizzy when they realized she was missing? Do they hunt for her?

Tiny and barely audible is the voice at the back of her head that whispers she should have told them, warned them, but louder is the voice that affirms her actions. To know would have been to implicate, to tie them to her mess. She’d rather feel guilty about worrying them than the pain and burning of another death on her shoulders.

Rue shakes all the bad thoughts out of her head, shrugs off Baby Destiny, and pushes the case under the gate that didn’t quite close. She follows, wiggling through and cooing very softly to Eggshells until they slink under and in.

The mannequin is taken down, its feet pulled into Rue’s lap so she can twist and jiggle the boots free. When they pop off, she gives a short laugh of victory and hastily pulls them on.

And they fit. That victory laugh turns into a delighted squeal-giggle, and Rue pops to her feet to practice her fancy, twisting footwork, each spin or heel-toe step accompanied by a jingling that makes her warm inside. With more than a bit of pep, she skips around the rest of the store.

So many pretty, dusty things surround her. Blouses, vests, and jeans with shiny stones and fun patterns. Breezy dresses she imagines spinning ‘round and ‘round in. Thick-woven flannels in all the colours. Hats galore in all the styles, some plain and others…. Rue doesn’t know what that orange and black print is around the band of an otherwise dapper cutter-style hat, but it’s not for her. Not for anyone.

Her eyes are pulled away from the atrocity by a display case full of leather goods and jewelry, a few things tickling her fancy. Like the leather over-the-shoulder bag that looks sturdier and a bit roomier than the one she currently carries. She trades it out, packing in all her bits and then a few shiny things that might be worth something to somebody if the gold is real gold. She also snatches up two, silver star pins. One, she pins to the band of her hat, and the other goes into her pocket as she briefly imagines presenting it to the Ghoul and asking him to pretty please match with her.

Then there’s this bone and blue stone bolo tie Eggshells lets her slip onto their fluffy neck after just a bit of coaxing, and don’t they look so handsome in it! Handsome and dignified, and Rue can’t help but giggle again. And she keeps giggling every time she looks down at her pretty kitty to see them padding along so suave in their tie.

Towards the back of the store, she finds a door hanging open, leading into a space of shelves and boxes full of more pretty things. Rue doesn’t let her gaze linger on them. The temptation of a brand-new wardrobe eats at her, but she has nowhere to put it all. No way to carry it…. A cream blouse lying neglected on the floor has roses around the sleeve cuffs. It matches her boots. It matches her boots.

Rue plucks it up and stows it in her guitar case, and then does her damndest to put all the finery out of her head as she slips out another door she finds. She’s on a mission, not a shopping trip. People are literally chasing her, and she was browsing like it’s just a normal visit to Shade and Sundries.

She shakes her head at herself as she steps into a long, dark hallway she traverses slowly with careful sweeps of her flashlight.

It’s easy to get lost. There are more doors, hallways, and signs that read as, “Restrooms,” “Roof Access,” “Manager’s Office,” “Emergency Exit,” and “Security Office.” Rue ends up ducking into the Security Office when a dragging shuffle and crunchy noises come from further down the hall. She waits to see if they come closer or taper out, and they do eventually, the sounds fading off the way she was heading.

Rue’s focus turns to the room she popped into: a musty, dusty space where a skeleton slumps back in the chair set before the wide, metal desk that dominates most of the room. A bullet hole is blasted out the back of the skull, and the .10 mm on the floor close by tells Rue everything she needs to know about what happened.

Her attention shifts to the array of shiny, black glass mounted on the walls and the… the machine on the desk is called a term-something. She remembers them a little –mostly playing a shoot-y game where she blew up communists. And after staring hard at the term-something for several minutes, she remembers how to turn it on by clicking at a somewhat circle-ish symbol button on the front.

The whole black glass array lights up along with the term-something. Well, most of it does. A few screens stay dead. Others are too dark for her to make out what’s in them. But most show scenes with just enough light for her to make out storefronts and lumpy shadows… oh! She recognizes one of the scenes as the one she stepped into: that wide room with all the tables, counters, and food containers.

And isn’t she a lucky girl to spy two figures creeping in all careful-like with weapons drawn.

Rue relocates the skeleton to the floor, claims its seat, and watches them pick around for ten minutes before noticing a group of three coming in through a collapsed segment of wall that could honestly be anywhere. Ooh, and there come two more into the wide room, but they pick a different way to go from the first group.

“Figure they’ll kill one another so we don’t have to bother?” she asks of Eggshells when the bobcat jumps up on the desk. They don’t do anything but blink slow and sit back on a big button that makes the air crackle and fizz.

“The fu-?”

Rue's voice comes from all around, and her mouth snaps shut. Wide-eyed and wondering, she sits there quietly as the sound of Eggshells’ motor running like crazy rumbles the air. Her eyes tick to the array where her tails have gone stock-still. Very carefully, she scoots the bobcat off the button, and the crackling, fizzy sound goes away.

Investigating the button up close, Rue finds it to be some sort of gadget with a grated look on one end. She presses the button and coos out a curious, “Hellooo?” into the grates, watching from the corner of her eyes as those still figures in the array look all around them in befuddlement.

Rue notices something else. On glass once empty, shadows shift and rise. Stumbling and shuffling and whipping around erratically. It’s hard to make out much about them, but they seem withered and torn and gaunt. One gets close enough Rue can see that it’s missing an arm and most of its face.

Ferals.

She gets the worst –or possibly best– idea.

Rue stands, shuts the office door, kicks a chair in front of it, and whips out Baby Destiny. With a wide smile on her face, she presses down on the button with the heel of her new boot and strums a little ditty she can’t help but sing along to.

“Yippee yay

There’ll be no wedding bells for today

‘Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle

As I go riding merrily along

And they sing, ‘Oh, ain’t you glad you’re single’

And that song ain’t so very far from wrong

Oh, Lillie Belle

Though I may have done some foolin’

This is why I never fail.”

The array flurries with movement and chaos, ferals wrenching themselves about and running wildly to find the source of the noise that seems to come from everywhere all at once. They’re like bloodhounds, tracking down the bounty hunters in moments, and it’s quite the sight to watch some flat-out run while others try to hold their ground, bright pops and distant gunshots adding to the storm. But they can’t do much against a horde of hungry ferals absolutely swarming.

Rue watches the carnage, singing all the while. She doesn’t stop until she hears pounding come from somewhere down the hall, and she moves like a whirlwind, packing Baby Destiny away, snatching up Eggshells, and kicking that chair out of the way –and then immediately having to hoof a feral in its raggedy guts as soon as she slings the door open. It goes stumbling back into three of its friends, and Rue tears off down the hall to where she saw that “Emergency Exit” sign.

Flinging that door open brings on a brand new, terrible, shrill shrieking sound that no doubt alerts everything within a mile radius of the shitshow. Likely drawing them in. Adding to the chaos.

Rue legs it, laughing up a storm.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Following the road that runs alongside the mall eventually leads Rue back to the one she abandoned. She thinks anyway. The only indication she has that she’s going the right way is a road sign with a spray-painted, “Many Ways,” and an arrow pointing her onward. Or as onward as aching legs, burning lungs, and a desert-dry mouth can take her.

She has to stop. It’s reaching a nonnegotiable point, and the safety she finds is in a thin sliver of a rocky shelf she thoroughly investigates for little nasties before she shrugs off Baby Destiny, slides her into the slot, and then wiggles her way in after. She spreads out flat on the cool stone, belly and cheek to the cragginess of it. She breathes a long sigh, fishes for a canteen, and drains it. She has to, and she meant to conserve her apples, but she polishes them off, too. And then she takes her knife into hand, cuts free pieces of jerky for Eggshells to munch on when they come creeping in, and falls dead asleep.

When she wakes, Eggshells is pressed hard into her side, growling mad and talking about, “The psychotic bitch looked to be goin’ West, so we’re gonna keep goin’ West!” And then the groggy thing realizes that’s not Eggshells talking. There are at least two people passing her by –nope, no. Four. There’s a group of four striding so slowly by mere feet from her. She can see their middles, the golden daylight illuminating how strapped to the gills they are with guns, knives, and leather.

Rue squeezes the knife still in her hand tighter and hopes for dear life they can’t hear Eggshells. She’d shush the kitty, but maybe they hear that. She’s in too compromising of a position to risk it.

“I know that poster said unharmed, but I’m gonna blacken that bitch’s eye,” grumbles a particularly ornery voice. “Trina and Buck didn’t deserve that.”

Another voice makes a fart noise. “I know ya were buddy-buddy with ‘em, but she did us a favour, knockin’ out some of the competition. And I want that full bounty. You’re not gonna fuckin’ touch her. You’re a gentleman, or ya get.”

The grumbly voice grumbles lower, unintelligible.

“We oughta ask for two thousand,” a new, reedy voice chimes in. “Agency said she might be confused or kidnapped. Not fuckin’ batshit, runnin’ ‘round the desert in the night and singin’ Kay Kyser like she’s havin’ the time of her life.”

“That’s who that was?” queries such a soft voice. “I liked it. Her playin’ ain’t bad at all.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barker,” snaps the grumbly voice. “And whoever’s fuckin’ stomach that is, I’m sick of hearin’ it.”

“Huh?”

“Someone’s stomach grumblin’ like they haven’t eaten in decades.” A pause. “Shit, or maybe that’s a cazador?”

Fuck, Eggshells. Rue's arm curls around the kitty, placing her hand over their face in a useless attempt to muffle the growl. They nip at her, that growling becoming a short, pissy yowl.

The group of four had almost left Rue’s field of view, but now they’re paused at the edges of it. Rue tenses. She feels Eggshells tense, too. Ready to snap.

One of the bounty hunters bends at the waist. Rue only gets the briefest look at his face before Eggshells is hiss-spitting and tearing their way into the hunter’s flesh.

And fuck, does he scream, the sound of it alongside Eggshells’ demonic screeching the worst kind of racket. Rue scrambles after, calling out a, "Baby, no!" because what is her pretty kitty going to do against four folks with guns and knives? Maybe get one of them before a hail of bullets leaves her heartbroken.

The gunshot does come, sharp and cracking and stilling the testy organ in her chest when a different kind of screech issues from Eggshells. Rue slides out of her slot just in time to see blood and fur running away from a shredded-faced man bleeding out on the ground.

Thought ceases. Panic surges, followed by murderous action when her eyes fix on a drawn gun. She pounces, aiming to maim the man who shot her cat. And then she'll let Eggshells eat his remains for dinner if she can find them. She better fucking find them. As she drives her knife down, she raggedly shouts, “Ya better hope they’re fine!”

Sharp, gleaming metal goes through a hand rising in self-defense, drawing shouts of pain and swears tenfold. Rue doesn’t get a chance to jerk it free. She’s jerked herself, arms wrapping around her middle to haul her back as she kicks and curses and ultimately throws her head back as hard as she can, skull connecting with what might be a nose. A satisfying crunch is her reward.

More shouts. The grip around her eases, and Rue slips free of the hold to launch herself at the man she took down, driving her elbow into his solar plexus. Breathless, gurgling, strained sounds wheeze from his throat. A gasping, croaking shout when she rips her blade free from his hand, but then she’s snagged again. The new grip is much stronger, much more mindful of her violent, desperate movements. Her captor squeezes the life out of her, making it hard to breathe. Making her head spin. She takes wild, haphazard knife swings, hitting nothing but air.

Tighter and tighter the arms squeeze. A soft voice shushing, bidding her to, "Go to sleep, kay?"

"Don't," Rue wheezes, breath finding her barely and body weakening to the point she can't keep a grip on her blade. "I... I don't...wanna...."

Her knife slips from her fingers and Rue into the black creeping at the edges of her vision.

#the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout the series #fallout 2024 #fallout tv series

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drarrypotterrenaissance · 1 year ago

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Locked Out, Let In

Harry's locked himself out of his floo, and can't apparate home. Draco has a house full of wet paint, drop cloths, and only one bed. Pansy is a scheming matchmaker. For @harryjamespotterweek 2023, Day 2 (Mishaps, One Bed) Rated T, 2.6k words. Read on ao3 here

Harry was fairly confident, although not entirely, that the floor of the Leaky Cauldron hadn’t always been slanted at quite such a steep angle. In fact, he had a fuzzy-edged memory of walking into the pub earlier that evening without any trouble at all, yet now the floor had become treacherous to navigate, tipping over randomly and making his steps clumsy. As he staggered over to give a similarly-listing Ron a slap on the back, and to kiss a sober, pregnant, upright Hermione on the cheek in farewell, he considered the possibility that perhaps the drinking game he and Ron had lost at may have had something to do with the change in the stability of the floor. Whatever it was, he was sure it would be fine in the morning. He watched Ron and Hermione manage the floo just fine, so even if there was a problem with the Leaky, he should still be able to get home safely.

Blaise managed to go through fine as well, and Harry tossed a wave over his shoulder to Pansy and Draco as he grabbed up his own handful of floo powder and stepped into the flames, leaning back into the fire and shouting, “Grimmauld Place-OW!”

His head connected with the brick of the chimney, and the flames died out around him. Over the ringing in his ears, he could just make out the sound of Draco’s laughter. Emerging from the fireplace, rubbing what was sure to be an impressive lump on his head, he could see both Draco and Pansy taking delight in his suffering.

“Did you lock yourself out, Potter?” Pansy called, looking absolutely gleeful at the prospect.

“I apparated here,” Harry mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on getting pissed. Locked the floo before I left.”

Draco laughed even harder, and Harry did his level best to glower in his general direction. Pansy also seemed to be pleased with this outcome, if her slightly menacing smile was any indication, although Harry couldn’t figure out why. He’d sort it out in the morning, once everything had stopped spinning.

“How terrible for you! Locked out and no way to get home. Well, I’m sure Draco will be able to help you out. Ta, love!” And with that, she blew a smirking kiss to Draco, stepped into the fire, and whirled away before anyone could say anything else.

He turned to Draco, feeling a little lost for what to do and hoping that Draco, as the winner of the drinking game, and therefore the least-tipsy member of their party, would have some idea of where he should go. “’m a little too drunk to apparate,” he said, looking up hopefully for a plan. Draco, however, had gone very still, and all the laughter had vanished from his face, leaving only two small slashes of pink across his cheeks in its wake.

When Draco didn’t immediately respond, Harry tried again.

“Draco? I can’t get home, do you think I could come through with you?”

Draco said nothing for another moment, then, turning even pinker, said in a scathing tone, “I don’t care if she’s my best friend, I’m going to murder her,” before stomping towards the fire and grabbing his own fistful of floo powder. When Harry didn’t immediately follow, he turned around, irritation etched into every line of his body. “Well? Are you coming?”

Harry was a little wary to go anywhere with a Draco who looked that tightly wound, but since his only other option was to wander the streets of Diagon in search of an empty room (some blasted concert the next day was taking up all the available rooms, some part of Harry’s brain remembered), he followed Draco into the fire and tumbled out a second later onto the floor of Draco’s posh new flat.

Harry had only been to Draco’s new flat once, a few weeks ago when all their friends helped him move in. It had been empty and shiny then, lots of open spaces and a long wall of gleaming windows looking out onto the city. It still seemed like an open and airy space, although a lot duller than Harry remembered. There were cloths over all the furniture and the random chrome pieces of art that Draco had insisted on installing, despite the fact that no one could figure out what they were meant to depict.

“Ugh,” Draco said, stepping out gracefully beside Harry. “I had forgotten about the painters, but I’m so glad that Pansy remembered, the cow.” He spit her name like it was poison.

“Right, Potter, are you going to be sick?”

Harry took stock of himself. While the room was still spinning a bit, he didn’t think it had turned his stomach; if anything, the shock of floo travel seemed to have cleared his head a bit. He shook his head no.

“Good. Then here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to sleep off your inebriation in my bed, while I attempt to sleep comfortably on the floor of my room, because I am such a gracious host. You will not disturb anything in any of the other rooms, as there is wet paint everywhere and I do not want to prolong my time spent among dropcloths because you can’t keep your handprints off of the walls. Do you understand that?”

A strand of Draco’s hair had fallen out his ponytail and was curling around the side of his face, which Harry found a bit distracting, but he promptly nodded and let Draco lead the way to the bedroom. The rest of Draco’s hair moved slightly from side to side as he walked, and Harry found himself swaying along with it, until Draco turned around and thrust a bundle of clothes at him.

“You can change in the en suite, I’m going to attempt to transfigure something into a cot.”

Very slowly, Harry felt the gears of thought turning in his mind.

“Wait, Draco… why don’t you take the bed?”

Draco turned around from where he had been surveying a pillow with a speculative look.

“Because you’re a guest and my mother would disinherit me if she were to learn that I made a guest sleep on the floor.”

“Oh.” Harry stood there for a few more seconds, slowly trying to finish the next thought in his brain. “Draco? Why don’t we just share the bed? ‘t’s big enough.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open slightly, and the pink color was back on his cheeks. After a few silent seconds, Harry nodded decisively.

“We’ll share the bed.”

And he headed into the bathroom to change.

While completing his ablutions, Harry poked around Draco’s shiny new bathroom. He found a new toothbrush in a drawer, and proceeded to commandeer it for his own use while investigating what amenities the other cabinets might hold. The airing cupboard had neatly folded linens, along with a small bottle of peppermint oil. There were a few cleaners under the sink, and loo roll in the bottom-most drawer. As he opened his mouth wider to brush his molars, Harry pulled at the vanity mirror until it popped open to reveal a medicine cabinet, stocked with extra toothpaste, a few potions, and – most delightful of all – reading glasses. He’d had no idea that Draco wore glasses, but the prospect of teasing him about them delighted him, and Harry pointedly ignored the little curl of heat in his stomach when he imagined Draco wearing them.

Once he had finished brushing his teeth, Harry grabbed one of the vials of Sobriety Solution on impulse, reasoning that it would be better to avoid a hangover in the first place than to deal with asking for a hangover potion in the morning. He downed it in one gulp, then wandered out to the bedroom and curled up on one side of the bed, bemused at the way Draco was pointedly ignoring him as he swept into the en suite and spelled the door shut.

Harry was almost fully asleep by the time he felt the mattress dip and the covers rustle, lulled into tranquility by a comforting, citrusy scent that he had only recently realized he associated with Draco. He thought that he’d be able to fall asleep in another minute or two, even with the disruption of Draco in the bed beside him, but it was clear that Draco did not feel quite as relaxed. Harry could practically feel the waves of discomfort radiating off of him, and the third time Draco inhaled as if to speak before cutting himself off, Harry finally spoke up, his words muffled into the pillow.

“Draco. What’s wrong? I’m not going to steal the covers or kick, just go to sleep.”

There was a beat of silence, and Harry thought that maybe that was enough, but no, Draco always had to have the last word.

“I’m sure you’ll snore loud enough to make up for your other courtesies.”

If Harry was inclined to be the bigger person, he would have let Malfoy’s comment go, rolling his eyes and ignoring it in favour of going to sleep. But, it was Malfoy, and he was Harry, and he still hadn't worked out how not to let him under his skin, even if they were friends now, so he shot back, "I don't snore, Malfoy."

"Oh right, and how would you know?"

"I shared a dorm with four other boys for the entirety of my Hogwarts career, same as you. One of them would have told me if I snored." More like teased him endlessly for it, as they had for Ron, but the point was the same either way.

"As if anyone would be able to hear you over Weasley. From what I understand, it's a miracle we couldn't hear him down in the dungeons."

First of all, Harry thought, that was entirely fair. Ron was his best friend, and that would never change, but he became even more likable once they'd all learned how to cast silencing charms in the direction of his snores. Harry could even do the spell wandless at this point. But, and this seemed even more important, Draco had always been a tetchy git, and he was in a strange mood tonight, and Harry wanted to poke at him until he was as agitated as Harry felt around him half the time.

"Oh, piss off. Why'd you even invite me back here if you're so put out by it?"

"Because Pansy is a horrible human being," Draco responded, far more darkly than he usually sounded when defaming his dearest friend.

"And since when have you ever done something you didn't want to, just because Pansy suggested it?" Harry shot back.

"I…" Draco’s mouth opened and shut for a moment, and Harry could just make out a pink tinge to his cheeks from the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. "I… I don't know." His voice was a lot less proud than Harry was used to, and after another moment he rolled over on his side, blocking Harry out entirely.

Despite the sniping, Harry had actually been enjoying the comfortable routine of sparring with Draco, especially while wrapped up in soft, familiar-smelling blankets, warmed from shared body heat. It had been so nice, even while combative, that the sudden change in Draco’s attitude left Harry feeling cold, the soothing scent of citrus suddenly burning his nose.

"Do you… do you want me to leave?"

Harry made to throw back the sheets and get up, but Draco sat up so quickly that Harry startled back into the pillows.

"You'll splinch yourself, don't be an imbecile."

And, well, this was awkward, even more so than he initially realized, but Draco was upset, so…

"Erm, I won't, actually. I shouldn't, at least. I took one of your Sobriety Solutions," Harry admitted, adding quickly, "But I'll replace it once the shops open tomorrow, I promise."

Draco’s eyes were wide, his face a strange cross between scandalized and terrified, and it was a good thing, or else Harry probably would have laughed at the way his hair was sticking up all staticky around his head, making him look like a dandelion puff in the moonlight.

"You're sober?"

Harry nodded.

"Then why on earth did you get into the bed?"

Harry had to admit that was a fair question. Unfortunately, he didn't have a good answer. It seemed like the right thing to do or You said I could or I wanted to didn't seem like things he could just say. But then, as the silence dragged on a moment too long, he realized something. And then he realized something else.

"Probably for the same reason you didn't offer me the Sobriety Solution in the first place. And the same reason why you didn't offer to side-along me home from the Leaky. And, I would bet, the same reason that Pansy was so keen to leave me to you when I needed a place to go."

Draco had begun shaking his head part way through Harry’s revelation, and by the end he was doing a decent impression of indignation, but Harry hadn't spent nearly half of his life watching Draco Malfoy just to be fooled by his best attempt at hiding his true feelings when it mattered most.

"I got in this bed because I wanted to be here, same as you, no matter how prickly and slanderous you are." Draco's face had gone from red to pale, and Harry knew that he was only a moment away from being thrown out, from their friendship being ruined forever, and so it was now or never for his Gryffindor bravery and recklessness. "I'm here because I like you, and because you like me, and because we've been right gits about the whole thing for months now."

If given time to consider, Harry probably would have worded it slightly differently, but it seemed to do the trick.

"Pansy really is the worst friend," Draco said through a shaky exhale, after another moment had passed. Then he looked up at Harry, and Harry could feel the wave of released tension leaving both of them. "She's been trying to set us up for months, and she's been so embarrassingly obvious about it, I was worried I would end up having to obliviate you just to preserve my dignity. But I had no idea that you… well, that you…" He looked up at Harry again, and Harry was overwhelmed by the look of shy entreaty, so foreign on Draco’s face, and all the more endearing in that moment because of it.

"I like you," Harry said, unable to leave Draco in anxious doubt for a moment.

"Good." Draco gave a tight little nod, a small smile on his face. "Me too," he offered, and Harry almost laughed with relief, and with the absurdity of the whole situation.

"Good," Harry echoed, and then, suddenly unable to wait a moment more, "Can I kiss you now?"

Draco didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His cheeks were a little pink, and his mouth was turned up at the corners, and his eyes were issuing an invitation. Harry kissed him.

The next morning, after waking to another round of kissing, Harry was thrilled to learn that teasing Draco about his glasses was just as delightful as he had hoped it would be. Of course, when Draco eventually put the glasses on, Harry realized he had been wrong - seeing Draco actually wearing the glasses was a million times better than he could have imagined. They were still snogging when Pansy let herself in, calling, "You're welcome, by the way!"

#hjpweek2023 #drarry #drarry fic #there was only one bed #can you lock yourself out of your floo? i think you can #my fic #my writing

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troglobite · 2 years ago

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i’m not in that bad of a mood but a bunch of body/health complaints below the cut bc i wanna bitch abt em

my life is basically a series of: i need to do x to help y, but that causes z, and i need to do b to help z, but then that causes or worsens c

like i’m not unique, it’s just sort of stupid and i’m Tired. lol

it’s gotten v bad thanks to the pandemic and also this house/town i think? long story

anyway

rn i’m dealing with:

my mental health sucks, i need to get out more

well i can’t get out bc of covid so : /

then i could at least exercise more, bc exercising also will help my cholesterol which isn’t great (but is stable and not getting worse, at least)

okay great except that my MCAS means my sweat is out of fucking control so exercising is miserable

well i could just take it easy then, right?

well no bc going for a walk makes me the sweatiest person in the world

well i mean that’s just an inconvenience, right?

nope, bc i have an issue that is exacerbated by excessive sweating, so i can’t sweat too much, either.

(i also have ANOTHER issue in the same area as the previous issue that is only solved by direct contact with a heating pad, which as you might imagine, CAUSES HEAT AND SWEATING which EXACERBATES THE OTHER PROBLEM so that one in particular has been super fucking fun to navigate)

okay then i exercise inside

well there’s not really anywhere to do that, everywhere is too small, and i ALSO sweat INSIDE a lot so it doesn’t matter

okay well then--aha! i’ll just exercise in the shower!

okay great!

it’s working!

wait why are my feet randomly seizing and in terrible pain while i’m walking arou--oh right. EDS. and exercising without shoes is. bad.

okay well i just need to start working on my EDS and take it easy right?

okay except i can’t do the physical therapy/muldowney method bc when i started, it caused a lot of bladder and pelvic pain that got worse w stress.

and i’m trying stress management but everything is a fucking nightmare.

i had to stop PT so that i’d stop feeling like i had the world’s worst UTI whenever i got remotely irritated.

and turns out that’s bc i have an undiagnosed autoimmune disorder

so until i figure out what that is...i can’t do anything for my EDS...or my MCAS...so i’m just stuck taking 2 zyrtec every day and topping up with benadryl hoping that i can breathe and stop getting hives

and that i can exercise and feel good and be happy, but also still manage to walk around without extreme pain

hahaha. ha.

i hate everything.

i’m literally covered in hives. all over my face neck ears and scalp. everywhere. they’re unstoppable. fucking. fuck.

oh wait one more

so i have steroid cream that works to get rid of my hives for the most part

but it’s like playing whack-a-mole bc more just pop up in place of the ones i got rid of

and then what’s more

i can’t really put them on my scalp

bc my scalp sweats so much (bc lol i also have to use dandruff shampoo) so it runs the risk of hurting me

bc i had to put some on some hives that were vaguely near but not on my eyes, and bc they were hot and/or sweaty recently before i put the cream on, my skin burned for two days straight

no relief to be had

so now i have to be careful abt what i put the steroid cream on to get rid of my hives

bc there are no antihistamines that’ll get the job done

ALSO my right wrist has recently decided to be fucked up so i keep losing circulation in my hand and fingers while i sleep, which seems to be getting slightly better, but i can no longer do one of my EDS tricks bc it seems to be pinching nerves when i do it? i’ve only tested twice to see if there had been any change.

so it’s just like

okay

i have no idea how the fuck that happened or when or why and i can’t seem to fix it by using braces, or stretching, or ANYTHING.

incredible.

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intosnarkness · 7 months ago

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Literally the only fic I have EVER written in second person and I went right past it to the story told from the POV of a reincarnated cat.

You win this round.

“No, I swear,” Uhura said, holding the smile back behind her stern look. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“You would,” Scotty narrows his eyes, taking another swallow of beer from his tankard.

It’s a year into the five-year mission. They’d all gone insane long ago, and these nights were just proof.

It was the closest thing they had, on the Enterprise, to a bonding activity. The seven of them- Uhura, Scotty, Chekov, Sulu, Spock, Kirk and McCoy- would meet in someone’s quarters once a month and drink. She doesn’t know how it came to be this group. A few years ago if you had told Nyota Uhura that she would do shots with Jim Kirk on purpose, she would have thought you were making things up. But here she is, with Spock to her right and Scotty to her left, and the Captain is playing chess with the navigator while Sulu and McCoy drink every time a piece is taken.

It’s chaos. It’s home.

She slips her hand into Spock’s, reveling at the softness of his skin as she takes a sip of her own drink.

“I would,” she agrees, eyeing Scotty. “But I’m not. I promise you, Klingon has twenty words for honor, and no- count ‘em, zero! - words for love.”

“And Gaelic has one word for I don’t believe you,” Scotty shakes his head. “Mr. Spock! Are ya gointa let her tell lies?”

Spock is watching the procedure with interest, taking only small sips of his own drink “I don’t know it to be a lie, Mr. Scott. There are plenty of languages without direct translation words. Vulcan has no word for bathroom, but there are rooms and baths both.”

Scotty throws up his hands and stands. “Yer mad, the two of ya!” he sighs, standing. “I’m gonna go watch the wee nerds play chess.”

Uhura doesn’t even wait until he’s across the room to start laughing “No word for bathroom?” She gasps, squeezing Spock’s hand affectionately.

“We have no such direct translation. I believe the exact phrase comes out as ‘waste elimination chamber’.”

“You’re terrible,” she says, grinning widely as their eyes meet. “But the Klingons do have a word for the concept of love. It just translates as ‘life’s most dangerous honor’.”

“Then I believe,” Spock says, leaning into her and letting his lips brush the shell of her ear. “You do me the most dangerous honor of all.”

Uhura feels warm in her chest, though if she should blame his words or the drink, she has no idea.

“I bet you I can convince Sulu to tell Chekov he has a nice ass in Russian,” she says, though she has no intention of getting up any time soon

“Doubting you would lead to much dishonor, indeed,” Spock agrees, and Uhura can’t help herself- she laughs until her sides ache.

I thought maybe “dirt and light” or “The Sixth Life of Lachlan Nikhil Rebane, or, Tribble the Therapy Cat's Excellent Academy Adventure” but it’s not either of those.

I’m not gonna lie, this is a line that smacks of my voice, but I have absolutely 0 clue when I wrote it. Submit your fic request here, I guess.

This had to be a confession of love, by the way. “You are amazing and have always been amazing, your mind is so sharp and everyone is impressed by it” is the kind of shit I find very romantic.

This might not bode well for my success at this game.

(Fic guessing game)

#hsavinien #my fic #meme #you win this round

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sailortongue · 2 years ago

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Jobs with the Haikyuu boys

includes: Bokuto Koutarou, Suna Rintarou, Ushijima Wakatoshi

genre: fluff

——————

Build-a-Bear Bokuto

a summer job wasn’t how you wanted to spend your break from school

but bokuto koutarou working in the store across from you is certainly a plus

you frequently get distracted bc you’re much more interested in watching him interact with the kids than selling bath and body products to customers

this boy has your entire heart

it’s so obvious that he loves what he does

he gets so excited to make the stuffies “come alive”

your favorite days tho are the ones where he comes in to buy perfume to spray for the kids’ stuffies

he’s so precious

y’all share your lunch breaks together <3

You’d just finished directing a customer to a specific scent when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and found yourself standing in front of the ace and captain of your school’s volleyball team.

“Oh, hey, Bokuto. Need more perfume already?” You could feel your face redden just by talking to him. You’d been crushing on him since the first time you attended one of his games.

He chuckled, “Yeah, it actually seems pretty popular. Can you get the one I bought last time?” He looked so hopeful, as if you would say no. 1. How could anyone say no to him? And 2. It was literally your job.

“Of course, of course.” You immediately knew which one he wanted. You’d been the one to recommend it, afterall. Kids tend to like sweeter things and there was no sweeter scent than vanilla sugar. He brightened up immediately that you remembered the one he was talking about. It was on brand for Bokuto to not know the name of the scent he sprayed numerous times a day. You couldn’t lie though, you were kinda glad about it because it meant he had to talk to you.

He beamed when you had successfully navigated through the crowded store to the shelf with what he wanted. “Yes! Thank you so much, Yn!” He plucked one off the shelf before engulfing you in a hug and making his way to the register.

You didn’t see Bokuto again until your usual lunch meetup in the mall food court. He was running late, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary so you decided to go ahead and order your food. The food court didn’t have terribly many options, but a new Thai place had just opened so you figured you’d give it a shot.

You were already halfway through your meal by the time Bokuto ran up to your table huffing and puffing. You didn’t even get to greet him before he was shoving a large blue and white box into your hands. “Open it!” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, positively giddy.

You giggled, “Okay, okay, I’m opening it!”

When you finally got the box open, you pulled out an owl plushie that smelled distinctly of vanilla. You gasped, “Oh, Bokuto, I love it! It’s so cute!”

“There’s more. Uhhh, I think it’s somewhere in the chest? Just squeeze until you find it, okay?”

You were confused what he could mean, but did as he instructed anyway. You eventually found out when you squeezed something hard and a recording of Bokuto’s voice came from the little plushy.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

——————

Movie Theater Suna

now that school was out you could finally look for a job to earn a bit of cash

lucky for you the local movie that was hiring

super lucky for you, you’ll be working with the one and only suna rintarou

the heartthrob from math class and middle blocker on the boys vball team

it’s a super easy job

all you have to do is check tickets before people walk into their respective rooms

it doesn’t take two people but you were paired up anyway

not that you were complaining

“Nah, you don’t need to show your tickets,” said Suna, waving the pair into the hall to continue to their movie.

You turned to him. “You need to do your job,” you deadpanned.

“Oh come on, the guy upfront tears the ticket when people walk in. You can’t even get this far without one, so what’s the point?”

He wasn’t wrong and all you could do was grumble in response. You wanted to smack that smug look off of his prettyboy face.

“SUNA!”

The boy in question didn’t even have to look over to know who that was. He groaned but otherwise ignored the loud-mouthed blond.

“Hey, Suna,” greeted Kita. Suna said hey back, which apparently deeply offended Atsumu.

“How come ya said hey to him and not me?!”

“Because I actually like Kita,” answered Suna, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You cracked up at the quip from Suna, earning the attention of his teammates.

“You’re Yn, I presume?” asked Kita. You nodded.

Osamu joined the conversation, “Suna’s told us a lot about ya. Can’t seem to shut up about his pretty coworker. It was cute at first, but it’s beginning to get annoying.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu!” shouted a red-faced, embarrassed Suna, reaching over to hit Osamu over the back of the head.

“Yeah, Suna, when are ya gonna ask her out?” teased Atsumu, eager to tease Suna with his brother. “If you don’t, I might.” He winked at you, glancing at Suna to make sure he saw.

“Don’t you dare! What girl in her right mind would go out with you anyway? Yn’s smarter than that.”

“Hey! Plenty of girls are interested in me, thank ya very much!”

“Well, then, lay off Yn and ask one of them.” Suna was scowling now, not at all amused at being teased instead of being the teaser. It seems like Suna had completely forgotten that you were still there, listening to the whole conversation.

Kita whispered into your ear, “This is probably as close to a confession as you’ll get from Suna, even if it’s not direct. Hope it’s not too personal, but how do you feel about him?”

You whispered back, “I wouldn’t be opposed to going out with him. In fact, I think I’d quite enjoy it.”

Kita chuckled, “Y’heard that, Suna?”

Suna looked over from berating the twins, “Heard what?”

“Nothin’. Come on, guys, or we’ll miss the movie.” Kita said, beginning to walk away with the twins following.

It wasn’t until they disappeared into the theater that Suna spoke to you, but he avoided eye contact all the while. “Hey, save me some embarrassment and forget what they said, okay?”

You frowned. “So, you don’t wanna go out to eat with me? Maybe next Saturday?”

His head snapped up, a smirk growing on his handsome face, “You asking me out?”

A smile mirroring his slowly appeared on your face and that was enough for him. “I always imagined how I’d ask you out. Never thought you'd be the one to ask me.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“Yeah, that’s a yes.”

——————

Bus Boy Ushi

being a waitress sucks

but getting to see ushijima wakatoshi’s muscles flex when he wipes down tables?

um, yes? hello? mans is fOINE and he doesn't even know it smh

it's been both a blessing and a curse

on one hand, you get to see him almost everyday

on the other, you've gotten in trouble with your boss more than once for getting distracted

little do you know but ushi has the same problem with you

You were taking an older couple’s order when you saw your coworker and classmate in your peripheral cleaning off a nearby table. You swear you didn’t mean to, but you stopped paying attention to the woman’s order to watch Ushijima do his job. It wasn’t until Ushijima was carrying the dishes back to the kitchen that you turned back to see the old woman giving you a knowing look. You were absolutely mortified and began apologizing profusely. She laughed and waved them off. “It’s okay, dear. That’s one good looking man.” You saw her husband give her a pointed look but she ignored him and continued, lowering her voice, “And between you and me, I saw him looking at you on his way to that table over there. I think he likes you, too.”

If your face wasn’t red before, it certainly was now. Not only were you caught practically drooling over your coworker, but this sweet old lady was teasing you about it.

You finished taking the table’s order and brought it to the kitchen. You were quickly directed to the next table that had yet to be attended to. A table full of rowdy boys. Great, this was exactly what you wanted to deal with today. You recognized a few of them as members of the basketball team. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself. You weren’t even at the table yet and you could hear their conversation. Something about taking the spotlight from the volleyball team. As if that was ever gonna happen. Academics aside, the volleyball team was Shiratorizawa’s pride and joy.

You wasted no time when you got to the table. You wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Hi, I’m Yn, and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I start y’all off with any drinks or appetizers?” You took each of their orders, not missing the way one of them was eyeing you. Disgusting. Not that you had a leg to stand on. You basically did the same thing to Ushijima.

You walked briskly back to the kitchen, eager to get far away from that table. But alas, you had to serve them until they left. When you returned with their drinks, you could feel the creep’s eyes on your chest when you leaned across the table to place a drink down. God, they couldn’t leave fast enough. All you could do was grin and bear it.

“Do you know what you would like to order or do you need more time?”

“Well, that depends, are you on the menu?”

You were taken aback, not expecting such a brazen attempt at flirting. You might have been too worried about losing your job to make a scene, but Ushijima, who had been bussing a table nearby, was not.

His deep baritone came from behind you, “Apologize. Now.”

You recalled the table’s conversation from earlier. So the fact that Ushijima was both ace and captain of the volleyball team was sure to make things worse.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Ushiwaka.”

“Well, I’m talking to you. Apologize to her. She’s obviously uncomfortable because of you. Flirting won’t get you a discount or her number. So order your food and leave.”

“Are y’all dating or something?”

“Yes.”

You blanched. Not in a million years did you ever think you would hear Ushijima call you his girlfriend. The guy scoffed before getting out of the booth and storming out of the restaurant. His teammates followed after him, but they actually had the decency to pay for their drinks. A few of them left a sizable tip as a way of apologizing for the trouble.

After they left, Ushijima asked if you were okay. You were fine thanks to him. It seems the old lady was right about Ushijima liking you because he asked if you’d like to date him for real. You were absolutely ecstatic.

Your boss, however, was fed up with both you and Ushijima, but that was fine. You may have lost your job that day, but you gained a boyfriend. Your first date was him taking you out for ice cream because he blamed himself for you losing your job.

#bokuto x reader #suna x reader #ushijima x reader #bokuto koutarou #suna rintarō #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu x reader

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whatanoof · 4 years ago

Text

A Push in the Right Direction

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~7.6k

Warnings: fluff, smut, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, sex pollen so by default it's dubcon, pining

Summary: Healing injured patients? Psh, easy stuff. Force healing? A little more tricky. Confessing your crush to your very close friend? Damn near impossible until a flower bush shoves you in the right direction.

A/N: Happy birthday my friend @marvelassassin221b!! I hope you are staying safe, and that your birthday will bring happiness and wisdom to your life. It's been a blessing talking to you and laughing at memes together <3 Thank you for giving me the push to get this fic done and posted, I couldn't have done it without you. Enjoy some of our favorite redhead Jedi ;)

You’ve always been terrible with directions. Like, it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten lost in more dangerous settings, but even your Jedi Master used to shake their head when you had survival exercises in your Padawan years. Greez too, makes comments about how atrocious you are at navigation. You hadn’t been allowed back to the holomap since a disastrous set of directions landed the Mantis on the more unfriendly side of the Outer Rim.

But even with all of your shortcomings at mapping, you have a solid crisis mode. You need to have one as a medic. It’s not a good idea to freeze when a patient is bleeding out on the ground in front of you, there is only one way that is going to end, and it’s not going to be a happy ending. Under pressure, all of the unsureness that surfaces during your attempts at navigation vanishes, and your body is moving before your mind even consciously thinks to. It’s your zen mode, almost your place of meditation, where you give into the inner instinct and allow the Force to guide you through the process. Too bad you can’t reach that state in any situation other than emergencies, maybe you would be able to navigate your moves in confessing a crush.

You had met Cal Kestis on Bracca. He’d cut his hand open on a jagged edge of wall paneling, and Prauf brought him to you, one of the few healers among the scrappers. You couldn’t tell what exactly it was that gave him away to you, but the instant his eyes met yours, you knew where he had come from.

Of course, you waited until Prauf had gone back to work to reveal yourself. Healing through the Force decreases the chance of infection, is painless, and is essentially instantaneous. While your normal supplies would have done the trick, the drama queen in you realized this would be the perfect way to show Cal he wasn’t alone. Force healing is tricky, but you’d had a surprising knack for it ever since your youngling years. The Order had trained you up in the way of Force healing and given you the tools to take advantage of your aptitudes. Cal’s face had been priceless when you simply waved your hand over his, and the wound closed within seconds.

There was a certain comfort in knowing you weren’t alone. Admittedly, in the long years after the Purge, you’d toyed with the idea that you had been the only Jedi to escape. Those had been dark days, where you could barely scrape together the energy to forage for food and water, laughing that the Jedi Order would die with a single Padawan who had lost her lightsaber along with everything she had known.

But then Cal stumbled into your little cordoned off area. You’d become close friends from that moment to the day Prauf died and the Ninth Sister shoved you both off of the cliff and onto the freight train below. The Mantis crew was surprised, to say the least. They had gotten reports of a single Jedi wreaking havoc on Bracca. But they welcomed you aboard and you had become the team medic, patching up Cal when he got back from missions and finding time in between to try and recover the Force abilities you had lost to time.

---

“Hey.” You look up from your work. Medical supplies lie strewn across the floor of your part of the room, bandages unwound and your meager supply of medication stacked methodically in the corner.

Cal looks down at you from the doorway, a streak of something across his cheekbone. You want to wipe it off, but you just smile back, “Welcome back. Find anything cool?”

His happy grin only widens, “You’ll have to come and find out.”

“What?”

He beckons you towards the main hull, “Come on!”

Cere and Greez are already there and seated around the meal table, and BD is perched on the table, chirruping animatedly as if talking to Cere. You take your place with them, noting the empty chair to your right. Merrin is back on Dathomir, searching for ancient texts about Nightsister magic and rituals. She’s been gone for several days, but you still find yourself seeking out her snarky comments and cool confidence.

“Okay.” Cal stands at the head of the table, rubbing his hands together in a way that makes him seem as if he is playing the adult. “I’m willing to bet you're all wondering why I’ve called you here today…”

“Spit it out Cal, you woke me up from a nap for this.” Greez eyes the redhead grumpily, and you fight to hide a grin. Cere also looks mildly amused, if slightly impatient.

Cal rolls his eyes, but continues, “Cordova left a message, saying something very valuable to our quest is locked in a vault in the Zeffo caves. I found the vault today and it matches Cordova’s description, but we need two Force users to access it.” He nudges BD, and the little droid projects an image of the vault door. It’s massive, with gold decorations swirling across it, and two obvious indents in the ground on either side for said Force users.

Everyone’s gazes flit to Merrin’s empty chair. It’s without question she would have been the best fit for this mission. Her combat style complements Cal’s perfectly, and Cere is still hesitant to use the Force.

Realization strikes you, and you glance up to see everyone’s eyes are now trained on you. You begin to shake your head. “That’s a bad idea--”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll lead us directly to the vault. I have my saber, and you have your Force healing. Worst case scenario, you have to patch me up in the field.” That is definitely not the worst case scenario, but there are no other options. This mission is time-sensitive, and you can’t wait for Merrin to get back from Dathomir.

You fix him with a stern glare. “I will come. But--” You hold up a hand when Cal opens his mouth. “You have to stick with me. No disappearing and popping out to scare me, because I will get lost We go in, and we get out.“

“I wouldn--” Cal protests.

“You would.” You snap.

“Yeah, he would.” Cere agrees.

“Sounds like something you would do.” Greez nods.

BD beeps cheerily from its place in the center of the table, clearly in agreement with you.

Cal shuts his mouth with an audible pop, and you cross your arms while staring him down. Yes he would.

“I need BD back here on the ship. I’m running diagnostics on the navigation programming, and I can’t do it alone.” Cere speaks up.

Cal hesitates. You understand; he never goes on missions without BD. The two are a package deal, but everything needs to be running at peak efficiency before you go to the Fort Inquisitorius. And there’s no way you’re willing to deal with a navigation error en route.

You speak up, “Yeah, it will be fine.”

Cal looks at you, “We need BD to unlock a shortcut. What happened to in and out?”

You wave him off, “We’ll take the scenic route. Cere needs BD back here, and we can manage without. We’ll have our comm units, it will be fine.”

---

Do you know that saying, “Famous last words?”

Yeah. You hadn’t realized just how famous those last words could be. It started when Cal realized he’d left his comm unit on the ship in the charging port. But it was fine, because you had yours. Until you dropped it into a puddle after tripping over a tree root.

The scenic route involved passing through the outskirts of a forest, and the terrain was a little trickier than you had been prepared to handle, obviously. So, commless and armed with a single lightsaber and two shared brain cells, you travel towards the entrance to the Zeffo caves.

A flower bush catches your eye. Its leaves are a shocking shade of red, with gorgeous blue flowers that seem to call you over to them. Cal keeps walking even as you stop and reach for the bush. You pluck the flower in the fullest bloom and turn it over in your hand, admiring the veins of deeper azure spider webbing across the petals.

Cal says your name behind you, “We have to keep moving if we’re going to get back before dark.”

Turning to face your companion, you tuck the blossom behind his ear and step back to admire how the blue contrasts against his hair. The word slips out almost without you noticing. “Cute.”

It’s almost comical how quickly his face blooms red. “Guh--”

“It’s a good look.” You reassure him quickly. “Adorable. Pretty. Cute.”

“--Thanks!” He ducks past you to the bush. “I’m just going to grab a seedling for Greez. He’ll like this one.” Cal grabs one of the large pods and breaks it open, removing a seed and sticking it into the pouch on his harness. “Okay, ready.”

But you’re distracted by the red pollen that explodes in a cloud around his head, dusting him with a fine mist that leaves scarlet traces on his face and shoulders. “What’s that?” You step forward and run a finger across Cal’s poncho, collecting the dust and rubbing it between your fingertips. You hesitate, then raise your hand to your face to smell the substance. The sickly sweet scent and underlying current of spicy musk sticks in your lungs. The back of your throat tickles, and you sneeze.

An echoing sneeze draws your attention. Cal leans against the flowering bush, one arm clamped over his nose as he sneezes over and over again. He glances up at you, coughing with watery eyes, “Wha--”

A spike of dread pierces through you. ‘Stars, was it poison?’ He won’t stop coughing, a dry rattle as his body tries in vain to purge the intruding red dust. You fall to your knees beside him. Panic fills your mind, blotting out logic and reason and you place your hands on his body, intent on Force healing him even though you don’t know what is wrong with him. Then, just as suddenly as the coughing started, it stops and silence rings through the trees.

“Cal!”

You're shoving your hand underneath his poncho in an instant to feel for his heartbeat. You hold your breath. You can’t feel a pulse. You scramble to rip his poncho off completely, dragging it over his limp shoulders and head. You shove your fingers against his throat again. There!

His heartbeat flutters delicately, beating a rapid tattoo against your fingertips. You allow yourself to breath. He’s alive. But his pulse is fast, too fast. You rip open his tunic, though you’re not entirely certain what it is you’re searching for.

Just as your fingers brush over his skin, Cal bolts upright with a gasp. “Wh-- where...?”

You swear you almost pass out from the relief that slaps you across the face. “Stars, I thought you were dead. I’m so sorry about the flower bu-- mmm!”

Cal smashes his lips onto yours, pushing you onto your back with the sheer force of the kiss. His tongue dips into your mouth, searching and probing and damnit you can’t breathe when he’s this close to you, this desperate. His hips jerk against yours with an unpracticed, aborted motion, dragging a very prominent erection against your body that makes you jerk back in surprise.

You push him away from him for a second, propping yourself up on your elbows as you search his face for some indication of… you don’t know what. But this isn’t like him. “Cal, what--?”

“Need you.” He groans, his hands roaming over your body without fear or shame and inspiring a wave of pleasure as he squeezes your breasts. “Maker, you feel so good. Smell so good.” You bite back a moan. This really isn’t the time, not in the middle of an Imperial occupied forest. But to be completely honest, he feels really good too.

You’d imagined this before. Well, not these exact circumstances, but the idea of being under Cal. You’d imagined the feeling of his hands scraping over your skin and squeezing your body wherever he would like. You’d imagined his lips on yours, and other places for sure. But you’d really only ever been able to envision Cal as a gentle lover, all quiet moans and hesitant movements and unsure expressions. But this rougher side? You moan raggedly against Cal’s mouth as he shoves a thigh between your legs, rubbing up against your clothed sex. This is amazing.

Streaks of heat flash through your body, converging between your legs. Everything is amplified, the sounds around you, the grass beneath your knees, the blueness of the sky overhead. But it all seems to pale when your attention lands on Cal, who’s more flushed than earlier. You feel the heat beneath your skin too, but he’s got to have it worse right now, because you’re not the one sweating like you’re stranded on a desert planet. Maker, the pollen was some kind of--

His name escapes your lips in a tiny whisper that morphs into a moan halfway through. You allow your head to fall back, and it thunks against the spongy moss across the ground, knocking you back to the present. Cal’s lost in you, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as he ruts weakly against your thigh.

You shake off the haze clouding your mind, crisis mode kicking into full gear. You have no comms, one horny Jedi, and a completely hopeless sense of direction. “Cal. We have to move.”

He whines high in the back of his throat. “No.” It’s almost pleading, but there is an undercurrent of steel that makes you pause.

“Cal. We’re out in the open. Troopers co-- could--” Stars, you can feel the lust pumping under your skin, so close to the surface that it could burst out at any second. But fear hovers on the edge of your mind, pressing in and suppressing the need to jump Cal and reminding you of the certain torture and death that would occur if you were caught.

Cal doesn’t seem to have any of the same restraints as you. His fingers are carding through your hair, “Just wanna feel you. Maybe more.” His teeth latch into your neck, and the dull pain pierces through the haze more firmly.

He got dosed more heavily with the pollen. You resist the urge to curse as you gently detangle from Cal and sit up, biting back a sigh of relief as his teeth leave your skin. “We have to find shelter.” You begin to look around, but all you can see is the forest. You need something better, a place where you can figure out what exactly is wrong with Cal. You try to stand.

“Noooo…” This isn’t going to work. You actually do curse this time. How are you supposed to find effective shelter while dragging a full grown man around hostile territory without compromising stealth, all while your libido is cottoning to the edge of your mind, clouding your judgment?

“Come here…” Cal’s arm wraps around your neck, dragging you back down to the ground even as you try to stand. Okay that’s enough.

“You’ll forgive me later, Cal.” You press your thumb to his forehead and concentrate. His skin is dry and burning to your touch, and your brow scrunches. That’s going to be an issue. You reach to tap into the Force, but you pause. Your Force connection is… foggy. That’s the only way you can describe it in words, but it’s muted and dimmer than usual.

Your Jedi Master taught you a metaphor for using the Force: a barrier exists between you and access to the Force. It’s a wall, and your mind must become like a sharpened sword to pierce through and reach the Force. You can feel the barrier, just as always, but it’s like a second layer exists around it. If the normal barrier is made of thin glass, the new layer is crafted from paper; it’s strange, and thicker than usual, but still easily pierced with extra… force if you can say that without making yourself laugh at the pun. You summon the strength and press your mental sword forward through the barrier.

Rest. Cal’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls asleep with a gentle exhale. He relaxes against you, and you relax in turn when you see the pained lines smooth out of his forehead. Jedi healing includes your own personal anesthesia on demand. It will keep him under for a little bit, though you can’t tell what kind of effect the pollen will have on the Force sleep.

Through some feat of the stars themselves, you struggle to your feet. Cal’s arm is looped around your neck, and you want nothing more than to just sink down to the ground again and give into the weakness and lust pulling at your legs, coaxing you to collapse and take your pleasure. And stars, Cal’s heavier than you expected him to be.

But you shake yourself awake. Can’t get distracted. You glance at Cal’s drooping head. He’s been strong for you this entire time. The least you can do is be strong now and find some shelter. But where?

Voices filter through the trees, and your head jerks up towards the sources.

“Yeah, she told me to take the bucket off, or she would charge the full payment and…” Stormtroopers. Kriffing hell.

“Come on.” You hiss underneath your breath. You gather your legs underneath your body and push. Your muscles scream in pain, but they ultimately obey and you stumble to your feet and begin to move away from the approaching voices. Cal is dead weight over your shoulders, pulling and urging you to rest. It would be so easy to give in, to sink back to the ground and let Cal do what he wants.

The trees blur together as you move through the forest. The stormtroopers’ voices are getting louder and you grit your teeth. You don’t know their patrol route. How are you going to avoid them? All you can do is place one foot in front of the other. Then the mossy ground turns to stone underneath your feet, and you slow. Caves. Perfect.

You hurry inside, fatigued legs forgotten in your relief. There’s a bend directly beyond the mouth of the cave, and you gently lay Cal against the wall. You’re completely hidden from anyone looking from the entrance. You sit opposite him, your head falling forward to sag against your chest. Now what?

Your comm unit is busted, and Cal’s is sitting back on the Mantis, so you can’t contact the crew. You hold a hand to Cal’s forehead. His temperature is getting worse. You don’t know what infected him, so your Force healing is out of the question. The only bright spot is you’re pretty sure the stormtroopers won’t find you. They’re not exactly recruited for their brains, and you’ll be able to sense their muted Force signatures if they get close.

Speaking of…

You trail off, contemplating Cal’s unconscious face. His head sags against the rock wall and there’s a line of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. His brow is finally relaxed, his breathing deep and even and it strikes you that this is the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him.

You reach out through the Force. It has become a habit for you, Merrin, and Cal to find peace in each others’ Force signature. Whether nightmares or difficult missions, the others would be there as a silent comfort.

Merrin’s is a mixture of whites and creams swirling against a dark maroon background. When she uses her Force magic, there is an unmistakable green tinge through it. Hers is powerful, with a sense of underlying safety in her strength. True to form, Merrin has been a protector figure in the Mantis.

But Cal’s is more diverse, a blend of warm colors against a grey background with blue tinging the edge. But while the colors are chaotic, Cal keeps a firm hold on his Force presence at all times, never allowing it to surge violently from emotion. He does not suppress it completely anymore, but you know he has the ability to make it nearly disappear from the senses of another Force user. You should know, because you can do the same. Merrin grew up without fear of having to hide her Force sensitivity, but you and Cal survived the Purge. You both have firm grasps of your thoughts and emotions projected through the Force. So in Cal, you found a kindred spirit that understands you better than almost any other person in the galaxy could. You’ve become more familiar with his presence than even your Master’s before the Purge.

But now, your brow furrows as you search for his Force presence over and over, pushing into every crevice of the surrounding environment without violating his privacy. You’re not mistaken. It’s gone, almost as if he has been turned into a droid before your eyes. Every living thing has a Force presence, no matter how minute. But Cal’s comforting whirl of light is gone, vanished as though he is no longer connected to the--

Cal’s eyes fly open and he sits forward with a quiet gasp. You jump. It’s worn off then. You secure his body with the Force, holding him loosely so as not to cause any lasting damage. You would have to tackle the Force connection problems later.

“I need you to focus.” He pushes against the bonds with a whimper, and you bite your lip as you struggle to hold him still.

“Cal!” Your Force bind tightens, and he stills with a grunt. “Talk to me. Fight through it.”

He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. “Hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Every-- ah! Everything. Can’t-- can’t th-think. Only thing-- makes it better… you.”

What? Your concentration lapses and the bonds loose. He lunges forward and buries his nose into your neck again, inhaling you as his hands scrabble at your clothes. “Hurts less with you. Smell so good--soft. Please?”

Stars, you can’t think straight with him touching you like this. You bite back a moan as his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your shirt. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to give in. Just for a little. Indulge, and then you can figure out a way back to the Mantis. Then Cal raises your shirt and licks a long stripe up your neck, and that’s all the convincing you need.

You melt into his mouth, your hands running under his shirt and harness. His chest is just as feverishly hot as his forehead, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he swings a leg over yours so he’s hovering over you, knees planted on either side of your body. His hands shove your shirt over your head before setting to work on the button of your pants. You raise your hips to allow him to pull your pants under your butt. Your own hands yank at his clothes, silently begging him to strip with you.

But he doesn’t. He kneels between your legs and pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your wet folds.

“Cal--!” You’re cut off as he drags his tongue over your pussy, flicking against your clit at the end. Your stomach muscles contract, and it’s all you can do to keep quiet as he licks deep into your core.

---

The world is blurred. It’s like something crawled into his head and messed with his brain, dragging his focus away from more important issues… he can’t seem to remember right now. He can’t even feel the Force. His connection is compromised, the colors of the world are off, and there’s this bone deep ache within his body urging him closer to you. And as he’s drinking in your taste, the pain subsides and he can breathe again.

What is this? What’s happening to him? It has to be the pollen, it has to be its effect on his body, that’s why he’s lost all control over his mind and self. It’s why he can’t hold himself back from your body and you.

You’re all he can focus on; you’re so beautiful writhing under him as he tastes you. He’s never done this before. He can’t figure out why he hasn’t done this sooner, because you taste amazing right now and how you sound as he slides his tongue through your folds is doing things to him that he’s never experienced before.

His hips are dragging against the floor unintentionally. The friction of his dick against the rough material of his pants is a small slice of heaven, and he whimpers at the pure electricity spreading down his spine. He doesn’t want this to end so soon, but his body is shoving him towards the edge of release and the relief he knows is going to come with it.

---

A moan keens high in the back of your throat as Cal’s mouth presses against your soaked core. It’s sloppy and clumsy, but Maker if he doesn’t make up for it with enthusiasm. The only sounds coming from him are tiny moans and grunts and you shudder as his fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your thighs, leveraging them apart and holding them there firmly. Of their own will, your hips roll up into his face, chasing after his touch.

You’re completely unprepared for Cal to growl when you do so. His grip tightens, and you squeak as your thighs are spread even farther apart and his mouth completely envelopes your clit.

Is this what heaven feels like? You can barely manage coherent thought when his tongue is devastating you like this, but thequestion rotates around your lust dumb brain as your toes curl and your back arches. Your release rushes up and sweeps you away, your core clenching as waves of pleasure wash over your body. You hear Cal whine as you cum, and you hear your own moans as you ride out your orgasm.

---

Stars, why hadn’t he done this sooner? The sounds that he’s pulling out of you right now could make him come in his pants on the spot, and the taste of your release has him rutting against the ground all the more insistently as he chases his own high.

But he doesn’t want to come in his pants, he wants to be inside of you. He wants you, your body squeezing tight around him, to feel the wetness seeping around his tongue rather than tasting it, even if it tastes divine.

He grabs your hips and yanks you down so your crotch is flush to his. He nearly loses his mind when your soaked core meets the bulge in his pants. Fuck, he thought he could wait, but he can’t.

But--something is still off with the world’s coloring. Where is the Force? The comforting pressure is gone from the back of his mind, the constant reminder of balance that keeps him in tune with his emotions and surroundings. Panic edges around the perimeter of his mind. In an act of desperation, he reaches for the Force, searching for the whispers of memories that accompany his world. They’re gone. Where did they go?

You whisper his name again, and this time his eyes meet yours.

---

You watch Cal carefully. He’s flushed, trembling as he hovers over your body, hands bare centimeters away from your skin. His eyes are desperate, and you can feel the pain in them as clearly as if it was your own. A bead of sweat tracks down his temple to soak into the collar of his harness, and he fumbles to rip the rest of his clothing off, discarding it on the floor as though it burned against his flesh.

“Cal.” He looks back at you. “Take what you need.”

It’s all the permission he needs. Relief and something else flashes through his eyes before he looks back down and fumbles with his pants fastening. His cock is flushed dark red, and his hands tremble as he pulls it out of his pants, jaw clenched as he lines up with your entrance. He slides into you with a bone-deep sigh of relief, and you cry out at the stretch. Every inch sparks pure electricity up your spine, and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out, and for a heart stopping moment you feel a connection to him you couldn’t describe in words. Your hips roll against his, grinding the head of his cock up against something heavenly. Light explodes behind your eyes at the movement, arching your back and curling your toes.

Cal chokes, a beautiful sound you’ve only heard a few times before; the one that sounds like its been pulled from the deepest parts of his being, like he’s just ascended to another plane above the physical. It’s gorgeous and so insanely hot you’re completely unprepared for his sudden movement when he lunges forward.

Cal’s hand shoots out and presses against your neck, effectively pinning your upper body to the hard ground. You inhale shakily through your nose, but his grip does nothing more than hold you. You can still breathe, but the pressure on your throat sends a shock of heat between your legs with the reminder of the control you just relinquished.

“Stop that.” His other arm slams onto the stone beside your head, and your eyes lock. Cal’s pupils are blown, so dark you can almost see your reflection in the dim light of the cave as he glares down at you.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he drags his hips away from yours, inch by painstaking inch and rocks back into your body with an easy roll of his hips. He exhales gently as he bottoms back out inside of you, a low moan rumbling out of his throat when he reaches that same depth within your heat.

It’s the eye of a storm; a hurricane you hadn’t known you’d entered. He rocks back and forth again, only there’s fractionally more force and speed to the motion this time. Again, and your body shakes with the force. Another, and you have to bite your lip to stifle the scream when he slams back into your body. It’s like the tide, coming in gradually, but more and more with each passing moment. The force swells, each thrust pushing into you a little harder and making your body shake a little more with each thrust.

A shuddering groan rumbles out of him as he finds the rhythm. The hand not pressed delicately around your throat slams down on the rock next to your head. When you look up towards the cave ceiling, Cal’s flushed skin and tousled hair fills your vision.

His hair, which is usually swept out of his eyes. Cal’s hair has always been so well cared for, usually brushed and slicked back so it doesn’t dangle in his eyes. Now, it’s soaked with sweat and falling into his face as he stares down at you like you’re the only star in the sky.

---

Take what you need? Holy stars, he can barely think enough to comprehend it, but some inner part of him aches at the sentence.

As soon as he realized his heart jumped every time you smiled at something, or that his brain short circuited at the sound of your laugh, he’d sworn he would keep it under wraps. He’d promised himself he would wait until after the galaxy finishes imploding and collapsing around your heads. The first time he’d jerked off to the idea of your body, he vowed to satisfy himself with his hand until it was safe. He’d wait until after the holocron is safe and there’s nothing to worry about, because relationships are messy and complicated and--

Fuck, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about that promise, because how can he regret being balls deep in you while you’re whining and squirming underneath him, when you look at him with such trust even as he pins you to the floor by your throat? His eyes gravitate to the mark on your neck, red and irritated with the indent of his teeth, and he feels his cock twitch even as he continues to pound into you. He likes that.

The promise didn’t keep his eyes from wandering to your face at any opportunity. It didn’t prevent the pressure in his chest from growing over the weeks and months. It definitely didn’t keep Cere and Greez from noticing, and that was a conversation he would rather have scrubbed from his mind.

Take what you need. That one sentence is spinning his world on its metaphorical finger. Take what you need. As if he didn’t want it, but he needed to do it. In all honesty, it had really felt like he was going to die. The burning in his throat that caused the coughing fit, then the racing heart and the overheating; he thought he wasn’t going to make it unless he--

Well, unless he fucked you.

But even if he needs it, he wants it even more, had wanted it for too long. But everytime an opportunity presented itself, he pulled back. He remembers how he threw away the flowers he gathered on the mission instead of bringing them back to you on the Mantis. He remembers every time he denied spending time with you, because his emotions were too raw and close to the surface, and he couldn’t predict his control over his own tongue. Because he didn’t think he could have handled it if you didn’t want him back.

But you had offered to help. Maybe you’d wanted it too, because the whole galaxy could be shoving you in one direction and you would defy it. Nothing can make you do anything you didn’t want to, and that applies to Cal Kestis too.

---

Your orgasm swells up sharp and sudden, gripping you in its claws and shoving you into the attack of muscle spasms and searing pleasure that punches into your abdomen. Your body arches, accidentally hitting your head against the ground.

Cal’s rhythm stutters and his hips jerk forward. His hand leaves your throat as he drops to his forearms. His head drops down to press against yours gently, even as he whimpers and continues to grind forward into your soaking heat.

“Fuck.” Cal gasps, eyelids fluttering rapidly. “Fuck. ‘M gonna cum.”

There’s no time to respond before he’s drawing up and tensing against you. His hips piston in and out once, then he’s cumming and all you can do is lie there and take it. Fuck that’s hot.

You can feel him spilling into you, every warm spurt of cum and every twitch of his cock as he spends himself. Even better is the drawn out groan that trails into his upper register, ending in a tiny whimper. The tension drains out of his face and he sags down, sweaty skin pressed against yours. His arms wrap around your body and he hoists your limp body up as he rolls over. He sits against the wall of the cave, seating you on his lap, cock still firmly buried inside you.

You allow your head to sag back against his shoulder, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed so closely to yours. His hand paws weakly at the fabric of your shirt, and you raise your arms to slide it off. It’s better like this, skin to skin contact seems to calm him down. He buries his nose into your bare neck and mumbles something you can’t make out.

You nudge your head against his gently, “Hm?”

“Thank you.” His lips ghost over the delicate juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Thank you thank you thank you...” He continues to mutter the phrase into your skin, tickling your skin as he nuzzles closer to you.

You should say something. Confess, maybe, everything you’ve been hiding. “Cal, I--” You shift slightly, and something feels off. You furrow your brow and glance downwards at your joining point, “Cal are you still hard?”

He props his chin on your shoulder. “Uh--” He thrusts shallowly up into you, and you stifle a whimper. “Ye-yeah. Sorry?”

“N--” You gasp as his cock twitches. “No. Don’t be sorry. Do you need to go again?” Arousal stirs in your core again, burning a slow path through your nerves and reigniting the flames that had dulled to embers. Your breath catches in your chest and you grind your hips back into his.

“I--I think so.” His voice is strained and his breath comes in short gasps next to your ear. “Not-- not as-- as bad though.”

“That--ah!” Cal chooses that exact moment to pick a spot on your neck and latch on. He nips at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. His hands, roughened with callouses from his saber, climbing, and tinkering, scrape over your skin with just the right amount of friction. You bite your bottom lip. “That’s fine. Should I move?”

His hands find your hips and hold you firmly in place. That’s a no then. His hips rock up into yours gently, and you feel your cheeks warm at the wet sounds of your combined release. Cal grunts, “Let me.”

So you do. You lie back against his bare chest and just take what he gives you, whimpering whenever he brushes against that spot inside you that sends electricity up your spine. You’re gripping his arms so hard you’re sure he’s going to have bruises in the shape of your fingers.

---

Stars, you’re fucking perfect. Just lying here and giving yourself to him. He can feel the Force dimly, but it’s there. The pollen is leaving his system as he slowly fucks you on a cave floor in the middle of a dense forest while stormtroopers patrol outside.

You cry out with his next thrust, the head of his cock striking something inside of you that must feel good because you clench around him and--

Did you just come again?

The additional lubrication only increases the lewd squelch with every thrust, the mixture of his cum and yours only making sliding in and out of your channel easier. He can still feel the effects of the pollen at the back of his mind, and it keeps him hard and sensitive as he continues to fuck you.

He’s aware he should be at least a little worried about the implications, starting at the top with how he’s going to complete the mission and ending with what exactly fucking on a cave floor means for your relationship. Somewhere in the middle is the stormtroopers and the pollen, and the oath of the Jedi Order forbidding relationships. But he can’t grasp it.

Even if there are more pressing concerns, all he can do right now is continue pushing his hips up into your soaking core painstakingly slowly. He wants to enjoy this while he can, while he’s able to fool himself that you want him back. Unless…

---

The only solace you could find in the situation was that you could have Cal, even for these few short moments. Because as much as you may want to convince yourself, a tiny voice inside your head keeps whispering: it’s all the pollen. That’s the only reason why he wants you. And you force yourself to believe the voice, because it’s easier to block off any chance for pain and rejection.

But you know you’re in trouble the second Cal opens his mouth. The words are a harsh whisper, rasping out of his dry throat into your ear, “Beautiful. So gorgeous, giving me what I need, what I want.”

You arch against him and stifle the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His mouth is right next to your ear, so there isn’t anywhere for you to escape from the words that rumble into your brain; words you try to convince yourself are empty. You shove your hand against your mouth rather than allow any sound to escape.

He moans, “Want to do this again. Don’t want this to be just once.”

“Th--that--that’s the pollen talking.” You gasp when you feel his fingers graze over your clit, your own hand drifting back to latch into his hair.

Cal hisses when you tug with a little more strength than necessary, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. One hand supports your weight as he moves you up and down on his dick, the other rubbing little circles around your clit. His hips make up for the lost strength everytime they drive up into you at the lowest point of the rhythm, squelching with every thrust.

“Not--not the pollen. All you. All me.”

You blink, all temporarily forgotten when the words register in your hazy mind. “...What?”

“Wanted this. Wanted this for a while.” Cal finds your clit with his fingers, and you can’t prevent the way your legs jerk and your body seizes against his.

Fuck you’re going to cum. If the first orgasm was a flashfire, this one is a slowly simmering blaze. It creeps up slowly, burning a hole through your abdomen, curling around your ribs and inching down your legs. Your eyes roll back, and your head falls back against Cal’s shoulder.

“Cal. I--I thi--” You try to warn him, you really do. But words aren’t forming correctly right now, and it’s all you can do to hunker down and try to prepare yourself for this truly devastating crest that’s preparing to launch you over the edge.

If Cal gets your warning, he doesn’t show it. All he does is turn his head to the side, press a light kiss to your cheek, and groan, “I think I love you.”

Oh shit. Cal’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect if he planned it. Before you can respond, hell, before you can even begin to fucking process that last sentence, you’re coming hard. Maybe it’s the whiff of pollen you got earlier, or the fact that Cal is the one fucking you so sweetly and thoroughly, or the thrill of being mere steps away from discovery, or a combination of all of it, but this orgasm certainly feels like the most intense of your life.

Spasms ripple outward through your belly, curling you up in Cal’s lap as you ride out your high. Your legs straighten and your toes curl and you clamp down hard around Cal’s cock.

Cal shouts raggedly in your ear, pulling your body close. But even as you whimper and shake on the end of his cock, you remember that you can’t make too much sound.

As if he heard you, Cal burrows his face into your shoulder, his teeth once again finding a place in your skin to muffle his voice as he cums deep inside you once more. His body shakes as he spends himself again, the spasms slowly subsiding with every jerk of his hips into yours.

‘I did hear you.’ There’s a tinge of amusement to the nonexistent voice that echoes in your mind, and you relax back against Cal.

‘Feeling better?’ You nudge him back through the Force, revelling in the feeling of his colorful presence swirling around you once again. The pollen has worn off.

He doesn’t say anything in response, only pulls you close with his arms around you. His mind pushes at yours, and you let him in. You’ve done this a million times, usually on the tail end of nighttime panic attacks, but this time is different. This is the most loose he has ever been with his Force presence, and you allow it to fill the empty parts of your mind. Wait, he loves you?

He rushes over you in the same way the tide comes back to land, calming your fear at finally understanding the weight of his last confession. He’s relaxed, and the familiar energy has a new angle to it, a new emotion you hadn’t felt before in another’s Force signature. You grasp it gently, turning it over and admiring it in the eye of your mind. What is it?

The answer rushes to you just as Cal mutters against your skin, “Love.” The same thing you’d been feeling in the pit of your heart every time you looked at Cal, everytime he kept you safe from the nightmares in his arms and stayed with you until morning, every time you made him tea and did maintenance on his gear after a tough mission.

“I love you.”

You blink up at the ceiling of the rock cave, mouth open with the words just on the tip of your tongue. But they won’t come. The words are stuck in your throat, and try as you might, you can’t make yourself say them.

“Hey.” Cal whispers in your ear, and you shut your mouth. “You don’t have to say it back. But you know that I do, and I know a little of what’s going on up here.” His finger taps the side of your head lightly. "You don't have to figure out where to go from here. I'll navigate."

‘Thank you.’ You send the words through the Force, and he acknowledges them. Yeah, you're shit at knowing where to go when it comes to feelings. But at least with Cal, you won't have to worry about getting lost alone. You sit in peaceful silence for a few minutes, before a thought occurs to you.

“Cal.” His name is little more than a weak rasp off your tongue. You clear your throat and try again. “Cal.”

He grunts unintelligibly.

“Don’t bring that seed back to the Mantis.”

A/N: I will be the first to admit that this fic was hard, because I wanted to incorporate some previous feelings into this to make it less dubcon, and I didn't feel that all plot holes were filled. But that didn't make this any less enjoyable for me, and it was fun to explore a new facet of Cal's character.

Thanks for everyone who gave me inspiration and motivation to keep pushing this through the old brain up here. Smut isn't the easiest for me:)

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #sex pollen #pining fools #pining #fluff #feelings #smut

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rax-writes · 4 years ago

Text

More 》 Part Two

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings: Sexual intercourse, choking, hair pulling, oral sex (f!receiving) [reader is a female-identifying individual with a vagina] Notes: Part two of More 》 I cannot thank you guys enough for how well More did, and I hope that you enjoy this addition to it! 》 I honestly didn’t edit this all that extensively, so if there are any errors, please let me know. ♥

At the break of dawn the next morning, you found yourself on a loading dock for shipment containers with Sharon, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo – pretending all the while that nothing had happened between you and the latter individual. You wore a sweater with a high neckline, per Zemo’s suggestion, and interacted with him exactly the same way that you had before. He did a good job at selling the lie as well, although he seemed incapable of keeping his eyes to himself, frequently staring at you for far longer than he should have, that dark, hungry look in his eyes returning if his gaze lingered for too long.

“All right, he’s in there,” Sharon announced, stopping in the middle of the massive metal boxes. “Container four-two-six-one. I’ll keep an eye out while you guys talk to Nagel, but hurry. We’re on borrowed time.”

You accepted one of the earpieces she offered, getting it into place as she walked off. When the four of you entered the container, you found that it was empty, and appeared to have been that way for quite some time.

“Hey, Sharon, you sure this is the right one?” Sam inquired incredulously. “It’s completely empty.”

“Positive. It has to be.”

You entered the container, the other three right behind you, and closed your eyes as they looked around.

“He’s here. I can hear his thoughts,” you announced, then began to pick the doctor’s brain further. “Push against the back wall. There’s a secret passageway.”

Zemo did as you bade him, and sure enough, the wall moved backwards a bit, to allow him to open the hidden door. He shot you a curt nod of approval, then stepped back to allow Sam to enter first, and the rest of you followed suit.

Music filled the air, a swanky song you didn’t recognize, as you stalked through the laboratory, your gun aimed dead ahead and eyes peeled.

“Follow me,” you whispered, taking the lead as you easily navigated to the physical source of Dr. Nagel’s thoughts. When you saw him, his back was to you, slouched over whatever he was working on as he hummed along to the tune. Sam silently walked over and removed the needle from the record that played the music, and Nagel turned around slowly, fear written all over his face.

“Dr. Nagel?”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“We know you created the super soldier serum.”

“Get out of my lab,” Nagel commanded, as if he was in any position to give orders. He began to walk toward the exit, but you stepped in front of him and stopped him with a hand flat against his bony chest.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. Not until you tell us what we need to know,” you informed him without speaking, your voice infiltrating his mind. Nagel let out a frightened gasp as he looked behind him, apparently thinking that may be the source of the voice, before his eyes landed on you.

“You,” he whispered, his voice a mix of confusion, fear, and awe as you met his gaze with harsh eyes. “You – you spoke to me, in my head. How did you do that?”

“She can read your mind, and she can also control it. So, I’d advise you to answer our questions, before she forces you to,” Sam threatened, then watched as Nagel took note of Bucky across the room. “And you know who he is, right?” He then grabbed Nagel by the arm and turned him to face Zemo. “This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him, too, right?” He dragged Nagel to the nearest wall, shoving him against it as his back collided with the metal grate. “You seem like a pretty smart guy, so you better become conversational real quick.”

“How ‘bout a counter proposal? Make me a better offer, and I’ll talk,” Nagel proposed.

“Guys, we have company,” Sharon’s voice stated through the earpiece. “Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go!”

Bucky grabbed Nagel by his shirt and dragged him over to a chair, forcing him down roughly before pointing his gun at Nagel’s head, finger on the trigger. He still didn’t look terribly interested in talking, so you lowered your weapon and narrowed your eyes at him, and used your abilities to insight sheer, unadulterated fear in his mind. His eyes widened and he visibly paled as his mind wreaked havoc on itself, instilling a very pure, very powerful terror within him.

“Okay, okay! I’ll talk! Just stop it!”

You ended the onslaught of panic, and raised your gun once again, as your three companions eyed you with curiosity, unsure of what exactly you’d just done to him. But there would be time for an explanation later.

Nagel explained how he formulated the super soldier serum, and you all listened intently to his little tale. That was when you heard it. Like the crack of a twig in an otherwise silent forest, yet making no audible sound at all, you heard it.

“I must kill him.”

You looked over at Zemo as nonchalantly as possible, and his eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d picked up on his decision. The two of you shared tense eye contact for several beats, and you knew that you must make a choice. Allow Zemo to end this man’s life, and end the possibility of additional serums being created, or warn Sam and Bucky of his intentions?

“You know the damage unchecked Super Soldiers can cause. He is dangerous; he must be stopped.”

Zemo spoke directly to you in his mind, and you took the opportunity to dig deeper, searching for any sign that he was going to betray you, Sam, and Bucky. When you found none, you sighed quietly as you made your choice, and returned your attention to Nagel. Out of your peripheral, you saw Zemo begin perusing the room, feeling underneath tables in the lab in search of a secluded weapon.

“Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky inquired, and when Nagel hesitated, he pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple, prompting an answer of no. “Now what?”

Sharon ran into the room then, announcing, “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.”

Zemo took her distraction as an opportunity to draw his gun and shoot Nagel in the chest, straight through his heart. Sam tackled Zemo, and Sharon took the gun from his hand, whispering, “What did you do?”

The very next moment, the entire place exploded, erupting into flames as you, Bucky, Sam, and Sharon hit the deck, although Zemo was nowhere to be found when you groaned in pain and looked around the room from your position on the floor. Bucky pulled you to your feet, then Sharon, then Sam, as the four of you exited the container before it could explode from all the chemicals and fire in Nagel’s lab. You didn’t quite make it, as a gas-fueled explosion went off just as you exited the container, but you were far enough away from it that it merely blew your hair forward. Once outside, the adrenaline wore off just enough that you felt a blinding pain in your torso, and looked down to see blood quickly soaking through your sweater.

“Bucky,” you called out, and he turned quickly, a frown forming on his face when he saw your injury. You lifted your shirt to reveal a thin, jagged, three-inch long sliver of metal embedded in the center of your abdomen. Sam turned to bark orders at the two of you, but his face fell as he saw the blood.

Sharon made quick work of removing the metal, which was thankfully only about an inch or less in width, so it wasn’t at all deadly. Truthfully, it wasn't that bad of an injury, but god was it bleeding like hell. Bucky yanked off his jacket and handed it to you, instructing you to apply pressure to the wound and stick close to him. Your three companions shot at the bounty hunters that were approaching, and you did your best to fire a few shots yourself, your other hand pressing the jacket firmly against your injury. Sam shot you a disapproving look and told you to focus on yourself, but you ignored him.

While Sam and Bucky began bickering about who should have followed whose orders, there was yet another deafening explosion nearby. You looked in that direction to see Zemo with some sort of mask on, jumping down from atop some storage containers, before leaping over some metal piping and dodging past a man to evade his bullets, then grabbing him by the collar to use him as a human shield. He fired multiple rounds at the nearby bounty hunters, before releasing his grip on the first man and kicking him away, then shot him too. He looked at you through the flames, and you didn’t have to read his mind to know how exhilarated he felt, being truly back in action after spending years in a cell.

If asked, you’d chalk it up to the blood loss, but… goddamn, he looked hot kicking ass like that.

“Go,” Bucky ordered, helping you up and wrapping an arm around your waist to steady and guide you as the four of you made a break for it. Eventually, you reached an open storage container, and Sam helped you into it as Bucky fended off the last few bounty hunters.

When Bucky burst through the back of the container with his vibranium arm, you heard tires screech and an engine rev, before Zemo pulled up in a sports car.

“Supercharged,” he stated with the faintest smile. Christ, he was just a little bit of a goofball, wasn’t he?

“You’re going back to jail,” Sam said angrily, then turned to you. “And you were supposed to tell us if he was going to screw us over.”

“Nagel shouldn’t have been kept alive. I know you don’t like it, but it is the truth,” you reasoned.

“He didn’t have to die though, dammit! He could have just gone to jail, locked up for the rest of his life!”

“Oh, yes, just like Zemo? The man standing five feet from us, very much not in jail?” you countered, and he frowned, knowing you had a point. “Once word got out that Nagel knew how to recreate the serum, every power hungry individual and group in the world would be trying to find a way to either break him out or ask him about it. And I’m sure he would have told anyone for the right price. Even if the serum didn’t fall into the hands of the wrong people, even if a seemingly good-natured country like America were to get ahold of it, it could still be used for evil. They clearly don’t have the best moral compass, considering the asshole they gave Captain America’s shield to.”

“Alright, yeah, you’ve made your point,” Sam grumbled. “But I still think we should take Zemo back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo interjected.

“He’s right, we need him. And there’s three of us, and at least 20 of them. Come on,” Bucky said, pulling open the door of the car before turning around to help you into the vehicle. Only then did Zemo notice the blood on your hands and sweater, and Bucky’s blazer pressed against your torso.

“What happened to her?” Zemo inquired, sitting up to help you sit behind him, and frowning when you grimaced as you maneuvered into your seat, careful not to get any blood on the lovely cream interior. The car didn’t belong to any of you, but it was so beautiful that you hated to harm it.

“Stray shard of metal during the explosion in Nagel’s container,” you explained, grimacing a little as you leaned your head against the headrest behind you, eyes closed as you willed the pain to subside.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be. Probably just needs a few stitches, then I’ll be good as new,” you assured him, shooting him a tight-lipped smile, which he didn’t seem to buy before he removed his trenchcoat and laid it on top of you.

“You look cold,” he muttered, then turned back around in his seat to face the steering wheel.

“Fine, but if you try that shit again…” Sam told Zemo as he climbed into the car.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Zemo responded, and you didn’t have to check his thoughts to know that that was a complete lie.

Sharon bid you all goodbye, and Sam thanked her for her help before sliding down into his seat.

“You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?” Sam asked Bucky.

“No,” he deadpanned, causing you to chuckle under your breath, which earned you a glare from Sam.

The drive back to the airport was mostly silent, which you were thankful for, as you didn’t really have the energy for talking. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but you’d still lost enough and exerted yourself enough that you were feeling fatigued. Zemo parked the car on the landing strip, a short distance from his jet, and was quick to exit the vehicle to help you out. You thought you were doing quite well, until you actually stood up outside the car, and the exhaustion combined with some wooziness from the blood loss made your knees buckle. You would have fallen if Zemo hadn’t lunged forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“Let us get you aboard the plane, and I will dress your wound,” he said, then stooped to scoop you up into his arms bridal-style, and began carrying you toward the jet. Sam and Bucky eyed him curiously, but said nothing. Admittedly, you were too flustered by the close proximity and his gentleness toward you to say anything yourself. You looked over his shoulder, admiring his stolen vehicle one last time.

In Sokovian, you stated with a smile, “I’d like one of those by the way, the Pontiac.”

“Whatever your heart desires,” he responded calmly, matching your Sokovian. As he approached Oeznik, who stood beside the steps of the jet, he continued in that language as he instructed the butler, “Have that car, or one exactly like it, delivered to Berlin as soon as possible, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

Zemo laid you down gently on the couch inside the plane, Sam and Bucky following close behind. Once inside, Oeznik brought Zemo the first aid kit, a needle, and some stitching. Both of the other men offered to do it themselves, but Zemo insisted that he could do a better job than both of them combined. In a manner much unlike the night before, Zemo lifted your shirt to have access to the wound, and set to work. Bucky let you hold his hand as Zemo cleaned the area and did the stitches, while you forced yourself to breathe evenly and ignore the pain of the antiseptic and the needle. A mere fifteen minutes later, you were all patched up, and Zemo was helping you up and sending you to the washroom with a change of clothes.

“You’re gettin’ real sweet on her, Zemo,” you heard Sam note, his tone suspicious. “You better watch yourself, man. Step out of line with her and we won’t hesitate to end you.”

“Understood,” Zemo replied nonchalantly, then you could hear him open a book and take a sip of his champagne. For your own amusement, you took a peek into his mind, and found that he was thinking, “Too late.”

You smiled to yourself as you undressed, carefully removing the blood-soaked sweater and placing it in a trash bag. When you saw yourself in the mirror, you first noticed the hickeys from last night, then the miscellaneous cuts scattered across your skin from the various explosions, and the gauze taped over your wound. The hickeys caused your smile to widen further, and you donned the plain black t-shirt of Zemo’s and his loose gray sweatpants before rejoining them in the lounge. His eyes darkened in that way as his gaze raked up and down your body, clearly enjoying the sight of you in his clothing, but he quickly returned his attention to Sam.

“She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.”

“I have a place we can go,” Zemo suggested, then leaned back in his seat. “I, for one, am looking forward to coming face-to-face with Karli. Oeznik, we’re changing the course.”

A few hours later, Bucky and Sam had fallen asleep after reclining their chairs and dimming the lights, as you laid on the couch, halfway asleep yourself despite the book in your hands. Once their near-identical snores had filled the cabin for several minutes, Zemo stood from his seat and came to crouch down beside your head. His expression was unreadable as he stared at you, before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I must admit, I was very concerned when I saw all the blood on your shirt. I have only just found you, my Sokovian beauty. I would prefer to draw out having the privilege of being acquainted with you for as long as possible, but I cannot do that if you get killed.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid it,” you teased, and he smiled softly. “Thank you for taking such good care of my injury earlier.” He said nothing in response, simply smiled a bit wider and kissed you again, longer this time, but still far shorter and far less intimately than you’d have preferred. You both had to take the others into consideration, even despite their snores, because you were quite certain they’d put a bullet between Zemo’s eyes and send you home immediately if they learned just how “sweet on you” the man truly was. He stood and fetched a blanket from an overhead cabinet before laying it over you, then pressed his lips to your forehead, and returned to his seat.

“Goodnight, Liebling,” Zemo said softly, flicking off the last light in the cabin as he settled back into his seat.

“Goodnight, Baron.”

—————

Riga was somehow comparably chaotic to Madripoor, in terms of the events that transpired there.

Shortly after you arrived at Zemo’s estate, Bucky returned from his "walk" to declare that the Wakandans were there to take Zemo, although he bought some time. In all honesty, you were only half-ass listening to him, because Zemo had exited the bathroom with wet hair and a purple robe that revealed half his chest. He caught you staring and shot you a subtle wink while Sam and Bucky were talking, and you rolled your eyes in return.

Next stop was a refugee camp, where you, Bucky, and Sam searched in vain to get any information on Danya Madani. Zemo somehow managed to accomplish the task, albeit in the creepiest way possible, which you teased him relentlessly for on the walk back to his flat. When he revealed that the girl he'd spoken to told him the time and location of the funeral, but refused to tell any of you, Bucky was quick to anger, snatching the teacup from Zemo’s hand and throwing it against the wall. Sam talked him down before you grabbed Bucky’s arm, pulling him gently toward the door.

"Come on, let's take a walk. I saw a little farmer's market down the road; let's go have a snack and explore a little, yeah?" you asked, your tone calm and soothing to contrast the rage that swarmed in his mind, and Bucky nodded gravely to you as he let you lead him. When you glanced back into the flat as you closed the door behind you, you saw that Zemo was wearing a frown, and a quick peek at his thoughts informed you that he was pouting a bit, wishing you'd have just sent Bucky off and stayed with him. You rolled your eyes internally, then accompanied Bucky to the market, where the two of you ate some plums and took a little walk. When the two of you returned to the flat, Zemo announced that it was time to head to the funeral.

"Did you enjoy your little excursion with James?" Zemo inquired in Sokovian, a tinge of spite in his voice. "Did you relieve his tension?"

"It wouldn't be any of your business if I did," you shot back, also in Sokovian. The disdain on his face disappeared quickly, and you added, "But no, we just took a walk and had some food, as I said we would. Jealousy does not suit you, Baron."

Zemo's voice took on a gentler tone, the Sokovian dripping from his tongue like honey as he said, "My apologies, darling. You are just so magnificent that I want you all to myself; the thought of you with another man is enviable."

"Don’t apologize. Just end it."

He nodded, and before either of you could say anything else, that asshole John Walker showed up, along with his partner. They demanded that Sam and Bucky no longer keep them in the dark, but ultimately, Walker conceded to follow Zemo, and allow Sam the opportunity to talk to Karli alone. As Sam walked off, Walker grabbed Zemo forcefully and handcuffed him to some kind of metal contraption on the wall.

"Aggressive. But I get it," Zemo quipped. He turned to you, and in Sokovian, said, "Once I get out of these, perhaps we could use them to our advantage later this evening."

"Zip it, Zemo."

Unsurprisingly, Walker betrayed his agreement with Sam, barging in on the memorial before Sam's allotted time was up.

"Uh-uh. No, no, no, no. This is a bad idea."

"It hasn't been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight," Bucky responded calmly.

"Don’t do that. Don't patronize me."

"Then do not behave so childishly," you retorted, and Bucky elbowed you while Walker shot you an icy glare. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky cut him off, aiming to divert the subject before Walker pushed you any further.

"He knows what he's doing."

Walker was silent for a moment more, before he grabbed the shield – which shouldn't be in his possession in the first place – and marched toward the door. "I'm goin' in."

Bucky stopped him, but after Walker guilt-tripped him, Bucky stepped to the side to allow him to pass. You groaned in exasperation the second Walker walked off.

"Why the hell did you do that?"

"It was either that, or you and me fight Walker and Battlescar – or whatever his stupid code name is. I'm already on probation, and I helped the guy that split up the Avengers break out of prison. I really don't need ‘beat the shit out of the new Cap’ added to my list of wrongdoings," Bucky said, running a hand through his hair before clapping a hand on your shoulder. "Come on, let's go find Sam."

As Bucky jogged off in the direction Walker had gone, you followed while grumbling, "My preference would have been the latter, but no, why would anyone ask for my opinion? I'm just the pet mind reader."

When the two of you caught up to Walker and Hoskins, the former was thrown into a table by Karli, and she ran off. Bucky chased after her, and you took another route to try to intercept her, to no avail. You caught up with Sam and Bucky a few minutes later, out of breath as Sam commented that the building was like a maze, and you wholeheartedly agreed. By the time the three of you found the others, Karli was gone, Walker was just standing there, and Zemo was out cold on the floor.

Walker and Hoskins stated that they were going to search for Karli, and ran off. Bucky threw Zemo over his shoulder like a damn ragdoll, and the three of you trudged back to Zemo’s flat, a little worn out and a little defeated. Once there, Bucky threw him down on the couch, and Zemo bounced limply atop the cushions, still unconscious. Sam began working on his laptop, and Bucky went on yet another walk, while you searched for the first aid kit.

Zemo looked surprisingly peaceful and non-threatening as he laid there, appearing to be asleep. You kneeled beside his head and lightly applied some antiseptic on the cut left by Cap's shield, right at the top of his hairline, and you found yourself admiring him. He had soft features for a man so dark inside; soft chestnut brown hair, adorable nose, slight bit of stubble across his gentle jawline and neck. You began dabbing the antiseptic again, still lost in your own thoughts when he awoke very suddenly, grabbing your wrist in a fierce grip out of reflex. Zemo's eyes were wide when he first opened them, but upon seeing you, he visibly relaxed and released his grip on you.

"Apologies," he whispered, then groaned softly when he felt the pain in his head. You stood silently and retrieved a rag from the drawer beside the sink, wetting it with cold water, then filled a glass with some ice and brandy and returned, handing both items to Zemo. He thanked you very sincerely, then laid the rag over his forehead and eyes, and held the glass atop his chest.

You were grateful that Sam hadn't noticed you doting on him, too focused on his laptop, because he'd have definitely asked you about it, and you didn't even have an answer for yourself. It wasn't like there was any need or obligation for you to tend to him like that, and yet you did without even thinking. As you took a seat opposite Zemo on the couch, you told yourself that it was merely payback for how he assisted you with your own injury the day before, and left it at that.

It wasn't long before Walker and his partner showed up again, demanding to place Zemo under arrest. You, Sam, and Zemo all stood when he burst through the doors, all silently conglomerating to one side of the room. Walker had the gall to threaten Sam, and it had your fingers twitching on the gun in your thigh holster in rage. Before anything could come of that, the Wakandans Bucky had mentioned showed up, and when Walker tried talking down to them before placing a hand on one's shoulder, melee ensued.

You leaned on the bar with one arm, watching in amusement as Walker got his ass handed to him. Zemo seemed to be in the same boat, observing without expression as he passed you his drink, and you took a couple of sips before returning it.

"We should do something," Sam said to you and Bucky.

"Looking strong, John!"

"Yes, excellent form! Top notch," you added. "Really showing them the prowess of the new Captain America!"

"Bucky…" Sam chided, prompting Bucky to finally intervene. Sam looked to you, and you held your hands up in defense.

"I am not fighting the goddamn Dora Milaje. I don't feel like dying today – especially not for the sake of helping John Walker."

Sam sighed before joining the fight himself, and that was when Zemo’s hand enveloped yours, silently tugging you towards the bathroom. You opened your mouth to say "Is this really the time for a quickie?" but he held a finger to his lips, effectively silencing you. Once he had successfully guided you into the bathroom, he closed the door quietly behind him, and shoved the tub to the side, revealing a secret passageway.

"Come with me," Zemo said simply, and you scoffed.

"I'm not abandoning Sam and Bucky. My place is here."

"Actually, if I remember correctly, your assignment is to keep an eye on me. Although I'd rather not have to, I will overpower you if I must, because I will be leaving now. So, it is technically your job to follow me, and it would behoove you to simply follow your comrades’ orders without an unnecessary scuffle."

The man really didn't miss a beat, did he? Sam and Bucky had, in fact, assigned you to watch Zemo. Although it was implied that that was everyone's task, they had specifically delegated the role to you. So, it was a matter of whether or not you could take Zemo in a fight, and although you secretly hoped he'd go easy on you, you knew that his own self-preservation was his chief concern.

"Fine," you grumbled, not missing the smile on his face as you shoved past him and jumped down into the tunnel.

Your joints ached in protest of your actions, but you ignored it. He was right behind you, not even bothering to cover the passageway back up before taking off in one of the three directions that the tunnel led to. You were right behind him, and it wasn't long before the sounds of the scuffle faded away. Roughly five minutes later, you reached the end, and he pushed aside the manhole above you and climbed out. Zemo took your hands and helped you out as well, before replacing the manhole while you surveyed the area. It was a city street, but they all looked the same in Riga, so you had no idea where you were.

"Come on," Zemo said, lacing his fingers with yours as you ran down the street. He took a few turns and ended up in the town square, where he led you into a hotel. As you entered the lobby, he explained, "We'll stay here for a few hours, essentially hiding in plain sight, to allow the Dora Milaje and Walker time to leave and search for me elsewhere."

You nodded, and as you approached the front desk, Zemo wrapped his arm snugly around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Do you have any availability for the night?" Zemo inquired, then smiled lovingly at you. "It is our wedding day, and my beautiful bride simply cannot wait until we reach our honeymoon destination to get her hands on me."

You sent Zemo a quick glare, but the man at the desk didn't notice. He chuckled and nodded, saying something about "What a happy couple" as he booked the room for you. Zemo ignored your pointed look and kissed your temple, thanking the man and paying for the room before leading you in the direction of the room. As soon as you were out of earshot of the desk clerk, you glowered at Zemo once again, although his arm remained around your waist until you reached the room. Not that you minded, really.

"'Beautiful bride'? 'Honeymoon'? Really?"

"Yes," Zemo replied calmly, unlocking the door and opening it for you. As you walked past him, he elaborated, "If Walker comes looking for me, he'll be asking for a former SHIELD agent and a criminal. If the gentleman at the desk is convinced we're a happy newlywed couple, he won't even think to mention us to Walker."

It didn't take more than half a second to find his genuine answer in his mind. "How smoothly and effortlessly you lie, Zemo. You simply wanted to touch me again, so you came up with a convenient excuse."

Zemo licked his lips subtly, before shrugging with a small smile, wordlessly saying 'you got me there.'

"We need to get back to Sam and Bucky once Walker and the Dora Milaje are gone, but there's no foolproof way to go about it," you began pacing the room, as Zemo remained fixed beside the wall. "If I text Sam or Bucky, Walker will know they got a message, and they're both the worst liars I've ever met. God knows we don't need the Dora having any idea about where you are, you wouldn't last a full minute before they drove a spear through your chest. We also can't wait around too long, because then Sam and Bucky might leave Riga, and —"

You were still pacing and mid-sentence when Zemo suddenly grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you into a searing kiss, effectively silencing you. His other hand rested on the curve of your waist, pulling you against his chest. The surprise of the act and subsequent warm feeling in your stomach absolutely obliterated all other thoughts from your mind, and all you could focus on was him.

At some point, you regained your senses, albeit still in a haze. You pressed your palms to his shoulders and shoved him a few inches back, and he stared down at you with half-lidded eyes and lust-blown pupils.

“We – we need to focus on Sam and Bucky,” you managed to stammer out, but Zemo simply cupped your cheek and stroked the side of your face with his thumb.

“Is that truly what you want to be focusing on, Schatz?” Zemo inquired, his voice low, taking on even more of a gravely tone than usual. It flooded your veins with heat and desire, and you found your eyes fluttering closed as he bent down to pepper your neck with kisses. “Or would you rather simply wait out Walker and the Dora Milaje here, with me? Allowing me to touch you, taste you, in all the ways I know you crave?”

The final shred of your sanity left the building when he gently bit down on your neck, at the point where it met your shoulder, and you found yourself releasing a breathy moan and melting into his touch. Zemo wasted no time in kissing you once again, lips fast and insistent on yours, one hand on the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other on the nape of your neck once again. His body leaned into yours as he kissed you with fervor, and your hands longingly grasped the front of his sweater. Eventually, Zemo abruptly spun you around to press your back against the wall that had previously been behind him, and he hiked one of your legs up onto his hip, gripping it under your thigh. His other hand slowly moved from the back of your neck to the front, fingers curling deliciously around your throat as he applied a little pressure, earning another airy moan from you.

As if on reflex, his hips bucked up into you, and the friction left you mewling. Just like last time, it seemed to be your noises that set Zemo off, as he released a low growl from the back of his throat and dropped your leg to tear your shirt off while you took the hint and kicked off your shoes. He undid the fasten on your jeans with lightning speed, and yanked them – along with your panties – down past your hips so you could kick them both off. Next went your bra, which was flung god knows where in the room, and Zemo took a small step back to admire you.

It only lasted for a split second, because you then grabbed the straps he wore around his shoulders and used them to pull him in and kiss him again. Zemo’s hands glided slowly, sensually down your shoulders, your back, then came to rest upon your ass, grabbing it fiercely with both hands. His hands trailed further down, to the undersides of your thighs, before he lifted you with surprising ease and carried you over to the bed at the center of the room. Zemo threw you down onto the mattress unceremoniously, gaze locked on your chest as he watched your breasts bounce from the force, but you were quick to sit upright and pull him back in by the shoulder straps. You removed them then, as well as his turtleneck and belt buckle, and he was cooperative in removing his own boots and slacks, leaving him in his black briefs, his cock tenting the fabric there.

When you reached out to remove his briefs, Zemo pushed you to lay down by your shoulder, and knelt down at the edge of the bed, opening your legs at the knee with a harsh grip. You didn’t even have time to blink before he dove in, licking a long stripe up your slit before moving to your clit as your head fell back onto the mattress and your eyes fluttered closed. He focused primarily on your clit, occasionally lapping at your folds, but always returning his attention to that bundle of nerves. Gasps and moans were already falling for your lips, but when his middle finger and ring finger entered the fray, you found yourself crying out his name and tangling your fingers in his hair.

That delectable little growl of his escaped him once more, and you felt the vibrations of it against you, which warranted another moan, and Zemo’s fingers began delving in and out of your core at a steadfast pace. When he began curling them upwards, rubbing them against that sweet spot deep inside you, you were a goner. He wanted more of your beautiful sounds of pleasure, wanted to see you become more and more undone for him. You only lasted a couple minutes longer, growing progressively louder and more unhinged with each passing second. You were then launched over the edge, one hand tugging on his chestnut tresses and the other gripping the comforter of the bed, crying out his name amongst various explicatives.

When your eyes opened again, Zemo was standing, kicking off his boxers as he made eye contact with you while he sucked his fingers clean of you. He had set his wallet on the bedside table in the midst of your pacing, so he retrieved it and pulled a condom from one of the compartments. You sat up and snatched it from him, quickly tearing it open and rolling it down over his length. The sensation caused a sigh to leave his lips, before murmuring, "Eager, are we, Kätzchen?"

Electing to ignore him, you grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bed with you, wordlessly instructing him to lay down by pressing your hands on his chest. Zemo got the message with ease, happily complying as you straddled him. The sight of you sinking down on his clock, your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself, caused him to groan in pleasure. Far too eager to spend an abundant amount of time adjusting to him, you began moving, rocking your hips back and forth at a resolute pace, savoring the feeling of him sliding in and out of you. Zemo's hands rested on your waist, fingertips digging into your skin as he helped you keep your rhythm, while he gazed up at you as if you were a goddess in the flesh, his jaw hanging open slightly and hair disheveled.

By the time you were approaching your second orgasm, Zemo could tell, from the faltering of your hips as they strove to increase their speed, and from the way your nails raked down his chest each time you used his length inside you to hit that special spot there. He began thrusting up into you, eager to feel you come on his cock. You unintentionally caught a passing glance at his thoughts, and learned that it seemed that he always wanted more of you, needed more of you, to the point that he questioned if you had toyed with his mind somehow. You were about to inform him that no, you had not done anything to his mind, when he trusted particularly hard and deep up into you and his fingertips dug deliciously hard into your hips at the same time, and all sensual thoughts left your mind as you met your release a second time.

Still shaking slightly and moaning breathlessly, Zemo flipped you over onto your back, lifted your calf up onto his hip and held it there, and began pistoning in and out of you at a desperate, unforgiving pace. When your eyes fluttered open, you found that he was practically snarling above you, teeth bared in concentration and an intense fire in his eyes. It reminded you that his softness toward you did not change the fact that he was a criminal mastermind and former kill squad leader, who had done a great many terrible things. Yet the thought only made you want him even more, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him into a heated, haphazard kiss.

Zemo thrust in and out of you like a man on a mission, the sound of his pelvis colliding with yours filling the room, before he pulled out of you long enough to flip you onto your chest, face in the pillows and ass in the air, then resumed his pace. The new angle felt incredible, and it didn't take long before you were moaning into the pillows, fists clenched around the duvet. In the blink of an eye, Zemo grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you upright, your back flush against his chest.

"Do not hide your beautiful noises from me, Liebling. I want to hear you," Zemo commanded, and you moaned in response, both as a confirmation of his words and as a natural reaction to the low, gravely tone his voice took on. His hand moved to encase your neck, tilting your head back even further so he could trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, before biting down on your shoulder, earning a shuddering gasp from you. "Now tell me, Kätzchen: who makes you feel this good?"

"You," you choked out, groaning in pleasure when his fingers tightened their grip on your throat.

"Me, what?"

"You, Baron," you corrected, and Zemo hummed in approval, kissing you quickly in praise. He gave your neck another squeeze before throwing you back down onto the mattress, his hands on your hips as he returned his focus to fucking the very soul out of you.

As his hips began to stutter into yours and soft moans began falling from his lips, signaling he was approaching his end, Zemo reached around your body to begin expertly rubbing your clit, desperate for you to finish in unison. The way your walls fluttered around him let him know that he was on the right track, so he quickened the pace of his fingers on your clit, careful to maintain the angle he was thrusting at. As you fell apart beneath him a third and final time, your scream of "Baron!" and your core clenching around him like the most luxurious vice, Zemo found himself crying out your name in accompaniment with a low, guttural moan, spilling himself into the condom.

Zemo didn't move for a moment, hands still clutching your hips, albeit with a looser grip now, as he fought to catch his breath. Still panting, he slowly removed himself from you, falling into a sweaty heap beside you. Breathing heavily yourself, you leaned over to kiss him – far slower this time, both of you reveling in post-coitus bliss. He affectionately brushed your hair away from your face, as it had been stuck to your forehead from perspiration, before stroking your cheek with his thumb.

A brief eternity later, Zemo stood and headed to the restroom, no doubt disposing of the condom, before returning in one of the hotel’s white bathrobes and holding a cold rag. He flopped down onto the mattress, placing the towel over his forehead and eyes as he had earlier in his flat.

“Apologies, Schatz. As enjoyable as that was, it certainly did not help my migraine,” Zemo explained, blindly reaching out to grab your hand and bring it to his lips, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

You murmured a dismissive ‘you’re fine’ before heading to the washroom yourself, hopping into the shower and allowing the burning temperature of the water to ease the ache in practically all your muscles – some of it from fighting, some of it from fucking – although you suspected that the ache in your thighs, from being so tense throughout the multiple orgasms, wasn’t going away anytime soon. Thankfully, Zemo truly had done a marvelous job on your stitches, and the wound was already healing up nicely. By the time you finished your shower, the steam had clouded the room and coated the mirrors with condensation, but you felt more relaxed than you had in days. Donning a bathrobe yourself, you exited the bathroom, and situated yourself in the chair beside the floor-to-ceiling window on the wall of the room. Zemo was snoring softly, and the quiet tranquility of the room and the comfort of your seat sent you into a cat nap of your own, your head falling back against the chair as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You were entirely unsure how long you had slept, but when you awoke, Zemo was sitting with his back resting against the headboard, reading a random book he’d found in the room’s nightstand. He looked up at you long enough to flash you a small smile, before returning to the book. You yawned and rubbed your eyes, then sat up straighter in the chair and gazed out the window beside you. You hadn’t noticed, but the room had a lovely view of the town square.

A few minutes after you began observing the city below, your eyebrows practically shot up into your hairline as you saw none other than the bastard himself, John Walker, chasing one of the Flag Smashers before hitting him with the shield, sending the man flying into the statue at the center of the square. Each member of the bustling crowd stopped dead in their tracks, watching the scene unfold before them, as this new Captain America placed his foot on the man’s chest, pinning him against the stairs of the statue, as the man screamed, “It wasn’t me!”

The chair you were sitting in clattered to the floor as you stood bolt upright, a shuddering gasp escaping you and your hand flying to your mouth as you watched Walker raise the shield high above his head, a completely unhinged look upon his face. Zemo was at your side in an instant, his hands on your upper arms as he stood behind you, a worried expression on his face, wondering what could have caused you such distress. Before he had the chance to ask, Zemo’s eye caught the scene below, and you both watched in shock and horror as John Walker drove the shield into the Flag Smasher’s chest, again and again and again, until the man just laid there – bloodied, bludgeoned, and unmoving. Dead, at the hands of the new Captain America.

—————

@henrysmorgan @clints-lucky-arrow @therenlover

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4dtk · 3 years ago

Note

NCT127 falling in love with a s/o with a time-consuming job like a lawyer or a doctor

NCT 127 with an s/o who has a time-consuming job

this is so cute, thanks for requesting! i made this in a format in the ways that the boys might show their care when you’re so busy with your job :) long as hell LOL enjoy!!

brief spoilers for shang-chi if you haven’t watched! i just watched it this week lol it was really good

→ TAEIL would direct conversations to a more neutral stance. it’s not that he wants to talk about himself, but sometimes if you don’t want to talk about your case or patients, he easily slips into conversation about theories or his favourite tv show or your rundown of what groceries to take for the next time you head to the supermarket. just really normal small things that take your mind off the stress, especially at night when you’re laying in bed and just before you’re drifting off to sleep, the two of you would engage in a topic that you both know fairly well about and then you’re usually the first to succumb to sleep. taeil purposely picks out topic he knows will excite you (and bc he knows you’re passionate about it, he reads up on it which allows a well-balanced convo). if you’re rambling on about a topic, then he’ll occasionally play the guitar while laying down, just simple melodies that bring a lot of peace to the room.

“wait- how d’you like this melody?” taeil softly says, changing it instantly when you commented on the previous, discordant one. your nod encourages him to carry on with the plucking of his fingers while you yourself continue with your rambles. “so i’m saying right, it seems totally unfair for him, and you’d think that, right? but all he ever does is whine and moan about his misfortunes, plus his character is so terribly written i kinda feel sorry for-“

the halted melody prompts a sharp turn of your turn to the guitar, which you almost collide with, “what?” taeil only shrugs. “nothin’. just like how passionate you get about the show, it’s cute.” your boyfriend smiles after, ignoring how his words affect you and how your cheeks heat up at it.

→ JOHNNY is one to take you out after your work. it’s not to a super intense, high-energy place like a club or anything, but small little dates that won’t take up much time. eating dinner at a restaurant, walk in the park, small cafe trip, strolling through supermarket to make fun of brand names. if you’re too tired that day, he always finds a way to make your time at home fun. from setting up a small karaoke session, to maybe making a pillow fort, to trying out new cuddling positions, he has everything on his mind. always showing you things to cheer you up if you happen, from memes to funny videos. is low-key down for you to review crime/doctor shows too, just to see how accurate they nail it. your time at home is consuming endless pieces of media until your tummies hurt or you’re sniffling at a movie together.

“hold on- lemme show you this video,” johnny’s hand is outstretched to you once he finds the video and your spoon full of food is left near your mouth. you proceed to watch the low quality video which your boyfriend claims to be the funniest video on earth.

W-HOR? WAH? the girl’s finger in the video traces over the word “who” as she struggles to pronounce it, with presumably her sister in the background prompting her. the repeated pronunciation of the word makes you snort, while the wheezing and the loud NO in the background causes you to fully erupt into laughter. johnny simply smiles at another successful attempt to make you smile.

→ YUTA always has a hand on you when you return home. he brings you into a hug, he guides you by your back, you have to eat with one hand bc he can’t keep his hand off of you. he hopes his little touches will ease your tiredness even by a bit and if you don’t want it, he’ll stop, but it’s yuta’s way of showing he cares without words. busy days with yuta usually involve just sitting in silence as you catch up on a show or a series, or even listening to a song in silence and enjoying each other’s company. he will talk if you want to, but if not that’s fine too, preferring more to stroke your hair in silence and think about how much he loves you. becomes very sappy when you’re in the quiet of your room and generally is very fond of the small pockets of time you get to spend before you two fall asleep. likes that you’re so resolute in your job but can be soft around him behind closed doors.

“you comfortable?” yuta calls out, barely above a whisper as he wraps an arm tighter around you. there’s comfortable ministrations that his does with his fingers, massaging the skin under your pajamas while you snuggle deeper into his chest. humming, you tighten your hold around his top.

“i am, yeah,” you can’t care much for the tv show on the screen now, with empty takeout boxes and tissues littering the coffee table. you feel the gentle kiss of yuta on your head before you’re drifting off to dreamland to a scratchy, 60s jazz song playing through the speakers.

→ TAEYONG would always welcome you back with a table set and food ready, always. he knows that food is the way to someone’s heart and you eating his food always makes him happy and offers to clean-up. lets you shower first if you come back together, puts you before himself very often that sometimes you have to tell him to tone it down because you don’t want him ending up more tired than he already is. following up on this, taeyong would show his love by cooking your lunches for you. when he has the time he makes the effort to put it in a nice bento or box for you to eat. he also does the general chores around the house (assuming the two of you live together) so the bed will be a little less messy when you come back, the floor’s cleaner, the countertops aren’t so cluttered with stuff. even if there’s nothing to clean up, he always these small little things before you come back, and even if you don’t notice it, he sees the way you’re able to navigate the space or when you’re more at ease and it makes him smile.

“do you want to shower first?” taeyong calls out softly, admiring the clean house he’s managed to do up before he went to meet you, “i’ll just hang around until you’re done.”

“you need to prioritise yourself too, yong,” you pout, rubbing a hand up and down his forehead as you toe off your shoes, “how ‘bout we shower together? you did clean the house up pretty nicely.” that earns a grin and a kiss from taeyong, who goes straight the prepare the bath. you chuckle, “he’s already forgotten what i’ve told him.”

→ DOYOUNG supports you silently and listens to your day when you return home and talk about your patient or a case you’re working on. he gives you his own input when he sees fit but other than that he wants you to explain the details. being a doctor and lawyer is crazy and hectic and just wants you to know that you’re appreciated in the workforce. the way he might show his love when caring for a busy s/o like you is when he brings you stuff that you might’ve forgotten like an umbrella or your lunch since you were rushing out of the house earlier. he doesn’t mind going the extra mile to you literally bc it’s a win-win! you get your food, he gets to see you, etc. if not he’ll send someone over to pass it to the receptionist, or he’ll make up for it by meeting you outside the office to apologise and then ask you what you wanna do so he can make it up to you.

“did you manage to get the bento i bought you?” doyoung asks worriedly through the phone, holding up a hand to the staff member who was beckoning him to his photoshoot. “you bought so much!” you exclaim, with a shoulder to your ear, phone perched in between, “thank you doyoung.”

“’m sorry i couldn’t come over to give you your lunch today, angel. i’ll see you after you’re done with work, okay?” you smile at that, shooting a quick reply before you delved into your food.

→ JAEHYUN would honestly serve you once you come back from a busy day tbh. where taeyong does the chores around the house, jaehyun helps by doing the chores on YOU and only you. giving you massages, bringing you dinner on a tray, other unsaid things… and maybe even carrying you from room to room lol he’s relentless and just goes you need to rest, lemme help. big gentleman even when you reject him, doing smaller things like constantly checking up on you, pulling the blanket higher onto your body, cuddling you closer to his body when it’s cold. on top of that jaehyun also one that would meet you at your workplace and take you out like johnny, but those dates are extremely chill. he lets you choose, and when you’re not sure, he takes you on a night picnic at the field or a rooftop, just dinner, but outside bc the view is really nice and he likes the way you look even after a long day of working.

“where should we park our mats?” your head moves from left to right, looking for a suitable spot while you tug on jaehyun’s hand. he hums at it, searching for a spot just like you are. the wind’s blowing gently when you settle near a tree, mat occasionally flying up which you counter with your heavy laptop bag.

“any idea where we can get desserts later?” you call out as a half-joke, not expecting jaehyun to pull up his phone to instantly search for a baskin robbins. “there’s one close-by, wait here for a minute and i’ll go get one for you-“ you laugh before pulling him back down, “don’t worry! we’ll go together, plus i don’t want to be left alone.” jaehyun softly smiles, nodding along as he takes out the food he packed.

→ JUNGWOO has similar intentions like johnny, except he would just wanna stay home. where johnny’s goal is to make you laugh, jungwoo just likes doing things together at home. playing board games, folding the clothes together, making dinner together. it’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, but when he’s given free time he sometimes just likes to laze at home and rest from schedules. he sometimes takes himself out of bed to help before you come back but he’s lazy lolol. loves it when you’re both equally tired and living off 5h of sleep. it’s not romanticising the lack of sleep but your schedules just don’t allow you to sleep equal amounts of hours of sleep. through that, you’re at least able to connect over sleepy talk and droopy smiles while you make the bed or assemble a lego piece or playing video games. if jungwoo’s energetic enough he doesn’t mind doing the crazier activities but he generally prefers those activities done in semi-silence while you exchange jokes and funny videos.

“noooo- no! you only need to move three times, you’re cheating-“ jungwoo pouts and moves back your playing avatar back three spaces on the board game. you purse your lips, not expecting him to see it since he was particularly invested in the movie playing on the screen. knowing it was a shitty film, you tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted. with eyes glued to the screen a few seconds earlier, you took your chance to move down one more space in order to get the benefit on the game board.

“you’ll get to buy a house soon, honey,” jungwoo grins cheekily, laughing even more when he’s able to move four steps, landing on the square that you wanted. now it was your turn to pout as he flips the card for property purchases, happily placing it next to his five other houses. “you’re so annoying!” you say as you fall back on the bean bag, but jungwoo doesn’t believe it when he sees a smile poking out from behind the hands shielding your face..

→ MARK sends you a looooot of texts. your convos with him are just him spamming questions or sending you memes. on every platform LMAO he has tweets sent, ig dm’s are blowing up from the weirdass nct memes that some of the fans make, he uses the official nct tiktok account to send you viral trending videos and he’s like we should try this!!!! and it’s a couple doing acrobatics or some shit. he’s crazy. anyway, he just likes to share things with you, from songs, to playlists, to youtube videos or interesting topics like crime psychology or movie theories etc. he knows that you’re hardly going to see it in your job but he sees the way you react across the room when he sends you stuff so he’s sure that you’ll like it after you get off work. sometimes likes to rickroll you, he knows it’s an old trend/troll thing but the thrill of seeing your frustrated replies always make him laugh out loud. when you’re back home, the both of you review whatever you send each other and then laugh together at them.

“hey, babe, check out this video,” mark says in a text, pasting a twitter link to a video. the video starts out interesting enough, mentioning something about a fun fact with stunning visuals has you wanting to learn more. when the guy in the video starts on his first word, the video immediately changes to rick astley with never gonna give you up. you mutter a small fuck under your breath, gaining a bit of attention from your colleagues during lunch break.

under the table, you flip him off in a picture, which he responds with a big smile of his that’s obviously teasing you for falling for it. you’re going to get it when i get back home!!!!! on a new high, you text the message and set your phone down, already excited for the evening where’d you be able to spend your time with him.

→ HAECHAN is a mix of everything kinda. he’d bring you out after work sometimes and other times likes to stay at home, mainly takes you out to eat after work, but that’s the extent of his after-work-escapades, he doesn’t want to tire you out too much. i think one prominent things he likes to do to is vlog to you, send you videos of what he’s doing on set or at home and just treats your convo like a bank for endless videos. y’know how there’s this video feature in telegram? he sends sooo many of those that you have the time of your life watching those on the ride back home. if you have time, you HAVE to facetime him during your lunch break and tell him how you’re doing and how’s your work coming along. do i have to kick someone’s ass for making you feel uncomfortable? is that patient being creepy again? and you have to explain that haechan, no, that patient is an elderly you cannot beat his ass. he’s like i don’t care, creepy dudes are not excused!!! and you can’t help but smile at that. always wants to be talking to you, close to you. if one day, you’re able to bring him to your job, this man follows you around like a lost puppy and just admires what you do, it’s endearing.

“ah, wait- you know how the sister, xia ling was sent to shut down the ten rings army? well… i just reviewed some of the articles and-“ the video cuts into the next one, haechan’s face zoomed in as he looks straight into the camera, “y’know, she might become a villain one day, i don’t know. maybe i should review some of the comics too?”

“anyway! come look at our set for the music video! it’s sexy, outfits are fire, sets are so good, the choreo this time isn’t too hard, either.” haechan asks the other members to wave as he passes them by, no doubt going his own make-up and hair after the others were already done, “okay, gotta go- love you bye!” you smile at that, texting a quick reply before you open up a video of your own, whispering through the speaker with a promise that you’d see him tonight.

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maximotts · 3 years ago

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♡ 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘵. 𝘪𝘪 ♡ {𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵}

pt. i || pt. iii

a/n: ahaha remember when I said all would be fixed in this part? Turns out I lied. Part 2 was getting way too long and I didn't want this to feel rushed so part 3 will be the final part, but fret not, I'm finalizing part 3 as we speak because I didn't want to leave y'all at another painful cliffhanger. That'll be up right after this one before I go to bed tonight

warnings: angst, another semi-argument, Wanda reading Natasha's thoughts, a gallon of hurt feelings, panic attacks (Wanda)

summary: Natasha can't give Wanda space anymore after an Incident. aka the Secret Softy finally realizes she misses the Small Sunshine

words: 3.1k

masterlist. || navi. || request info/rules. :open

𝘮𝘰𝘺𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘬𝘢𝘺𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘬𝘢 = 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘬𝘢 = 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘰𝘺 = 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

✣ ✣ ✣

It’d been three weeks. Three weeks since she’d seen Wanda, eaten any meals with her, watched her dark hair fall gently over her shoulders as she laughed, or felt her soft hands brush against her fingers for reassurance or in a silent request to be held. Safe to say, Natasha missed Wanda terribly. Even more so, the guilt from how deeply she’d hurt the person she cared about was eating her alive. She saw Wanda’s wounded face almost as frequently as she blinked and she longed to reach out and hug her until it was all better.

She had made attempts. The night of her blow up, Natasha knocked on Wanda’s door for a good five minutes. It was obvious she was in there, sitcom laughter emanating from her television. After a while it was clear she wasn’t ready to talk and Natasha understood; she wouldn’t want to talk to her either. She resigned herself to seeing Wanda at breakfast the next morning, hoping maybe a friendly smile from across the room would let the girl know she wasn’t mad at her. But Wanda was nowhere to be found. Two days of missed meals later and having tripped over a dirty sandwich plate in front of Wanda’s room and Natasha realized she was purposely avoiding even the possibility of having to sit next to the redhead when she ate. Again, Natasha couldn’t blame her.

Now three weeks in, Natasha settled on just walking in. Wanda rarely kept her door locked when she was inside, she and Natasha were the only ones with permanent rooms on the female residence side and there was never an issue with Nat coming in unannounced- until now of course. An hour’s worth of hyping herself up behind her, she took the ten steps next door to where she’d hopefully be able to fix her awful mess. Still she hovered outside, hand outstretched, hovering as she took one last deep breath.

Her hand never reached the doorknob.

Before Natasha could make contact with the metal, a hot spark of red zapped her hand and she jumped back to avoid further attack. “Wa-”

“Don’t even think about it, Natasha Romanoff.” The first time she heard that voice again, she didn’t expect it to sound so dangerous. Natasha expected anger, but she didn’t know Wanda could sound so threatening.

She’d be a fool to try the knob again, it’d only upset her further. Nevertheless, it was important she at least got part of her message out. “I know you’re upset, Wanda. I’m upset with myself too. I was wrong, so wrong. I never should have hurt you like I did, I should have just talked to you. That’s on me. I want to prove to you I’m sorry, maybe even earn your trust back eventually? Whenever you’re ready.” Natasha sighed, twisting her still tingling hand in the other. “I miss you, but I ruined us. Not you. I’m sorry, Wanda.”

Unbeknownst to Natasha, Wanda had wandered closer to the door as soon as she noticed the other pacing outside of her doorway. She wasn’t ready to talk to her; she couldn’t find a way to face her yet without fear of looking like she was coming crawling back without having heard an apology, but before she could think too hard on it, Natasha was speaking. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of Natasha’s words. She wasn’t one for feelings or true emotions and although fairly clumsily uttered, Wanda knew sincerity when she heard it. Swayed as her heart was to run into the arms of the woman she missed for the past week, her brain instantly reminded her of other words.

You still want her after she told you how clingy you are? She’s right. You are pathetic.

The ache was back, stinging just as sharp as the day she’d first heard. She couldn’t yet.

Wanda’s back hit the wall, sinking to the floor with her knees huddled close to her chest. She knew Natasha had just been angry when she lashed out, that she wouldn’t typically be so public with her outbursts, much less direct them towards her, but there were some true feelings within those poison laced words and Wanda didn’t want to have that conversation yet.

“Well.. you know where to find me.” Wanda hated how sad Natasha sounded; she must’ve been tearing herself apart. She despised not being able to fix things. Soft footsteps told Wanda she was fully alone again and although that should have let her relax, she groaned with how empty she felt once more.

✣ ✣ ✣

Another week went by with no exchanged words and Natasha was beginning to give up hope. She’d ruined everything between them seemingly irreparably; asking any of her teammates yielded a non-committal response, none of them were spending tons of time with her either. She’d given up on knocking, having only met silence or words of warning. All she could do was wait.

For Wanda’s part, she felt like she was going to burst. Her skin felt like it was on fire, nervous energy sparking right under the surface. She’d closed herself off to everyone, opening herself up to Natasha was a mistake, it must have been. Her last words to her had been apologetic and kind, but the hurtful ones still lingered and she felt stuck. It was tearing her apart. Even more so, today’s training left her disoriented- earthquake simulation. As the fake ground shook under her and buildings fell, Wanda was spiraled back to childhood and more recently, Sokovia, and although she played it off as nothing with others, as soon as she was back in the safety of her room she fell apart.

Before she would seek out Natasha, whisper her worries against her skin from under the safety of a warm blanket. She couldn’t do that now, couldn’t ask such a thing from Natasha after what she said and after near radio silence for a month. Wanda huddled in her own bed, tired eyes staring longingly at the wall separating her and Natasha’s room. The person she wanted -needed- was so close, but so far. “You’re fine. You’ve dealt with this alone before.”

✣ ✣ ✣

Natasha couldn’t sleep. Not for lack of exhaustion; she’d been training longer these days in hopes of catching more glimpses of Wanda, just to make sure she looked okay. It was working and thankfully from what she could see, Wanda was alright. The past few days were different though; she looked more tired, dragging along more and more, and now today she’d survived the earthquake simulator. To anyone else, Wanda looked like her normal self, quiet and to herself, but Natasha saw the girl’s hands shake, watched her stance go slack in a way she’d warned Wanda against many times. Afterwards, Wanda was off to her usual seclusion before Natasha could reach her from across the room so she settled for giving Bruce a stern talking to instead. He should’ve known better than to shove Wanda in that simulation, especially by herself.

She left a properly admonished Bruce, heading in the direction of Wanda’s room. Arguments be damned, she wouldn’t let Wanda explode alone, even if she hated her for intruding after. If her repeated self-reassurance weren’t enough to convince her by the time she reached her destination, the moans and whines from within set her mind. Natasha hovered again, weighing the consequences, but Wanda let out such a sob that she couldn’t ignore. “Wanda? Can I come in please?” Her hand landed safely on the door, an improvement from last time.

“It’s just me, I wanted to check on you after training.” No response, but no rejection either. She turned the knob, grateful Wanda seemed to have forgotten to lock the door. Whether it was a mistake or a silent hope for Natasha’s intervention, she didn’t know, but she would use the opportunity. She could barely find Wanda in the dark room, but her eyes settled on the small form in the middle of her large bed and Natasha was by her side in an instant.

“Wanda? Sweetheart, hey, it’s me. What’s wrong?” Her eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide with fear. Natasha longed to scoop her up, but she couldn’t startle her; she didn’t even know if she’d want her there once she realized who she was. Still, it hurt so deeply to have let her get this bad; she could’ve helped if Wanda trusted her enough to reach out. Natasha waited for what felt like hours until Wanda noticed her, crouching by a bed was rough on her tired knees, but she’d stay like that forever if need be. When Wanda finally made eye contact, she only stared at the redhead, as if figuring out whether the woman in front of her was real or not. She took a daring step, holding her hand out to Wanda, keeping it in her eyeline as long as she could until her palm reached her head. Her thumb moved, ever so softly, over her scalp as a test. Anything she could do to soothe her. “I’m here, Wands.”

If Natasha weren’t so strong, Wanda would’ve knocked her over. She’d thrown her full weight onto her in an instant, clinging to Natasha for dear life while her lower half still hung from the bed. There were so many things tearing at her, so much emotion she needed to unload, but she was too overwhelmed. Natasha had come to her. Had ignored their month of silence and hurt feelings to try to aid her and it left her stunned. “Tash- Natasha.. I-I’m so sorry..”

“Ah, no none of that,” Natasha stood with a grunt, taking Wanda with her to set them both on the bed. She navigated her way to the top of the bed in the dark, only stopping when her back hit the headboard, letting Wanda hold onto her, “This is my fault, I’m sorry. I should have been here for you.”

Wanda shook her head slowly, burying herself as far into the crook of her neck as deep as she could. “No. I should’ve been able to handle training today. You were right, I can’t do anything myself. I’m weak and pathetic and..” Sobs took over any chance of coherent words, shaking against the warm body she’d missed so much. Part of her screamed to move away, to suck up her tears and prove to Natasha she was just fine on her own. But she couldn’t pretend. She was fine on her own, she could handle it, but she needed the comfort of someone she trusted too. Someone she could relay her thoughts too instead of bottling them all inside until they got the best of her.

Before she knew it, Natasha felt tears rolling down her cheeks as well. She hated crying, couldn’t stand being so outwardly vulnerable with someone else, but if Wanda could be with her then she owed her the same trust. Toned arms pulled the small woman trembling against her closer, pressing frantic kisses to the crown of her head, anything to show her apologies. “You’re not weak for your emotions, detka. It’s one of the strongest things you could do to allow yourself to open yourself up and trust me.. I should have given you that same trust and been honest from the start.” Natasha cradled Wanda’s head to her chest, rocking her as sweetly as she could. She knew she was holding her a fraction too tight, but she couldn’t help it. Reassuring fingers brushed through long brunette hair, keeping her as close as possible.

“Can you forgive me?” The muffled voice from below temporarily shook Natasha from her waterfall of revelations and she remembered why they were in this situation.

“Moya sladkaya detka, you were forgiven weeks ago. You were trying to help me and yes, we need to talk about how I deal with the aftermath of long missions because I do sometimes need time to myself, but nothing, nothing you did warranted how I hurt you.” Wanda froze and for a moment Natasha was scared she would pull away, but she nodded slowly. “Can you forgive me?”

That was a loaded question. Wanda fought to clear her thoughts, organize them in any way that could possibly make sense. She wanted so badly to simply accept and stay in Natasha’s arms. It wasn’t that she thought Natasha was lying to her; she truly believed she was sorry for what she did, but that didn’t mean those words didn’t still swirl through her head everyday since she’d first uttered them. It was hard to think so close to her. Wanda pried herself away from Natasha, not missing the way Natasha kept hold on her hips as if letting go meant she’d lose her forever. “I want to forgive you, Natasha.”

It hurt, but it was fair. She didn’t expect an easy apology and didn't deserve one either. “There’s a but coming, right?” Wanda couldn’t meet her eyes; she only avoided eye contact when she had more to say and was biding her time. “You don’t have to forgive me, Wanda. I’m willing to do whatever you need to make you feel safe again, no matter how long it takes.” And she meant it. Natasha would put in the work for Wanda, she was more than worth it.

She knew what she needed. It was the only way she could think of easing her mind. Still, Wanda promised she wouldn’t do it again unless she had to, but… she had to. “I need to feel you.” A hesitant ring-clad hand reached out, tapping Natasha’s temple to finish the thought she couldn’t speak. “Nothing traumatic, nothing too deeply buried.. hopefully, at least.” Rarely was it hard for Wanda to search out thoughts in someone about a particular person who crossed their mind regularly. She hoped it was more than wishful thinking that Natasha had her in her thoughts with some frequency. “Please, Tash… I need to know you feel more for me than just ‘clingy, weak puppy.’”

Natasha opened her mouth to retort, to try to take her harsh words back, but she knew it wouldn’t help. The thought of Wanda searching through her mind again scared her still. Last time left her shaken for weeks, months, after what she’d dug up, but back then Wanda was looking to hurt her and damn, she was great at it. She had to trust she wouldn’t do that now. Trust was so hard. A promise was a promise, though. Natasha took Wanda’s free hand in both of hers, a lifeline to hold while she gave herself to the woman she cared so much for. “Okay.. be gentle?”

Wanda let out a chuckle; Natasha’s sensitive side was so very cute. “I would never be anything but, dorogoy.” Natasha nodded, swallowing her fears with reassurance. Wanda was only ever kind to her, too much at times; Steve and Sam never missed an opportunity to poke fun at Natasha when in the early days Wanda was practically exploding with nerves around the redhead. Eventually they figured out it was less that Wanda thought Natasha was going to beat the pulp out of her and more that she wished the older woman would crush her with her thighs- but the two men waited for Natasha to figure that one out on her own.

“Go ahead, Wands. Just be quick about it, alright? I don’t want to spill all my secrets right now.” Wanda agreed with a quiet hum, shaking her head and straightening her spine before moving her fingers alongside Natasha’s head. It reminded her of the first time they’d officially met; a bittersweet memory of how stunning she felt her then enemy was, but bringing her trauma to the surface before those steadfast blue eyes caught sight of her. Now though, Wanda was careful. Only going deep enough to look at Natasha’s memories and thoughts about her. How surprised she was that Wanda was as powerful as she was. Her instant and ongoing distrust of her when she and her brother came to aid the Avengers in Sokovia. Natasha’s annoyance at her stolen red jacket, with an added and apparently shocking sense of possessiveness brought on by seeing her in her clothing. Interesting. Wanda would note that little fact for the future.

Red ringed eyes shone in the darkness, both locked onto Natasha’s and staring far past her. She wanted to be open and honest, that was the whole point. Consequently Wanda let Natasha see what she was seeing and with every twinge of irritation her past self felt towards Wanda and her initial attempts to gain trust with her new team, specifically with herself, her current self cringed at her behavior. But slowly things shifted. Resentment shifted to reluctant endearment, then care and protection and finally into where she longed for Wanda’s calming presence when she was stressed or wanted a confidant. The weight of vulnerability felt like being flayed alive and despite the hand Natasha held using one finger to stroke reassuringly at her palm, she squirmed as they approached that night Natasha came home a month ago.

“You’re fighting me.” The brunette’s eyebrows furrowed, pushing harder at the memory Natasha was keeping away from her. “Stop it.”

Red curls shook as Natasha hung her head; she didn’t want to live through it again. Every night it haunted her. She should’ve just talked to her, given her credit for being one of the most understanding people she’s ever met, having her see it again would just push Wanda further away- “I can still hear your thoughts, Natasha.” Her racing concerns rang loud in Wanda’s own brain, blocking out any hope of unlocking that dreaded outburst until she could get her to calm down. “Trust me, please. You have to let me in.” True, Wanda could forcibly rip the memory from her with ease. It would take such little effort, but she wouldn’t- couldn’t. She needed Natasha to let her see, allow herself to be this forthcoming with Wanda. That would speak louder than anything.

It took everything in Natasha to take her next breath, “Okay, do it.” Wanda breathed a sigh of relief, Natasha’s agreement giving her hope of progress. She slipped her hand from Natasha’s warm grasp, ignoring the small sad noise she was sure Natasha didn’t want to talk about. Instead her hand went to the back of Natasha’s head and brought it forward to rest on her shoulder, her nose promptly burying itself in the crook of Wanda’s neck. Her gentle floral scent settled Natasha’s worries; it’d been too long since she was allowed so close. “I trust you.”

#wandanat #scarletwidow #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wandanat fic #wandanat angst #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #marvel fic #my writing #angst

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thefloofartist · 2 years ago

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Lilith Fairen’s lying continues...

This sort of “discourse“ is why I stopped engaging with the vast majority of RWBY community since 2020. I really hate repeating myself, but I’m basically only here on this Tumblr posting right now because of these lies that keep getting perpetuated without anyone bothering to shut it down out of fear of retaliation by Lilith Fairen or Canonseeker harassing them.

If you have a question about me, or want clarification on something that someone has said about me, just ask me directly and I’ll try to answer it for you. Otherwise I’m pretty much working and drawing 24/7.

I will go through each lie one section at a time and address them individually. I will also refer to Fairen as “You” here, since this post is for her to see and my language is directed towards her.

“TheFloofArtist is a guy who got so pissed over Adam’s death” -

I never liked Adam. I never got mad over his death. You want to hear my thoughts on Adam, which is one of the few things that hasn’t changed about me over the years?

I’ve often referred to Adam as a Reddit incel with ugly hair dye with stupid writing that makes him comically unlikable. Adam is just outright awful both in personality and writing. I DO NOT LIKE ADAM. I HATE HIM. But let’s have a hypothetical here. Suppose I did like Adam. (I don’t.) You’re implying that anyone who likes Adam (I don’t.) means that they’re just as bad as he is. Adam is a fictional character from a show. Someone liking a character who does atrocious things doesn’t mean that they too believe in committing those same atrocious things, or share the same values as that character. You must separate these two things, not conflate them.

“that he made a terrible photoshop of Blake stabbing Yang instead”

I never made that photoshop image. I stole it from Facebook and reposted it to my old Twitter 3+ years ago. You can’t even get the details of your lie right, as Yang and Blake are stabbing each other. It wasn’t a one-way stabbing. Not that it matters because I didn’t make the image you’re accusing me of. I was just unfortunate and stupid enough to post it to my Twitter account back then because I thought it was a funny edit and my sense of humor at that point in time was maximum edge, minimum substance. I wouldn’t find it funny at all now, it’s just a stupid edit.

“and spammed it at Blake and Yang’s VAs and Bumblebee fans.”

I never “spammed” that image to anyone. I made one post with it (on my own account, mind you!) that got a ton of circulation due to quote retweets from other users who were upset with the image. That’s not “spam”, that’s a lie you invented to make me sound worse. I also never spam images to anyone, because on Twitter, doing so clogs up the “Media” tab with each individual copy of the image, and I use my Media tab as a way to navigate and find old artwork I’ve posted. If I truly spammed images, anything I posted prior to that would get buried and I’d never be able to find it again. If anyone is going around and spamming this image in 2022 (the post in qustion being from 2019, you really had to dig for that one), it’s both you and Canonseeker.

Onto the next lie.

“Floof has an obsessive vendetta against Barbara Dunkleman”

I’ll be honest. I don’t care that Barbara said, “It’s a cartooooon!” at me. Yes, haha, funny meme, but your wording here implies I’m actively trying to get back at Barbara over what she said. I don’t. I really, truly, do not care that Barbara said that. Your wording makes it sound like I spend my waking hours plotting to retaliate for some grave injustice done to me, when the truth is I barely remember Barbara even exists. When I woke up today and saw your Tumblr post, that was the first time in almost a year that I had to bother remembering who she was. Fairen, you don’t know me, so don’t speak for me on how I feel about anything.

“because she mocked an obvious bait question”

No, it wasn’t a bait question, but it was one I was very careful about when coming up with it. I asked about a plot hole (How did Jaune obtain Pyrrha’s weapons after the Fall of Beacon?) and the idea was to see if the writers thought about it. If I got the same answer from both of them, it means they did think about it. If I got two different answers, it means they didn’t even consider the idea. I got the latter. And I even got a proper answer from Kerry that would address that plot hole perfectly fine. (When Qrow went up the tower to get Ruby, he also got Pyrrha’s gear then.) That’s all there was to it. You weren’t there, you don’t get to interpret things for other people.

“he asked at a convention.”

You mean RTX 2017. It’s not just “a convention”, aren’t you a big RT fan? Do you not know what RTX is? Come on, if you’re going to lie, do a better job and at least have some of details right.

Onto the last set of lies.

“All of that made him a bit of a celebrity among ‘hatedom’ communities”

No, I was barely a presence in them even then but especially now with lack of making any kind of content. The numbers don’t lie either - I’ve been perpetually stuck at 2000 subscribers for years now. I also don’t like being referred to as a “celebrity” when I know I am a nobody you use as an easy punching bag for validation from others. I’ve said it before too, I know my place in the RWBY fandom. I’m not a big name, I’m just someone who has some video-editing software and can draw. That’s it.

“who embrace rational individuals like him and the kind of rational things he says about people who make and enjoy a cartoon he doesn’t like.”

Thanks, because I’d rather engage and discuss things with other people. Just block me and move on. I already have you blocked because I don’t want to see anything you post but people keep sending me your posts talking about me. I will ask you this one last time, but you need to stop. Find something else to do with your life. Get a hobby away from the computer. If I was once an edgy shitlord until I decided to be my actual self instead of the stupid facade I put on, you can stop being an edgy shitlord too.

#lilith fairen

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starksinner · 3 years ago

Text

Rest

Summary: Charles takes care of you after a job goes terribly wrong.

Pairing: Charles Smith x Reader

Warnings: Heavy depictions of Violence, Blood, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Fluff, Implications of Sexual Harassment/Assault, Mention of Dissociation

Author's Note: I haven't written in what feels like a lifetime, so I apologize if this is a mess. Either way, the lack of Charles Smith fics across this website and others is downright a crime, so this is my "fine, I'll do it myself" moment. I hope I do some justice to (one of) the best characters in the Red Dead universe. I hope you enjoy reading, y'all!

AO3 Link

The bruised grass of The Heartlands scrape against the skin of your ankles and calloused feet as you are led from the wide-open prairies into the privacy of an austere and diminutive forest.

The air is moist with remnants of rainfall. Petrichor and the scent of nature tickles your senses as your bare feet meet the soiled ground of the woods.

In your mind, loud and boisterous, rumbles an orchestra of deafening thunder and screaming. The pounding of your head originates from the open and festering wounds that continuously pulsate from the split skin of your sensitive scalp — seething and oozing.

Your hands tremble as they are softly caressed and held within the palms of another, the caring touch calming and guiding as you find yourself threatening to slip off the face of the Earth.

When Charles whispers your name, the most delicate reminder of your existence, you can’t help but whine and whimper pathetically. You force your eyes shut as you fester in a cloud of anger and pride, condemning your humanity and the fragility of your own body as a soaring pain runs up the curve of your torso.

You breathe heavily as you groan and peer down at Charles’ language of love: touch — his ethereal touch, displayed by the tender interconnection of his fingers with your own. A familiar scarlet liquid has crept and dried into the small crevices of your fingers, serving as a grisly reminder of the evening’s barbarous events.

“Men love underestimatin’ a woman in a frilly dress,” you splutter softly, the task of speaking suddenly foreign. “Used their idiocy t’my advantage, but I ain’t too sure the price was worth it.”

Charles gives you a look that reflects that of solemnity rather than one of silent derision. You, like many individuals whose identities cause them persecution, prefer to be given a look that serves as a reminder of the severity of a situation rather than a look of belittlement. That look — the one of silent derision — is well known to you as you’ve watched it be used by men as a means of reprimanding and reminding women of their weakness, naivete, and disorder of hysteria.

Charles wasn’t most men, though. Charles was fair, liberal, and wise — no matter how much he’d quietly argue with you over such labels. He admired and encouraged your strength, both in the physical and intellectual sense. Before you even understood your love for him, you had viewed him as a mystical wonder — an actual man among men. He never viewed you as lesser or judged you unjustly. He took you as you were — in all your strength and all your weakness, with all your stubbornness and all your recklessness.

“You were only protecting yourself,” he asserts calmly, his brown eyes observing yours. ”Those men were...savages. They would’ve killed us if you didn’t hurt them first.”

Like most situations that have transpired the past couple of months, Charles held his head and was right — you knew he was right.

Haphazardly, you grip onto Charles’ hands harder, willing off the tears of discomfort that blur your irises.

“I...I don’t know where my dress stops and where I begin,” you murmur, frowning as you see his features drop sadly.

A deep maroon, the dress you wear is tailored to attract the eyes of desperate men and curious travelers. The bodice is silk and accessorized with a corset that shapes and accentuates that of which men drool and desire. Now, the lengthy ruby material is ripped and caked in pools of dried blood and other human materials you dare not to think about.

Your arms, neck, and chest are redder than the dress, dried patches of red and brown mementos from your slain enemies. You crave ripping off your skin and ridding yourself of the deadly feeling and sight of your sins.

“Camp is right over the hills through here,” Charles notes, pressing his fingers lightly under your chin. “Close your eyes and just focus on your breathing. Let me carry you, love.”

You melt into his soft touch, your face scrunching in defeat as a loud sob escapes you. “I hate killing, Charles. I hate it and I hate myself for it. It was...me or them, I know. That man said he wanted me to...I just…”

“I know,” he whispers. Without any trouble, as if you were a mere pelican feather, Charles hooks his arm under your knees and holds you to his chest. He swiftly carries you through the woods and into the open plains, navigating his way back to Horseshoe Overlook. He gently coos and whispers into your ear sweet assurances as you cry justly. “Nearly there, love.”

---

You felt dissociated from your own body as Charles helped you strip out of your ruined dress, kissing, caressing, and whispering to you all the right things. He helped you wash yourself by a nearby lake, lathering your skin with soap and pressing soft kisses against any apparent scratches and blooming bruises.

What was supposed to be a quick con job just north of Valentine, turned into a full fledged bloodbath. Your role was a simple and tired one — dressed as a rich simpleton, you were to distract some revenue agents and pose as a woman found lost on her wary travels. Charles, the silent hunter, would rummage through the agents’ wagons in search of the lock box that you had on good authority was carrying a wealthy prize.

It was easy — a con that you’ve been participating in since your rebel days with Arthur, both of you incredibly spry and dramatic in your teen years.

Things took a drastic turn as you spotted a third wagon headed in Charles’ direction, just as you were chatting up and charming a lanky looking agent. In a last attempt at distraction, you placed your hand against the agent’s chest and began flirting with him, making his eyes wander to your red painted lips and nearly exposed chest.

Alas, the third wagon of revenue agents had spotted Charles — causing a boom of gunshots and shouts to echo across the plains. Your body immediately tensed until you spotted your love hiding behind a boulder, shooting off his Springfield Rifle into the growing crowd of agents. You acted on pure instinct as you swiftly reached under your skirt, gripping your knife, and slicing the throat of the agent in front of you. His blood splattered across your face as he choked, whined, and fell to the ground at your feet. You grabbed the Bolt Action Rifle from his dead grip and began firing into the agents around you, covering yourself behind one of the large wagons.

It wasn’t until you heard Charles struggle and shout that things took a gory route. He was fighting against a brawny agent that had pinned him to the ground, both men grunting and punching for dominance. You no longer considered your own wellbeing as you kicked off your shoes and sprinted towards him, shooting the agent straight in the head and another three of them as they screamed and barreled towards the both of you. You took hold of the left side of the field while Charles ran to another empty boulder and flanked the right. Both of you fought to pick off the pack of revenue agents that had seemingly swarmed the area, reloading your guns and bearing the pain of flesh wounds resulting from incoming bullets.

Just as you thought you were in the clear, the air was knocked straight out of your lungs as your head smashed against the side of the wagon and you were pushed, face first, into the solid ground.

“You enjoy playing with guns, sweet thing?” The man on top of you grunted and gripped your neck as you thrashed and struggled below him. He dropped his knee against your lower spine, causing a mantra of curses to pass your lips as you promised death upon him.

“You got some mouth on you,” he groaned into your ear, holding you down harder as you continued to scream and fight beneath him. “I’m gonna take you in. Teach you how to kneel an’ please me good with my dick in your mouth, sweet thing.”

Suddenly, the commotion of gunshots leapt into a dreary silence, causing the man above you to turn his attention to the sudden absence of noise.

In your panic, you heard Charles scream your name.

With all your strength, you growled and practically bucked the agent off of you, reaching forward for your knife and whipping around to kick the man where it truly hurts the most.

The coward wailed on the ground and gripped his manhood, cursing you out as he shuffled backwards in fear. You spat and stalked towards him, your chest heaving and your eyes only seeing red. You pressed your right foot into the agent’s abdomen, hard, squatting down and positioning the tip of your blade near his chest.

“I hope hell burns extra hot for you, sweet thing.” You sneered at his visible fear and hurled the blade into the man’s chest — over and over, you plunged your knife into the agent’s body as blood poured from his mouth and he gaped at you with wide, dying eyes.

Blood poured from your scalp down to your face, your side screamed in agony, every inch of your skin was matted with blood that wasn’t your own — you stabbed until you physically felt the soul of the man beneath you leave his body.

That’s how Charles had found you, still and motionless, covered in blood and lost in your head as he called out for you and led you away from the strew of dead bodies.

---

“I need you,” you speak softly, breaking the night’s silence. You and Charles were under the protection of your tent: he’d been crafting poultice for your inflamed wounds while you’d been attempting to find pleasure in a bowl of Pearson’s stew. Your mind couldn’t stop racing and mulling over the day’s events.

You craved a distraction. You craved Charles.

“Charles?”

“Not tonight,” he murmurs. He speaks with an unwavering finality but with no anger, upset, or aggression. “You need rest. The both of us.”

You frown, like a child. “I just...I’m…”

“I know.” He places the cloth he was working with down and shuffles his way over to you, gripping the blanket by your feet and putting it over your body. He wordlessly noticed you had been shivering, wrapped only in your thin chemise. “When we’ve both recovered, we can share each other...It’s been a long day and I don’t want the love I have for you to pose as a distraction from the pain.”

You snuggle into his side, basking in his scent of ginseng and cedar, and nod against him. He was right, he was always right. “I...I love you, Charles. So, so much. You’re...everything and more to me.”

“And you to me.” He presses his lips against your temple, making sure not to touch the bandages against your scalp. He too takes in your scent, sprinkles of honey and peaches, a smell that proves to be his home and final landing.

He watches your eyelids flutter shut and lets you lay against your shared mattress, pressing a final day’s kiss against your warmed cheek. He is satisfied by your peaceful reflection. “I’ll wake you in the morning for coffee, my love. Get some rest now.”

Charles' sweet whispers are your last rememberings of the day as you drift off into a calming dreamland.

#charles smith #charles smith x reader #charles smith x you #charles smith x oc #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan #fanfiction #writing #ao3

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junghelioseok · 4 years ago

Text

clandestine. | 03

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 9.2k [3/6]

notes: this will likely be my last update of this fic until the new year, because i have two (2!!!) other fics that i’m planning to post in december, including another jungoo one, so! please look forward to those, and enjoy this chapter in the meantime!

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink: a recurring yet warranted warning, me absolutely fucking up everything about korea’s geography probably, semi-public? fingering???, jungkook....... shall we say, rocks the boat, there is one (1) dick pic but no one’s complaining

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

Monday - 11:27am

Kim Taehyung added you to the group: the great escape!!!!!! 🏝🚗💨

[11:27am] Taehyung: let’s gooooooooooo!!

[11:27am] Jisoo: ???

[11:28am] Lisa: go where?

[11:28am] Taehyung: parks lake house this weekend! we’re going on vacation!

[11:28am] You: hold up tae, we haven’t even asked our parents if we can have the house yet

[11:29am] Chimchim: oh yeah lmao

[11:29am] Chimchim: u wanna go ask noona??

[11:29am] You: nope

[11:30am] Chimchim: ugh, fine

[11:30am] Chimchim: u big baby

[11: 31am] You: 🙄

[11: 37am] Chimchim: they said yes!

[11:38am] Taehyung: LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

[11:38am] Minho: sweet 👍

[11:38am] Taemin: tight

[11:39am] Jungkook: dope

[11:40AM] Jisoo: you’re all idiots 🙄

Tuesday - 2:34pm

[2:34pm] Chimchim: i’ve secured the van

[2:34pm] Chimchim: for the trip i mean

[2:35pm] Taehyung: noice

[2:35pm] You: 10 people aren’t gonna fit in mom’s van, chim

[2:37pm] Jungkook: i can drive too

[2:37pm] Chimchim: 👍👍

[2:37pm] Chimchim: see? nothing to worry about

[2:38pm] Jungkook: yeah noona, nothing to worry about. nothing at all.

Wednesday - 9:49pm

[9:49pm] Taehyung: oh my god we need FOOD

[9:49pm] Lisa: you’re just realizing that now?

[9:50pm] Taehyung: shut up

[9:50pm] Taehyung: i have a cooler

[9:51pm] Lisa: and ice?

[9:51pm] Taehyung: ………… i will buy some ice

[9:52pm] You: there’s a grocery store on the way up that we always used to go to, we can stock up there

[9:52pm] Taehyung: 👍

[9:54pm] You: you also better remember to bring your own towels. and more than one change of clothing

[9:54pm] Taehyung: 👍👍

[9:55pm] Chimchim: yes, mom

///

The day of the trip finds you standing in the foyer, rifling through your purse to make sure you have all the essentials. Off in the distance, you can hear Jimin sprinting around frantically, catching the briefest glimpse of his ruffled blond hair before he disappears again into the depths of the house.

“Chim, I swear to god. Why didn’t you pack earlier?”

“I did!” your brother whines, poking his head out from the living room where his suitcase is lying wide open, belongings scattered in every direction. “It’s just that—oh, fuck. Do you have my toothbrush?”

“Why would I have your toothbrush?” you deadpan.

He ignores you, and not two seconds later, he lets out an excited shout. “Never mind! I found it!”

You sigh and rub your temples. The trip hasn’t even begun, yet you’re already feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “I’m going outside,” you call to your brother, who grunts in acknowledgement. Opening up the front door, you drag your suitcase out onto the sun-drenched porch, relishing the welcome breeze that caresses your cheeks and whispers through your hair.

The rare moment of peace is broken almost immediately by the rumble of a starting engine—the sound shuddery and wavering before it finally evens out into a steady, mechanical purr. It’s coming from nearby, and your gaze immediately travels to the neighboring driveway where a beat-up sedan sits, torn between exasperation and amusement when you see Jungkook waving at you from the driver’s seat.

“I’m coming to pick you up!” he calls through the open window, and you hold back your laughter as he reverses out of his driveway, rolls ten feet down the street, and pulls into yours.

“Was that really necessary?” you ask once he’s parked.

“Of course it was,” he replies, hopping out to grab your suitcase. You watch as he pops the trunk and loads it inside, and blanch when you realize what that means.

“Wait a second. Am I riding with you?”

Some emotion flashes across his face, but he wipes it away before you can identify it. “Would that be so terrible?”

It’s been one week since Taehyung’s party, and Jisoo’s warning still rings loud and clear in your brain. Still, you feign nonchalance and tamp down the uptick in your heart rate, offering him a shrug. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He grunts. An awkward silence settles over you as he adjusts your suitcase in the trunk beside his, and you distract yourself by fiddling with your purse strap until he slams the lid closed.

“So…” you start after a few seconds. “Are we picking anyone else up?”

“Yugyeom,” Jungkook replies, opening up the driver’s side door and climbing in. Hesitantly, you make your way over to the other side of the car, wondering if there’s any way you can avoid sitting in the passenger seat without looking like a total weirdo.

“Oh! Jungkook’s here already?” Jimin exits the house at last, lugging his suitcase and a smaller backpack. He shoves both into the backseat of your mother’s van before coming over, frowning when he sees you hovering near the trunk. “Why are you just standing there?”

You make a face at him. “We’re waiting for you, dumbass. Who’s riding with you?”

“Tae, Minho, and Taemin,” your brother replies. “Didn’t you see the group chat this morning?”

“I muted it days ago,” you admit. “You guys were annoying as hell.” Then another thought strikes you, your brain belatedly registering the names Jimin listed. “Wait, what about the girls? Aren’t they coming?”

Your brother rolls his eyes. “Jisoo’s working as a camp counselor this summer, and Lisa has other vacation plans. Maybe if you hadn’t muted the chat, you’d have known that.”

He has a point, though you aren’t about to admit that. You’re also wise enough not to inquire about the third member of the trio, remembering Jisoo’s revelation at the party. It’s no surprise that Chaeyoung isn’t joining you for the weekend—you’d want to avoid extended periods of time with your ex-boyfriend too. At the thought, your gaze reluctantly flits back over to the ex in question, who raises an expectant brow when he catches your eye.

“Ready?” he calls out the open window.

No, you want to say. But Jimin has already clambered into the van and slammed the door shut, and Jungkook’s car is blocking the van in the driveway so you suck in a deep breath and slide into the passenger seat beside your dark-haired neighbor.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Jungkook nods and throws the car into reverse. One hand splays across the wheel while the other comes up to rest on the back of your seat, and your breath hitches when he cranes around to check his blind spots, his face suddenly too close for comfort.

He’s playing with you, you tell yourself firmly, leaning back until your back’s pressed against the door and you can safely breathe again. Chaeyoung. Think about what he did to Chaeyoung.

“Hey, I made a roadtrip mix,” Jungkook pipes up all of a sudden. He grabs his phone from where it’s resting on the dashboard, tapping at the screen until the first strains of a melody filter through the car speakers. “It should last us the whole way.”

You perk up when you recognize the tune. “Oh! I love this song.”

Jungkook watches out of the corner of his eye as you bob your head to the beat, before smiling down at his lap. “Yeah. I know.”

///

Yugyeom lives on the other side of town, in a sprawling, winding neighborhood that sends your brain—and your phone’s GPS—into a complete and total tailspin. “Wait, wait—hang on. I think you missed a turn. You must have.”

Jungkook’s face crumples in confusion as he slows the car to a crawl, drawing a few irritated honks from the cars behind you. “There weren’t any streets back there, though.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, twisting in your seat to get a better look. “The directions said to take a right in… oh, fuck, hang on. We’re not even on a digitized road anymore, apparently.”

Jungkook heaves a sigh, but when you glance up at him, he’s wearing a grin. “Come on, Noona. You’re supposed to be my navigator. I’m depending on you.”

“I only know how to get us to the lake house, not Yugyeom’s,” you sniff defensively. “This is way beyond my pay grade.”

Jungkook chortles and reaches out, extending an open palm. “Can I see your phone for a sec?” You nod, handing it over, and he clicks his tongue as he turns it upside-down—rotating it a full three hundred and sixty degrees before returning it. “We might be lost,” he declares.

“Gee, you don’t say.”

He chuckles again. Picking up his own phone, he swipes a thumb across the screen before handing the unlocked device over. “Here, call Yugyeom. Put him on speaker, yeah?”

You hum in acknowledgement and scroll down in his contacts until you find the other boy’s name, clicking it open. A photo fills the screen as it rings—clearly a group photo from the way it’s cropped, zoomed in on Yugyeom and the ridiculous face he’s making.

“Is this from graduation?” you ask curiously.

Jungkook blinks and tears his gaze away from the windshield. “Huh?”

“Yugyeom’s contact photo,” you clarify, tilting the phone screen so he can see. “He’s got robes on.”

“Oh.” He looks away again, cheeks flushing. “Yeah. It’s lame, I know.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that. I think it’s nice.”

Jungkook doesn’t get a chance to respond, but it’s impossible to miss the grin that crinkles his face and settles there. There’s a staticky hum as the line connects, and then Yugyeom’s voice is filling the vehicle, sounding as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“Whaddaya want?”

“We can’t find your fucking house, man,” Jungkook says bluntly, turning onto a street that you’ve driven down at least three times by this point. “Where do you live?”

On the other end of the line, Yugyeom sighs. “Okay, okay. What street are you guys on?”

That gives Jungkook pause. “Uhh, Cedar Street? Oak Avenue? It has a tree name.”

“Neither of those streets exist, dude.”

“Birch Boulevard!” you exclaim. “We’re on Birch Boulevard. I saw the sign a while back.”

“Ah, okay. You’re close, then. Do you see a sign for Linden Lane?”

You glance around until you alight on a signpost. “Yeah.”

“Turn right onto it. Then take the first left, go past the cul-de-sac, and another left. Do not pass Go, and do not collect two-hundred dollars. I’m the fifth house on the right.”

He ends the call before you can ask him to repeat the directions, and you send Jungkook a helpless look. “Did you get all of that?”

“Besides the overused Monopoly joke?” Jungkook asks.. “Yeah, I got it. Right, left, left. Fifth house. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get there.”

And true to his word, you arrive at the house three minutes later. Yugyeom is standing on the front step with rumpled hair and a duffel bag at his feet, and you snort when he throws open the car door and flops across the entirety of the backseat.

“Rough morning?”

“Stayed up late packing,” he says by way of explanation, his eyes already beginning to drift shut. Jungkook immediately turns the music up, and you giggle when Yugyeom shoots upright at the bassline that’s now shaking the entire vehicle. “I’m up, I’m up! Jeez, man.”

Jungkook just sends him an innocent grin in the rearview mirror. You turn the volume back down to a reasonable level as Yugyeom directs Jungkook onto the best route to take out of the neighborhood, and it isn’t long before you’re merging onto the highway that leads toward the coast.

You’re just beginning to get comfortable, staring out the window at the passing cityscape, when your leg vibrates with an incoming text notification. Glancing down, you see that Jungkook’s phone has slipped between your thigh and the seat, the screen lit with a new message.

[10:21am] Minho: gonna be at the store in 10

“Minho says they’ll be at the grocery store in ten minutes,” you relay to your companions. “We have a little longer to go. Probably another half hour or so.”

“We wouldn’t be so far behind if Yugyeom didn’t live in a fucking labyrinth,” Jungkook remarks, but a glance at the young man in the backseat reveals that he’s drifted off despite your earlier stunt. Rolling his eyes, he turns to you. “Can you text him back, Noona?”

You nod and hold out his phone so he can unlock it with his thumb. “Hey,” you say once you’ve hit send on the message. “Do you have a contact photo for me?”

Jungkook stiffens slightly, his gaze skittering between you and the road. “Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess I do. But it’s nothing, really. It’s kinda lame. But you… you can look at it if you want.”

Curiosity piqued, you scroll down until you find your name, tapping on the image beside it. The photo is from several years ago, during a family trip to the lake house with the Jeons. You are no older than fifteen, your arm slung around a fourteen-year-old Jungkook as the two of you stand knee-deep in the lake, wearing swimsuits and bright smiles. In the background, you can just barely make out a blurry Jimin mid-splash.

“I remember this,” you murmur, zooming in on your smiling faces. “That was a fun summer.”

“Junghyun was grumpy the whole time,” Jungkook recalls with a laugh. “But we had a good time, didn’t we? We practically lived in the lake that entire week.”

“Or that old canoe.” You grin, taking one last look at the photo before locking his phone and handing it back to him. “Remember? We’d always row out too far, and our parents would scream for us to come back before we fell in and drowned.”

Jungkook snickers. “As if I’d ever let you drown. I’m a great swimmer.”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

He backpedals immediately, realizing his mistake. “Hey, don’t twist my words. I said nothing of the sort.”

“That’s what I thought.” Giggling, you turn to look out the window, propping your chin in your palm as you watch the scenery flash past. “And I want that photo, by the way. Send it to me?”

“As soon as we get to the store,” Jungkook promises. “Speaking of which, we’re getting close. Keep an eye out for the exit for me?”

“Deal.”

///

Jimin and the others are waiting in the parking lot when you arrive, perched on and around the van as they watch Jungkook expertly maneuver the car into a neighboring parking space. “Took you long enough,” your brother says once the engine is cut, hopping off the hood and landing lightly on both feet.

“We’re here now, aren’t we?” you snark as you join the others hovering near the grocery store entrance. Jimin makes a face at you, and you stick your tongue out in response. After a quick huddle—wherein you form a very haphazard game plan—everyone disperses. Jimin grabs a shopping cart and heads inside with Taehyung and Minho, the latter of whom is trying to clamber his way into the cart to hitch a ride.

Sighing, you grab a shopping cart of your own and scan the interior of the store for the produce section. They’ve rearranged the aisles since you were last here, but you quickly find what you’re looking for and begin picking your way over when Jungkook materializes at your side.

“So, what are you thinking for food?” he asks, nudging you away so he can push the cart in your stead.

You allow him to take over, gesturing toward your destination. “I know my brother,” you tell him dryly. “He’s going to buy meat and completely forget about everything else. And I don’t trust any of you to buy a single fruit or vegetable.”

“I like fruit and vegetables,” Jungkook defends.

“You like everything,” you correct, flashing him a teasing grin before leading him into the produce section.

Grocery shopping with Jungkook turns out to be surprisingly pleasant—comfortable, even. He proves adept at finding the ripest fruits and greenest vegetables, and when you ask him to find some apples, he trots off immediately and returns with a handful of sweet potatoes in addition to your requested fruit.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do with those?”

Jungkook feigns offense, slapping a hand to his heart. “That’s cold, Noona. Don’t you think I can cook?”

“I’ve never seen you cook in my life,” you respond. “How am I supposed to know if you can or not?”

“I can,” he promises. “And I’ll prove it too, if you let me.”

You get the feeling he’s not just talking about cooking anymore, but he doesn’t give you a chance to answer. Dropping the apples and potatoes into the cart, he flashes you a crooked little smile before turning toward a display of cabbages, leaving you to wonder at what exactly is going through his head.

///

It’s nearly one in the afternoon when you arrive at your family’s lake house. The last stretch of the drive takes you through the forest along a winding, narrow road, but Jungkook is a capable driver and you know the way well enough to warn him about any upcoming hairpin turns. Piling out of the car, the three of you make quick work of putting the food safely into the refrigerator. By the time you’re finished, Jimin and the others have arrived as well, lugging their belongings inside and setting them inside the entryway.

“So who’s sleeping where?” Taehyung asks, glancing around the house. It’s modestly sized, with a living area on one side and a combined dining room and kitchen on the other. Three bedrooms and a bathroom branch off of the hallway between them, ending in a back door that leads out to the lake. Through the window, you can see the water glimmering in the sunlight, hazy and golden.

“We’ll have to share,” Jimin says. “ If Noona takes one room, that leaves two bedrooms and the pullout couch for the rest of us.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he suggests, drawing a chorus of groans.

“I always lose!” Jimin complains. “And Taemin cheats!”

“Do not!”

Laughing at the indignant expression on your brother’s face, you decide to leave them to it and head to your bedroom with your luggage in tow. The room is just as you remember it, with a bed tucked against one wall and a dresser on the opposite. There are three doors in total—one that you just entered through, and another that opens into a small closet. The third leads to a bathroom—shared with the bedroom on the other side of the wall that usually belongs to Jimin. Vaguely, you wonder who will be sleeping there tonight, before setting your suitcase on the bed and unzipping it.

“Fuck!”

You jump at the sudden shout, poking your head out into the hallway to see what’s causing all the commotion. Yugyeom is kneeling on the floor with his head down, a crestfallen Taemin standing beside him. Meanwhile, Taehyung and Minho look supremely pleased with themselves, and you see why when they grab their bags and practically skip to the master bedroom across the hall, collapsing onto the king-sized bed.

“Have fun on the couch, losers!” Jimin singsongs, grabbing Jungkook by the wrist and dragging him into their newly won bedroom on your side of the hallway. “Lake in fifteen minutes, so get changed! Last one there’s in charge of dinner!”

The door slams shut behind him, and you roll your eyes before turning back to your opened suitcase and pulling out a book. There’s a perfectly shaded spot beneath one of the trees along the water, and you fully intend to capitalize on the last few hours of daylight before the sun begins to set.

Minho is the only one outside when you exit the house, standing on the dock in a pair of green swim trunks. He waves at you cheerily before cannonballing into the lake, and you squeak as the resulting splash sends water splattering across the front of your shirt.

“Sorry!” he calls when he resurfaces, shaking his hair out like a wet dog.

You wave off his apology with a laugh, settling down onto the soft grass at the base of your chosen tree and opening up your book. The other boys trickle out of the house one by one, but you barely notice. It isn’t until a triumphant shout pierces the air that you finally glance up to see what’s causing all the commotion, your gaze immediately landing on Taehyung standing on the back steps of the house.

“Trust me,” he says, unbothered by his apparent tardiness. “You don’t want me to make dinner.”

Minho pulls a face and straightens up from where he’d been floating on his back. “You know, he kinda has a point there.”

Murmurs of agreement all around. Taehyung gives Jimin a smug smile, who scowls from where he’s sitting at the end of the dock, his bare feet dangling over the edge. “So what now? Do we have to play rock, paper, scissors again?”

“Nah, I’ll do it.”

Every head whips around to face Jungkook, yours included. He’s standing a short ways from where you’re sitting—his approach so quiet that you hadn’t even heard him arrive. The last time you checked, he’d been diving off the dock with Minho and Yugyeom, water pooling in his collarbones and dripping down the ridges of his taut abdomen each time he resurfaced.

Not that you’d been looking, of course.

“Really?” Jimin looks aghast at his best friend’s declaration. “You can cook?”

Jungkook scoffs in disbelief and plops down beside you, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Why does everyone in your family seem surprised by that?” he asks, his lip jutting out in a petulant frown. “Do I seem like someone who can’t cook?”

“Yes,” you tell him honestly, marking your page and letting the book fall shut. “Don’t take it personally, though. Men only learn how to cook in college when they have to start fending for themselves. And sometimes, not even then.”

The noise that leaves Jungkook’s mouth can best be described as disgruntled, but he doesn’t press any further. Instead, he peers over your shoulder to get a look at the cover of your book, mouthing the title to himself before glancing at you. “Haven’t I seen you reading this before?”

“Probably,” you admit. “It’s an old favorite.”

He hums, slouching back against the tree again, and when you look over, you see that both his eyes have fallen shut. With his mouth parted and his dark lashes resting on his cheeks, he looks years younger than he is—and so much more like the Jungkook you used to know.

“Tired?” you whisper.

“Long drive,” Jungkook whispers back, his head already beginning to loll. “Lemme sleep, Noona.”

Smiling to yourself, you return to your book and leave him to rest.

///

“So, what are you even planning to make?” Jimin asks, swinging his legs. He’s seated atop the kitchen counter, taking up the majority of what precious little space there is to begin with, and Jungkook sighs deeply as he’s forced to dodge around him yet again to peer into the refrigerator.

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t think you even know yet,” Taemin pipes up from the doorway. The other boys are in the living room playing Mario Kart, but Taemin and Jimin have selflessly pulled themselves away from the game to help their friend in the kitchen—or so they say. As far as you’re concerned, they’ve been nothing but a nuisance thus far, but you don’t voice that particular thought aloud.

“Ramen doesn’t count as making dinner,” Jimin points out snidely when Jungkook pauses too long next to the box of ramen packs. “Anyone can boil water. And you don’t get to add an egg and call it fancy, like you usually do.”

“My ramen is delicious, excuse you,” Jungkook retorts, pointing a spatula at him. “And that’s not even what I’m making, so fuck off.”

Jimin shrugs, but shuts his mouth nonetheless. You take the opportunity to throw some pork belly at him, the meat wrapped neatly in paper and tied off with twine. “Here,” you tell him. “You could at least make yourself useful and start grilling the meat.”

“Okay, mom,” your brother grumbles under his breath, hopping off the counter. He and Taemin head out to the back porch where the grill sits, and you join Jungkook at the stove where he’s staring thoughtfully at an empty pan.

“Try twisting the dial. I’ve heard that helps.”

Jungkook snaps out of his daze and turns to you. “Huh?”

“The stove. It won’t light itself, you know.”

Chuckling, Jungkook twists the dial as instructed, adding a drizzle of oil to the pan. As it heats up, he turns and selects a knife from the cutlery drawer. The sweet potatoes he’d insisted on purchasing are already washed and peeled, and you watch as he begins to slice them, your gaze automatically flitting down to his exposed forearms, his muscles flexing with every movement.

“Hey, Noona? Can you do me a favor?”

You blink, tearing your gaze from the branching veins lining his arms. “What?”

Jungkook, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice your distracted state. “Can you put the rice in the microwave?” he asks, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Why?” you tease. “Are you still scared?”

“Of course not,” he retorts, but you don’t miss the wary look that flashes across his face when you plop the rice inside and go to punch in the cook time.

The remainder of the cooking goes smoothly. Jimin and Taemin return with the grilled meat, and Jungkook rebuffs your offer to set the table, leaving his position at the stove to lay plates and utensils down on the table himself. “I’m just about done, anyway,” he tells you, gesturing at the plate of glazed sweet potatoes on the counter. “Sit down and relax, Noona.”

“Fine,” you relent, taking a seat. Jimin takes the chair beside you, and Taemin plops down on his other side. Jungkook sits down just to your left once he’s finished laying out the food, and for a brief, insane moment, you almost think that he’s going to repeat what he’d done at his graduation dinner. But the dark-haired young man remains on his best behavior, keeping his hands to himself under the table, and you aren’t sure whether you’re grateful or disappointed.

The meal flies by in a flurry of laughter and conversation. Jungkook discovers that his glazed sweet potatoes have adhered to the plate, and sends everyone into hysterics when he promptly starts spinning it around like a steering wheel.

It’s a good night. And at the end of it, you go to bed warm and content, with a belly full of food and a smile on your face.

///

You awaken to the sound of chirping songbirds and gentle waves lapping at the shore the next morning, thoroughly rejuvenated after an undisturbed night’s sleep. Stretching your arms overhead, you yawn and bask in the comfort of your bed for a few more moments before getting up and heading to the bathroom, thankful that you don’t have to fight anyone for sink occupancy. The toilet seat is even down, which comes as a welcome surprise, all things considered.

Before long, you are back in your bedroom, rifling through the contents of your suitcase. Belatedly, you realize that you’ve packed only one swimsuit—and a bikini, at that. Cheeks warming, you pull the two pieces out, holding them up against your body. Has it always been this small? You don’t remember. All you know is that Jungkook has two fully functional eyes, and there’s no way that he won’t be looking at every inch of skin you choose to expose.

In the end, you settle on wearing the bikini beneath a flowy, floral kimono-style robe, tied at the waist to form a makeshift dress. The ensemble reaches just past your knees and is sheer enough to still show skin, but you no longer feel as self-conscious going out into the view of your companions and that’s a victory as far as you’re concerned. Checking your reflection one last time, you adjust your sash before opening the bedroom door and heading down the hall for some breakfast.

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is empty when you walk in, tiptoeing past a still slumbering Taemin and Yugyeom on the pullout couch. You savor the quiet as you start up the old coffeemaker, pulling a mug from the cabinet and rinsing it out to get rid of any lingering dust. The weather app on your phone promises that it’ll be a clear, cloudless day, and a glance out the window confirms it. Silently, you debate whether or not to crack a window.

Your musings are interrupted by the arrival of Taehyung, his brown hair sticking up at all angles. Blearily, he trundles to the fridge and grabs the orange juice, seemingly two seconds away from chugging it straight from the carton before you clear your throat and push a clean glass toward him. You think you hear him mumble a thank you.

As the morning wears on, the others slowly begin to trickle in. Breakfast is a disorganized affair that leaves bread crumbs all over the counter, and nearly causes a fight when everyone seems to want their eggs cooked a different way.

“Look, if you wanted your egg soft-boiled, you should’ve made it yourself!” Jimin grouches to Taehyung, the t-shirt over his head muffling his words. Everyone else is already in the water, splashing about, but you’re seated on the end of the dock with your brother and Taehyung, who looks thoroughly unfazed behind his tinted sunglasses.

“Maybe if I knew how to soft boil an egg, I would have.”

“Google exists,” Jimin says, finally freeing himself from the shirt and tossing it aside.

Taehyung nods sagely. “Exactly. So why didn’t you use it?”

Jimin is beginning to look positively murderous, so when Minho swims over and taps your submerged ankle, you are beyond grateful for the distraction. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Are you gonna swim, or are you gonna sit onshore the whole time?” Minho asks, raking his wet bangs out of his eyes. “The water’s not even cold, so get in here.”

Pointedly, you wiggle your toes. “Feels pretty cold to me.”

“Okay, fine. It’s cold.” Minho grins. “But you get used to it.”

You sigh at his easy admission. “All men do is lie. How am I supposed to believe you?”

He raises a brow. “Do I need to pull you in and dunk you under?”

“I will kick you if you even try,” you tell him, standing up and shrugging off your robe. An audible hush falls as the gauzy material pools around your ankles—Jungkook stops wrestling with Yugyeom and trying to dunk him underwater, and Taemin pauses mid-splash, his hair drenched and dripping.

It’s Minho who breaks the silence first, letting loose a low whistle of appreciation. “Damn, {Name}.”

Jimin grabs a shoe from the pile on the dock and chucks it at him, hard. “Dude, that’s my fucking sister!”

“Ow! What the fuck, man, that’s my shoe!”

“Quit ogling my sister!”

“I’m not!” Minho yells, just as Jimin chucks the other shoe and hits him square in the mouth. “Okay, I’m not anymore. Sorry, okay?”

Once he’s sufficiently sure that Jimin is done attacking him, Minho turns to you. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you reassure him. “Honestly, it was kinda good for my self-esteem. And I don’t need you defending my honor, or whatever it is you think you’re doing,” you add, glancing over at your disgruntled brother.

“Men are pigs,” Jimin sniffs. “I won’t apologize.”

You ruffle his hair good-naturedly. “I know, Chim. You’re right.” Then your smile turns mischievous. “I won’t apologize for what I’m about to do, either.”

And then you grab him by the arm and drag him into the lake, the cold water submerging you in an instant and stealing the breath out of your lungs. You’re both gasping by the time you resurface, blinking water out of your eyes, and you squeal when Jimin takes the opportunity to splash you again.

Hours pass—the sun rising higher overhead. Around noon, Taehyung disappears inside the house and returns with an assortment of snacks and sandwich fixings, ushering everyone over for an impromptu lunch on the dock. You dip your feet into the water as you munch on a bag of chips, and Jungkook plops down beside you with a juice box in one hand and a ham sandwich in the other.

“Wanna go for a ride in the canoe after lunch?” he asks, jabbing a thumb back in the direction of the house. “I found it in the garage.”

You laugh. “Really? I thought for sure we got rid of that thing. Are you sure it hasn’t sprung a leak?”

Jungkook’s face crinkles into a grin. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, huh?”

You grin back and raise your cup, the lemonade inside swishing around. “I’ll hang on to this, just in case I need to start bailing water out.”

Lunchtime winds down gradually. Jungkook polishes off his sandwich and trots off to fetch the canoe, waving off your offers to help before disappearing around the corner of the house. You watch him return a few minutes later from your seat on the end of the dock, resting your weight back on your hands and swirling your pruney toes in the water. He’s stripped off the loose white tee he’d donned during lunch, his golden skin cast in shadow by the canoe perched across his bare shoulders, and your gaze trails from his bulging biceps down to the ridges of his abdomen. The muscles flex with every step he takes, and you hastily take another sip of lemonade in an effort to combat the sudden dryness in your throat.

With a grunt, Jungkook comes to a stop at your elbow, heaving the boat into the water. The impact sends ripples across the lake and the butterflies in your belly into a frenzy, and you nearly fall off the dock when Jungkook touches your shoulder gently.

“Ready to go, Noona?”

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Jungkook holds the boat steady with one hand while offering you the other, and you gratefully grasp it as you step off the dock. The canoe rocks dangerously when Jungkook clambers in after you, but quickly steadies when he picks up an oar and jabs at the dock to push off into the lake. The glimmering expanse of blue water stretches before you, and you relax as you let your fingers dangle off the side of the boat, watching ripples form beneath your fingertips.

“I can help row,” you say after a few moments, casting a glance over at Jungkook. He’s settled into a rhythm now, the veins and tendons in his arm flexing with each movement, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting.

“You—” Jungkook says, fixing you with a playful stare, “—just enjoy the ride, yeah?”

Shaking your head, you smile and turn back around to admire the view. Sunlight reflects off the rippling water, lending a golden iridescence to the glittering blue depths. In the distance, the opposite shoreline rises up, crowned with rocky outcrops and majestic dark green pines.

With a start, you realize how far away you’ve gotten from the other boys. The shouts and laughter from the house are quickly fading into the background, and you nervously turn to look at Jungkook as he rows you even further.

“God, my dad would freak if he saw us right now,” you remark, trying to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled. “I mean, we don’t even have life jackets. He’d lose his mind.”

Jungkook hums. He stops rowing, his hands stilling on the oars, and you’re just about to ask him what’s wrong when a warm hand glides up your thigh.

“You think you could maybe stop talking about your dad, princess?” Then he smirks. “Unless you’re into the whole daddy kink thing, because I’d be down to explore that at some point if you want—“

“Jungkook!” you hiss, scandalized.

“Yes?” the young man in question hums, his face the picture of innocence. It’s hard to muster up your vocabulary when he’s looking up at you with those wide doe eyes, but you somehow manage to prevail over your malfunctioning brain.

“We’re in public!” you whisper, glancing back at the shore where your brother and his friends have started an impromptu game of water polo.

Jungkook smirks crookedly at you. “Guess you better not scream too loud, then.”

And then, before you can open your mouth to protest—before you can even try to call his bluff—he’s slipped his hand into your bikini bottoms and found his way to your clit. Your entire body spasms when he presses into it experimentally, and the resulting snicker that escapes him is nothing short of infuriating.

“Careful,” he coos, laying his free hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing nonsensical circles into the soft skin. “Don’t wanna rock the boat, now.”

Then he returns his attention to your clit, pinching the nub just to watch you jolt in his grasp and soothing you with a gentle kiss to the knee afterward. Your skin warms beneath the plush of his lips, and the pleased smile that curves them is all the warning you get before he sheathes a single finger in your clenching core. “Jungkook—” you gasp, shoving uselessly at his bare shoulders, but you can’t keep the edge of desire out of your voice. You can’t hide the growing wetness between your legs either—wetness that he most certainly feels as he slips another finger inside, pumping into you with ease.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on the way you clench around him. “So pretty like this. So pretty, getting fucked by my fingers. I could do this all day.”

“We—we don’t have all day,” you whisper. The last syllable dissolves into a moan as Jungkook eases a third finger into your cunt, and you scrabble to ground yourself when he picks up his leisurely pace. One hand settles on the edge of the boat, your fingernails digging into the wood, while the other finds Jungkook’s bicep. His arm flexes beneath your grip with each snap of his wrist, and you keen when he crooks his fingers just right and sends stars skittering across your vision.

He knows that you’re getting close. You can tell from the growing furrow between his brows and the hard set of his jaw, and you can tell that he won’t stop until he gets you off. Concentration etches across his face, and you gasp when his thumb finds your clit again.

“Oh, fuck, Jungkook—”

“That’s it,” he rasps, digging deeper and thumbing roughly across your bundle of nerves. “Cum for me.”

And you do. With one final flick of his wrist, Jungkook sends you hurtling over the edge that he’s so effortlessly built, a cresting wave of pleasure overtaking your body and spreading through your veins. Your leg kicks out instinctively, rocking the canoe dangerously in the water, but Jungkook catches you by the ankle with his free hand and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. He shifts his weight until you’re steadied once more, and only then does he ease his fingers out of you, raising them to his mouth to lick them clean.

“Think we can sneak away so I can fuck you properly?” he asks.

Your cheeks heat up at the lewd display, warming even more when his words register in your muddled brain. “Oh my god, Jungkook.”

“That’s exactly what you’ll be saying when I really get my hands on you,” Jungkook agrees. Flashing you a mischievous grin, he drops his hand over the edge of the boat, letting the turquoise water wash away any lingering fluids. “What do you think? The backseat of my car isn’t half bad…”

“I will literally push you into this lake,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide a disbelieving laugh. “Why are you such a perv?”

“You like it,” Jungkook defends immediately. “‘Sides,” he adds, casting a wary glance at the shore where Jimin and the others are still fully engrossed in their game, “I wanna kiss you while I fuck you. It’s not as good like this.”

At that, something dangerously close to affection blooms in your belly, winding its curious tendrils around your heart. Swallowing the feeling down, you pick up one of the oars instead, handing it over to him before hefting the other. “Come on,” you murmur. “They’re gonna get suspicious if we’re gone too long.”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah. Probably.”

And then he raises the oar you just handed him, lifting it until the paddle covers both of your faces, and boldly plants a firm kiss on your mouth.

“I’ll row us back,” he declares casually when he pulls away, as if he hasn’t just stolen all the oxygen from your lungs. As if your lips aren’t burning where he’s kissed you, your cheeks hot beneath his gentle exhalations. As if you aren’t positively thrumming with the desire to pull him back in, and maybe take him up on his offer to fuck you in the backseat of his beat-up sedan.

“Yeah,” you say instead, your voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”

///

What few remaining hours of daylight you have, you decide to spend inside. Jungkook gets roped into the water polo match as soon as the two of you return to shore, and you take the opportunity to slip into the house and clean yourself up. Safely locked away in the bathroom, you strip off your damp bikini bottoms and toss them in the sink. The top follows, and you give both a quick wash, doing your best to ignore the remaining slick from your orgasm that stubbornly coats the material.

Once everything is washed and hanging up to dry, you step into the shower. Warm water soaks your hair and slides down your back, and you tilt your head back to let the spray wash your worries away, relishing in the rare moment of peace and quiet.

By the time you’ve toweled off and gotten dressed, you can hear the boys beginning to traipse back into the house. From what you can make out, they’re making dinner plans, and you poke your head out curiously when Jimin mentions you by name.

“What are you saying about me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes accusingly at your brother.

Jimin whirls around, his cherubic face a perfect picture of innocence. “Nothing! I was just talking about your fried rice and how good it is…”

“You’re trying to get me to make you dinner,” you sigh. “I knew it.”

“No, we’ll help!” your brother promises. “I swear, as soon as I get out of the shower, I’ll chop all the vegetables.”

“Sure you will,” you snort, brushing past him and heading for the kitchen.

Much to your surprise, the kitchen is already occupied when you arrive. Jungkook and Yugyeom are at the counter—the former poised with a knife at the ready, about to slice into an onion. The latter is digging through the cabinets, and both turn at the sound of your footsteps.

“Hey,” Yugyeom says. “You probably know where the bottle opener is, right?”

You nod. “Left of the sink, second drawer down.” Then you turn your attention to Jungkook, peering curiously over his shoulder. “What’s the onion for?”

“Dinner,” he replies, flashing you a crooked little smile. “We’re making fried rice, aren’t we?”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest and races to catch up, thumping erratically against your ribcage. It’s hard to ignore the warmth blossoming in your belly—near impossible to ignore the butterflies that have made a home there—but you somehow manage to school your expression into something passably neutral and busy yourself with the other vegetables on the counter. “I see Jimin got to you, too. Is the other cutting board clean?”

Jungkook nods, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the dish rack. “Washed it last night, yeah. It’s all yours, Noona.”

You hum and skirt around Yugyeom to grab the clean board and another knife. Chopping vegetables goes a lot faster with two people, and Yugyeom does his part by cracking open two bottles of beer and plunking one down next to each of you before opening a third for himself. “Hydrate,” he orders, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and taking a sip.

It doesn’t take long to finish making dinner. As promised, Jimin joins you as soon as he’s out of the shower, plucking the knife out of your hand and nudging you aside so he can finish cutting the vegetables. You fire up the stove and drizzle some oil into a pan, and smile when Taehyung brings you the container of leftover rice and a large serving bowl.

“You know what we should do?” Minho asks as you’re all sitting down to eat. Yugyeom’s opened more beers, and Jimin’s brought out the wine as well. Jungkook is spooning out fried rice for everyone, and you accept the bowl he hands you with a murmur of thanks before looking at Minho expectantly.

“What should we do?”

“Go to the beach,” he replies, tilting the remainder of his beer back into his mouth. “It’s only an hour away, isn’t it?”

“Closer to half an hour without traffic,” Jimin corrects. “But, yeah, we should go. That would be fun.”

By the time dinner is finished, you’ve finalized plans to drive down to the beach in the morning. “Remember, we’re leaving at ten,” you tell Jimin, elbowing him in the ribs. “That means you have to wake up before ten.”

“I know!” your brother whines, rubbing the spot where you elbowed him with a grimace. “Jeez, Noona. I’m good at waking up. It’s Jungkook and Tae you have to worry about.”

“Says the punk who takes hour-long showers,” you snark. “What are you gonna do when you have to pay your own water bills, huh?”

“Shower at your place,” he replies smugly. “You can’t turn me away. I’m your brother.”

“Please, that’s exactly why I can turn you away, you little mooch.”

“You love me!”

“Really? You wanna test that theory?”

The remainder of the evening passes in a blur of booze and board games, unearthed from the closet in the hall. Despite your collective agreement to go to bed early, it’s past midnight when you finally bid everyone goodnight and crawl underneath your covers. Shutting your eyes, you will your brain to settle and your limbs to relax, and you’re on the verge of drifting off when your phone suddenly buzzes. Lazily, you roll over and snatch the device off the nightstand, taking in the late hour before your eyes flit down to the new notification and go wide.

[1:02am] Jungkook: IMG_497

You freeze, thumb hovering just above the message. Even when your screen goes dark again, you can’t erase the sight of his name lighting up your phone, the attachment sitting there like a taunt. You shouldn’t open it. You can’t open it.

But curiosity gnaws at your belly, fraying the edges of your resolve. Slowly, you wake the screen, watching as Jungkook’s name fills it once more. You hesitate, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth.

And then your phone buzzes again, several times in quick succession.

[1:04am] Jungkook: i miss you, noona

[1:04am] Jungkook: miss your pretty face

[1:04am] Jungkook: miss how tight your pussy felt around my fingers

You drop the device as if scorched. It takes several moments to gather your wits again, but when you do, pick up your phone, clicking on his name and scrolling up to the attachment. In the darkness of your bedroom, you watch with bated breath as it downloads.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slips past your lips, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Jungkook stares out at you from the photograph illuminating your screen, his eyes hooded and his lips curled into a devious smirk. He’s in the shared bathroom between your bedrooms, and even though it’s dark inside, the flash of his camera is just enough to illuminate the distinctive palm tree patterned shower curtain behind him.

But, you aren’t focused on that.

No, your focus is zeroed in on the foreground of the photo, where you can perfectly make out the head of Jungkook’s cock, sticky and leaking copiously from between his fingers.

“Fuck,” you repeat, louder this time.

And as if reading your mind, another text flashes onto your screen.

[1:07am] Jungkook: wish your pretty little pussy was stretched around my cock right now, princess

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send the response you do, but your thumbs are moving before the more rational side of your brain can catch up and stop you.

[1:07am] You: why don’t you come over and make it happen then?

You’ve only just hit send when the bathroom door swings open, revealing Jungkook standing there in nothing but sweatpants. His face is illuminated in the stark white light shining from his screen, his eyes dark and his smirk even darker. Every movement drips with intent, from the way his lips quirk upward to the way he saunters over to join you on your bed, dropping his phone somewhere amongst the rumpled sheets. The room goes dark.

And then…

“Hey, princess.”

His lips are at your ear, hot breath caressing your cheeks and sending shivers down the length of your spine. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he joins you, a hand finding your bare thigh before sliding up to grasp your hip. Only an oversized t-shirt and a thin pair of cotton panties shield you from his roving fingers, and you can tell from the pleased curve of his mouth that he isn’t going to let either stand in his way. One hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, dancing along your ribcage, and you let out a breathy gasp when he trails up and skims along the soft skin just below the swell of your breasts.

“Been thinking about you all night, you know,” Jungkook whispers, pushing up your shirt and peppering kisses along every inch of newly revealed flesh. “Been thinking about how pretty you looked, cumming around my fingers, and how much prettier you’d look cumming around my cock.”

Your shirt is long forgotten by this point, tugged overhead and thrown carelessly over his shoulder. Jungkook hauls you closer, slotting himself between your spread legs, and you shiver when he presses the pad of his thumb against your clothed clit, the material uncomfortably damp as it clings to your folds.

“Jungkook—” His name escapes you in an airy whisper. “Please.”

Even in the darkness, you can see the satisfied, self-assured tilt of his lips. “Such a good girl for me,” he croons, leaning down to press a kiss to your waiting mouth. His free hand comes up to cup your cheek while the other remains between your legs, and you gasp sharply when he digs his thumb a little harder against your clit, circling the sensitive bud.

Jungkook seizes upon the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, licking into your mouth with unrestrained ardor. Your panties are peeled away, the cottony material disappearing right alongside the pressure of his thumb, and the inadvertent whine that escapes you has him chuckling darkly in his throat.

“What is it, princess?” Jungkook rasps, his voice dipping several pitches. “You have to tell me what you want, remember?”

You clutch at his wrist weakly, tugging it back between your legs until he finally indulges you and resumes his lazy revolutions around your clit. “Want you,” you whisper. “Want you inside me.”

Jungkook lets out a pleased hum, rewarding you with a single finger that he slips into your sopping entrance, your juices aiding the smooth glide as he curls it up in search of the spot that’ll have you seeing stars. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree shakily. “But it looks like you are, so why don’t you let me help you out?”

Jungkook chuckles softly, his lips ghosting across the swell of your cheek. “Oh, yeah? And how exactly do you plan on helping me?”

Slowly, you reach down, letting your fingers graze the sizable bulge in his sweatpants. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? Me, stretched around your cock?”

A low groan escapes him when you give him a firm stroke, your fingers barely meeting around his length. “On your back,” he commands hoarsely, nudging you backward until you’re nestled into your pillows. Freeing his erection from the confines of his sweatpants, he settles comfortably between your spread legs, the mattress groaning in protest at the shift in weight.

“Wait,” you whisper, grabbing his wrist. “Did you hear that?”

His face scrunches in confusion. “Hear what?” he asks, as if he’s never heard that particular string of words before. “Are you sure it wasn’t just—”

He stops mid-sentence, and you both hear it again—the unmistakable creaking of bedsprings from next door. “Shit!” you hiss, scrambling back on the mattress until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard. “Oh, god. That’s Jimin. He’s going to kill you if he finds you in here—”

On the other side of the wall, the door to the shared bathroom opens, the light flickering on and illuminating the crack beneath your door. You hear your brother cursing sleepily under his breath as the toilet lid clatters open, and nearly shove Jungkook off the bed in your haste to get him out of your room.

“You have to go,” you whisper frantically, herding him toward the door that leads out into the hall.

Jungkook hurriedly pulls his pants back over his hips, and you can practically see him willing his erection to go away. “What am I supposed to say if he asks?”

“I don’t know! Pretend you were going for a glass of water or something!”

With a final push, you shove him out of your bedroom, leaning against the door with a relieved sigh when it clicks shut behind him. You hear Jungkook shuffle off just as Jimin flushes, and cast a prayer up to any deities that may exist as you listen to him wash his hands. And it seems your prayers are answered, as quiet descends over the house once more. Off in the distance, you think you hear Minho snoring.

Letting out another sigh, you return to bed, crawling beneath the covers and getting comfortable. And when sleep finally takes you, you dream of Jeon Jungkook.

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