#and you know how when you drink extremely cold water and you feel it through its entire pathway
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asking chatgpt when I will feel better from being sick
#:(#it's been a week since I started feeling ill so not technically that long but ugh#funny enough I don't think I've used chatgpt at all yet#this is just a meme replacement for 'google search:'#anyway most of the observable cold symptoms are gone#but for some reason I still feel the same way like weak and tired and malaised#my body is not actively in pain but it feels like. tender?#and you know how when you drink extremely cold water and you feel it through its entire pathway#breathing feels like that like I can feel the air throughout moving against very sensitive tender innards#ordinarily by the time the clearest symptoms (e.g. running nose etc) have resolved I feel fine#I hope to god I have not been afflicted by long covid#m#whining#potentially I may also be somewhat undernourished#I have been trying to force myself to eat but it has been hard#everything is repulsive#I suspect also that lying in bed for a week and inconsistent with food intake has not been kind to my digestive system#which is in turn not kind to my appetite#Lots Of Walking seems essential to my gut function lmao
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ANOTHER WORD FOR HOMESICK (I WANT TO SAY YOUR NAME AGAIN) | M. BACHIRA
âź tags ; omegaverse, afab + fem!omega!!reader, alpha!bachira, childhood friends to lovers, established reader backstory, coming-of-age, romance, mutual pining, implicit sexual content (virginity loss to an oc), explicit sexual content ft. bonding, knotting, penetration, oral (f!recieving), fingering, praise, lovey dovey dirty talk, petnames (mostly baby) 18+
++ notes: readers appearance is mostly non-descript but they are shorter than bachira and have several piercings and a tattoo which are explained in story.
âź content warnings ; lore applicable sexism, sexual harassment of reader as a minor (details in authors note, explained further in extended authors note), lore applicable homophobia, implied bisexuality + referenced mutual queerness queerness, underage drinking, heat / estrus as a symptom of puberty
please thoroughly read content warnings and tags before clicking read more.
THIS IS PART ONE. CLICK HERE TO HERE PART TWO.
âź ao3 link | extended authors note | fics for gaza
âź wc ; 16.4k / 33.2k
âź a/n ; sorry for the incredibly long wait. as always i got extremely carried away. but cheers for fujoneet reader coming after this! written as part of the @ficsforgaza intiative
as mentioned above, there is a scene in this part of the fic that has reader experiencing their first heat as a minor omega during their heat.
they are being sexually harassed underage. if you find this content may be too triggering to you - the scene starts at the the [ THIRTEEN ] subheader and ends indicated with ***.
âź synopsis ; you can't decide on how you feel about alphas, but your resentment or discomfort around them grows stronger over time as an omega who presented particularly young
maybe that's why you feel so devastated upon hearing the news that bachira, your childhood best friend, had been hiding his alpha status from you your whole life.
PART ONE: MAY THE BRIDGES I HAVE BURNED..
[ NINE]Â Â
A car speeds past you when you turn the corner. Too fast, you watch it skid to a stop at a red light and feel your face grow flush. You tuck your chin into the collar of your coat, cold numbing your senses. Â
The mailman is at your door by the time you walk home. He smiles courteously and hands you the mail directly when you approach your front gate. You bow to him politely before taking it, the cold making your eyes water. Â
âI havenât seen you in a while,â He says. Nakamura oji-chan has been running mail to this route since you were a little baby. Mama said he has a grandchild now so he works less hours. Youâre glad to see him. âYouâve grown so big. What year are you in now?â Â
You hold up four fingers. âFourth year. Iâm nine,â Â
âYouâre growing up well, then huh? Thatâs good.â Â
Youâre not tall enough to reach the kitchen cabinets at the highest height and still losing baby teeth but other than that you think itâs pretty okay, so you nod. He laughs before turning to leave, and you make sure to stand in front of the door before he goes to be polite.Â
You shuffle through the mail as you walk inside. Warm air makes your face tingle. Thereâs two letters for you today. Theyâre addressed to your parents, but theyâve got your name on them so you think itâs okay to call them yours. One letter is from the hospital, but thereâs another one too. Â
You donât know what it is. Itâs in a separate black envelope with a raised seal along and government postage. Thereâs some stuff for nii-chan and mama - plus some coupons that papa gets from a subscription service. Â
You announce yourself loudly once youâve looked through it all. Only papaâs brown shoes are in the rack which means heâs the only one home. Â
 Slipping your shoes off, you slide your feet into brand new Doraemon slippers and prop your bag up against the couch in the living room before finally hanging up your coat. Your tummy rumbles after you regain feeling in your fingers, and you decide the nap can be pushed back till after snack time making your way towards the kitchen. Â
You make sure to take the mail with you. Mama always tell you to leave it on the counter so she can take a look when sheâs home. Youâre good at remembering this. Â
Papa is working at the dining table when you come in. He works on a fancy computer from home some days. He smiles when he sees you, bright eyes pointed toward you. You decide to hand him the mail directly. Â
âHey, sweetie.â His smile is soft. Ripe oranges sit for you on the counter, cut evenly on your favorite plate. Papa nudges them towards you with a smile. Quickly, you run to wash your hands and sit adjacent to him upon return. You start snacking on your oranges, wondering if he sliced them for you or just to eat. You sit folded up in the dining room chair as papa pats your head per routine. âHow was school?â Â
You look down. âIt was okay. We learned about praying mantis bugs. My friends thought they were scary but I thought they were cool, at least a littleâŚâÂ
Papa sits and waits for you to say more expectantly. You shrug, unable to think of anything more to say. Â
âThey are, arenât they? Theyâre really important to our eco-system.â Papa says. You nod. He starts to explain more to you about praying mantis bugs and you do your best to listen even as you feel your eyelids start to droop. You get sleepy early in winter because itâs dark so fast. Â
Even though youâre not listening too closely, you notice papa stops talking half-way through a sentence. You peek at him through your lashes. Heâs holding the special envelope from before. Papa is very quiet when he reads it. Â
âWhatâre you reading?â Â
His eyes go wide. You wonder if papa is also tired, since he seems so surprised youâre there. His brows are furrow - putting the letter face down on the dining room table. Heâs silent for a long time, though you donât fuss to ask again.Â
âWe got some important news in the mail,â Papa says quietly. He seems a little different somehow. âWeâll sit down when and talk about it when mama gets home, okay?â Â
âAm I in trouble?â Â
He smiles at you like normal this time but he still seems a little sad. âNot at all sweetheart. Itâs just an important talk so I think we should be all together. Is that okay?â Â
âYeah, that makes sense.â You tell him, looking down at your lap trying to figure out what to say so he stops seeming sad. âItâll be okay, papa.â Â
Briefly surprised, he smiles again, using his hand on your face to pull you close to him wet kiss on your temple that you take in stride. Youâre glad he seems to feel better.Â
âThatâs right, Iâm sure itâll be fine.â Â
_Â
When mama comes home, her and papa sit and talk for a long time in the kitchen. They send you to nii-chans room. Predictably, he turns you away when you knock on his door and goes down to complain to your parents. You think that whatever happened must be more serious than you thought, since he comes back up and lets you sit in his room without complain upon return.Â
 Nii-chan rarely invites you to do things with him by yourself, so youâre surprised when he invites you to his lap so you can watch him play games. Â
Mama always says heâs just going through a phase when heâs being mean. You think that makes sense. Youâre happy when heâs nice, though. Â
After a while, papa comes to get you. Him and nii-chan talk in whispers about something and take not-so-subtle glances. Â
Papa starts to explain a little to you as you go down stairs, holding his hand. He squeezes it tighter than normal.Â
âDo you know what an omega is, sweetheart?â Â
 You nod. Youâve got a vague understanding at least. Nii-chan is an alpha, papa is an omega and mama is a beta. It was hard for mama and papa to have you, so they consider you both miracles. Â
âWell, today, we got news about what you are,â Papa says. He tries to smile. âAnd youâre an omega like me.âÂ
âOh,â You say. You look up at him as you walk down the stairs. âIs that bad?â Â
He shakes his head when you ask, but strangely doesnât end up saying no directly. Â
__Â Â
After you find out youâre an omega, nii-chan walks you to school for a few weeks. Â
You find this to be very strange for several reasons. Â
For one, nii-chan doesnât really like school and he doesnât seem to like spending time with you either. He started going this year, you think - something mama had said about getting his life sorted. Either way, he clearly doesnât want to be going at all. Â
So, it doesnât make sense when he starts accompanying you even a little.Â
âI can walk to school by myself,â You say, not really meaning anything by it. He stares down at you. You arenât sure why heâs so mad. Nii-chan always seems a litle bit mad at everything. You wonder if all alphas are like that. Â
âDonât be annoying,â He says, harsh. You bite your tongue and turn your gaze to the sidewalk under your feet. Â
âIâm not being annoying,â You clutch the straps of your bag, because youâre not. Heâs the one who suddenly decided to walk you, which makes him the more annoying one. Plus, heâs always causing trouble at home anyway, not you.Â
âDidnât they explain to you that youâre an omega?â Â
You look up at him confused wondering why it matters. He stares at you for a long time, and even gets angry again before scratching the back of his neck. His hand comes down to the top of your head and you flinch, expecting him to mess your hair up but he pats it instead. Â
âStupid brat,â He sighs after that. You huff but try not to let it show. âWorry about yourself and shut up.â Â
__Â Â
[ TEN ]Â
 Thereâs a playground near your house thatâs a few minutes walk. It has a rusty swing set but a nice slide. Most importantly, thereâs a patch of concrete you can jump rope and draw on. You like going there most of all with Miki-chan. Not today though. Miki-chan is out of town to visit her granny in Osaka.Â
Nii-chan offered to take you but you usually refuse him. Itâs not to be mean, but just because doing things with nii-chan always makes you a little sad. Â
Heâs moved from home now, but you still feel weird when you see him since he hasnât liked you all this time. Mama tells you not to hold it against him - and that youâll understand him better when youâre older. You hope thatâs true. You try not to hold it against him. Â
But it doesnât mean you want him with you at the park. Â
(You feel especially dejected when nii-chan acts cold to you but you canât be sure why. Papa says it probably has something to do with your hormones, since nii-chan is an alpha. Something about packbonding. You donât quite get it. Â
Itâs starting to feel like every problem you have is because of being an omega, but you try to keep that thought to yourself so you donât make papa sad.)Â Â
You bring your jump ropes and chalk along with you. The sky is half-blue, half-grey. You wonder if it might rain on your way there or if itâll be blue and warm all over by then. You like the rain, but youâd prefer sunshine today so you can draw with chalk. Â
You think of things to do. Youâll sit on the swings first then jump rope, thenn draw. Or maybe it will rain and youâll have to run home. You hope you didnât jinx yourself. Â
Your neighborhood is small so you know the names and faces of all the kids there. Even the little ones who are in the grades beneath yours. Mama tells you itâs important to know your neighbors. You arenât really trying to remember for that reason, though. Itâs more like it bugs you not to know. Youâre always like that. Â
Papa uses the word meticulous to describe you. Meh-tick-you-lus. Itâs easy to say but hard to spell.Â
 (Nii-chan says youâre just acting like an omega when you do things like that. This makes your parents upset, especially papa. You never take nii-chan seriously when he complains though. He complains about everything.)  Â
When you arrive at the playground, thereâs a boy on the grass playing with a soccer ball by himself. Youâve never seen him before. Heâs got big wide-eyes and a shock of yellow hair underneath which is super cool. His hair is long, just a little shorter than yours and he even has bangs. You wonder if heâs an omega too, since youâve only seen omega boys be that pretty. Â
Your heart beat fasts. Itâd be nice to make a new friend, though youâre a bit unsure what to say. Youâre a little nervous to approach him but you reason itâd be stranger not to. Â
âHi,âÂ
The boy stops playing with his ball, doing a trick to kick it up into his hands. Heâs cool. Or at least very interesting. His eyes are bright, dark brown with a touch of yellow like his hair. You wonder if grows like that or if heâs allowed to dye it. He stares at you for a long time wordlessly. You shift your weight on your feet.Â
âHi,â He says back. Â
You smile. Â
âWhatâs your name?â Â
âBachira,â Â
He asks for yours and return and you give it to him. Â
âHow old are you?â Â
âIâm ten,â Â
âReally? Me too,â Â
âDo you know how to play soccer?â Â
You shake your head. âMy nii-chan plays it sometimes at his school, but I dunno how. I prefer jump rope. I can do some tricks with a jump rope.â Â
He lights up when you mention your nii-chan plays soccer, eager to ask you about it. âIs he good at it?â Â
âI think so,â You reply honestly. You ended up going to a lot of games when you were little. He used to practice lots in your backyard too and stayed after school. The memory makes you a little sad âHe wanted to play it more but he got hurt. We went to a lot of matches when I was a baby. He has some trophies and stuff.â Â
âThatâs so cool,â Bachira gushes. You shrug because you donât really feel like agreeing. âDo you think he would play soccer with me?â Â
You shake your head dejectedly, eyes cast to the ground. âProbably not. He barely plays with me so I donât think heâd play with you.â Â
You feel a little bad telling him that given he seems so excited, but itâs true. Soccer or not. Itâd also be a little unfair if he played with Bachira, you think. Bachira visibly deflates. Â
âOh,â Â
âItâs okay. I donât think Iâd be good at soccer but you can tell me about it.â You say, because Bachira seems fun to be around. He doesnât seem interested but you go on. âThe thing you did with your ball earlier was cool.â Â
He lights up again and you smile softly. âReally? I know a lot of other tricks, too. Iâll show them to you!â Â
You nod. âOkay. Iâm gonna draw on the concrete while you play.â Â
You sit on the nearby patch of concrete and set your jump rope besides you as you open up your box of chalk - all brand new. You came in deciding to draw a cat or bunny, but decide to draw a soccer ball as a peace offering to your new companion. Â
âOkay! But you have to look up when I tell you or youâll miss my tricks.â Â
âSure,â You tell him. Â
As soon as you sit down down to draw, Bachira starts talking a mile a minute about soccer. He took your words to heart it seems like. You think he must really like soccer, maybe even more than you like jump rope and you really like jump rope. But you donât mind listening to Bachira talk. He kind of reminds you of Miki-chan, who also talks a lot. Itâs good since you prefer not to talk much. Â
âSo the tricks and cool stuff you do with your feet is called dribbling?âÂ
He brightens at the fact you put it together without him saying âYeah!â following it up with âYouâre really nice.â Â
Your brows raise in surprise as you shake your head. Embarrassed, you direct your gaze down towards your lap. Â
âNot really. Iâm just normal.â Â
He doesnât say anything else, just grins as he keeps going. You decide to keep drawing instead of talking, listening to Bachira ramble. He tells you to draw for a while he practices his tricks, so he can show you the best ones and you agree without any hassle. Â
You look through your plastic box of chalk, smiling as you choose a color. You decide to draw with dandelion yellow. Â
__Â Â
Bachira brings you home to meet his mom after he runs out of tricks to show you. Â
On the way there, he tells you more about her and himself. Sheâs his only parent, and she makes art so he thinks youâd like meeting her. Mama usually tells you not to follow strangers, but Bachira doesnât feel like a stranger. Heâs your friend and you find you really like him. Â
When you get there, Bachiraâs mom seems very happy to meet you. Sheâs pretty and smells like paint. She asks you if you know your parents numbers, since they might be worried about you disappearing and you give it to her, even though you know youâll get scolded. Â
It takes mama and papa twenty minutes to come over. Mama scolds you about doing something dangerous by yourself. You tell her it wasnât dangerous because you were with Bachira and you really like Bachira. Â
They donât scold you again after you say it.Â
__Â Â
(Bachira becomes apart of your daily life as easy as breathing. Despite going to different schools, you always walk to and from school together after meeting. Youâre close friends, maybe even closer than you and Miki-chan who youâve known since you were a baby. Â
Bachira always comes to pick you up anyway, and you walk home from school together every single day. He always has one hundred things to tell you but you like to listen to each and every one. You like how much Bachira has to say about everything. Â
On the way home, you play rock-paper-scissors on whoâs house to go to. You like it best when Bachira comes over, but if nii-chan is home, you normally go over to his. Sometimes, you wish you went to the same school. Being with Bachira is always fun. Â
Itâd be nice if you could be together all the time. You think if you were always with him, youâd never be bored. You wonder if itâs too much to hope Bachira feels the same. )Â
__Â
âSo, youâre an omega?â Â
Bachira and you are playing in the yard today. Your room is getting renovated. According to otou-san, it shouldâve been done a while ago to accommodate your nests but itâs getting done now instead. Youâre in the backyard with a book, staring up at him as he joins you under the shade. Itâs the end of summer break and everything is too hot. Â
You look at him. âUh-huh. Otou-san is too.â Â
He stares at you for a long time before joining you in the grass. You feel weirdly self-conscious of the space he occupies next to you. Youâll be eleven soon enough. Bachira drapes his head in your lap as you sit, staring up at you. You donât bother moving him. Heâs always like that. Â
He puts his hands up and shades his face from the sun. His eyes glow yellow gold just like always. Â
âDoes that mean you like alphas?â Â
The question is embarrassing somehow. Makes you feel weird because you canât answer right away. You cast your gaze away and shrug, pretending to read your book but finding it hard to focus with Bachiraâs eyes on you. Â
You read in a book that alpha and omegas fall in love most naturally. Sometimes they like betas. But youâve always felt sure you like omegas, and you donât want to lie to Bachira so you donât. Â
âI donât know,â You say truthfully. âIâm supposed too,â Â
âBut do you?â Â
You canât answer him right away. You scrunch your nose and think of nii-san, the only alpha you know personally. The idea of dating someone with any similarities to him troubles you, even though you know heâs not a bad guy. You shake your head. Â
âI donât know. Alphas are too much,â You say after some time. That feels like the right choice. Sometimes, you see older kids and alphas and they all feel that way. âAnd theyâre scary.â Â
âThen what about omegas?â Â
That feels easy to answer. Bachira stares at you intently and you flush, turning away and covering your face with your hand. âI like themâŚtheyâre pretty and smell nice.â Â
âHm,â Bachira says. His expression is hard to read. You make a face at him, head tilted asking the same thing. âI think I might like alphas. I dunno though. I donât know what I am,â Â
A pang of disappointment makes your chest ache but you bury it and smile at him. Just barely, corners of your lips lightly upturned. âThat means weâre opposite.â Â
âBut in a way it means we fit together right?â Bachira says, same as usual. Expectant. Content. Like itâs not a big deal at all. You nod and cast your gaze down to your lap again. Â
âYeah. Right.â Â
__Â Â
[ ELEVEN ]Â Â
Fifth year students have special lessons for secondary sexes, before a secondary health examination. Â
In your fourth year, you learned about the characteristics of your primary sex which is most important for betas. Most people are betas, so you guess it makes sense they spend so much more time about it. Still, itâs a little surprising how little your teacher really discussesâŚanything at all. Â
You try to pay attention to the lesson but keep tuning out, finding it boring and most of all - not very useful. Otou-san had this conversation with you already. Itâs not anything new. Â
You donât mean to sound like a know-it-all of course, but with the way otou-san quizzes you on it, youâre pretty sure you know more than most of your classmates and maybe even your teacher.Â
You find your teacher leaves out a lot of important details about alphas and omegas, though you donât feel you can or should correct her. During your lesson, you start to understand why Otou-san insisted on making you learn at home. Â
Reflecting on it, you think being an omega is a hassle. Sometimes it seems scary. Most times though, it just feels inconvenient. When people find it out about you, they always act like they know you. But they only know youâre an omega, so you doubt thatâs true. Â
 Your first heat hasnât come yet since youâre on lots of medicines but you get all the same growing pains. New, tiny fangs are already forming in your mouth and your scent is stronger than most kids your age. Your body is already changing, growing and you have to get more check-ups than other people. Â
 Okaa-san says thatâs normal. That youâre normal. But it doesnât really feel that way. You notice otou-san never uses the word normal, only says that youâre perfectly healthy.Â
 You wonder if itâs something so strange that youâre teacher canât discuss it. If your disposition is something so offputting. Omegaâs are uncommon but not unheard of, right? So why does everyone seem so hush-hush? Â
You donât know how to explain the feeling. Itâs lonely. People know youâre an omega, but you donât even know what that means. Donât know what it means to feel like an omega either. But supposedly it dictates so much of your life. Â
You keep yourself from sighing as to not disturb your class. The led of your pencil snaps from pressure as you write in your work-book. Â
__Â Â
[ TWELVE ]Â Â
You return to the classroom early after health examinations. Â
Itâs the start of the sixth year of your elementary. Most people are finding out their secondary sex for the first time today, but since you already know yours - youâre given a pass to go back and read quietly in the classroom until itâs over. Some people have already developed with strong, obvious scents but getting the official results require a medical check up. Â
You want to linger a little more so you can talk with all of your classmates but your P.E. teacher shoos you out of the room before long. Â
After you change out of your gym clothes and back into your uniform, you traverse down the hall and take the long way back. Itâs April. The sun is out, peeking through the leaves as warm shades of spring bloom outside your schools windows. Â
The hallway is unusually quiet. You try to keep your steps light so the hall monitor doesnât write you up for making noise and causing a disturbance. Â
You havenât been able to shake the strange feeling since morning. Such an important day, met with anticipation - but you exist entirely outside of it. You almost feel noting towards it at all. Â
Youâve known you were an omega for nearly three years now and youâve already heard rumors about you in relation. Â
It is isnât all that important to you. But it is, at the same time since it seems important to other people. Â
Maybe itâs because you already know yours, but it makes you kind of uncomfortable to hear how your classmates talk about it. Â
Youâve never liked talking about being an omega, even though itâs not a secret. You pretend not to hear them when youâre in earshot but you always do. Â
Omegas are weaker, more annoying, too emotional. The only thing they have is attracting alphas, and most people want an alpha to take care of them. Alphas are bound to be successful, and theyâre good at sports. Itâs great that they have easier chances of seducing them and betas, too. Theyâre easy and weak so naturally an alpha will want to take care of them. Â
Youâre used to hearing it, and rarely bother to correct them no matter how wrong they are. Sometimes, you want to point out to them youâre one of those things at all - but then, you wonder if that makes you weak and emotional so you never do. Youâre not weak, nor annoying, and you rarely show your feelings to anyone. Â
You canât make sense of whats expected of you and why your classmates laugh you off when you mention you like omegas, either. Youâve always preferred omegas and their company. Theyâre comfortable, understanding, easy to be with and smell nice. Â
Thereâs something exhausting about the idea you need to be with an alpha. All of it is tiresome. You canât help but get the impression that from here on, itâll only get harder to deal with and you donât want that. You donât want it to matter. You just want to be yourself. Â
Lost in thought, you arrive at the classroom. One of your friends seems to have arrived at the same time. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of her. Â
Akemi-chan is one of your good friends. Sheâs beautiful. She has long, straight hair and cut-across bangs and always smiles. Thereâs a mole under her eye and her scent is ripe and summery like peaches. She smiles when she sees you. Â
Sheâs so pretty and she stands to close to you - an arm around your waist with a comfortable laugh. Â
âGuess what!â Â
âDid you find out your secondary sex?â Â
She grins, brightening several degrees. âIâm an omega. And,â Her voice drops suddenly. âChiyo-san is an alpha!â Â
âAh,â Your voice drops.âDid you like Chiyo-san?â Â
She nods. âNow that I know sheâs an alpha, I like her more, I guess?âÂ
You try not to look sad, and try to quiet your heartbeat at the way she shows you affection she wouldnât had you not both been omegas. She doesnât pull away from you despite knowing you like omegas, so you still feel grateful. Akemi draws her cheek against yours gently. Scents you in the way friends do with her wrists. Â
You nod listen to her. The listless melancholy of whats forward draws your attention outside. Â
You notice storm clouds coming in as Akemi looks alongside you. It feels different. Â
It feels a little too early in spring for such stormy rain. Â
__Â Â
âI didnât get the results of my secondary sex exam,â Â
Youâre on your way home back from school when Bachira blurts this out to you. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, turning to look at him so you can understand his feelings better. Given how quiet Bachiraâs been today - you figured something was wrong. Â
You look at him, unsure of what to make of it. Â
âDoes that bother you?â Â
Your question surprises him in return. Itâs not unheard for people to present later. It manifests in everyone eventually, even betas. You donât remember all the terminology though it has something to do with a specific hormone. Â
Bachira thinks on your question before looking down at his shoes. He shrugs. âMm. Dunno. Guess it just makes me feel even more different.â Â
You think about what Bachira seems to go through at school and feel your heart tug. That makes sense you think. Â
You shake your head, with new and sudden resolve. âI think itâs fine. It kinda makes sense. I got mine early so you get yours late. Weâre always like that, right?â Â
You hope the attempt to comfort him reaches him. When you look over and see him smiling, you feel unimaginable relief. The world feels more colorful when Bachira smiles. He pauses in the middle of the street, throwing an arm around your neck with a grin that feels like himself again.Â
âYeah. Right.â Â
__Â Â
[ THIRTEEN ]Â Â
You canât tell itâs your heat right away. Â
 A fever breaks along your skin in a cramped train car. sweat clinging to your skin underneath your middle school uniform, a heat rash making your whole body itch. The noise around you becomes static, cottony as your heart starts thudding against your ribs. Â
Your ears are ringing. Time slows down around you as the speed of the subway seems to double underneath your feet. Your knees buckle as you try and hold yourself upright as the intense and unfamilar feeling of desire violates your senses. Too intense for your body. It doesnât feel like you. Youâre not in your right mind. Â
 Itâs too early. Most peopleâs heats donât come for another year or two at least. You feel so unlucky as the pain flares, mixed with something burning between your legs. Â
You try to focus your thoughts elsewhere. You take the same train home every single day at the same time. Plenty of students take it, but clubs keep you later than most.Â
Bachira often comes with you just like he has today, so you focus on him. His middle school is a short-distance from yours so you try and walk home together when you can. A small promise that means the world to you. If you canât go the full way, you always meet up at the intersection and walk the short distance together instead.  Â
You focus on Bachira as he stands next to you. Heâs watching a game of soccer on his new phone, turned sideways with a single headphone in. You watch it over his shoulder. You try too. Your skin scorches, hot like something crash-landing through the atmosphere as a tension grows between your legs. Sweat breaks out around your collar and the small of your spine. You feel out of your body - floating just outside of it. Your neck throbs, scent glands suddenly aching. Both wrist and neck, all of youâaching. Â
You can barely make any sense of your surroundings anymore. Your breathing is erratic as you grip onto the metal pole tight and try to make sense of your surroundings. You want to hold out until you can get to a stall. Youâve had a plan for this for as long as you can remember. Â
You just need to keep it together until the train stops. Â
Thereâs a man behind you. You donât notice him until you do. Youâre still wearing your uniform - short skirt rolled up to combat the heat of the season. A calloused hand reaches underneath the fabric. You think itâs an accident until it sticks between your inner thigh. It slides up slowly, getting closer to where it shouldnât be. Your breath hitches. You shiver. Your body is hot. Â
âAre you an omega?â An older man, the one behind you murmurs. His voice is crass, grating and dark against your skin. Your stomach twists with fear as your gaze freezes you into place. Unable to find your voice as he touches you, you try not to recoil. Disgusted at your body reacts to the involuntary arousal that spikes in result of it. Heâs an alpha. The acrid, overbearing nausea of an alphas scent drives itself into your center like a stake. You hate it so much itâs unbearable but every is so hot. Â
You have no control. Over anything. Youâre terrified and barely there. Â
Fear makes you jump. Your conscious mind slowly loses its grip as you feel your skin dampen with increasing heat, skull throbbing. Your heat is coming and itâs coming fast. You breathe heavily in a pant, trying to ignore the sensation. Trying to ignore everything, just to drown out the oppressive scent of alpha invading your lungs as you tuck your chin. Â
âYouâre a little young to be presenting like this. Having your heat on a train like this,â His voice weighs down on you oppresively. Your heart is so loud, clamoring noisily behind your ears as tears prick at your eyes. His hands go further and further and you flinch. Brushing where you donât want to be touched you jolt. Â
our jolting makes Bachira look up from his phone. Â
âAre you trying to tempt an alpha?âÂ
Youâre not very conscious. Youâre disgusted. You know this is normal but it feels wrong. You feel wrong. The horror is grounding in itâs own right. Fog clouds your mind, makes your senses sharp. You feel split at the seams. Fighting with your own consciousness, you canât think of anything except trying to suppress your instincts. But itâs painful, so painful - and something sticky is running down your legs. Itâs not you, itâs your body. Itâs violating. Â
Your instincts want an alpha. Your body wants something you canât understand to the point it aches inside of you, aches between your legs and makes you want to throw up.Â
Before the man behind you can get any further, your shaken awake by the sound of him practically shrieking. Bachira appears in the corners of your vision. Â
Youâve never seen him so angry. Â
You can see his hand reaching behind you. Your eyes gloss over as you stare at Bachira. The hand touching you is gone and you feel immediate comfort. You ground yourself in the warmth of his eyes. You try to find his face amidst your tears.Â
âBachira-kun,â Your voice is a whimper. You tuck your head against his shoulder. âIâm scared, Iâm so scared, it hurts,â Â
He stiffens and then his voice comes. Itâs soothing, sounds just like him. High and soft. He hums a lullaby to you like nothings wrong. When his hand rests on your lower back, it doesnât make you feel like crawling out of your own skin. Â
âItâs okay,â He whispers. âItâs safe. Youâre safe. Iâll protect you, promise.â Â
Itâs weird to see him this calm. The loud Bachira you know is never so poised, but he holds you steady. You whimper as he pushes you against his scent glands. He smells sweet. You huff it involuntarily. Bachira doesnât tell you to stop. Â
When the train comes to a slow, you let him move you through the station and take you to the bathroom. Your knees are weak. Heâs not the type to worry but youâve made him so concerned. Â
He opens a stall and sets you gently on the toilet. The cool linoleum sobers you enough to look at Bachira. His worry, his concern, his care. You whimper. Â
âHug me,â You practically beg. He hesitates, clicking himself into the stall alongside you as you let yourself drape around his waist. Itâs not very different from how you usually are, is it? Bachira is always so affectionate, yet it feels so different. Â
 He rubs the scent glands on his wrist on your neck. Â
Above you, Bachira is on his phone. Your brain is too hazy to make the details, but you think you hear your fathers voice on the other side of the line. Â
âJi-chan will be here soon,â Bachira says. You clutch the back of Bachiraâs uniform. Itâs the first time heâs ever felt so broad. âDonât worry.â Â
âMeguru. Thank you,â You say in a half-sob. Â
âAnytime,â He says, his voice small and high and so familiar. âIâll always protect you. Promise. No alpha will touch you again.âÂ
***Â
__Â Â
The reality of your first heat should be what you expect. You know these things happen. Otou-san has told you to be cautious everywhere you go for the last four years without fail.Â
 But when it happens to you, itâs the first time you feel resentful about your secondary sex. Anger towards your body first, for not being able to control itself. Angry at the world next, for making you feel as if itâs your fault. Â
You grow averse to alphas in the after math. You try not to be. You try not to let your discomfort show and try not to become the sort of person who makes judgements on secondary sex - but for a long time, just the thought of being around them makes your bones chill. Â
The only thing that keeps you from being all negative is Bachira. His anger for you when discussing that day is enough to ease the burden. Bachira bears your hurt like its his. Â
You start calling Bachira, Meguru when you call him after he stays with you during your heat. Itâs the last bridge of closeness to cross - the last barrier between you. He calls you by your first name too, sometimes a nickname if the mood suits him. Â
You find yourself so thankful to be his friend some days it makes you want to cry. Â
You find yourself even more grateful when he tells you heâs an omega. It comforts you. You think, heâs too good to be an alpha and too goo to be with one but you never tell him. Itâll happens someday and you think youâll be sad. Â
But for now, youâre happy being by his side a little while longer. Â
__Â Â
[ FOURTEEN ]Â
Miki-chan invites you to celebrate her fourteenth birthday with a visit to the mall. Â
Thereâs a huge mall a little over half an hour away from Chiba that sheâs been dying to visit since forever agp. Her nee-san takes all of you in her nice car, even letting you spend money on her card within reason. Sheâs a lot older than all of you, twice your age with a big girl job in Tokyo. Sheâs stylish and kind and always has fun nail designs because she works for a famous fashion magazine. Â
Otou-san has also given you an excessive amount of pocket money after you told him about your day-trip. You really werenât planning on getting anything, but youâre glad to have something in case Bachira wants to make a purchase. Â
Youâre stopped in for frozen yogurt, following Bachira as Miki-chan and another mutual friend, Sasaki-san wait for you to come up front. You watch amusedly as Bachira piles his frozen yogurt with more toppings. Youâre pretty sure heâs not even going to finish it. Â
You peer at his cup from over his shoulder, watching him pile gummy bears onto his already loaded cup of frozen yogurt, wrinkling your nose in distaste. Â
âWhat flavor of froyo did you get this time?â Â
âSea salt chocolate. For balance,â He says, dead seriously. Â
You smile involuntarily before brushing past him, spooning yogurt chips into your own cup. You get different things depending on your mood but always keep it simple. Since itâs hot and humid, youâre getting a coconut flavor with shaving, yogurt chips, fruit and strawberry sauce and sprinkles for good measure. Â
âYouâre too much,â You move past him and wait for him to finish up at the counter. âBut if youâre happy,â Â
âIâm always very happy. I have no place for sadness!â Bachira replies. Â
You give him another crooked smile, turning to where Miki and Sasaki are chatting. Â
âIâll pay for Meguru-kun,â You announce. His frown is instant.Â
âEh? No way, I brought money though? Thatâs why I put so much stuff,â Â
Heâs pouting. You wonder if all omega boys are that cute naturally or if itâs just Bachira.  Â
âBuy something with it later.â Â
He pouts, swallowing his complaint as he knows itâll fall on deaf ears. Â
âFine,â He huffs, placing his alongside yours on the weight. The cashier gives you two a knowing smile that you miss as she rings up, sticking a color-changing spoon in each before passing it back along with your change. âIâll get you back for this.â Â
You donât say anything as you watch the weight counter. Â
âOver one thousand yenâŚ. youâre such a glutton,â Â
âIâll split it with you as thanks,â Â
You make a face of disgust that makes him cackle as you both sit down and join your other friends. Bachira drags his chair to sit as close to you as possible, fully inserting himself into your personal space per usual. You eat a spoonful of your frozen yogurt, unconcerned. Sasaki stares at you for a bit. Your eyes meet and you tilt your head in confusion but she turns away. Â
âMiki-chan, is there anything else you want to look for?â Â
âNew shoes, maybe.âÂ
You glance at her then shake your head. âPick something else.â Â
ââŚOkay. Thank you in advance, I guess,â Miki-says with a laugh. You smile a little. Â
You look over at Bachira whoâs very enraptured in his fro-yo.. You lick your thumb as reach over and wipe the corners of his mouth - stained with chocolate. Â
âYou eat like a kid,â Fondness unmistakable in your voice. Â
He shakes his head sagely. âEating something delicious is supposed to make you eat like a kid, you know? And we are kids. This is what it means to be free citizens of the world! Of this great nation!â Â
âUh-huh. Iâll take your word for it, but clean your mouth at least.â Â
Bachira looks at you with smeared mess of chocolate, worsened by another sugary bite. âWhy should I worry about it when youâre here to do it for me?â Â
You give him flat look. Despite yourself though, you use a napkin from the middle of the table to wipe his mouth off. Miki scoffs at you both. Â
âIf youâre too spoiled, sheâll get sick of you,â Miki-chan says bitterly. Â
âSheâd never get sick of me. You on the other hand,â Â
You shake your head as the two of them hiss at each other. Youâve been friends for years and they still argue. Itâs hard to say theyâre oil and water. If anything, theyâre so similar it baffles you why they donât get along better then they do you. After a minute of glaring, she sighs and goes back to thinking of her shopping trip. Â
âWell if shoeâs are out of the question, maybe some new earrings. Oh! And we should get you some makeup you can wear at school.â Â
You shake your head. âI told you Iâm not interested.â Â
âYouâre wasting your beautiful omega looks. I wonât allow it,â Miki pouts at you even as you shake your head. âI promise itâll be easy stuff. I just think it would look nice on you.â Â
Bachira doesnât even look up. âYouâre pretty the way you are.â Â
âDonât say something that embarrassing,â Â
âItâs not embarrassing if itâs true,â He voices, sing-songy. His insistence only worsens your frown. Â
Sasaki glances between you again, you think. Itâs too brief for you to catch but the weight of it lingers even when she pulls her gaze. Â
âPlease? Just a little? Iâm buying it for you so itâs fine right.â  Â
âI know you said you want to practice on me but itâs not just that, right?â Â
Miki smiles at you, coy. âEh⌠maybe? I want to max your potential more like. Youâre not seeing my exquisite vision but I will make you.â Â
You shake your head, and sigh - pretending to be more troubled than you are. âFine. Weâll go after. I want to go to another store too. For stationary,â Â
âYouâre too much of a bookworm. Boring. Nerd!â Bachira says automatically.Â
âThe one time we agree on something,â Miki replies. Â
You frown at both of them. âItâs important that the world has boring people. How else would we have laws?â Â
âEven you thinking about laws is so boring,âÂ
You shake your head, displeased. Â
Conversation flows more steadily between you, Miki and Sasaki. Bachira tunes out, draping himself all over you once heâs done eating. He fidgets with your hands, resting his head on your shoulder. You adjust so you can eat while letting him. Â
âPee,â Bachira announces abruptly. He stands up, arms over his head as his shirt slides over his belly, exposing skin. âNeed to pee really bad. Pee time,â Â
âDo you want me to come with you?â You ask. Â
He looks down at you and smiles widely before shaking his head. âMm, no. Iâll be fine. I can do it by myself. Iâm no longer a kid!â Â
You give him a raise brow in reply to say can you? that makes him stick his tongue out. You chuckle at that. âGo pee then. Donât get lost.â Â
âYes, maâam!â Â
Bachira does a salute before scurrying off to find the closest bathroom. Sure thatâll occupy his time, you smile to yourself as take a spoonfuls of your melty frozen yogurt - careful not to spill any as you put in your mouth and go back to conversation. Â
Sorry about that. What were you saying, Sasaki-san?â Â
She stares at you for a long time. âAre you two⌠like⌠together?â Â
You blink. Â
âSorry?â Â
âYou and him,â Sasaki reiterates. Besides her, Miki snorts. Â
âWhat a good question,â Â
You shoot her a unimpressed look. âIgnore her. No, weâre not.â Â
âWhat?â Sasaki says. The genuine disbelief shocks you a little. Youâre used to Miki teasing you but not this. âSeriously? Even though heâs like that?â Â
âOh, what? Like touchy?â You reply, starting to understand. Miki interrupts you. Â
âDonât bother, Sasaki. Itâs a lose cause.â She shakes her head. Â
âAgain. Ignore her,â You emphasize, shooting her a glare. âAnyway no. Weâre just childhood friends and heâs always been sort of clingy like that.â Â
âWith everyone?â Sasaki says pointedly. âOr is it just because itâs youâŚ?â Â
You pause. Â
Youâve never⌠considered that. You rarely have time to feel overly conscious about what Bachira does or doesnât do with you. In the first place, heâs not the sort of person thatâs easy to predict. Heâs got more quirks than you can keep track of but all of it is Bachira. It makes no sense to question his idiosyncrasies this far in. Thereâs nothing he could do to make you think of him differently. Bachira doesnât have many friends outside of you to begin with. Â
 You blink a few times, considering it. âNo, IâmâŚsure itâs just with anyone he feels very close too,â Â
âBut to that extent? He was letting off hisââ Â
Miki shoots her a look and shakes her head. You catch it but find yourself unable to ask, lost in thought. Too hung up on what feels like the edge of an epiphany. Â
Thereâs a long bout of silence until you shake your head. Â
 Even if itâs only you, it doesnât make a huge difference.Â
âBachira is only interested in alphas,â You reply, remembering. Sasaki seems surprised by that for some strange reason. âIt really doesnât mean anything,âÂ
Before long, Bachira returns to the table. He takes as long as you predicted, but you find youâre a little relieved to see him acting the same. He drops down and places his chin on your head, waiting for you to look up at him. Â
âDidja miss me?â Â
A sweet, familiar scent. A soft, high voice. A wild look. You look up at him, reassured by your own reminder of his sexuality. You grin mischievously. Â
âNot at all,â You say with fake nonchalance. He gasps. Â
âRude!â Â
Yes, itâs fine. Still the same old Bachira. Â
__Â Â
[ FIFTEEN ]Â Â
âOh,â You canât mask the surprise in your voice as your older brother sits at the dining room table. âNii-san.â Â
Your oldest brother has recently started at a real office job. Itâs closer to your childhood home then his apartment, so some nights if heâs too exhausted - heâll drop in and sleep in his old room. Itâs rare you come across him though, since heâs usually home and asleep as soon as itâs night time. Â
He mustâve come from the office. Heâs still wearing his dress shirt and tie, though he has the suit jacket he wears to the office laid over the back of a dining room chair. You try to get used to him looking like that, but the version of him most strongly in your head is all the years he spent as a delinquent. Â
His straightened out appearance is unusual for you no matter how often you come across it now. You mostly keep in touch through socials and sparse texts, and he sometimes calls you. His hair is dyed a natural color now and he only has his piercings in on days off. The few tattoos he used to show off are now well hidden under his clothes. Â
But his manor and demeanor are largely the same when heâs relaxed. The way he spreads out when he sits makes him look like the average delinquent. The familiarity of it is comfortable albeit funny. Â
âYouâre home late,â Â
âI had student council,â Â
He taps his fingers against the table, a silent gesture for you to sit. Â
âYouâre in student council? Since when?â Â
You shrug, setting your bag down to join him in the kitchen. âSince school started. I was roped into it,â Â
âThen are you in other clubs?â Â
âIâm in a volunteering club. We help the elderly and read with younger classes and help out around school.â Â
He pinches the bridge of his nose, tipping his head back. âWeâre complete opposites somehowâŚâÂ
You purse your lips, faintly amused as you open your fridge up. Thereâs more pudding then when you left in the morning, but you decide against asking as you take one and open a drawer for a spoon. âYou were already skipping class and stuff by then, right? I remembered because you and kaa-san used to argue while I was doing homework.â Â
âYou heard all of that?â Â
You open the plastic peel off lid and dip into the flan-like texture, nodding indifferently as you sit in the dining room chair across from him. âUh-huh. Kinda hard not too.â Â
âIt didnât scare you?âÂ
âNah,â You tilt your head. âYou glaring at me whenever you saw me did though. A little.â Â
His eyes go wide before sighing. âSorry. I was a knucklehead back then.â Â
âIt was fine. It made me a bit sad but Iâm fine now. And I hope you donât hate me any more?â Â
He gives you a half-hearted laugh, still feeling guilty. Youâre mostly teasing. Nii-san has only grown increasingly over protective, though you still donât know what heâs thinking. He also gives you allowance now, which is nice. Â
He leans back. âNah, course not. How could I hate such a good kid?âÂ
He reaches over to pet your head as you eat your pudding, giving you a smile you canât really read. âYour birthday is soon right?âÂ
âUh-huh.â Â
âGot any plans?â Â
âIâll probably drag Meguru-kun around to the bookstore.â Â
He makes a face at you. âThat brat,â Â
âDonât call him that.â You frowb. âI donât get why you hate him so much anyway.â Â
âBecause heâs always hanging around you and heâsââ He shakes his fist aimlessly, unable to find the words. Theyâve had arguments with each other for as long as you can remember. âWhatever. Fine. Just. Donât marry him,â Â
âHe likes alphas,â You say with ease. He looks at you incredulous, before shaking his head. Â
âSure. Even if that changes donât marry him. Donât date him either. Settle down with someone nice,â Â
âNo offense, nii-san but thatâs not really a lecture I wanna hear from you,â Â
âSee? Heâs already rubbing off on you.â Â
__Â
âHuh? The two of you already broke up?â Â
Bachira lays on your bed on his stomach while you sit at your desk, his legs swinging up in the air. Predictably, heâs watching videos about dribbling on his phone. Â
You havenât seen him in a few days but it makes sense that he wouldnât have heard about it. Your relationship with Inoue wasnât very public to begin with, at least not on her end. Aside from that, you always got the impression that things would turn out this way. Â
Youâre sure that your own pessimism and detachment is part of the reason.Â
You busy yourself with the derivatives taunting you on your graphing paper, making an affirmative noise. âA couple of days ago,â Â
âEhhh? Wasnât she totally clingy with you, though?â Â
You shrug indifferently.Â
Inoue-san was the only other omega in your grade who likes other omegas. Thereâs rumours about Suzuki-kun whoâs a second year and some other third years you donât really know. Of them, Inoue was the only one you knew personally. You sit next to each other in class and joined the same clubs coincidentally. Â
A conversation in the club room making flyers devolved into one about secondary sexes and sexuality. Eventually, you landed on the topic of being an omega. You commiserated about it then, shared some words of camaraderie about the social woes of being the perceived weaker sex and became a little more comfortable with each other. You arenât sure what thread of conversation exactly led to the talk of you both mutually preferring omegas. Â
Inoue-san confessed too, that unlike you who couldnât figure out what you felt towards alphas, she knew with some certainty she didnât like them at all. Â
Another few weeks of friendship and the steadily closing distance between you, one thing led to another. Inoue-san confessed to you first in a sort of abrupt and out of the blue way. It was a semi-impulsive decision to date her, but you thought she was pretty and nice. A puppy crush worth something, a youthful love affair. Â
So after summer break, the two of you started dating. Â
It was a short lived relationship. A break in routine. You dated for three months and broke up just this last week. The first month of your relationship was nice. You ate lunch together and texted a lot. The second month you went on dates. The third month had been fine for a little before everything seemed to rip at the seams and fall apart. Â
Inoue-san was nice to be with when you were alone. In the sanctity of storage rooms or her childhood bedroom - where there were no eyes to leer at either of you, she was everything you liked about being with an omegas. Soft skin, pretty eyes, an intoxicating scent that made your brain go alight when you touched her. She was comfortable to be with during your pre-heat, easy to touch and hold and caress. Â
It made sense to be with her in the way you always thought it would. Â
Fundamental differences in your feelings about being omegas in a relationship would appear sooner rather than later though. Youâre sympathetic, which is why you donât think youâre as hurt as you should be.Â
âI kinda knew. In the back of my mind, I guess,â You click the end of your pencil to push out more led, scribbling out some more numbers. âShe always avoided crowds. Seemed paranoid about people finding out in general. So I thought it might be something like that.â Â
âYou donât seem very sad,â Bachira points out. You give him an amused smile from the corner of your eye. Â
âWhat kind of best friend would want me to be sad?â Â
âNooo,â He whines at you, tossing a stuffed toy at you that you reflexively duck a way from. âI was just worried about you, jeez. Plus, I didnât really like her, you know?â Â
Thereâs no way you couldnât have known. Bachira being hesitant towards people in your life isnât anything new. Heâs never been fond of any new friends youâve made, always openly jealous and always asking for assurance that heâs still your number one. Sometimes heâd go as far as doing it in front of them, which you reprimanded him for. Â
Sometimes. Â
You roll your eyes. âOh I know,â Â
He grins. âI was being so nice this time,â He pouts, rolling onto his back with his arms crossed over his chest. He turns his face to your bedroom wall instead of you. âYou should praise me. I wasnât even mean to her face! Not once,â Â
âPfft,â You laugh behind your hands. âYeah, good job. Still, I didnât think Inoue-san was that bad. She didnât do anything to me,â Â
âShe was ashamed of you,â Bachira says. Itâs weird. A strangely serious sentiment that makes your eyes go wide. Â
âNot of me,â You correct. âOf us, maybe. I think she was being sincere when she said she liked me but I mean. I get it. Itâs not something I go around telling people either, though Iâve been out for a while,â Â
Thereâs some impulse he bites down. Itâs not like youâre defending her, but Bachira takes it as such and takes it personally as he does most things. You give him a small smile as you notice, so attuned to his moods. Even his petulance doesnât shake you. Selfishness comes as naturally to Bachira as breathing. Â
âI wouldnât be ashamed to be with you in public,â He bites his tongue again and you want to ask what could be on his mind. Heâs intending the words to be lighthearted, but thereâs weight there. You arenât sure how youâre meant to hold it. âIf were ever to fall madly in love with each other, I would tell the entire world.â Â
You try not to let it mean anything. The numbers on your page blur together so much you have to start a problem over. It takes you a second to pull the shake out of your voice. Â
âIf you like something, donât you usually tell the whole world anyway?â You say sardonically. Bachira frowns, huffs, turns his head away. His ears are pink. Â
âYeah,â He says back and leaves it there. âUsually keeping it in makes me feel like Iâm gonna explode into a million little pieces. Bleh,â Â
He slumps back onto one side of your bed and keeps watching his game. The sound of your pencil scratching along the paper makes up for the empty space. Â
__Â Â
[ SIXTEEN ]Â
On the field, Bachira shines brighter than any star in the night-sky. Â
Youâre the only one here for todays game. His mom usually comes to whichever one she can, but she has an important exhibition on the other side of the country today. Bachira didnât show any disappointment about it. Youâre not sure how he feels but you doubt it affected too much. Â
When it comes to soccer, he becomes completely single-minded. Â
The soccer Bachira plays is a reflection of him. Golden yellow and free, like a shade only he can color with, that touches everything and makes it shine in its path. Â
The Bachira you knowâthe Meguru youâve known your whole life is different when it comes to soccer. Soccer is the precedence of his entire existence. For Bachira, who enjoys being completely and entirely uninhibited, thereâs nothing as freeing as the square PVC frames of a net. Â
He splits his life in two ways. Soccer and everything else. Â
The field are still mildly damp today. It lingers in the air, cooling on your skin as you watch him from the stands in utter awe. Rays of light spill through gaps in the thick clouds over head, shining down on the field and making each move vibrant. Â
The game goes on around you bustling endlessly. Noise from all sides. Whether that be in the stands with people talking amongst themselves, the shouting of coaches, or the players talking to one another. Itâs loud all around, blurry movements of team mates passing the fall back and forth make up the scene. Guarding and passing, taking each other into consideration as all team sports encourage. Â
The soccer that Bachira plays is different from the soccer everyone else plays on the field. Selfish, ego-centric, enigmatic - you find that you canât take a single breath or you might miss something. Itâs antithetical how team sports are played. Eye-catching and flashy as he dribbles the ball along with his feet in a movement like a dance. Â
Heâs mesmerizing. Despite all the things happening around you all at once, your gaze is fixated completely and utterly on Bachira. So bright it outshines everything else, everyone else, without feeling apologetic. Without reason or rhyme, without strategy. A soccer that demands to be seen. Â
This is a game with many players, but to you - it is simply the stage in which Bachira shows off his talent in itâs rawest form. Even in a place not well suited for it, Bachira shines. Youâve never seen anything so brilliant. Itâs been years since you last attended a game and seen this applied version of himself. Â
Itâs the first time Bachira has ever felt so close while feeling so far. Itâs the first time you canât hide from him, pinned underneath the honey-viscous weight of his presence. Â
He dribbles the ball between his feet and kicks hard into center stage, scores a goal so beautifully unpredictable the whole crowd roars in cheers and Bachira laughs like heâs delighted. Â
You love Bachira. You realize this as he stands like a center piece in the field. Â
Like the moon loves the sun. Like the sand loves the tide. Like shadows love light. Bachira is more beautiful playing soccer than youâve ever seen him, and it occurs to you itâs taken you sixteen years to find this out. Â
Heâs so beautiful you canât tear yourself away. Canât run from the realization. Â
His eyes find yours in the crowds of people, elated with his brows raised. You can practically hear him where he stands, lips curled around the words. Did you see that? Did you see the goal I made? Â
You break the neutrality of your face and grin wide, uncharacteristic as you chant his name. âGo, Meguru!â Â
Bachira laughs again as the game goes on. Your shining star, your ego-centric sun. Your heart is beating loud enough to crush your ribs. Â
What an incredible view. Â
__Â Â
(Namikaze highschool wins that round of their inter-high bracket. The team goes to celebrate. They never invite Bachira. Â
Today, though, Bachira has you. After the game, Bachira wraps you in a hug so tight it could break you. You wonder when he got so strong. His scent, overwhelming and sweet, mixes with the scent of sweat and deodorant. You like it. You hug like that for a while, suddenly aware of your lack of proximity. Â
A comment Sasaki-san made about you two years ago pops back into your head but you still donât think to let him go. Â
After he showers and changes back into his usual attire, you and Bachira walk to the 7/11 around the corner of his house. Â
You sit on the curb, legs out stretched. The sun is in full bloom, sky painted an pastel orange melting into pinks and blues. You hand Bachira his soda water from your bag, and split the melon flavored popsicle you bought in two halves. Â
You give him the bigger half. Unusually, itâs very quiet between you two. Â
âIâm going to become the best striker in the world,â He says. A repeat of a dream youâve heard before, but said with amazing conviction. You look at him for a long time. Wet hair and brown eyes. You tuck a piece of hair behind his ear to look at him better then smile. Â
âI know you are,â Â
His grin brightens. âRight! Right, so when that happens,â His voice drops, feather soft. âWhen it happens, make sure youâre watching me. Donât look away or youâll miss it. âKay? You gotta promise.â Â
He holds out his pinky for you. Were his hands always so calloused? Were they always so big, you wonder. You look at Bachira and suddenly he seems so much older. You nod your head. Â
âWouldnât miss it for the world, Meguru.â )Â
__Â Â
[ SEVENTEEN ]Â
âCome over,â Bachira demands on the other side of the line. His voice is nearly a screech. You donât think youâve ever heard him so excited in your entire life and that is saying a whole lot. âCome over, now. Like right now! You have too, you absolutely must,â Â
You pull your bag up on your shoulders as you pull the phone away from your ears. âJeez, jeez - alright. I just got back from my supplementary lessons, so give me a second.â Â
âAre you on the street in front of my house?â Â
âHuh? Yeah, I am.â Â
The phone line cuts off, going completely silent as you stare at your phone in a mix of confusion and disbelief. Your fingers hover over the call back icon for a second before a tremendously loud shout and even louder footsteps sound in your ears.Â
Youâre too surprised to laugh as Bachira comes barreling towards you in minutes flat. You steel yourself preparing to catch him if he lands face-first, but he manages to pull back in record speed skidding to a halt. You blink at him rapidly. He feels like an illusion. Â
âYou ran here,â Â
âYes. I did. Because,â He grabs both of your hands and starts to tug you into some kind of spinning dance in the middle of the sidewalk. âI. Have. News!â Â
âNews? What about?â Â
His eyes widen and shine brilliantly. âBluelock!â Â
__Â Â
The act of disappearing requires a lot more work than you couldâve imagined. Â
Youâre being dramatic. Bachira isnât disappearing. Not forever, at least. Heâs just going away for a while, abruptly doing the thing that he wouldâve done regardless because itâs not like he can become the best striker in the world in Japan alone. Itâs something that was bound to happen eventually. Â
And, itâs not like you didnât get any warning. The letter came months beforehand. Bachira was set to leave towards the end of November, which meant he about a month to prepare. Which means youâve had about a month to be with him. Â
Itâs not a big deal. You have other friends. Other people. Itâs good that Bachira is going to be in a place that he can play the soccer heâs always dreamed. Even as his best friend, thereâs some things you canât do for him. Itâs the happiest youâve ever seen him, which is saying more than you ever could. Â
Rationally, you know thereâs nothing to worry about. Emotionally, youâve found out that you rely on Bachira more than you thought. Even the thought of him leaving temporarily is making your heart wrench. Youâve asked him a million questions. Â
Itâs not like you to be so anxious about anything. You ere on the side of calm. But itâs Bachira. Your Meguru, so you canât help but worry. Â
Bachira, dense as he is about other people, sympathizes with your concerns without asking and doesnât get mad when you answer. Itâs easy for you to forget that he understands you in his own way.Â
 Bachira depends on you because he cares about you and you take care of Bachira because you are about him. It fulfills a mutual sense of purpose. Â
This is a normal part of growing up. Youâve been repeating it to yourself constantly. Itâs not like you wonât see him ever again. Youâll see him afterwards, at least for a little while. You wonât be able to call or text him while heâs in the facility but thatâs not forever. And even while heâs in there, he wants to hear about your boring life. So he says, anyways. Â
Rationally, you know itâs fine. Emotionally, youâre growing a keen sense of awareness about this being the end of your so-called youth. Itâs not youâre adults, but youâre not kids either. Youâre going to be eighteen next year. You have to think about entrance exams. You have to think about life and where Bachira will go without you. Â
Time is passing by you whenever you hesitate. Eventually, itâll catch up to you and Bachira will be somewhere so far out of your reach. Thereâs no one you can think of more perfect for center stage. No oneâs soccer will every shine as brilliantly as Bachiraâs. Â
But itâs lonely. In itâs own right. To think about how far heâll go. Heâll dribble himself to the ends of the Earth eventually. Â
At least for another week though, heâs within your reach. You have so many pictures together in your room per his request over the last few years, but looking at him now you kind of wish you had more. Â
âArenât you wanting to practice?â Â
âEhh?â He frowns. âI can practice later. But I canât be in your room all the time you know. I want to burn it into my brain. I thought we should do something special to commemorate but I couldnât figure anything out.â Â
You hum. A thought strikes you. Itâs incredibly out of character, but maybe thatâs why it does. âWe could drink together.â Â
Bachira laughs at first, definitely assuming it was a joke. When he realizes youâre dead serious though, he gasps, scandalized. Your lips quirk up at the corners. Â
âWho are you? An impostor? A shadow clone?â Bachira grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. âWhat did you do with my uptight best friend?!â Â
You laugh helplessly. âDonât act like that. I just know where my parents keep bottles of shochu cold in the basement and thought maybe. Iâve never touched it before. Itâs the weekend right? So if we get too drunk, you can sleep here.â Â
Bachira dramatically places a hand over his mouth in shock. âHave you really been replaced by alien clonesâŚI canât believe my ears.â Â
You shake your head. âDo you want to drink together or not?â Â
âEhhhh?? Of course I do!â Bachira says, absolutely enthused at the idea. âWe should get so drunk together.â Â
You consider it. âMy parents are visiting relatives. I guess I can text and see if nii-san is coming home.â Â
âAre you saying itâs okay to get drunk if he isnât planning on coming?â Â
You nod. âHeâd probably be easy on me but I donât want him to lecture you,â Â
Bachira squishes his face to yours, rubbing his cheek on yours with unabashed affection. You try not to laugh. You can feel him so close, smell him so close it makes you a little dizzy. Bachira doesnât let out his scent more than necessary, but he is now just barely - scent glands brushing against your skin. Â
He smells sweet, but in a strange way. It was comforting and familiar. A little unusual for an omega given how strong it was but itâs not like Bachira is very usual in general. Â
Itâs a little intimate for friends, but itâs Bachira and who knows when youâd see him next. You let him do as he pleases. Â
âHurry and text your brother,â Bachira huffs, then brightens back up again. âThen lets drink! Yay!âÂ
__Â
You bring the bottles of shochu back up to your bedroom as a pre-caution. Nii-san is is a couple hours away for a work trip, but you canât get over the lingering paranoia of him appearing back home and trying to fight Bachira as a result so you figure itâs probably better to drink in your room. Â
You bring two glasses up with you along with juice and soda water, unsure about the taste. Bachira likes soda water as is so maybe he can use it as a chaser. Â
You sit across from each other at the small table close to the floor in the middle of your room. It took a while to get the bottles open. Â
Youâve smelled it before but itâs a little weird having it available to drink.Â
âI canât believe youâre drinking with me. Underage. You, of all people.â Â
You pour a little shochu into each of your cups with a roll of your eyes. Youâll save the mix-ins for later, but youâre interested in tasting it on its own. Youâre sure your parents have other stuff too, sake, beer and wine but you donât know where they keep it. You read the labels of the bottle before drinking it. Â
You brush past what Bachira has said. âFourty-three percent seems like a lot.â Â
âThatâs basically half right? Doesnât that mean this is gonna make us super drunk? Ohh, think Iâm gonna throw up in your room? I havenât done that since we were ten!â Â
âPlease donât throw up in my room.â You say, shaking your head. âI donât know actually. It seems like a lot. Guess weâll just have to drink and see.â Â
You shrug. You pick up your glass, signaling Bachira to do the same. He lets out a loud kanpai as you do, making you laugh a little as you bring the glass up to your lips. The scent itself sort of burns, you canât imagine what drinking it is gonna be like. Â
You watch aghast as Bachira knocks the entire glass back and nearly hacks up his lungs coughing. His eyes are wet when he recovers with a fit of laughter that he canât seem to get control of. Â
âAhhh, it burns! It burns so much and it tastes weird. But it was easier to drink at once.â He says dramatically laughing, nearly retching in the process. Â
You stare at him in disbelief before taking a sip of your own drink refusing to partake in the same foolishness. Heâs right that it burns. You always heard that but feeling the acidity in your mouth is different. It feels like all the moisture from your mouth is going along with it. You try it a few more times in short sips. Â
Are you some sort of masochist? Â
âI kind ofâŚâ You blink. Your eyes water as you look up at Bachira. âI kind of like itâŚ?â Â
Bachira takes the bottle into his own hands that time and pours more of it straight into your glass and less into his. Youâre sitting but you feel woozy. He pours soda and juice along his own before picking it up again, smiling with a friendly cheers. Â
__Â
Hours pass. Â
You and Bachira drink two entire bottles and talk to each other about nothing in particular. Mostly, itâs Bachira telling you how excited he is to go to Bluelock and you listening. You like listening to him. You love his voice. Â
Youâre not sure when exactly the distance between you had disappeared entirely. Youâre used to Bachira. To his body heat, to his presence, to his weight. You know how to carry him. Maybe itâs the alcohol. Maybe itâs the drawn out feeling of loneliness making you feel self-conscious. Â
You donât know what it is exactly. But thereâs something about him at this proximity youâre having a hard time with. Wrapped up together, tangled on your bedroom floor while you both reek of liquor. He smells like burnt honey and heâs⌠handsome. More than he is pretty, you think. Still pretty though too. Â
Heâs so unusual in every way. Your love for him sort of simmers underneath you in a pleasant but difficult way. You blink. Your eyes are bleary. He talks so much, but itâs the first time you really think about kissing him. The first time you wonder about how it feels.  Â
Youâre staring. Bachira pauses halfway as youâre tucked against him and stares back, mouth curled into familiar chesire grin. He drops his voice down to a whisper. Â
âWhat?â He says. Heâs being teasing. He does that occasionally. Â
âNothing,â You say and want to shut your eyes. âKeep talking. âs fine.â Â
âItâs not nothing,â He whines petulantly. âYouâre not listeninggggg,â Â
âSorry.â Â
He hugs you, an arm slipping under you and squeezing you. Was he always so strong? You figured his legs might be but thereâs muscle in his arms too. âIâm not actually mad, dummy.â Â
âI was sorry, though.â A beat of silence. A heartbeat. âIâm gonna miss you.â Â
âReally?â Â
You look at him incredulous. âOf course. Did you think I wouldnât?â Â
âYouâre hard to read sometimes! Even for me.â Â
You decide not to apologize again. Bachira would complain. You desperately want to tell him you love him. Theyâre the only words on you mind. But even this wasted, you canât bring yourself to do something that pointless. Â
âYouâre the most important person in my entire life,â You opt for instead. âAnd I hope you find someone who can play the kind of soccer thatâs fun for you.â Â
Another minute of silence passes before you hear the familiar huff of Bachira crying. He cries often but he hasnât done it in front of you for quite some time. He tucks himself against your neck and shoulder, shifting to press against your scent glands. Â
âI was doing a good job not trying before this,â He mutters. You rub his back soothingly, smiling a bit. âGoshâŚdonât be so sappy like that randomly. Itâs bad for my heart!â Â
Your own throat feels thick but you keep it down. Manage to swallow the tears away. You want to tell him so badly itâs making it hard to breathe. Â
Bachira looks up after a while. You do him the courtesy of wiping his tears away with your thumb, brushing them away from his face. Â
You donât realize how close your faces have gotten until you nearly brush against his nose. Â
You think the alcohol is making you hallucinate when you feel a kiss. Â
Your eyes are still open for it. Itâs not clumsy but itâs not smooth either. You blink. And you feel it again, and it lingers a little longer until you close your eyes and kiss back. Â
You kiss him so hard it feels like you forget how to breathe. Â
__Â
You donât talk about it. Â
When Bachira wakes up the next day thoroughly hung-over and much in the same condition, treating you exactly the same - you assume heâs forgotten about it unlike you. You try not to let it weigh on you by writing it off as one of Bachiraâs many quirks. Maybe youâve gotten practice at repressing your emotions better than you thought since it works perfectly. Â
The week passes by easily. At the end of it, you see Bachira off along with his mom and the rest of your family who insisted on waving him off. The thought of not knowing the next time youâll see him is painful but you manage it with the feeling youâll see him eventually. Â
Though you donât know how long itâll be. Â
__Â Â
The next time you see Bachiraâs face is on T.V. Â
Itâs the first time youâve ever sat in your living room to watch a game of soccer. You had wanted to attend, but tickets had only been alloted for family. You settled on watching at home, though Bachiraâs mom had promised she would relay any messages she could from Bachira to you through text and otherwise. Â
Youâve never been into soccer. Despite your many years spent along side it for one reason or another, the sport itself has rarely ever been of any interest. Youâre sure this is partly to blame on the fact you are hilariously unathletic albeit perfectly healthy. Â
When the U-2o match gets announced and you hear Bluelock will be playing, your ears perk up like a dog. Youâre glad Bachira isnât around to see how you announce to your entire house and tell them the T.V. and living room will be totally occupied during the duration of the match. You invite Miki-chan who pretends to want to refuse but comes over to watch anyway. Your nii-san joins you, which isnât a surprise since he liked soccer to begin with. Â
You know whats happening well enough since youâve had it explained to you hundreds of times. Â
You see several people on the screen during the match. Bachiraâs team mates. Team mates he gets along with. Thereâs another player named Isagi on the field and him and Bachira have such tangible chemistry you feel a little jealous watching them. Â
In the short few months Bachira has been away at Bluelock, you can see how heâs changed. How much his soccer has transformed and improved in so little time. Â
Most of all, you can tell that Bachira is having the best time of his entire life. You can deal with the mild envy if only he gets to be that happy forever.Â
The U-20 games end in a victory for the Bluelock team and several interesting characters appearing. That guy, Isagi, announces to the world that heâs going to be the one to lead the team to victory. You think to yourself that you understand exactly why Bachira likes him. Â
The next time you see Bachira in person is not long after that. Apparently as a reward for their win, theyâd been granted two weeks of free time. Â
It was only a few months, but itâs easy to tell how much Bachira has changed. It was all over him. He carried himself with more confidence, more electricity, more buzz. Â
He was still himself while being completely unrecognizable at the same time. Â
You were happy Bachira was happy, elated to hear all about his life and new friends. You couldnât keep track of all of it, but youâve been spending the last few days attached at the hip now that he was back in your hometown. Â
Heâd had another day to visit friends already out in Shibuya that you couldnât attend. Not that you really wanted too. You were happy he extended the invite but being around that many athletes and no doubt many alphas sounded like a nightmare. Â
 You figured he would have another day or two like that as is, so when he texts you again that heâll be meeting with some Bluelock friends, youâre content to let him go and not tag along despite yourself. As much some whiny part of you wanted to monopolize him completely (an omega part of you, you can admit) you feel itâs more important for Bachira to nurture his newer relationships on his own. Â
And again, being around that many alpha athlete teenage boys is mildly nightmarish to you in particular. Â
So you invited Sasaki to the mall to talk about this and that to keep your time occupied. Sheâd started dating some guy at school and you have yet to know the details. Â
You werenât expecting to run into Bachira with his friends at the same mall. Â
You catch Bachiraâs eye from across the way in the middle of the mall, along with a group of boys you know to be his new team mates. You honestly think itâd be better to avoid them for now. Not that youâre not happy to see Bachira, but thereâs no way this wonât be incredibly awkward for you.Â
Sasaki nudges you though, not caring in the slightest at your visible distress. âIsnât that Bachira-kun?â Â
âYes,â You hiss, trying not to be obvious. âLetâs go the other way.â Â
âHuh? Why?â Â
âBecauseââÂ
You turn around to leave but donât really get a chance as you hear a voice shout your name. Â
You flinch as you turn around. Sasaki gives you an amused look that you elbow her for immediately, feeling yourself jolt. After she makes fun of you, she holds your hand with an affirming squeeze and comforts you in a way only betas can - a soft citrus scent washing over you. You squeeze her hand back sighing, thankful as the group of boys stalk over to you. Â
Bachira runs more than he walks, skidding to a halt in front of you. âEhhh? What are you doing here?â Â
âCame to gossip and walk around with Sasaki-chan,â You say with a shrug, pointedly ignoring the three pairs of eyes on you as you talk. âAnd buy books.â Â
âI thought you said you couldnât come,â Bachira pouts at you, giving you a pointed look. You smile lightly. Â
âI didnât say that,â You reply softly. âI didnât want to intrude, thatâs all.â Â
âYouâre not intruding! Even if you were, I wouldnât really care.â Â
âBut you should,â You insist, shaking your head. You turn to his friends, getting a better look at them. Two alphas and one beta if your nose is right. You look at them apologetically. âSorry about interrupting your outing.â Â
The one of them with pink hair and the prettiest features youâve ever seen talks first. Youâre sure people mistake him for an omega, but his scent is too alpha like for that to be the case. Itâs strong enough and distinct enough for you to identify from this distance. âNot at all. Iâm Chigiri. This is Nagi,â He says, introducing the other alpha next to him. âAnd I figure you already know of Isagi,â Â
You smile a little at that. âAh, yeah. I do, actually.â You glance at Isagi. Heâs a beta in the way he feels like the pinnacle of peace and safety off the field. Itâs a little funny how different he seems. They all seem, really. Â
âStop getting so buddy-buddy with them,â Bachira bemoans. You frown at him. Â
âSorry about him,â You introduce your name first, then Sasaki. âWeâre all childhood friends. Itâs nice to meet all of you. Sorry to disturb your day off.â Â
âYouâre not disturbing us,â Isagi says serenely. You think he seems a touch smug but canât tell if youâre imagining it.Â
âYouâre welcome to hang out,â Chigiri says next. He and Isagi share an unreadable but obviously conspiratorial look. Your eyes widen at the offer, shaking your head with your hands up. Â
âAh. No, we donât want to intrude seriously.â Â
âWhy are you deciding for me?â Sasaki cuts in, making you shoot her a very sharp glare. âShouldnât you at least ask?â Â
âYouâre not intruding,â Chigiri assures, an incredibly disarming smile on his face. âWeâd be bound to see each other again if weâre both here anyways. May as well, right?â Â
You feel yourself sink, glancing at a very Bachira and thinking of the complaints youâre going to receive as soon as the two of you are alone. Your shoulders slump as you reluctantly smile, lips pressed into a flat line.Â
âThatâs true. If youâre sure you donât mind, then alright. Â
__Â Â
For alphas, you think Bachiraâs friends are pretty nice. Â
Nagi barely speaks, but heâs weirdly been engaged in conversation for the entire duration of you knowing him. Heâs got the imposing looks and vibe of an alpha but precisely none of the aggression - at least from where youâre standing. Heâs been considerate of you in his own way, especially after Bachira had announced the general discomfort you had felt towards alphas over all. Â
Chigiri is similarly nice. You can tell he grew up around omegas and are not surprised at all when he informs you he has omega sisters in his house. Heâs extremely friendly for an alpha, and youâre sure another omega would be foaming at the mouth at how polite he is. Â
Of his friends though, you still take preference to Isagi. He is a beta through and through. Adaptable, friendly, easy going while having a sort of snark you find incredibly entertaining. Him and Bachira get along like a house on fire, but not in way thatâs entire negative. You do feel a little envious seeing how close theyâve gotten in such a short period of time, but youâre mostly happy for him. Their bond is obviously special. Â
The rest of your group left a few moments ago, leaving you and Isagi to a much bedgrudging Bachira. Youâd gotten food from the food court but it wouldnât require so many people to go wait so you and Isagi have been securing a spot. You arenât sure how to be alone with him, never been all that good with strangers. Â
Isagi is good at making conversation though, so you havenât had to do much leg work. Â
You end up at the topic of Bluelock and Isagi practically beams at the chance to talk about it. Itâs kind of cute in itâs own right. You know some stuff about it, but the logistics have been lost on you. Bachira tends to talk about these things more with onomatopoeias than with words.Â
You fiddle with something on the end of your bag as you engage in conversation.Â
âHow does the facility manage like⌠having omegas and stuff in there?â You wonder. You voiced the concern to Bachira before leaving too but he had assured you itâd be fine. You kind of feel nosy asking. Â
Isagi shoots you a confused look. âHm? Bluelock doesnât have any omegas. It sucks but they considered it too high risk so only betas and alphas were admitted.â Â
Your turn to look confused. âSorry? But Bachira is enrolled in it noâŚ?â Â
Isagi stares at you. âUh,â He scratches the back of his neck. âBachira is an alpha, though? Like, a pretty strong one too. Itâs hard to tell from his scent from what I hear but heâs prescribed the really high dose medications that the other alphas take. Part of the rut management and everything.â Â
You blink. Â
ââŚThatâsâŚâ And then you look up, completely unsure of what to say. â..Are you sure? Like⌠really sure?âÂ
Isagi looks at you sympathetically. His voice is soft and comforting. âYeah. Iâm sure. Sorry,â Â
You shake your head. âNo itâs,â You feel your eyes start to well up, chest feeling especially tight. âItâs okay. Itâs not like you did anything wrong.â Â
âYouâre a nice girl, huh?â Isagi says, voice tender and easily sensing your sudden distress. It makes your lip wobble. You want to cry into a strangers arms even though you absolutely canât. âIâll scold him for you.â Â
You give him a thankful look. âIâm gonna uh,â You swallow. âGo to the bathroom. When Sasaki comes back tell her to text me. And Bachira, uhm. I guess just tell him I went home.â Â
Isagi smiles. âSure.â Â
You thank him again picking up your few things hastily and bolting in the opposite direction. Â
You donât really know what youâre supposed to do or how youâre so suppose to receive the information. Itâs not a sense of betrayal you feel welling up inside of you, but something closer to a sudden deep remorse and regret. And so much shock you can barely make sense of anything. You feel the sorry in your bones, and you feel the paved memories of your entire lifetime begging to shake under your feet. Â
Bachira is still Bachira.Â
But heâs an alpha. An alpha who likes other alphas, in the same way youâre an omega who likes other omegas. Heâs like you. You shared this your entire life, but you never knew not once. You didnât even have any idea. Â
What kind of friend does that make you? What kind of friend have you been to him all this time? Was it bad enough that he couldnât share it? When youâve depended on him so much? Â
You donât know how you end up in a bathroom. Itâs in such a far away part of the mall. You feel out of body, moving on autopilot as you shuffle into the empty stall and sit on the toliet with your bag and your things. Â
Youâre reminded of your first heat on the train back from middle school. An old memory but not old enough you easily forget. Hesitance turned to frustration and disgust towards alphas. Youâd avoided after that for years and still do now. Was it then? Â
Despondent, you arenât sure what to do with yourself. The echo of stalls, the noise of people loudly outside, the forceful beat of your heart. A reminder that youâre really living through this realization so late. Itâs weird. It hurts so much you can barely think through your thoughts and come upon any answers on how to go on. Â
Itâs not hard to understand why. Bachira is selfish but heâs also loyal. Youâre sure that sometime ago, to protect the vulnerable version of you who was already so distrusting of alphas, Bachira had kept it from you as to break your perception any further. You canât blame him for that, especially when that distrust towards alphas yet to dissolve completely. Of course he wouldnât be comfortable telling you. Â
You canât bring yourself to hate him over it and never would. Youâd spend the rest of your life trying to unglue the fused parts of yourself with him, the memories and youâd never see the end of it if you attempted. Â
What hurts you is that he never told you. Not ever. Not even when you voiced your worries about his heats in Bluelock. Not even as you drank together. Not even when he kissed you.Â
Was he never going to tell you?Â
Did he never trust you enough to tell you?Â
That hurts most. You only have yourself to blame. The thought makes your heart wrench. Your eyes water as you focus in on the ground and try to breathe.Â
The door of the bathroom itself opens and shuts all of a sudden, familiar footfall making hundreds of alarm bells go off at once. You already know itâs Bachira, but for the first time you donât know what youâre meant to say to him. The feeling is so complex you can barely put it in words for yourself. How were you meant to face him? Â
âMeguru,â Â
You can hear him whimper on the other side of the stall door, fists hitting it in a dull thud. Â
âIâm sorry,â Heâs crying. You want to open the door and comfort him so badly but shame stops you. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry - itâs all my fault. Donât hate me, please donât hate me.â Â
You hate hearing him cry. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to keep your voice steady. âI donât hate you at all.â Â
âYouâre lying. You wonât even open the door to look at me.â Â
âI just canât,â You say, not really know how else to explain it. âBut nothing could make me hate you.â Â
âBut you hate alphas, donât you? Youâre uncomfortable with me now. We canât be close anymore, right?â Â
You donât say anything to that. You want to deny it. You want to tell him nothing could make you want to stop being his friend. Â
But then, you remember that Bachira is destined for unimaginable greatness. Bright like the sun and even more interesting, more talented, more cool than you could ever be. Heâs an alpha to boot. You think of the future of your life and how youâve always pictured it to be quiet and functional, because thatâs who youâve always been. Bachira isâwas a star crash landing in your life, anyhow. You think of all of that, along with everything else - and all the ways youâve betrayed him unintentionally. Â
Youâve used up all of your luck. Inevitably. Eventually, it was always going to end with a gradually forming distance. You knew that before he left just like you know it now. And nows as good a time as any to put it to rest. Â
âMeguru,â Heâs your first friend. Youâre sure thatâs why heâs so shaken up. Distance would be better. âYou have to focus on becoming the best in the world, right? Iâll uh,â You try to breathe. âIâll be watching from a distance no matter what,â Â
âPlease donât leave me,â He whimpers. You wince. Â
âItâs not like that. Thereâs a lot of people who are beside you now.â You say warily, trying to comfort him. If you were a more selfish person, you would want to be friends. You love Bachira. Youâve loved him your entire life. You probably always will. But you think if heâs had to keep this secret from you so long - you donât deserve any of that. âItâs fine. Youâll be fine,âÂ
Without me. Youâll be fine without me. You want to tell him that, but canât bring yourself to say it. Â
You won���t be, you donât think. Not for a while. But this is the least you can do for your relationship. For your best friend who you havenât paid enough attention too. Â
âIâll stay with you until you stop crying,â You offer. âAnd when your eyes arenât red, we can both just go home. Okay?âÂ
Bachira sniffles on the other side of the door and doesnât reply.Â
__Â Â
[ EIGHTEEN ]Â
On your eighteenth birthday, Bachiraâs mom calls you at midnight. Â
Yu-san is like a third parent to you, so you pick regardless for the reason she calls. She sounds relieved when you answer despite the sleep in your voice. Youâre up late studying for your driving license exam which youâll finally be eligible to take starting now. Â
âAh. Hello?â Â
âHey, kid. Thanks for picking my call,â She sounds like sheâs doing something. Itâs a Sunday so sheâs probably painting. âDonât sound too confused. I just called to wish you happy birthday. Meguru always called you at midnight, didnât he?â Â
You look down at the papers on your desk, twirling pen in fingers. âYeah, he did.â Â
âYou two still arenât talking, right? But knowing Meguru, heâll feel sad later on when he realizes he didnât wish you because he was upset,â She hums, nonplussed. You smile a little. Yu-san is just like that, you think. Even after being aware of you and Bachiraâs fights, the way sheâs treated you hasnât changed. âSo I thought Iâd do in his place.â Â
âItâs alright, Yu-san. But thank you,â Â
âOf course,â She says. You hear the faucet running and the familiar clicking of paint brushes on the other side of the line. âCome over when you have some time. I brought ingredients for your favorite. We can go pick up a cake together, too. I bet youâre too busy studying and forgot to make plans, right?â Â
You flush. ââŚI did.â Â
She laughs good-naturedly. âRight? I thought so. I know itâs just you in the house, but feel free to invite Sasaki and Miki-chan, alright? And donât stay up too late studying.â Â
You feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes. âThank you for always taking care of me, Yu-obasan,â Â
âOh, donât be silly. Thatâs a given right?â Â
âRight,â You sniffle. âBut still, thanks.â Â
âOf course. Oh! And, happy birthday.â Â
#bachira x reader#bluelock x reader#bachira smut#bluelock smut#writing tag#fics for gaza#bllk x reader#bachira meguru x reader#omegaverse cw
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Summary: After Task Force 141 got a hint that you gave important information to their enemy- the boys do not hesitate to chain you up and give you a taste of hell. You on the other hand are innocent but they do not believe you
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
Platonic Task Force 141! x Fem!Reader (Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader)
a/n: part 3âs probably gonna take a while- oop.. enjoyyyyy
Warnings: uhm this whole fic is basically a warning. Torture; Blood; Mental Health; Angst angst angst not proof read CURSING!!! (Like always ngl). Being extremely drunk in a funny way(?) idk never been drunk before
genre: ANGST
+ 1,7k words
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6
Base. Last Year. Warm summer night.
A memory so stupid yet so sweet you often thought back to it. Still fresh, lingering in your brain like a welcomed cloud. Nothing special- still, like a upbeat song- making you happy- feeling fuzzy.
Just a night spent with your people. People that understood you. People that were aware of your fears just like you were aware of theirs.
Time slowed down when you dived back into the memory. Happiness flooding your senses every time.
Crickets chirping late at night- warm air coming through the opened window of the community area- making you feel fuzzy and warm.
Johnny was drunk as hell back than- just like you have been. Ghost- was clearly amused- having a softer look on his face- as you and Soap emotionally sung 'let it go'- feeling every second. Soaps loud voice combined with the scottish accent made you laugh uncontrollably- finding it hard to breath.
Everything was just so much funnier that night.
Making up lyrics at some point- too drunk to remember every line- and even Ghost had to admit the next day that the freestyle parts weren't even that bad.
Price was in a good mood as well- leaning back and watching two of his three Sergeants almost crying while singing a stupid song and dancing to it.
And Gaz? That man was deep gone in his slumber- beer still in hand whilst he snored the whole time- drool dribbling down his chin and pooling onto the table where his head crashed onto half an hour ago.
'Kids'- Price just thought- chuckling while shaking his head slightly in disbelief. His Fingers shortly ran over moustache- giving Simon a knowing look as his liuetenant switched your drink with cold water- not wanting you to throw up your organs the next day. Even if Ghost didnât admit it- Price knew how fond the liuetenant was of you. He saw it in the way he let you near- how he carried you when you dodged that bullet for him.
Price never mentioned it but he saw the tears that brimmed in Simons eyes back then- frantically carrying you bridal style to the medics- never leaving your side for days. Just waiting and praying for you to recover
You took a sip of the water- now too busy to paint Kyle's nails with a hot pink Nail polish named 'Babygirl kiss' or something of the sort- not even noticing the switch of your drink- too drunk to care.
Soap was also busy distracting Price before the man finally saw what you did to Kyle. "Y/n- no" John only tutted like a parent- as he saw Gaz' now pink nails. "Whaaaa'? shi' loogs good" you slurred with a loopsided grin- hiccuping after your words and earning a gentle pat on your shoulder
"Maybe a little punishment for passing out.. its not even permanent" Ghost shrugged- same unreadable expression on his face even tho you finally abandoned your artsy task and were sprawled over his lap on the couch- fiddling with his mask like a child- feeling tired out of the sudden.
Soap just nodded his head furiously at Ghosts words- just like you- liking the polish on your friends fingers. âYa dinnae fink thaâ thad lass hs a broblem wihâ tha, did a?â the man with the mohawk slurred while stumbling slightly to take another shot.
Price sighed with a nod- taking a big gulp of his Whiskey befor he closed his eyes- feeling the burning sensation trailing down his esaphagus. Still suprised that Ghost even let you so close to him. Touching him so often.
"Uhhg" Soap moaned in pain as he laid on the cheap carpet floor- holding his belly.. "May'be- goo mally jelly jots" he bitched- curling up to a ball to immediately pass out- earning a chuckle from his Captain.
It was a silly memory- just funny when remembered- thats what you liked. Something that feels normal- comfortable.
.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
.
Now it wasn't anymore.
Far from it actually.
You dreamed often times down here- memories that normally made you laugh- now making you cry. Wishing to just forget everything you ever witnessed with them. Even if it made your day back then.
You had to admit that you sometimes wished to travel back in time. Make everything right- but what did you even do? Right.
Nothing.
You could feel yourself getting weaker. Little to no food, the wetness and cold temperatures of the room crawled up your bones- making you shiver almost all the time- legs and arms turning painfully cold- almost like dead meat.
It was quiet most of the time. Too quiet. Too dark. The cell was made to torture- to confuse- to limit your senses. And it did.
You shook your legs in the darkness of the room. Feeling them getting weaker again. You didn't sit down for almost 2 weeks. Trying to move your fingers- hissing softly as the cuffs scratched uncomfortably at your already raw rubbed wrists. You couldn't feel your arms- just hoped that your fingers really did move.
âFuckâ you hissed- vision getting blurry with tears of frustration- and pain- and all the fucked up stuff that clouded your brain down in this shithole.
Slamming your bare foot behind you against the wall- definitely scratching it up during the process. âFuck- I am going to kill everyone of you dirty fuckers!â you yelled in agony- pulling at your chains- they did not budge a millimeter- just clinking under your movements.
Everything hurt. You had to admit that. Your eye was almost swollen shut, you could feel that. Broken nose, maybe also a black eye on the other side. Cuts adorning your Belly as well as your back-
You could swear that your toes and fingers were turning blue due to the coldness
You sighed into the silence. If it were any other occasion you would have probably thought about killing yourself? But now? Hah.
You will fucking live. Fucking spit in their faces Make them fucking bleed their hearts out and Scream.
Simon.
oh you were going to make him weep like a baby when all of this is done- destroying his tough shell with hateful words. Something that hurts him the most. Being Abandoned.
You were fucking Angry.
angry wasnât even fitting- you were furious, boiling with hate, wanting to see them destroyed.
Yeah. Your mother probably would say something like "Anger and revenge is no way out- its an unhealthy coping mechanism". You loved your Mother- didn't even know if she got informed what was going on here- probably not- you thought.
Still you wanted to throw a middlefinger at that statement. Yes. revenge isn't always a good answer. But here? Right now?
It seemed like a fucking good plan.
.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
.
"Just tell us, sugar" Gaz spat at you with a venom laced voice. Looking at your quiet and beat up frame. Painfully squeezing your chin inbetween his fingers to make you look at him.
"What? Cat gotcha tounge?" he asked with a bloodthirsthy smile. "Didn't think we would find out, eh?" he asked staring at you with a clenched jaw- he was seething.
No need to be a pro to see that.
Your feelings matched his expression perfectly - you didn't show him though. Staring into his eyes with a dead look- not bothering talking to him. "Maybe I should cut your tounge off, huh? Liking that idea, sweetie?" holding up his knife and cocking his head towards it to prove his point.
You rolled your eyes at that gesture, earning a quick stab into your shoulder, grunting at the sudden attack- not expecting it. Breathing getting heavier as you comprehended the pain that passed through your veins like a wildfire. Spreading its painful heat into every tissue of your body.
"fucker" you chocked out- getting kicked into your stomach for your words- your whole body cramping at the forcefull impact.
Body crumpling together as much as you could- still chained to the bar at the ceiling. "Just tell us the truth!" Gaz sneered angered- fist tightening as he pulled the sharp dagger out of your shoulder- an ugly squelching sound emitting during the process- making you shudder, even though you heard it pretty often during your career.
You huffed angrily- cold sweat forming on your body. Mixing with the dirt and dried up blood- sticking to your skin in an uncomfortable way.
"I. Didn't. Do. SHIT!" you yelled at him- a fire errupting in Gaz eyes, his mouth clenching shut- jabbing you into your throat with his hand out of nowhere-
And everything turned black.
.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
.
Gaz sighed at your unconscious self. Fist clenching and unclenching around the hilt of the bloody dagger- other hand coming up to wipe away the sweat that formed on his face.
"Fuck, just please.. tell us the truth" he whispered before turning around.
he quickly left- Room turning dark again. The singular lightbulb getting dimmer and dimmer till the light completely vanished.
.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
.
Your shoulder stung like a bitch after you gained consciousness. Groaning in pain- the warm liquid still slowly trickling down your shoulder, over your chest- trailing further down.
âFucking bitchâ you moaned in pain- curses- all directed at Kyle flooded your mouth
âMotherfucker!â you whimpered- shoulders trembling- making you wince even more. Feeling the tightness in the back of your throat- accompanied by the bitter taste and burning sensation in your eyes- frustrating you even more. tears falling free- creating small streaks on their way down- contrasting with the dried up blood on your beat up face.
A sob was the first thing that broke the silence for a long time. Then another- and another. All drenched in pain. Hurt. Betrayal.
Sobs wrecked your body- coughing after some minutes of crying your soul out. Too much Saliva or mucus in your nasal area. You pleaded into the cold air. Missing your family. Missing your happiness. Missing the old times.
old times..
Hours passed. Exhausted look on your face. Eyes shallow. Trying to drift off into sleep again.
You didnât care that you were probably ignoring the advice from your Mother that she taught you since you were little.
Fucking making them die on the inside it is.
Die on the Inside.
Fuckers.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
!please do reblog!
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#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon riley Ă reader#simon riley#simon riley Ă fem! reader#simon ghost Ă reader#simon ghost riley Ă reader#captain price#call of duty fic#traitor!141!reader#traitor!reader#141!reader#141 Ă reader#task force 141#tf 141#johnny mactavish#captain john price#kyle gaz#kyle gaz garrick#kyle Garrick#ghost Ă you#ghost angst#ghost call of duty#tw torture#tw stabbing#tw violence#tw cursing#tw mental health#tw blood#tw hypothermia
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"better, now."
wordsăť749 / pairingăťhyunjin x gn!stylist!reader / includesăťfluff, established relationship, alcohol consumption / noteăťan extremely self-indulgent kinda emo take on hyunjin @ vfw. takes place in the crying lightning universe.
Hyunjin is gone.
He stopped walking and started floating about five drinks ago, bode farewell to coherent sentences and his eyesight not too long after. Simply kept plucking flutes of champagne off trays carried around by kindred waiters and let himself bask in the glorious evening.
When his stylist shows up in front of him, he mistakes them for the moon.
Gentle hands push strands of sweaty hair out of his eyes, then move to cup his cheeks fondly, protectively, as if imprinting final touches into a snow angel. He watches your lips form his name from mere centimeters away, but the sound of it seems to travel underwater.
âHyunjin,â you repeat, more audibly this time, a lick of crisp night air cutting through the afterpartyâs steamy throng.
He proceeds to melt into you in ways he cannot currently control, sliding a hand over the one you have on the side of his face, fingertips dipping in the slots between yours. Bringing you close enough to him that your chest moulds right against his. Grinning at you with a sickening sweetness that he can taste on his own mouth.
âHi,â he replies.
âYou okay? How are you?â You inquire. âDo you need anything?â
âHi,â he says again, because he canât really think of anything else, and that seems to be answer enough.
Before he knows it, heâs walking somewhere, guided only by the arm that he has slung over your shoulders and your silhouette, just barely discernible in the dim venue, which he would follow to the ends of the earth.
An indeterminate amount of time later, heâs standing in the doorway of an unoccupied lounge. The tables of polished mahogany and gold foil have become graveyards of empty wine glasses, but the couch in the middle of the room has been left pristine.
Only after he sits down does the lightheadedness hit, and it hits hard, hard enough to shut his eyes and furrow his brow. His brain swings around the inside of his skull like a pendulum.
There is a delicate brush of your finger against his chin, your quiet request for him to lift it up, and then something hard and cold comes to rest on his lower lip. Water surrounds his tonsils and slips down his throat. A few stray rivulets escape down the side of his neck, then disappear into the napkin that you have pressed upon the skin.
By the time heâs downed the whole glass, he can feel his wits beginning to returnâwith them, the rest of his senses. His eyes crack open again.
âHot,â he whispers. âItâs hot.â
You move your hands to his shoulders. Moments later, his jacket is a leather mass over the back of the couch, and he feels his dizziness subside, his oxygen return.Â
âBetter?â
With the music so far away, he hears the concern in your tone with crystalline clarity. He leans over to press his lips to the underside of your jaw, conveying a silent message: better, now.
He didnât have plans to spend the night backstage, but the premise seems riveting where he comes to lie. His head nestled in the plush of your lap, the rest of him stretched across the sofa, your hand carding through his hair with the soporific lull of a mellow tide.
âIâm sorry,â he mumbles suddenly, and you look down at him, confused.
âFor?â
âGetting so drunk.â
If your hand is the tide, your laugh is the sand, warm and ubiquitous and all-consuming. âYou had a good time, yeah?â
A good time. What an understatement for the maelstrom of feeling still raging on within him, the happiness and disbelief and pride and gratitude to himself, to you. To us.
âThe best,â he answers.
âThatâs all that matters, then,â you hum, your thumb dusting over his hairline. âYou deserve to celebrate.â
Heâs still too drunk to really think, but he doesnât have to think when it comes to youâjust knows in the very wellsprings of his soul all the love youâve woven into the thing youâre about to say, by the infinitesimal softening of your eyes alone.
âYou deserve everything, baby.â
He lifts your wrist to his lips, presses a kiss to your pulse. Above him, your features blur, then come back into focus. His answer is so soft that he almost canât hear it over the warble of his heartbeat and the descent of his tears.
âIâve got it right here.â
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Š đđ¨đŤđĽđ˘đą (est. 090323) ¡ liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support âĄ
#hyunjin x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids imagines#hyunjin imagines#skz x reader#stray kids scenarios#k-labels#skz imagines#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#hyunjin fluff#skz scenarios#hyunjin scenarios#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin x you#stray kids x you#*writing#*drabble#*d: hyunjin
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hot tea with honey- nishimura riki x reader
a/n: hi :3 this was requested from one of my anons <3 it was super cute and a nice write especially after one 8 page final essay and another 1.5 page essay so this was a nice breath of fresh air
warnings: fluff, they fall down a snowy hill lolz, reader described as cute and bubbly
MASTERLIST
wc- 400-550
you were absolutely positively not good with the cold. you loved winter though. you absolutely adored the snowflakes falling and watching it from inside
your boyfriend on the other hand, loved to go outside and play games.
so here you were looking at your boyfriend putting on his jacket and whipping around to look at you.
ây/nâŚ. pleaaaaaaase just go take a walk with me!!! thatâs it!â
you looked at him, âbaby i donât know⌠iâm really bad with the coldâŚâ you mumbled and looked down at your feet. riki walked over to you, his boots making loud noise, with little jingles signaling he already had his keys on him. he cupped your face and made you look up at him.
âi pinky promise i will keep you warm.â how could you say no to him?
you felt yourself smile before rushing off to get your jacket and winter wear. you found your jacket, scarf, and boots and put them on quickly.
when you skipped back riki was already giggling and opening the door for you, after readjusting his your hat and scarf.
you guys walked along the river together swinging your hands back and forth. the snow stopped falling for a little bit and you could hear soft chatters from people farther away. distant cars and water from the river sloshing could be heard in the background too. the scene was peaceful, even if it was freezing.
âwhat was with the wild hair that made you want to go outside today?â you asked, looking up at your boyfriend. riki was extremely bundled up, he had his big hat and jacket on and you could see his breath through his mask. his boots still clinking against the cold pavement.
âhmmm i dunnoâŚâ rikiâs eyes were crinkled meaning he was smiling.
you looked at him, âwhat? youâre smiling!â you lightly shoved him, giggling, âyouâre thinking about something mischievous!â
riki looked down at you, ânothing your winter clothes are just cute.â he thought everything about you was bubbly.
you looked at him, âshut it- no way thatâs what you were thinking!â you laughed and bumped into him again, riki was feeling mischievous and âpretendedâ that he was falling- taking you down with him.
before you knew it you were being pulled down to the snow with him. falling down a small hill near the riverbank.
âriki!â you shrieked when you both stopped falling. he started laughing uncontrollably. you both laid in the snow, you on top of him.
âyou are soâŚâ you shook your fist back and forth before laughing. he was still laughing when he softly grabbed your fist and pulled down his mask so he could kiss your hand.
âyour hands are so coldâŚâ he mumbled, âiâm sorry i broke my pinky promise.â riki frowned, part of him did feel a little bad.
you looked at him with fake sympathy, âawww baby itâs okayâŚâ you leaned down to kiss him, âi donât blame youâŚâ
but before your lips met, you grabbed a handful of snow and dropped it on his face before getting up and trying to run up the hill you both previously fell down.
riki sat up and watched you try to get up the hill. he started giggling and you whipped around.
âwhat??â your brows were furrowed and you put your hands on your hips.
he got up and started to help you up the hill, ânothing youâre just cute like i said. letâs get back inside, your hands are still freezing.â he smiled down at you and you kissed his lips softly before putting his mask up. grinning up at him, riki took a moment to process you. he felt his chest bubbling up, riki knew he was in love with you he just hadnât told you yet. dating was one thing, but love! that made him nervous.
âyeah you owe me a hot drink now.â you spoke while riki was lost in thought.
âoh do i?â riki asked as you both started walking back, the snow started to fall softly again. landing in your hair where it peaked out of your hat.
you nodded, âi want a hot teaâŚâ you perked up, âwith honey!â
riki was grinning underneath his mask, he looked down at you, eyes full of love and adoration, âhot tea with honey⌠notedâŚâ
#enhypen#kpop#enha#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#enha scenarios#nishimura riki scenarios#nishimura riki imagines#nishimura riki x reader#enhypen nishimura riki#niki enhypen#nishimura riki fluff#enhypen fluff#enha fluff#enhypen comfort#enha comfort#lee heeseung imagines#yang jungwon imagines#jay park imagines#jake sim imagines#park sunghoon imagines#kim sunoo imagines#lee heeseung x reader#yang jungwon x reader#jay park x reader#enha jake sim x reader#park sunghoon x reader#kim sunoo x reader
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STAYING HOME (SHORT) | JEY USO
summary: jeyâs the biggest baby when heâs sick
warnings: none
âYeah girl, Iâm gonna have to pass on lunch.â
âNo worries sissy. I understand you wanna take care of your man! Just text me later so I can tell you the tea.â Her close friend, Nicole told her.
âI got you sis.â
After getting off the phone with Nicole she went to the fridge and instantly pull out the items to make a soup. She didnât know what it was but Jey came down with something that made him extremely sick.
All last night he was throwing up, sweating, and sneezing like crazy. It drove her crazy not knowing what was wrong with him. All night she found herself dozing in and out of sleep, checking in him to make sure he was okay and still breathing.
When she work up this morning she spoke with a nurse to figure out what couldâve possibly been wrong with him. After listing his symptoms is was clear he had some kind of seasonal virus that was going around.
He rarely got sick but when he did he was the biggest baby in the world. He would stay in bed all day and hold Whitney right up under him.
Gathering the items for the soup she instantly started cooking so it would be done sooner than later. She made sure to add the extra spiciness the way they liked it and then started on the dumplings.
âMmh, this is so good.â She danced to herself as she tasted the soup and then scooped some in the bowl for Jey. She then poured him a cup of lemon honey ginger tea and made her way upstairs.
When she got to their bedroom she placed the bowl and the cup down on the dresser and walked over to the bed where Jey was sprawled out. The room was freezing cold but his body was still hot due to his fever.
âSweet face, wake up.â She called out to him a sage placed the food on the night stand and opened the blinds to let some light in.
âBaby close that.â He sucked his teeth and pulled the cover over his head to block the sunlight.
âJey, come on.â She sat down on the bed, rubbing small circles into his back.
âHmm?â He moved his head from under the comforter while adjusting his body to face her.
âEat for me and you can go back to sleep. I made you some soup and tea.â She ran her hands through his small curls as he laid his head in her lap.
âI thought you were going out for lunch?â He asked.
âNo, I gotta take care of my baby.â
âYou donât gotta do that. Go out with your girls.â He told her but she ignored him and picked up the humidifier so she could change the water in it.
As she did he grabbed the bowl off the dresser and instantly began eating it. If there was one thing Whitney could do it was cook her ass off. He loved all of her cooking especially when he was sick.
âHow is it?â
âYou know itâs good baby.â He licked his lips.
âGood, how do you feel? You look way better than yesterday.â She asked as she sat down on the bed next to him.
âDamn, I looked fucked up yesterday?â He sucked his teeth and turned to face her.
âJust a little bit.â She giggled.
âYouâre not right for that. I couldnât fucking breathe. He narrowed his eyes are her.
âWell you didnât want to drink the tea. I bet youâll drink it all now. It cleared your sinuses right out after I forced it down your throat.â
âThatâs how youâre gonna treat me when weâre old, huh? Abusing me and shit?â He took the tea from her as she busted out laughing at how dramatic he was being.
âHmm, maybe. You can be difficult sometimes we might have to send you to a nursing home.â She laughed once she saw the expression on his face.
âYeah fucking right. Youâll be real upset when I find a young thang to take care of me.â
âAnd Iâll beat both of yâall asses. Old or not.â She pursed her lips at him. No longer thinking it was funny.
âBabe, youâre a trip.â He shook his head at her.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
tag list: @bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh
#wwe#wwe imagine#wwe fluff#wwe smut#wwe one shot#wwe fanfiction#jey uso#jey uso imagine#black writers#black fanfic writer#black oc#black romance
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Behind Closed Doors {k.s.m}
Kim Seungmin x gn!reader, established relationship, seungmin brain rot, my bias wrecker of all bias wreckers, kinda proofread but im sure there's errors pls just ignore them thanks.
âAre you sure everything is okay with you and Seungmin?â Your friend asked carefully over coffee one day.Â
âUh, yeah, everythingâs great?â You looked at her with confusion before setting your drink down to fully understand what she was trying to say.
âItâs justâŚâ She hesitated. âWeâre just worried about you y/n. We all know you deserve someone whoâs absolutely obsessed with you, but I donât think weâve even seen the two of you kiss yet. And youâve been dating for well over a year now.â You sighed and looked down into your drink. âI mean, the most contact weâve seen between the two of you is that you sit semi-close to one another and occasionally hold pinkies.â
What she didnât know was that it was always like this with him in public, shy minimal touches but eyes filled with adoration. There was the rare occasion where he would even hold you a bit closer, but that was on days he was feeling extra clingy. PDA was something that made both of you a little uncomfortable, so your public excursions usually consisted more of longing gazes and flushed cheeks. You had tried to explain this many times, but your friends wouldnât have it.
What they donât see is the fact that the second you are securely behind the closed apartment door, you canât seem to get rid of him. Like a golden retriever thinking itâs a lap dog, he will fully lay on you while reading or scrolling through his phone. Heâs so extremely clingy, following you around just about anywhere (he lets you have your privacy for the toilet but even that is a stretch).Â
He has to be touching you in some way, whether itâs your feet in his lap or his hand on your thigh. Heâll never admit it, but physical touch is very comforting for him and he tries to fill up on it as much as he can when the two of you are alone.Â
It was a point of conflict early in your relationship, mainly because your friends (continuously) expressed their concern about how cold he seemed. The way he would tease you mercilessly (but they didnât see the heart eyes he had when he called you an idiot). They would also make passive aggressive comments to him and you had no idea it upset him. You found out on a seemingly random day when you got home from work, excited to be mauled by him. However you were greeted by silence, Seungmin laying quietly on the couch with his hood on and headphones secured over his head.Â
âHey, Minnie, Iâm home.â You called softly, setting your bag down and gently patting the top of his head. He looked up at you and nodded, flashing a tight smile and looking back down at his phone. You smile softly, assuming heâs tired and decide to just go get changed out of work clothes.Â
Once comfy, you come back and squeeze yourself beside him on the couch. He sighs and moves away, making your heart drop a bit. âAre you⌠upset about something?â You ask, leaning forward to try and look at his face.Â
âIâm just acting the way your friends think I do.â He mutters, standing up from the couch. You furrow your brow, looking up at him.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â He scoffed at your response, walking into the kitchen. You follow after him, watching as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.Â
âYour friend said the other day that I must not show you a whole lot of affection.âÂ
âMin, she was just teasing. She didnât mean it.âÂ
âYes she did. She says out of pocket shit like that all the time. All of them do.â He sighs, pulling his hood off his head to make eye contact with you. âAnd you just laugh it off every time. Itâs like you agree with them.â His expression is serious as he holds steady eye contact, keeping his tone level and calm. Your chest tightens, realizing that your friends had been hurting the one you love all this time and he just took it without saying anything.Â
âSeungmin, I⌠I donât agree with them at all I swear. I know youâre so full of love and I am so sorry I didnât realize their words hurt you.â You feel your eyes begin to water, turning your head to try and hide it. âIâve tried explaining to them how much pda kinda freaks us out but they just have these preconceived ideas about what a relationship looks like⌠Iâll talk with them.â You promise, swiping the stray tears from you cheek. âIâll, uh, give you some space then. Iâm gonna head to bed. Love you.â You smile assuringly and pat his arm on your way past him. Youâre only about two steps away when you hear him murmur,Â
âDumbass.â Before youâre engulfed in his arms from behind. âI wanna hold you even if Iâm upset with you. Itâs annoying.â He sighs and rests his chin on your shoulder. You silently stand in his grasp, holding back the tears that are trembling in your eyes.Â
âMin, I really am so sorry.â You whisper, leaning forward to kiss whatever part of his arm was closest to your mouth. You can feel him hum against your back and his hug tighten ever so slightly.Â
âYouâre the person I love the most in this world. I hate the idea that you might doubt that just because Iâm a private person.â He nuzzles his face into your neck, sighing softly.Â
âI have never ever doubted you, Seungmin.â You smile softly, turning to look at his face. He nods, smiling back.Â
âGood. Now give me a kiss before I die.â He chuckles, leaning in with a wide smile.Â
#stray kids#skz fluff#skz#stray kids fluff#skz drabbles#skz seungmin#seungmin#kim seungmin#seungmin x reader#seungmin fluff
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Imagine⌠Making Lemonade for Levi on a Hot Summer Day
Fluff
Postwar!Levi Ackerman x gn!reader
Warnings: none
The summer heat was scorching down on you as you stretched out on a lounge chair in your backyard, soaking up some sun. You were enjoying your lazy day, getting some much needed Vitamin D. You flipped through a magazine, your mind still blown by the fact that the glossy pages had entertained people for much longer than you had even known they existed. There were many things in Marley that were completely new to you and every trip to the market was filled with enchantment as you learned of all the wonders that had been held from you in your previous life in Paradis. Now, you and your boyfriend Levi were living it up together in your cottage and you couldnât be happier. Speaking of Levi, you had a fantastic view of the raven haired man while he was hard at work, tending the garden. His white shirt was clinging to his sturdy back as he dug the spade into the dirt, his arm muscles flexing with each movement. When he was finished planting, you saw him lean back a little as he wiped the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. The extra moisture made his whole body glisten; he looked absolutely divine and you couldnât tear your gaze away from him. He cocked his head, finally acknowledging your unbridled interest in his figure.
âDidnât your parents teach you that itâs rude to stare?â
âThereâs no harm in admiring the spectacular view in front of me,â you said, cheekiness apparent in your tone. Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes, getting back to the task at hand, but you could tell that you flustered him a bit with your flirting as the pink tinge that now graced his face wasnât just from the heat. You tried putting your focus back on your magazine but you started to feel quite parched. You decided to go inside and make some lemonade for yourself and your handsome boyfriend. You gathered everything you needed and began to squeeze the lemons. When you got enough juice, you made a simple syrup on the stove, then poured both of those and lots of water into a giant pitcher, mixing it all up. Taking out two tall glasses, you filled them up to the brim with ice and the lemonade, enjoying the relief of the cold that seeped onto your hand. You left your glass inside so you had an empty hand to open and close the back door and headed into the warmth of the outdoors.
âI got something to cool you down, hottie,â you greeted Levi, this time earning a groan and an eye roll.
âYouâre ridiculous, you know that?â he chided, shaking his head when you attempted to wink at him. Though he found your antics silly, he also thought you were completely adorable with the way you showed your affection toward him. Putting words to his feelings was never his forte so having a partner like you, comfortable in expressing your attraction to him, was something he was extremely grateful for. You reached out your unoccupied arm to help steady Levi as he stood up from the ground, his legs shaky from exertion. You held up the glass of lemonade for him to take a sip from, hoping he wasnât dehydrated from his time under the sun. He put his lips around the straw and took a long drink, eager to quench his thirst.
âY/n, thatâs really good. Thank you,â he said, giving you a close lipped grin.
âOf course,â you replied, brushing a stray piece of hair from his face. He suddenly got shy from the intimacy of your gesture, opting to study the ground instead of your face, though he still leaned on you as you helped him walk over to the patio where a chair in the shade was waiting for him. You sat him down and retrieved your own drink from inside the house before sitting in the chair next to him.
âThank you for all your work,â you told Levi, a kiss lovingly placed onto his cheek. âThe garden is beautiful. The flowers are going to look phenomenal this year.â
âNot as phenomenal as you look now,â he observed, meeting your eyes once more as you gasped.
âLevi! How uncharacteristically suave that was!â you exclaimed, playfully holding a hand over your mouth in faux shock.
âTch. I can be romantic, you know.â
âWow, I canât believe I got the Levi âLoverboyâ Ackerman to fall for me. How lucky am I?â you asked, swooning. âOoh, maybe next time you can garden shirtless and give me a real show. Itâll be like those romance novels Hange always told me about.â
âJust drink your damn lemonade,â muttered the man, failing to hide the tenderness that appeared on his facial features at the sound of your laughter. You couldnât contain your giggles, trying your best not to choke on your drink and Levi wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer and enjoying this carefree moment with you. The lemonade was the perfect drink for the perfect day with the perfect love of your life.
#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi ackerman x reader fluff#levi fluff#levi ackerman#levi x reader#captain levi#snk levi#snk x reader#snk fanfiction#aot x reader#levi aot
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You big baby ŕźâp.js
đ
ŕźâGenre: fluff
.áWarnings: nothing too extreme.
â
WC: 0.6k
á°Notes: got inspired since someone I know cries everytime they get a fever and their suitor took care of them(made me feel single istg)
ŕšThinking about how jay would take care of you when you have a fever especially if you cry when you have a fever.
On the first day of you fever, waking up to an afternoon sun shining directly in your already watery eyes and a cold towel on your forehead. Feeling around the bed, you don't feel jay next to you, already guessing that he must have left for work already.
Not having enough energy and you feel sluggish than usual, you stayed in bed for a few hours trying to fall back asleep since your fever was getting worse by the hour. Eventually your fever got worse to the point that tears started to well up in your eyes threatening to fall.
Just as you tried to sit up, you hear the front door open and quickly close, you figured it'd be jay since you weren't expecting any visitors but it was to early for him to be home.
The door to your creaks open, jay peaked from the door checking if you're awake or not. Seeing that you were sat in bed with tears in your eyes.
"Y/n! My love, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Jay rushed next to you and put down the plastic bag he was holding and cupped your cheeks while tears fell from your eyes as you sob quietly in jays arms. "I-i...don't k-know *hic* but m-my fever is ge-getting worse... " your voice trailed off by the end of your sentence, hearing this, jay immediately grabbed the plastic bag and took out a packet of pills, popping one out and grabbing the glass of water on your bedside table.
He gave you the pill and the glass of water, but you pushed it back to jay knowing you wouldn't be able to swallow the pill smoothly. "Ok y/n, I'll cook some soup for you and once I finish the soup, you can use it as a substitute for the water so you won't taste the pill" he got up from the bed and kissed your forehead, "get some rest while you wait, I'll leave the water and pills here if your thirsty" jay tucked you in bed and put a back the wet towel that was on your forehead and went out of the room.
.
.
.
You wake up a few hours later, you still felt like you were burning in a fire since your fever hasn't still cooled down, you hear the door open, showing jay holding a tray with a bowl of soup, a glass of water and the pills you still needed to take to make your fever go down.
"Is your fever still high Princess?" He put down the tray on the bedside table and checked your temperature and took the towel from your forehead away, "you should eat up and take the pill so the fever won't be so high tomorrow, do you need anything love?" You shook your head, indicating that you didn't need anything.
"alright then love, if you need me, I'll be down stairs cleaning all the dishes" but before jay had gotten a chance to stand up, you grabbed his hand, pulling him towards you on the bed "what is it love? Is there something wrong? " jay checked your temperature again "no... Can you.. Stay here with me for a while?" Your voice so quiet and soft that jay almost couldn't here you, he didn't say anything but he laid down next to you cuddling you to sleep, his face on your neck, your legs tangled together, his arm wrapped around your waist while the other one is under your head, jay softly caressing your hair, humming a soft tune lulling you both to sleep.
That's how the rest of your sick week has been. Waking up to jay cooking you breakfast and dinner, drinking your medicine, sleeping while waiting for jay to come back from practice, and cuddling to sleep.
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Always On My Mind - Steve Harrington
A/N: omg! I have no idea how this happened đ I finally got this out and I really, really hope you like it as much as the first one! thank you so much for all the love (and for the patience!)
Warnings: reader is hurt (like badly hurt) but it's only mentioned at the beginning, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything. also, this is a sequel to You Keep Me Hanging On so I would advise you read that one first (link at the bottom)
Disclaimer: I donât own Stranger Things :) gif isnât mine :DÂ Â
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Always On My Mind
If I made you feel second-best I'm so sorry I was blind You were always on my mind You were always on my mind
You were trying extremely hard to focus. It was over. You had made it. You were back at Hawkins and you made it to the hospital. Max was hurt. And so was Eddie. Although his injury wasnât as bad because you ran out to help him. You saw the nurses take Max one way and Eddie the other way. You turned around and saw Robin comforting Erica and making sure they would check her as well since that idiot Andy basically attacked her. And on the other side, you saw Steve. He was trying his best to calm Lucas and Dustin down. You blinked a few times and you tried to make your way to them butâŚ
âYouâre bleeding!â you heard Nancyâs voice next to you. You opened your mouth to say something but blood came out. âOh my God!â Nancy grabbed you when you were about to hit the floor. âSTEVE!â
You tried to stay up with Nancyâs help and you saw Steve, Dustin, and Lucas look your way. Steve felt his heart drop the second he saw you. You had blood on your stomach and you were trying to hold yourself up. You heard him screaming your name as he ran over to you, to help you keep you up.
âSweetheart, look at me!â he said, placing his hand on your cheek while you heard Dustin and Lucas screaming for someone to help them. âWhy didnât you tell me you were hurt? I asked you if you were hurt!â he said with a few tears rolling down his cheeks.
âIâm s-sorryâ you before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you almost collapsed on the floor but Steve quickly held you, screaming for a doctor to help as you passed out in his arms.
âHELP!â
Steve jumped awake on his bed and felt he was sweating cold. He placed his hand on his chest and he could feel his heart beating incredibly fast. He sat down on the bed and grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand to calm himself down.
It had been a few weeks after they came back from the UpsideDown. Max was still at the hospital, and you and Eddie had been staying with him. Mostly because Eddie was still kind of lying low since a lot of people still thought he was a murderer. And you, because your parents were out of town with his parents and cared about just as much that their daughter was in the hospital. He ran a hand through his hair and got out of his parentsâ bed. He walked over to his room where you were staying and silently opened the door, sighing in relief when he saw you peacefully asleep. He closed the door and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where he found his other guest.
âMunson-â
âJesus H. Christ!â Eddie jumped a little, turning around to see Steve. âYou scared the shit out of me, manâ he said, placing his hand on his chest as he held his crutch on his right hand.
âUm, what are you doing?â Steve asked confused.
âWell⌠I was just⌠a bit hungryâ Eddie explained.
âAre you high?â
âUh⌠would you be upset if I was?â
âNoâ Steve shrugged.
âThen yes, I am very much high, Harringtonâ he smiled politely at him. âYou want some?â he asked, pointing at the joint on the counter.
âYou know what? Yesâ Steve said, grabbing it and taking a hit.
âAlright, now itâs a partyâ Eddie chuckled when Steve coughed a little. âYou okay there, man?â
âYeah, itâs just⌠been a whileâ he said. âLet me grab those for youâ he said, walking over to the cabinet where Eddie was trying to reach for the chips.
âThanksâ Eddie said grabbing something to drink too and the brownies you had made earlier before the two of them walked to the living room. âSo, whatâs up?â
âWhat?â Steve asked, confused.
âWhy canât you sleep? Did you have another nightmare?â
âYeahâ Steve said, drinking his soda. âYou?â
âYepâ Eddie said, grabbing the chips. âThose fucking bats really made a number on my leg manâ he said, looking at the cast on his right foot. âYou know⌠I may have not made it if it wasnât for her, right?â Steve silently nodded. After you were taken by the doctor, Dustin confessed that you had gone out to help Eddie and the bats attacked you instead but you kept insisting he had it worse. âWas your nightmare about her?â
He had never talked about that moment after it happened. He had been glued to you the entire time, never leaving your side and taking care of your every need. He didnât speak while you were out, which was about a day. And when you woke up, he yelled at you. He was so angry for you running out to help Eddie and he told you how reckless and careless you were. The two of you hadnât spoken since, except for Steve letting you know youâll be staying with him and asking every now and then if you needed anything.
âShe fainted in my arms, manâ Steve said. âThere was blood coming out of her mouth and⌠her body andâŚâ he closed his eyes. âI thought she was deadâ he said, with his voice breaking a little. âI didnât noticeâ he continued. âWhen we got to you and Dustin, she just said to help you and that you were bleeding horribly and that we needed to bring you back and then Max was even worse andâŚâ he sighed. âAnd I didnât see she was in painâ he said, sitting back. âHow could I have been so stupid? And then when she wakes up instead of being glad that sheâs gonna be okay I yelled at her!â
âYeah, that was probably not your best moveâ Eddie chuckled as Steve placed his hands over his face and rested his elbows on his legs.
âShe probably hates me now and I wouldnât blame herâ he said, brushing a hand through his hair.
âSeriously? You have to be dumber than I thought, Harringtonâ Eddie laughed. âShe doesnât hate youâ he insisted and Steve looked at him. âDo you honestly think sheâll still be here if she hated you?â
âWell sheâs hurt and-â
âAnd she doesnât give a fuck about that. You and I know her well enough to know that she does whatever she wants. I told her to stay back and she didnât listen to me. You told us to stay on the boat when we were at the lake and she didnât care. Do you think she would stay here just because you told her to? She could go to Wheelerâs or Robinâs-â
âMaybe itâs because youâre here too. Sheâs worried about you-â
âYeah, because thatâs who she is. She would rather help get me and Max to the hospital before saying she was hurt too. Trust me, Harrington, that means nothing, manâ he said, taking another puff of the joint.
âWell, since you seem to know so much and I donât, why donât you enlighten me, Munson, and tell me why you think sheâs hereâ Steve glared at him a little.
âIsnât it obvious?â he said, letting the smoke out. âBecause of youâ he simply said.
âWhat? What are you talking about?â
âWell, maybe, and Iâm just thinking out loud here, she was waiting for you to tell her that you love her back?â he said, making Steve choke on the soda he was drinking.
âH-how do you-?â
âKnow about that? Sheâs my friend, man. Unlike you, I didnât yell at her and told her she was stupid for doing what she did. I thanked her for helping me and we talk all the timeâ he explained. âUnlike you, who has been avoiding her like the plagueâ he laughed.
âI have not!â
âSeriously, dude? Other than, âDo you need anything?â and âAre you hungry?â youâve barely spoken to herâ he explained.
âI was⌠trying to give her some spaceâ Steve tried to reason with him.
âShe doesnât want space, man! God, you are so stupid!â he said, getting closer to him and hitting the back of his head.
âOuch!â
âSnap out of it, man! I mean it! We went over this I told you when we were on the UpsideDown. For some reason, which, believe me, for the life of me, I still do not understand, that girl loves you. She loves you, man! She told you even though she thought you still loved Wheeler, do you understand how brave that shit is? And you still havenât told her? Youâre running away dude, and, do you know who never, ever rushes into anything and instead runs away from shit?â
âCowardsâ Steve said, feeling even worse.
âExactly. And whatever Iâve called you in the past, Harrington, you are no coward. So, what the fuck is it? Are you seriously still hung up on Nancy Wheeler-?â
âNo! I am not in love with Nancy, okay?â Steve snapped.
âThen what the fuck is your problem, Steve?â
âUgh!â he grunted. âI canât believe Iâm discussing this with Eddie Munsonâ he sighed.
âIâm gonna choose to take that as a complimentâ Eddie smirked.
âWhy do you even care? Wouldnât you want me to screw up so you can be with her?â
âWhoa, dude where did you get that idea? Weâre just friendsâ Eddie insisted.
âReally? Because the two of you seemed really close when we were on the UpsideDown, and you said âIf I were you, I would not take her for granted, man. 'Cause that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen. And if you let her go, someone else might not be so stupidââ he said, mocking Eddieâs voice.
âOkay, now I do take offense. I donât sound like thatâ Eddie glared at him. âLook, Iâm not blind. Sheâs pretty and she has a kickass personality. If she werenât totally hung up on you, I might even think that I may have a chance and go for it. But itâs useless. She wants you for some reason. And itâs not like Iâm in love with her like you areâ he shrugged.
âStop saying that!â Steve complained.
âWhy? Arenât you?â Eddie smirked. Steve took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair again.
âLook, the last time⌠I said that to anyoneâ he started. âIt just⌠it didnât go wellâ he told Eddie. âLike at allâ he said sadly. âAnd I guess Iâm just⌠scared that⌠sheâs also going to realize that she can do a lot better than me and the same thing is going to happenâ he said, sadly. âMaybe thatâs it. Iâm not meant to be with anyone. I donât really deserve it-â
âAlright, stop being so dramaticâ Eddie said, rolling his eyes. âFirst of all, Iâm flattered that you think Iâm a lot better than youâ he smirked.
âI didnât necessarily mean you-â
âAnd secondly, as much as you know that I hate to admit it⌠Dustinâs right man. You are a good dude. Trust me, I experienced first class of the asshole that was King Steveâ he said, making Steve glare a little at him. âBut, I donât really see that guy anymore. I mean, you even took me inâ he said. âYou drive the kids every day to see Max. You drive Robin wherever she needs to go. You helped at the whole donation thing Mrs. Wheeler asked you to. Youâve come a long way, Stevie. And trust me, Iâm not the only one whoâs noticedâ he said, making Steve smile just barely. âStop being so hard on yourself, man. You deserve to be happy. And so does sheâ he told him.
âThanks, manâ Steve said, putting his drink up so Eddie would toast with him.
âSureâ he said, getting back to his seat. âAlso, if you screw it up, Iâm waiting a few months to make a move. Just letting you know nowâ he chuckled, making Steve glare at him but he laughed a little. Who would thought that King Steve and Eddie âthe freakâ Munson would have ended up being friends?
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âHeyâ Steve heard your voice as you walked into the kitchen where he was making breakfast. He smiled when he saw you were wearing his yellow sweater.
âGood morningâ he smiled nervously.
âUm, I hope you donât mind I borrowed your sweater. I got cold in the middle of the nightâ you explained, sitting on one of the counter chairs.
âLet me help you-â Steve said, noticing your pained expression but you stopped him with your hand.
âIâve got itâ you smiled a little. âThanksâ you said. âSo, whereâs Eddie?â you asked, confused. He was usually up by now.
âOh, heâs still asleepâ Steve informed you and you simply nodded.
Not only were they up very late last night, Eddie said, he would give them some space so he could finally talk to you. He was exhausted but there was no way he wouldnât be there to help you.
âYou know, I had no idea you knew how to cookâ you said, all of the sudden. He had been mostly ordering food for the three of you. And you had cereal or frozen waffles for breakfast, unless Eddie was in the mood to cook, who was actually not that bad.
âUm, full disclosure, I have no idea if theyâre gonna be any goodâ he laughed nervously.
âWould you like some help?â
âNo-!â he quickly said, turning to you. âUm⌠you should be resting. Iâve got itâ he insisted. âDo you need anything?â he asked, going back to the food and cursing himself for repeating the same question he asked you all the time as Eddie pointed out.
âUm, Iâm okayâ you told him. âI was actually wondering if um⌠maybe you can take me to my house later today?â you asked, making Steve drop the spatula in his hand and he turned to look at you.
âY-you want to go home?â he asked, feeling his heart breaking. Had he missed his chance?
âIf you canât take me is fine. Is not that far. I can probably walk-â
âNo!â he said, walking over to you and grabbing your hands in his.
âNo?â you asked, confused. Steve looked like he was about to cry. Or throw up. Or both. âSteve, are you okay?â
âOkay. Here it goesâ he said, looking away. âIâm sorryâ he blurted out. âI am so sorry about everything I did. I am the stupidest man on Earth for making you feel like you didnât matter to meâ he continued. âI am so sorry for yelling at you when you woke up. I was just so angry at myself because I didnât notice you were hurt. And you didnât feel like you could tell me and I am so sorry for that!â
âSteve-â
âNo, please, let me finishâ he interrupted you. âLook, I know that you were upset about the whole Nancy thing and you have every right toâ he said. âBut, I need you to know that I donât have feelings for Nancy. Not anymore. Sheâs just my friendâ he insisted. âAndâŚâ he sighed. âD-do you remember the first time I called you? And asked you if you could come get me and you stayed with me?â
âI rememberâ you nodded.
âI wanted to call Robinâ he admitted and you frowned, confused. âI have no idea why but I dialed your number and⌠I felt really embarrassed because I didnât want you to see me like that. But you came and⌠you stayed with me and⌠I knew thenâ he said in a serious tone.
âKnew what?â you asked, still confused about this whole speech.
âI knew that I was falling for youâ he admitted, making your heart flutter. âI know that I was an asshole in high school and that you didnât like me, even if weâve known each other our whole lives. And then, I finally got the chance to actually get to know you, and⌠you were the best person I met. You were there when I broke up with Nancy and when Billy Hargrove beat the shit out of me. You were always there. You stayed with me after the Starcourt thing because you didnât want me to be alone and you helped me whenever we had job interviews and⌠you always make me feel like I am worth something and I am so sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise because⌠you are the most important person in my life. And I am so sorry that I didnât tell you this soonerâ he kept going, not noticing the small smile that was forming on your face. âIâm sorry I yelled at you when you woke up. I know I already said that but⌠I was just so scared, I thought I had lost you and⌠I honestly donât think that I could live without you in my lifeâ he said, with a few tears running down his face.
âSteve-â you said, placing your hand on his face.
âI love youâ he finally said, feeling an enormous weight being lifted off his shoulders. âI love you so much, sweetheart. And I am so sorry it took me so long to tell you I was just being a coward becauseâŚâ he sighed. âYou know what happened when I said that to Nancyâ he said, looking down at your linked hands. âIt destroyed me and⌠if itâs possible, I love you so much more but⌠I didnât think that I was deserving enough of you so⌠I was running awayâ he said, looking back at you. âI love you so much and I am so sorry. If youâll still have me, I would love to be with you, but⌠if you still want to go home, I respect that tooâ he said, smiling sadly.
âWhat? Steve, I was just asking if you could take me home to get more clothesâ you explained with a sweet smile, making Steve widen his eyes.
âW-what?â
âBut now that I know that you love meâ you smirked a little at him and he laughed a little, throwing his head back and you saw him blush.
âWell, I donât care. I said it. I love youâ he repeated.
âI would like to jump over this counter and kiss you right now, but Iâm pretty sure you would get mad and say that Iâm hurt and that I shouldn't-â you were cut off by Steve walking over to you and leaning down to kiss you.
You had kissed Steve before but it wasnât like this. Something was different. You didnât know how it could but it was even more perfect. His arms wrapped carefully around your waist, bringing you closer.
âI love you so muchâ he repeated, smiling when he saw the look on your face.
âI love you tooâ you said before he kissed you again. âAnd, for the record, Iâm sorry I didnât tell you I was hurtâ you admitted. âI didnât think it was that badâ you told him.
âYou still should have told meâ he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb.
âI knowâ you smiled sheepishly. âIâm sorry I scared youâ you told him. âAnd that itâs making you have nightmaresâ you said.
âHow did you-? Did Eddie tell you?â
âNoâ you smiled. âI know you, Steveâ you said, as if it was obvious.
âHow have you been sleeping?â he asked, worriedly.
âWell, if Iâm being honest⌠I think it would be better if⌠maybe⌠you could stay with me?â you asked with a small smile. âIf thatâs okay?â
Steve hugged you closer to him and kissed your temple. âWhatever you want, sweetheartâ he said, kissing you again.
âNot that Iâm not loving this moment, but I think the food is burningâ you said, making Steve let go of you instantly.
âWhat?â
âAre you two still figuring shit out or are you together already? Iâm hungry!â you heard Eddieâs voice coming from the stairs, making you laugh.
âYou can come down, Eddieâ you said, as he hopped over to the kitchen with his crutches. âAlthough as for the food, it doesnât look goodâ you said, as Steve tried to salvage what was left of the breakfast he was making.
âAw, Stevie, you went through all this trouble for me?â
âDonât flatter yourself, Munsonâ he said, tossing the ruined food. âSo⌠whoâs in the mood to go out to eat?â
âThis is who you really wanna be with, princess?â Eddie asked you, making you laugh as Steve glared at him, and punched his arm.
âI think itâs sweet that he triedâ you said, smiling at Steve.
âThank you, loveâ he said, kissing you.Â
The End
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
[Part 1]
A/N: sooo, I really hope you loves like it, and there is a tiny chance that I might do another version where the reader chooses Eddie, but no promises! xD Â
tags: @nerdygamingartist , @booksandlighters , @vilentia , @plk-18
#stranger things#stranger things imagine#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington oneshot
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Tangerine headcanons/ imagines
tangerine x female reader
tw: none! just cute stuff that makes us sad
okay so I love analysing people and ive been in love with him since march/april, so this was a piece of cake- also im obsessive and lonely so was super easy lmfao
these are just things that I think (kinda self indulgent) but if you disagree thatâs fine too
princess treatment- heâd treat you like royalty
huge softie at heart
love language wise:
 physical touch- I feel like heâs quite handsy, he always has to be touching some part of you
 acts of service- heâd always be willing to help you, does things for you. makes you snacks and drinks throughout the day- like if youâre busy, heâd pop in and give you a tray of stuff you may need
 quality time- heâd value the time you spent together, even if you werenât doing an activity together (both in the same space, doing your own things) heâd designate certain days for just you
 gift giving- heâd spoil you like crazy, heâd remember certain little things about you and get you a thoughtful gift based off that (like if you mentioned something you wanted to try for just one second midway in a conversation you had months ago, heâd remember it)
words of affirmation- heâd call you tonnes of pet names, I feel like heâd say âmyâ in front of it to make it more special. heâd tell you he loves you, how special you are and how much he adores you etc
----
hates everyone but you vibes- heâs standoffish to everyone, but when it comes to you heâs the complete opposite; he speaks very soft and kind towards you
he treats you like the most valuable thing on earth
very patient with you
protector x protected energy- he just always wants you safe
nose and forehead kisses
lots of thumb stroking on your cheeksÂ
lots of intense eye contact- he admires your eyes
feel like heâs a hip and thigh kinda man
I feel like youâd be very close to Lemon, and sometimes itâll wind him up. Lemon would tell you embarrassing stories about Tan- youâd love it while heâd hate it
I get ride or die vibes- kinda like romeo and juliet, just minus all the death
he secretly loves your chick flicks, he pretends he hates them but watches them with you every time
he also pretends he hates when you call him sweet things but he definitely looks away to smile
heâs very slow to warm up, takes a bit of time to crack him open. on the outside heâs a doberman but on inside heâs like a ragdoll
gets a bit possessive, not in a scary way- but I do think that sometimes it could be
feel like heâs the kind that will literally worship you
you clean his cuts and wounds after missions
he runs warm but you run quite cold, so heâs always trying to warm you up
I feel like youâre the first person heâs actually loved romantically
drinks black coffee and ofc tea
definitely a whisky drinker, he loves a good whisky by the fire
I feel like heâs very clean, likes to keep everything organised. maybe a bit of a perfectionist
always smells good
very romantic and extremely charismatic- a natural charmer. funny and lots of inside jokes
heâs a great caretaker- looks after you really well. if youâre ill heâd be with you at all times, not caring if he got sick too. and when itâs your time of the month heâd get you hot water bottles and youâd get lots of back rubs etc
he loves it when you use your fingers to trace over his tattoos, same goes for his chest hair too
also loves when your stroke through his hair
he gets really irritated in hot temperatures- and starts swearing a lot more
I feel like heâs kind of set in his ways about things/ he knows what he likes, and that you help open his mind about trying and doing new things. you help keep things fresh and exciting
some reason I feel like youâd have daddy issues idk why, (sorry if you do, also sorry if you donât lmao)
he might follow you like a lost puppy, heâd literally do anything you say
youâd be best friends as well as a couple
heâs very reliable and would drop anything for you
if you needed to rant or vent, heâd be there lending you his ear. heâd be an incredible listener
very attentive
feel like heâs a fast driver, but never when youâre in the car
if someone flirts with you or someone was mean to you at work heâd say âwhere are they? I will fuckin kill emâ
private but not secret relationship
definitely a homebody
whenever he goes past the florists or to the shop, heâd always bring some flowers back for you (more often than not- itâll your favourite type of flower)
leaves you sweet notes around the house
thatâs it for now, hope you liked
#bullet train#tangerine#tangerine bullet train#bullet train fanfic#tangerine x reader#tangerine x you#tangerine fanfiction#aaron taylor johnson#imagines#tangerine headcanon#tangerine imagine
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13. A CHALLENGE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER
âź chapter twelve / chapter fourteen â
summary: you ask for a challenge. miguel gives you one worth your salt
mature | 10.2k words warnings: praise kink, mentorship with benefits, sparring, sexual tension, loads of banter/flirting, mild angst, sexual fantasies (including blowjobs), insecurity, blood and injury, mentions of death, dirty talk, arousal notes: i know y'all hate me after that end
Sunday, 14:45
âHow longâs it been?â You urge, voice strained with thinning breath.Â
Miguel â for all his insistence that you push yourself beyond normal measure â doesnât seem to hear you, gazing off into a distant corner. His forehead looks especially flickable from this angle, in this particular moment, and you have to curl your fist to quell the urge as it arises.
âHm?â He hums, finally snapping out of it when you walk to the stretch of ceiling above him, intruding on his eyeline. The conditioned air of the gym itches the parts of you that are damp with sweat, particularly that exposed by your drooping shirt, draped under your bra to reveal your abdomen. Gooseflesh pocks your skin.
âThe time.âÂ
âRight.â He blinks, lifting his wrist to pause the stopwatch heâd set, then makes a small noise. âDouble the last. Youâre getting better.âÂ
âYeah, wellââ To dispense the effects his praise has on you, you turn to make your way over to the pull-up bars at the back. They were your means of getting up on the ceiling, and theyâre your way off. âSânot really difficult. Iâm just hanging, trying not to throw up.â
âYou could start practising on walls. Itâd make the whole âgetting downâ process easier.â He says, almost admonishes. As good as youâve gotten at defying gravity upside down, youâve stayed clear of testing your luck by doing so perpendicularly. âNot to mention, accessible. You wonât always have conveniently placed support to help you.âÂ
âI donât quite trust it yet.â Because you donât, and itâs hard to imagine you will. The whole idea feels like a big fuck you to every physics lesson youâve ever digested. âIt makes no sense.â Swinging off the bar, you make sure to land on a wide stance to prevent your tumble. Your extremities have long since numbed, and youâve already learnt your lesson on how that generates a lack of stability for the first few seconds until adjustment. âIf everything in the universe operates on the same laws, I wonât be the exception.âÂ
âYouâre right.â Miguel ducks to fetch the bottle you left beside him, handing it over before you can ask. âYou wouldnât be. Several spiders manage it just fine.âÂ
âSeveral spiders also have several one-ups on me.â The cold slice of water cuts through your thirst, tamping the headache you could sense starting at your sinuses. Recovery, in absolute contrast to your endurance, has cut by half. Youâre recuperating from exertion a lot quicker than before.
âLike?âÂ
âFailsafes in case they fall. Web-shooters, assistive gear.â You neglect to broach the topic of your own infallible; him, never too far out of reach. Not only would its mention go against your point, youâre still unsure of the nature of his aid â whether he would catch you if the severity of the situation did not call for it. If heâs here because you need him, or in commitment to a duty beyond your understanding.Â
(Tallying what you know about Miguel, youâd bet on the latter.)
âEveryone starts somewhere.â
âVery helpful, thanks.â Youâd offer him your drink, but even the thought of his lips touching where yours once did makes you flush with molten heat. Late at night, tucked on your bed as you watch the highway leading to Second Base, you strain to remember what they felt like, mashed to yours in a laser confined cell. If you knew back then how things would end up, maybe you wouldâve savoured it for longer. âExperience too. With the constant danger they face, they pretty much have to equip every skill at their disposal.âÂ
âIs that what you want, then â danger?â He teases, mouth curling in a downwards smile. Youâre too quick to shake your head. That word, want, still haunts you.
âYouâre missing the point.âÂ
âAm I, now.âÂ
âIâm just saying,â Biting your cheek, you scramble for a fitting sentiment. Nothing quite encapsulates the crux of your little tangent, and you canât help but compare yourself to Miguel. No matter how far the conversation strays, he always finds a link to tie it altogether. Unshakeable, poised. Like the sun, pulling comets into its orbit until they shine brilliantly, their tails forged under the radiation pressure. âA challenge might hit your lessons closer to home. Yâknow, thrill, adrenaline â forcing me to resort to lengths I wouldnât typically go to, instilling in me all the marks you want me to land on.âÂ
(But if heâs the sun, what would that make you? Pluto, far on the other side of the solar spectrum, barely doing enough to keep its cosmic status? Even dwarf planets have their pull, some force strong enough to accrete nearby matter, and so it seems ill-fitting.)
Your mentor accepts your argument regardless, nodding minutely.Â
(Perhaps youâre the comet itself â coming from nowhere, heading nowhere, meant for the one, singular event that could give your existence meaning. That crossing paths with a star, to burn brightly in its influence before dissolving into nothing.)
âSimilar to the planking exercise we do. Up the stakes and simulate something real for you.âÂ
We. Your stomach lurches to your chest and you have to swallow it back before speaking. âY-Yeah.âÂ
âTe entiendo. Alright.â He agrees. âIf thatâll get you to make progress. Come.â You follow him to the centre of the room, stumbling over hurried strides until you reach the combat training mat. âYou remember our first day here.âÂ
âFeels like centuries ago, but yes.â You respond, assuming he means the premiere lesson of yours, betiding this very spot. Youâd christened it by letting him fuck your throat, and thatâll forever be the memory that occurs to you so long as you keep returning to this gym. Itâs hard to forget.
âWhat did I ask you to do?âÂ
âErâ Pin you down.â Your pitch drops an octave in an effort to mock him. âThree seconds, and youâll have proved your point.â His inflection is tough to nail down, though â unique to the broad-shouldered form that affords his vocal folds more space, subtly curled where his accent comes through. You end up sounding like a parched frog more than you do him.Â
He shakes his head, nose twitching. Itâs a vague quirk that says nothing about his amusement.Â
âAs I recall it, you couldnât.âÂ
âAs I recall, I was kept quite busy.â You, of course, are referring to his cock and itâs wedging into your mouth. And if he didnât get the implication on word alone, then your lewd miming of the act fills in what gaps remain. Miguel sighs, waiting for your redolence to subside to continue. Though his weight shifts from one foot to the other, like heâs ridding himself of the tension that swells at your suggestion, and the small action speaks louder than what he likely intends. To think that you might have the same effect on him as he does you, however physical, is a tempting thing.Â
âBefore that.âÂ
You acquiesce, arm flopping uselessly to your side. âSure. Though to be fair, Iâve no knowledge on how.â
âGood.â He crosses his arms. âWeâre going to try again.âÂ
âRight now?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
âWell donât keep me in suspense,â Rolling your eyes, you start to fold your sleeves to sit above the elbow. âOr next thing I know, Iâm trapped in a cage with Rhino and a knife for defence.âÂ
That drives a chuckle from him. Itâs warm and coarse and low, and with the way your stomach churns at the sound, you hardly care that itâs at your expense. âProper spectacle that would be. You wouldnât last ten minutes. The best Iâd give you is a weaponless Vulture.âÂ
âAre you forgetting that I took down a symbiote on my own? Where your first instinct was to throw punches at it.â You huff. âTheyâre regenerative!âÂ
âAn oversight on my part. âCourse, I didnât want to get involved in the first place.â His chin practically sits on his chest now, tipped down to look you face-to-face. Itâs the way through which you realise how close youâve gotten, nose millimetres away from his forearm. He smells infuriatingly clean â fresh patchouli aftershave, soap, clothes fragranced from the laundry, familiar only because you use the same detergent. âFortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for you, your opponent continues to be me.â
âAnd you want us to wrestle.âÂ
âGiven a few caveats.â He shrugs when your expression pinches. âTo make it more real.âÂ
âOkayâŚâÂ
âToday will continue as is. Iâm going to teach you the basics of taking down a larger opponent and weâll drill it until you understand.â You cut his explanation into small fragments for better digestion â takedown, larger than you, drills â and show your attendance with wide eyes, following as he circles you. âPinning me down in a static setting is simple enough. Your challenge is to do so unexpectedly, somewhere outside of this gym. Within the next week, I want you to sneak up on me and staple me to the ground for upwards of three seconds. Anywhere, any time of the day; so long as you arenât following me on missions, itâs all up to you. Take me by surprise, use it to your advantage. But rememberââÂ
You cock your head, earnest. As he speaks again, itâs seven trumpets to armageddon, deep punctures to the anticipative silence youâve built.
âWhen you come for me, I wonât be holding back.âÂ
Ribs echoing with the rattle of your rapid heartbeat, you wipe your palms on the loose fabric of your sweats and take longer than you perhaps need to register his dare. He wants you to act much like a hero would on a stealth operation. Thatâs fine. You can do that. Youâll be taught on how to disable him and all thatâs left is the matter of covertness, in which you have an advantage given your newfound ability to walk on the overturned pathways of HQ. Exceptâ
âWouldnât your spider-senseââÂ
He shakes his head. No. And though he doesnât state it explicitly, youâre reminded of his claws and how divergent they are to the standard spider-power. It seems, then, that he differs in more ways than one. No enhanced intuition. You couldnât imagine.Â
But itâs new. Exciting. Itâs exactly what you needed, and again, youâre left wondering how heâs gotten so good at reading you. If in place for his deficits, heâd been granted a supernatural knowledge on body language. Even now heâs looking, studying your restrained appearance for a hint of your feelings on the subject. You give it to him with a devilish smile.
âThat the best you got?âÂ
âBig talk.â He winds around you, positioning behind your back. âWeâll see how you feel in seven days.âÂ
âGlorious, having kicked your ass ânâ all.âÂ
âOkay, sparks. Letâs not get ahead of ourselves.â Miguel says, before patting your hip. His hand is heavy, and you brace yourself against the urge to shiver under it. âMost people are left leg-leaning. Not always, but itâs a statistic you can count on for learning. Put it forward. Iâll show you how itâs done.âÂ
You do as he says, adjusting to an open posture, slanting your torso so your head faces the same direction as your left foot. The man appears in front of you after making a few corrections, mirroring your effort.Â
âBecause Iâm anticipating what leg youâll resort to, Iâll bring my right leg forth. Always match same side foot. Itâll give you leverage towards your opponentâs vulnerable areas.â You sway a bit when his muscles stretch the taut material of his shirt. As you try to picture what more is hidden by his civilian clothes, it occurs to you that youâve never seen him nude enough to make that a possible feat. âAssuming youâre shorter than them, aiming for their lower half is your most efficient bet. But you want their focus away from it when you make the jump.âÂ
Blinking, you reorient yourself away from your tangent. âRight.âÂ
âSo youâre going to reach.âÂ
âReaââÂ
Suddenly, heâs grabbing for your face. Itâs swift and done with enough aggression that you donât process what youâre doing until your arms come up to defend it. Split second instinct, your spider sense combing through the hairs on your neck. And he takes the obliviously-given opportunity to duck, hooking his foot behind yours, back hand wrapping around your knee to grip onto his other. His head pushes up on your ribs to stand you on one leg, off balance, and faster than it started, it stops. The attack throws you backward, slamming you onto the cushioned floor. Air syphons out of your lungs.Â
âWhen theyâre down, you donât hesitate to straddle them.â He adds. âThe blow will probably knock their limbs to the side.â He bridges over you, lowering so that his knees touch the surface above your shoulders and his feet anchor onto the bits below. His weight rests on your upper arms now. You, despite the loss, canât help but flick your gaze down to his crotch. If he notices, he doesnât comment on it. âThe techniqueâs called stapling. Pressing down on two points to completely immobilise.â
âFeels awfully familiar.â You grin, only to choke on the spit accumulating by the back of your throat when he not only acknowledges your innuendo, but reciprocates.Â
âUsed to being on the bottom?â Huffed sardonically, with all the constituents of a flirt yet none of the sticky-sweet charm. And he doesnât give your stunned-self a chance to quip back either, rising and gesturing that you do the same. You scramble off your back, rubbing the sore spots left by his grip, watching him warily. Itâs facile to convince yourself that it didnât really happen at all. âYour turn. Right foot forth this time. Remember, reach and duck.âÂ
You stay locked onto him when you throw your fist up at his face, stopping shy of his jaw. He isnât as ignorant as to believe you, but his elbows draw away from his hips to allow space for your consequent assault. Squatting, you step forward to completely embrace his left leg. Quick calculations tell you that his weakest point is at his knee, so you lower your clutch around it, cheek squishing onto his stomach, before lifting the appendage off the ground. It isnât heavy on you, all his mass directed to the back leg he now has to balance on.Â
And thenâÂ
And then⌠what?Â
Heâd done it so briskly that you completely missed his method.Â
âTell me what you did wrong.â Miguel examines. Heâs got your head scissored in one strong arm, and if you werenât struggling to comprehend how he gained the upper-hand, youâd be salivating with how potent his cologne is from this distance.Â
You mutter a faint âAgreeing to this.â and hope your bowed pose muffles it enough.
âOvercommitting. If I wanted to, I could shove your neck downward and take you on from behind.â He shakes you off his leg. âDonât put your chest on my thigh. Lace your right shoulder over it so that your crown hits my ribs. Yeah, thatâs it.â He smooths his hand over your back. Itâs merely a graze and almost enough to have you collapse out of position entirely. âSee how your head is preventing my arm from leaning on you? Good. Now use that, knocâ oomf.âÂ
You donât let him finish, driving him up until he tips backwards. The gratification stalls you for a split-moment, pride trembling up your frame, knocking your bones together. But he raises an eyebrow at you from the ground, and you remember the second part of the expectation.
(If this were the real thing, youâd be squashed by now. Heâs holding back, guiding you semi-gently through this practice round.)Â
With no further ado, you seat yourself on his abdomen. His biceps are too large to pin your calves to while keeping both your knees and toes to the ground, so you spread until you can do so over the bends of his arms. Your pelvis aches with the near-split, and you find you couldnât care less, shivering in high delight.Â
âHuh. Would you look at that.â You wiggle to reinforce your point. âAnd how did I do for my first time?âÂ
(Admittedly, itâs a much milder line than what you had in mind; but even you have your limits, and congratulating him on taking your wrestle-victory virginity is just out of bounds.)Â
âEveryone starts somewhere.â He says, purposefully echoing his earlier attitude, recognizant of how it irritated you so. The answer pops your ego before it could begin to surmount to anything. âBut you wavered, donât pretend I didnât see that. Get off. Weâre going again.âÂ
Tuesday, 22:00
Your first attempt at his challenge comes late.Â
The logic felt elementary; wait a day before trying anything so heâs caught further off his guard. It was a plan born with sights on his warning â when you come for me, I wonât be holding back â and, admittedly, your anxiety to it. This new equanimity you find yourself within is fragile, a compromise held up on couth alone. Youâve fought Miguel at his best, with claws reared and fangs snarled right at you. It never ended cleanly. And if either of you lose sight of the labour that is keeping it civil â away from that exact past â youâre terrified that things will shatter in pieces that tear you apart.
(There also remains the knowledge that youâd lose, sorely, should the match be equal.)
So, you didnât want to give him the opportunity to resist at all. To your sleep-deprived self, there were a few steps in ensuring that:Â
Find him late at night, following a presumably long day, having just been lulled into faux comfort by his last meal before retiring. Beyond the fact that you skipped a day since his initial proposal to act on it â with a belly full of food, the lights of HQ dimmed low, and a drowsy filter cast by work, heâll grow lax. Complaisant. At least, that was your theory, based on patterns youâve observed in yourself. And it had been solid enough to ground your hopes on, especially when all that was required of you is to disarm him.Â
Only as you wait for him to emerge from the cafeteria do you realise the various other factors you forgot to take into account. Ones that complicate your lattermost objective.
The bridge is still, a thick cover of quiet befalling the sector. Bobbing outside the asymmetric windows is a waning gibbous moon, its luminescence casting lurid shadows onto the carpets and columns surrounding you. You sit, crouched behind a bench on an offside seating area, tracing patterns onto an adjacent palisade with your eyes. The moulding on it is triangular, like everything else in this building, and the task is mind-numbing enough that it hits you, then and there. Entirely too late.Â
He only taught you the one way of tackling your opponent.Â
Head on, with no room for stealth in your approach. Unless Miguel comes out of the cafeteria with a blindfold on, heâll see you running towards him and squander the endeavour with ease. Itâs like you to resort to your worst suspicions when cornered, so you canât help but believe he did that on purpose. Either to test your ingenuity, or for some other convoluted reason youâve no mind to get to right now.Â
Fuck. That bastard.Â
Should you back down now, you wonât trust yourself to face him tomorrow. Already, youâve stalled for far too long, prudent to the approaching deadline. A week's time. Seven days to prove youâre worth your salt, to overcome the obstacles heâs thrown your way. Unlike your other exercises, you werenât guaranteed anything in return for mastering this. He probably expects you to want it so bad that you become motivationally self-sufficient. And heâd be right. You do. Christ, youâd asked for it â this much needed intervention on the monotony youâve been living in. Itâs given you something to do beyond your lessons, and a victory might encourage him to design more like it. Soâ
Youâll stay. Work something out â an alternative plan. He hasnât been in the caf for long. Given the chance he chose to have a sit down meal, youâll have time.Â
âLyla.âÂ
The artificial intelligence flickers into being above you, hovering at your shoulder. She appears wildered, blinking owlishly at the source of her summon. Youâd never called on her before â until now, you didnât think you could. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and your throwing caution to the wind seems to have paid off.Â
That is, if sheâs willing to proffer Miguelâs position.Â
âUpgraded from haunting worlds to our very own HQ?âÂ
You shrug, blaisĂŠ to the jab youâve heard so often. âPromise Iâm on my best behaviour.âÂ
âMy, my.â She belly flops onto a nonexistent surface, still level with your nose, to shelf her chin onto her hands and kick her feet behind her. A small smile worms its way onto your expression when you notice her attire; a silk set of pyjamas, bunny slippers and a heart-shaped sleeping mask, pushed back to keep her bangs off her forehead. âWonder what the boss has to say about that.âÂ
âThe boss canât know Iâm here.â Â
âMy lips are sealed.â After miming the action, she glitches onto the ground in front of you, peeking from behind the bench to spy on the automatic doors leading into the cafeteria, much like youâre doing. âWhatâs with the secrecy? Please tell me this is a proposal. Youâre certainly underdressed, but we can work what weâve got. Oo!â She straightens to a ram-rod posture, alongside the exclamation mark that pops above her head, clothes returning to normal and a clipboard materialising in her hand. âWe can add a little jeuje to the space. Whatâre we thinking? Flowersââ An orange array of digital peonies projects onto the bridge, fat and blossoming with accelerated speed. âOr streamers?â The petals are soon replaced by banners and curled ribbons, drooping from overarching beams.Â
Face molten with panic â and a hint of mortification â you wave through her incorporeal form to hurriedly interrupt her tangent. You can only hope that none of the commotion gave away your primacy.Â
âNo!â Whisper shouting, you bow your head to the floor to look her in the eye. âNothing like that. Listen, I just need you to watch Miguel and report back to me on his status. Preferably, before he exits the cafeteria. Itâll help me anticipate his approach while I think of what to do next.âÂ
âHmmm.â The lifeform approximation takes her sweet time considering it. Your gaze oscillates anxiously between her and the door, your body in perpetual flight or fight. Any longer, and youâre afraid quick-trigger reflex will have you jumping regardless of whether he emerges or not. âDonât know what youâre trying to do, but I gotcha. Double agent Lyla, at your command!âÂ
And then, she disappears.Â
Her aid does not reassure you. Baby hairs tickle your nape, matted with sweat. The condition persists, extending to your palms, which lay pressed to the tiled floor to tamp the perspiration seeping from them. Adrenaline â the very response youâd predicted â makes you sick and dizzy despite, bubbling up your gut in violent bursts. For all that you should be focusing on a course of action, her words claim a monopoly in your mind.Â
Double agent.Â
Do you want to know?Â
No, you decide. Not now. Whatever it is, itâs bound to hinder your performance. You settle back down.
Moments later, she crops back up.Â
âHeâs on his way. If I were you, Iâd up and turn around. He looks hangry.âÂ
âThanks, Lyla.â Itâs about the worst thing she can say to you right now. âGo back to⌠sleep.âÂ
Giving a final bow of her head, she departs. Her exit marks the milliseconds before Miguelâs entrance â sacred suspense stretching, spreading, only to implode by the schwip of the automatic door. It unlatches, layer by layer, to reveal a wide silhouette, framed by the bright fluorescents of the still-open cafeteria.Â
Sheâs right. Based on posture alone, you can tell he isnât in the best of moods. Itâs the only clarity youâre afforded as the entryway closes off, plunging him â and you â into the void of your surroundings. You strain to see where he begins or ends now, navy-suit obscuring his edges, punctuated only by the red accents on his chest. They become your indication on how and where he moves, the angling of the lines informing you that heâs headed straight towards you.Â
In complete contrast to the plod he takes on, your internal dialogue is a tangled mess of stray worries. An old, feral part of you â the girl who had to fend for herself for a year, untreated to the woes and safeties of regular food and board â claws out with a vengeance. Sheâs scared, she has nothing to lose, sheâs plump with horror at the sight of a prowling hero, which had only meant one thing for her â and the sheer force of it all crushes you into choked submission. Perhaps itâs foolish to think youâve moved on from your past when old habits return so easily. So she is still you, and it takes a good bit of convincing â of spotting and counting backwards from ten and breathing real slow â to prioritise your objective in face of the sudden regression.Â
By the time you manage it, in fact, heâs already a few paces away.Â
There goes your plan.Â
Frantically, you spring off your haunches, shooting to the side to hinder his track in an bid to salvage whatâs left of it. Itâs clumsy, lacking all the grace necessary for you to have even the chance of success, and when he stutters short of stepping on you, you make matters worse by curling around his ankles, striving to destabilise him by tugging at the roots of his support.Â
It fails. Obviously.Â
(In a rather anticlimactic way.)
He releases an exasperated sigh, staring down at your writhing form with what you can only imagine is regret at having ever agreed to this. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âUmââ You stop, glancing at him with one, hesitant eye. âTackling you.âÂ
Miguel blinks. Once. Twice. His foot bounces, pushing you off. ThenâÂ
âUp, before you hurt yourself.â Unphased. Strict.
You clamber to a stand. He gives you a once over, shakes his head, and brushes past you to continue his route. As he walks off, you catch a quiet huff, followed by a mutter â the reflection meant only for himself to hear. âTackling me. Honestly.â
Wednesday, 10:20
Your second attempt finds you asleep under his desk.
Not deliberately, of course. You didnât drag a pillow and comforter to his lab like an impromptu nap would lend you an upper hand. The position that brought it forth is hardly even a comfortable one â tucked under a squat table that has you bending your neck to fit, raised high off the ground on a hovering platform, in a cavernous office whose only lightsource seems to be the overhead aperture and orange monitors. They beep multiversal jargon and blare the occasional alarm, which never fails to send your heart rate sky-high â and if you hadnât at all been convinced in your plot, then you wouldâve left after the first couple minutes wait.Â
Itâs torturous. Depressing. How heâs able to think, let alone work here, is beyond you. It can only be an optimal environment for what you set out to do â and perhaps thatâs a point you should take up with him, should he care about being snuck up on by a more competent threat.Â
But you dozed off anyway, made weary with all your fretting, legs pressed close to your breast, cheek slotted upon them. It was cold, and he hadnât arrived yet â off being the responsible spider-hero that he is, conducting city patrol while you tarry for the opportune â and Hobieâs gifted cardigan is snug enough around your frame that it serves as a blanket of sorts. Your course of action, set on an unremitting loop in your mind, was the last straw â a lullaby, cradling you down onto security. Fully drafted, practised, with no room for mistakes given the lessons you learnt last time.Â
Even submerged in sleep, itâs all you think about.Â
On account of an oversight, youâd panicked. Lept at him with no regard for the tactics youâve learnt, instead of rerouting an alternative or preparing for contingencies. Heâd taught you to tackle him head-on, and while that isnât ideal for the covert-component of this challenge â like on that bridge, where he wouldâve seen you coming from miles away â you can still make do with what youâve got. Thatâs why youâre here, early in the morning, waiting for him to come to you, all while remaining oblivious to your presence under his desk. Not only does it grant you cover while he stands mere centimetres away, it ensures his hands are too busy to defend him when you strike, raised to tap away at his screens.
Those are the foundations you worked out on your chagrined walk home last night. The logistics â intricacies you have to calculate spontaneously â can be dealt with as they come up. Like sneaking in undetected. (Accomplished successfully.) Or whether space will allow you to lunge out onto him when he appears. (You practised it first thing â one eye on the door in case he comes in â and established that with a bit of improvisation, itâs possible.)
Your fingers twitch, triggered by muscle memory into acting the attack out on a smaller scale. Itâs odd that you recognise it â still somewhat unconscious, suspended in an hypnopompic state where both your dreams and reality intersect. Elements of both topple over one another, porcelain dominoes that splinter on impact. You feel your fingers twitch, yes, and the scrape of your chapped lips â things you abstractedly assign as real â but theyâre strewn between memories that run like worn film, singed at the edges.Â
A warm hand cupping your neck, callused fingers rubbing lightly over the curve of your shoulder. Shallow breaths, fanned across your lashes, struggled in keeping still.Â
Multi-coloured motes, flipping through a catalogue of colours in dark corners.Â
A headache, nipping the nerves leading to your brain. Pain, excruciatingly itchy above your elbow, up the back of your arm. Whiplash, smouldering agony across the junction of your shoulder.Â
A voice, hummed from the depths of a broad chest. Resonant, rugged. âDonât moveâ â the demand so steady it couldâve been gospel. Him, keeping you stable. Him, the only constant you know.
For a moment, you believe youâre still there. Buried under mounds of grey rubble, nestled on his lap. Oxygen depleted, injuries severe. No hope of escaping or checking in on the population of Earth-15, whose fate you screwed by merely existing on the same plane. The past number of weeks were fable, then, conjured by your sick mind to help you die easy. Creating a story besides the one that ended you; where you and Miguel worked something out.
And if itâs true â if you truly imagined it all â then thatâd entail you never grew out of your hatred. You never got to rest on a bed, or take a shower, or bask in a filling meal again. Itâd mean you didnât leave any legacy beyond that of Wraith; destroyer of worlds, bane of his existence.Â
(And that you never counted as anything more to him than just that.)
Gradually, the pseudo-dream morphs into a nightmare born of stressful thought, and at its peak, it shakes you so hard you wake up. Bones jolting out of your skin, legs ready to kick outwards; raptured in fight-or-flight until you remember where you are, why itâs so cramped â because his desk is obnoxiously short and not because a building toppled over you â and how you got here.Â
Youâre thankful youâre able to collect yourself so swiftly. Had you smacked your head on the belly of the table, or otherwise panickedly flailed about, then you would have alerted the man currently standing in front of you. His upper body is cut off from your sight, but youâd recognise those muscled thighs anywhere. Clad in his digital suit, little patterns shimmering on its surface. You see them clearer in your proximity, correlating them to the figures youâd observed on his monitors. Parallel lines and concentric circles, like maps of the spider-verse projected onto a navy backdrop.Â
How long were you out?
Despite your semi-awareness to your surroundings, you hadnât heard him come in. Nor did you feel the platform drop to allow him to step onto it. You brush the confusion off, figuring itâd do you no good, and rub the drowsiness from your eyes while catching yourself up to speed.Â
Youâre here to tackle him. The voice in your head begins chanting the plan again; leap out, grab his forward leg, ram his ribs with your head and pray itâs enough to tip him over. Thatâs one.
Two: youâre a quiet sleeper. You canât imagine the embarrassment had you not been â if he were to catch you napping in his office by following the sound of your groans. You suppose itâs a frivolous thing to get hung up on, but you remember how your college roommate would talk during her nightmares. It never failed to capture your attention, even with headphones clasped tightly to your ears. Â
Which leads into your third remarkâÂ
He doesnât realise youâre here; the most important thing considering. Youâre still in the clear to go ahead.Â
Right now, Miguel is a smidge too far away for it to work out. You knead the sore flesh of your nape, stalking his feet for the slightest movement. They stand on the other side of the platform, verging near its brink, tapping in cogitation. Then, when he swipes a screen away from his direct view, his weight leans onto the back one. The manoeuvre brings his pelvis lower, cut-off rising to his midriff. Itâs all you can do to remain dignified, gaze locked on anywhere except his hamstrings and where they round out to form a pronounced behind.Â
Would it be wrong for you to abandon your objective on justification of lust? It strokes some primal part of you seeing him so dedicated to his work. Youâre instantly overwhelmed with the urge to crawl out and service him like this, on your knees, while he maintains his concentration. To give him a soft mouth, soft hands, maybe elicit an iota of pride over how well you behave. Itâs depraved â you wonât deny it â but in your darkest moments, nothing consoles you like the thought of his unequivocal praise. Acceptance. Thereâs no one it would matter more from.Â
(No one it could matter more from. Itâs true that heâs the only constant presence youâd ever had, even before your world went to ruin. Though youâre unsure of whether itâs in good providence, or if youâll ever fully accept the fact.)
Miguel steps closer. You repress the reverie, slapping yourself softly to land back on target. A bit more to his leftâ yes, thatâs it. Heâs in front of you now.Â
When youâd practised, your head had to be out from underneath the desk for the manoeuvre to work. Pushing up into a squat, you shuffle forward. All you need is a distraction so he doesnât catch you peeking out in his peripheral, and it comes in the form of child laughter.Â
Distant, as though itâs been passed through a speaker. With the way it repeats, incessant like that of a fond video playing over and over, you can appreciate that it isnât happening live. Perhaps itâs a subject heâs keeping his eye on, or heâs slacking off with a movie. Not that it matters, of course â so long as heâs honed in on anything other than you.
His knee is at your eyeline. You scoot further. The low metal of the desk slips over your head. Now or never.Â
Pouncing, you wrap a gable grip around the bend of his leg, using the momentum of your squat to spring upwards. Itâs bull-like when your forehead slams onto the exposed expanse of his ribs, toes skidding for acceleration as you force him to balance on the one limb, driving onward. The force couldâve concussed, had he not been cushioned by brawn. Itâs certainly enough to almost throw him over, in any case. He stumbles backward, arm slipping across your back, and the scuffle is so promising that you let yourself relax slightly.
Thatâs your fault, you admit.Â
He exploits the slip-up to wrench your arms off from around his knee, using the appendages to pull you out from underneath him. With a frankly painful tug at the wrists, he twists you so your back is facing him, before pinning them in one strong grip. Youâre shoved onto his desk that way, unceremoniously bent at the hip, nose ramming into the reinforced durasteel. Warmth trickles from it. A metallic taste fills the back of your mouth.Â
âÂĄMaldita sea! What the hell?â
Pain crackles up your nose, where ichor continues to bloom and slip from your nostrils. His aggression perhaps shouldnât surprise you â he did say he wouldnât be holding back â but itâs parallel to the treatment you received as Wraith, and you canât help but assume that he resorted to what he was used to in all the adrenaline.
âThat hurts.â Groaning, you wiggle your fingers in a plea for release. His pelvis flattens on the plump of your ass, and it burns the longer he continues to press into you. The situation is almost reminiscent of the fantasies you create when alone; rough-treatment and all.
âChrist.â He hisses, backing off at once. Despite asking for it, you mourn his absence, rubbing the brand left by his clothed crotch, sheepishly turning back to look at him. The instant he sobers up, heâs opening the drawer to his left. âI didnât realise it was you.âÂ
âWho else...â You murmur, ducking to shield your bloody nose from his attention. Itâs done in vain, though â he already has a towel in hand, heading towards your face. Erroneously, you think heâs passing it to you and reach out to grab it â only to brush across his knuckles when he instead presses the white cotton to your lip. âSecurity that big of an issue?âÂ
âYou got in, didnât you.âÂ
âHar har.â As the red is wiped off your skin, he steadily lets you take over, dropping the towel to allow you to tamp the flow on your own.Â
âHow long have you been under there?âÂ
âAhââ You pretend to occupy yourself with the task at hand, waiting for the heat to diffuse from your cheeks before you speak again. âDepends on what time it is.âÂ
âHalf past ten.âÂ
âTwo hours then.â Youâd come in at eight. âGive or take.âÂ
âIâve been here for one.â He adds, prodding for a more satisfying explanation.Â
âDonât worry. I wasnât snooping for intel or anything.â A necessary preface and not at all a bid to steel yourself for your confession, the prospect of doing so filling you with shame. âI fell asleep.âÂ
âYouââ Like his stutter, his brows spasm at a rapid pace, creasing together in a flash before smoothing out to form a more pleasant expression. With eyelids fluttered shut and lips quirked at the edges. Amusement. Your stomach cartwheels. âYou fell asleep.âÂ
âSure.â In complete contrast, you imagine your expression is solemn. Loss is an ugly and hopeless beast, roaring in your gut. You place the towel on his desk, starting to make your way out with a petulant march. âLike this place isnât built for it, you gloomy jerk. I mean, where are the lights?â
(If he managed to overpower you despite doing everything correctly, then what chance have you got?)Â
The universe has a sick sense of humour too, it seems. Your argument is interrupted by the border of the platform, where you teeter over a fifteen foot drop. Fear blazes through your nerves, suddenly awake with the knowledge that youâre hovering mid air, no fence or handrails to hold you in.Â
Miguel chuckles from behind you, sounding way too pleased with himself when he asks. âYou need help getting down?â
You throw a dirty glare over your shoulder, hoping it compensates for the humility you have to succumb to. âYes.âÂ
His arms stay crossed over his chest, holding out.Â
Fucking fine.Â
âPlease.â
Thursday, 13:05
You plonk the heavy bag of scraps onto your table, sighing in relief as the weight redistributes off of you.Â
All morning, youâve snooped around HQ with a nimble hand. Itâs vast, after all, with many winding halls and unfrequented corners, of which youâre probably the only person to have walked through in weeks. Accompanying you, a makeshift pouch and a cover-up story; if any outsider should inquire â then youâre exploring the building thatâs been your home for the last month. It would be suspicious, if the venture could not be so easily misconstrued.
No. Youâre not worried. Far from it, in fact. Youâre sure that the gadgets you pilfered wonât be missed. Some even had a thin coating of dust when you picked them up, their uses long neglected in favour of newer technologies. Youâre merely giving them a new purpose, reshaping bits and bobs to suit your goal.Â
(A far-fetched one, for certain. But itâs wild enough that he wonât expect it.Â
Thatâs what you need. To stop playing by his rules.)
âLyla.â
The AI glitches into translucency at your beckon, saluting as though you were a general and she a cadet. âLyla ĂĄ la espionage, reporting for duty!âÂ
âNo. Not this time.âÂ
âTheeeenâŚâÂ
âCan I count on your discretion?â Squinting, you stare straight through her pink-heart glasses, like lying is an expected part of her programming. Her last remark occupies a small portion of your mind. Double agent. You still havenât asked, and youâre running at a speed too fast to jump over that hurdle now.
âPerhaps.âÂ
Shaking your head, you do away with the ambiguity. âIâm hoping youâre good with tech.â You say anyway. âI need help.âÂ
She only grins, wickedly, skipping over to peer into your bag. You spread it open for her, laying out the stolen paraphernalia. Thenâ
âWraithy.â She adjusts the moniker so that it rhymes with baby. âI am tech.â
Saturday, 2:00
Nueva York streaks past you in blurs of blue and purple.Â
The sky lifts its buildings from the top up, spires pierced into its inky surface. You count the panels that pose a stark, golden contrast to the night-drenched landscape, lit up by residents whose lives are framed in the tiny windows. Itâs a worthwhile distraction from the vertigo damaging your systems â all your efforts directed in looking forward, not up, as the ground shrinks farther and farther away above you. Yet with every metre, your distress worsens, distending to become a ferocious force.Â
Eventually, not even city gazing is enough.
Youâve trained on ceilings. On balconies. But the bottom-side of an elevator is another matter entirely, especially as it moves with zipping speed. Youâre terrified that, at any moment, itâll wobble and send you plummeting to your untimely death. And Miguel, who currently stands on the flip-end of it, wonât be able to process your presence or scream for help by the time you hit the ground.
Thatâs the calculated risk you convinced yourself into making when you sought him out today. Itâs evolved beyond the point of learning a lesson, or whatever prompt youâd initially proposed to get him to agree to this. Now, or in the way it has been for the past two days, itâs personal. Your ego is bruised but not battered yet, and if the cuffs on your forearms have any sway in it, then youâll get your solatium soon enough.Â
The apparatus is impressive, by standards of the day it took to hurriedly construct it. A smooth fit to your wrist, with narrowly hammered metal and a small compartment designed to hold your personal, synthetic formula. Lyla had pulled schematics from a large archive, handing you one she deemed âfriendly for beginnersâ. You begrudged the coddling, if only because you yourself were worried about your competency with it.Â
You tested it, naturally. Itâs functional. The fluid is durable, if not sticky. If worse comes to worse, you can rely on the prototype to catch yourself. Thatâs what you tell yourself, at least, all the way up to the top floor of HQ, which comes at a gradual halt of the lift.
Eager, you hook your fingers over the brim of the platform before flipping over to the right side up. You somersault so your landing isnât as heavy-footed, and blood bursts down to your numb legs as you reorient yourself with gravity. Itâs all you can do to wait until you regain feeling in them, before following the man out the door.Â
Heâs multiple steps ahead already, traipsing with a tired gait. You match it, careful to set your toes down first so as to not make noise. The floor isnât one youâve been to â and it isnât so much a floor as it is a singular hallway, lined with tilt-and-turn glass windows that gleam like all futuristic things do. The aesthetic is juxtaposed by a frankly retro carpet, shades of yellow and brown cut into a pattern you recognise from the bridges in the lobby.Â
Plastered to the edge, away from the subjection of the spotlights down the middle, you wonder where heâs going. Itâs gotten late â youâve been shadowing him for the better half of a day, since Friday afternoon after your lesson. The plan was to tackle him on his way out, right as he was about to leave to go home, but itâs two a.m. now and heâs at work. Still in hero attire. Wandering a corridor youâve no reference to, with sight set on the door at its end.Â
If he waited this long to get to it, then it must be important. Thatâs what you argue against, anyway â that he likely arranged to complete this task at night when he would be ensured total privacy. How questionable is it, then, that youâre violating that?
You could turn back now, find him later instead. Yet today marks your final day before the deadline he set expires, and you want at least one more chance to try should this attempt turn to shit.Â
The right glove of Miguelâs suit disappears, digital projection flickering to white as the nanotech retracts into his palm. You notice the act only because his fingers soon flick out, a key pinched between them. Itâs red and patterned with the same arithmetic lines as his ensemble.
Smart.Â
Once he arrives at the door, he uses the pass to unlock it. It comes open with an effortless swish, sliding completely open to allow him access. He lingers for too long, though, and you press closer to the wall in case he suspects your pursuit. He doesnât turn around though, instead hitting a setting on his watch that causes the entryway to slip shut.Â
Before you can catch up. Before you can sneak in.
Your heart drops.Â
Floundering, you run to pull at the lock. It doesnât budge. Nor are there any other ways in, the narrow hall composed solely of this door at one end and the elevator on the other. You canât go in by any manner except pass through, and with every slap of your hand on the wall, it becomes increasingly apparent that your powers wonât miraculously emerge like they have before.
Nails digging into a fist, you reassure yourself that not all is lost if you give up now. Itâs an unofficial loss, made outside the scrutiny of anyone besides yourself. And though youâll kick yourself to sleep over being so inept in your own abilities, at least he wonât come to the same conclusion. Thatâs what matters â doesnât it? His opinion of you.
Giving a final, aggravated sigh, youâre about to relent when you catch sight of it â a silver lining, adjacent to you. Levelled on the same plane as the door, separated only by the right wall of the hallway, opened to the high atmosphere air â a casement, hinged to a window much like the one you ogle at it through. Leading into the room he just entered. Just a short jump and swing away.Â
You shiver at the notion, first instinct loud and conclusive. No. Absolutely, positively not. Itâs a âjumpâ over a hundred-story fall. Even if you manage to crawl out of the first opening with your sanity intact, youâre nowhere near experienced enough to make it to the second. Unlessâ
Your belly lurches with pre-emptive nausea, and you sink to your knees to massage it without retching. You canât believe you actually consider the reckless idea, sitting with your poor excuses for web shooters, triggers flat on your palm, looking far flimsier than anything you could trust. Your refusal to walk on walls comes back with a vengeance, laughing in mocking echoes at the simple obstacle you canât overcome.Â
Whispering, you try your last alternate. âLyla.âÂ
Thereâs a lag before she appears, glasses skewed upon her nose. âHuh.âÂ
âDo youâŚâ You rasp, swallowing the bile surging up the back of your throat. âDâyou think you could, yâknowââ When words fail, you gesture to the locked door with the cock of your head.Â
âOh-ho-ho. No can do. Iâve done a lotta favours for you sister, but this is crossing the line.âÂ
âOkay. Okay, sorry for asking.â Your chest tightens. The corridor narrows. The shapes on the carpet warp to resemble the plunge off the end of a skyscraper. You have to ask to abate the panic. âWhatâs in there, anyway?âÂ
âFind out on your own accord.â She doesnât take the bait, fur coat rising with a brief shrug of her shoulders. âGood luck.âÂ
And in a blink, youâre on your own again.Â
You must sit like that for half an hour, rocking back and forth in anxiety that refuses to settle. It gnaws on your energy until the passion depletes, draining out, leaving you to wallow as an empty husk. Every so often, you press your cheek to the cool glass spanning the side of the hallway, wishing the problem had magically amended itself since the last you checked. But the ground remains where it is, bottoming endlessly down below, and so does the window to the room, built just out of reach.Â
Of your concerns, thereâs a resounding question that doesnât quite fit. Its edges and curves search for a spot to click into place, but you arenât able to find it â not until you give the piece further contemplation.Â
Why havenât you left?
If youâd given up hope, then why havenât you gathered your wounded pride and salvaged the rest of your night? You couldâve been in bed by now, cosy under a heavy comforter, ruminating over your failure in a safer setting. Yet youâve chosen to stay and prolong your torture, egged on by the reminder of what you couldnât do.Â
Youâre not waiting for him to emerge. That hadnât even occurred to you.Â
(And a tiny part of you already knows the answer, keening by the base of your skull. It just takes some work to admit.)
Itâs that stupid, idiotic, dangerous philosophy heâs instilled in you. The ideology that gets heroes killed. The conviction that marks scars on their body or gives them the peace of mind when walking on walls and swinging across heights that could permanently ruin them.Â
What had you spread out underneath him, cupping your knees while his tongue lathered your wet cunt. Or when his fingers shoved into your pants, scissoring you open to the seconds on his stopwatch. The thing thatâs kept you coming, fighting, over and over again despite receiving the brunt end of your endeavours every time.Â
Resilience.
Youâve internalised it. Youâre here, where you wouldn't have stayed a month ago. And itâs forcing you to face the second lesson heâs been trying to teach; a value impossibly scarier. Courage.Â
You know you wonât rest until you embody that too.Â
Rising, you take your first step towards it by unlatching the fastener to the window in front of you. The pane upturns, pitching open like a gluttonous mouth. Frigid wind rushes in, biting at your cheeks. You breathe in the crisp freshness of it and ignore the threat it might pose to your welfare. Pessimism is a hulking burden. Itâll only weigh you down.
The rest follow in a clumsy sequence.Â
You sit on the edge, sticking the soles of your shoes onto the wall outside. It fixes in that newly familiar way, like how it does when youâre upside down, sucking onto the perpendicular surface. You donât stand up despite the mild relief that washes through you, though â you understand now not to let your guard down until the task is done.
Keeping a firm grip around the window for stability, you scoot off the support it provides your bottom. Youâre hanging out, posted on the external side of the hallway. Thereâs nothing but air underneath you. You donât linger to process it, moving on to the next operation before dread knocks you out.Â
Tapping the button on your free hand, you test your web shooter one last time. Once to equip, twice to release. Once to equip, twice to realise.Â
When you sling it to the adjacent slot, your gaze is bolted forward. Never, ever down. Nothing exists, you cry to yourself, nothing exists but this small jump. And the web holds firm when you tug on it. Youâve tested the fluid against your own mass. Itâs held strong. Youâd have to be a novice scientist to have overlooked that; and youâll be fine.Â
Nothing exists beyond this small jump.Â
(Except for maybe the cosmic forces you pray to. You invoke God, the sun, the stars. Even the moon, who gently glows down on you. It hits you, then, that youâre the closest youâve ever been to any of them.Â
That verity reassures you just enough.)Â
You jump forward.
Tears bud on the corners of your eyes, scleras burning with the whip of air, sinuses scorching alongside it. Your organs hurtle to your feet, and your heart beats like bullets to your chest. Itâs a vile, sickening sensation â akin only to the paralysing disbelief after finding out youâd brought an early apocalypse to your world. Nothing has required more bravery from you than enduring it, butâŚ
You donât fall.Â
In fact, your angling is so flawless that you glide into the space between the window frame and casement. The grace ends there, however, as momentum throws you hard onto a piece of furniture, toppling over it to smack head-first on the tiled floor. Pain blazes up your shoulder, jerked back by the web you forgot to release. You blink to diffuse the black dotting your vision, slowly coming to terms with the havoc youâve wrought. The commotion had made way more noise than intended, and it seems you arenât the only one who thinks so.Â
Sure enough, the light in the next room flicks off. Itâs a choice made with the careful contemplation of a trained hero; if Miguel suspects an intruder, then he knows that heâd have the upper hand in the dark, within this space heâs far more familiar with. You feel around for the seat you tripped over, crawling behind it for cover.Â
As your vision adjusts, youâre able to make out the advent of his faint silhouette. His pants are looser than that of his suit, his arms bare â judging by the fleshy colour, hardly illuminated by the ambient lighting outside. The change would confuse you had you not been honed in on your challenge, reconciling stealth as you calculate your next course of action. The pound-force per square inch of your splitter-web function isnât high enough to shoot across the distance you want â that being the expanse between you â so either you move closer, or he does.Â
The circumstance mirrors how things played out in this lab. Although this time, he creeps away, cautiously navigating the space with a prowess that can only be explained with night vision. Perhaps itâs a part of his spider-granted abilities, or otherwise he frequents the foyer often enough to know when to side-step to avoid incoming furniture.Â
Unfortunately for you, you donât have either luxury. Thrill rockets within you, striking every nerve like a pinball game gone wild, fuelled by the fortitude your indiscreet stunt afforded you. Heâs taking far too long to search his surroundings; at the rate itâs going, youâll have lost your will before he comes close enough to wrestle onto the floor. You decide itâs much too intoxicating a sentiment to sacrifice, then, settling on the former bet.Â
Move closer it is.Â
You donât run at him like youâre inclined to do. That hadnât resulted in your favour the last time. Instead, you stay on all fours, bound inching in the opposite direction he takes on. You use the bulky chattels surrounding you to escape his notice, ducking behind the shaded shapes until youâre mere inches away.Â
The web shooters practically hum on your flesh now, mimicking your excitement as you point them to the angles intersecting his arms and torso. You hope your aim is as good in this less perilous scenario, the ploy contingent on your initial shot. Binding his extremities together would reduce possible scrimmages to zero, which buffs your chances of pinning him down to a pretty percentage.
And you make sure he spots you before you fire.Â
(Nothing satisfies like the slight widening of his eyes when he realises itâs you.)
The bombardment allows him no room to escape, discharged in every possible way as you run a three-sixty around his thrashing form. Your webs secure his arms, yes â but also his legs to one another, and his hands flush to his hips. For extra measure, you even go so far as to switch into long-form shots to wrap the final product once, twice, thrice, so heâs adequately swaddled and cuffed.Â
You donât know how heâs still standing once youâre done. It can be seen as rubbing it in at this point when you tip him onto his back â but really, you just want to hit every aim heâd set out for you.
Within the next week. Check.Â
Sneak up on me. Check.Â
Anywhere, any time of day. Check.Â
Staple me to the ground for upwards of three seconds.Â
As you crouch down to straddle his abdomen, you count. Check. Check.Â
Miguelâs face is hard to read, shrouded and pursed in an indecipherable lour. You bite your lip with the appreciation that, despite his vague disapproval, your pride is still wholly valid.Â
âI won.â You croak, voice hoarse with misuse.Â
He shakes his head, slowly, then quicker when you combat it with an eager nods.Â
âI won. I won. I woââÂ
âWeb-shooters were never part of the challenge. âÂ
âCall it ingenuity,â You smirk, tapping on the metal contraptions. âYou should add it to your list of traits befitting a hero.âÂ
âLet me go.â He growls.
âNot until you admit it.âÂ
âLet me go.â Firmer. It's smouldered by a fire you canât locate the source of, for all that his tone rings familiar.Â
âCâmon, Oâhara. I can see how badly you want to cut me the credit.â Arching down, you only mean for your next bribe to be heard more clearly, yet your chin brushes against his and his cologne hits you like a brick wall. Tension crackles in the same way it did then â when youâd been at the wheel of a cop car, hurtling towards a fate thatâd always been coming for you. Promising ruin. Promising change in the sense that things could never be the same again. âItâs as much of a victory for you as my mentor, I think.âÂ
âHardly, seeing as you followed me home.âÂ
(Home.
Of course it doesnât go in the way you expect, though. Nothing ever does.)
âWhââ All of a sudden, things start to make a whole lot more sense. You look around like the revelation will paint your setting in new colours. âYou live at work?âÂ
âI own the building.â
Your bravado shrivels to a minute thing, becoming a fraction of what it was. Just like that, he captures the upper hand again, all the while still dormant underneath you. The sun â you remind yourself. Always the sun to your comet.Â
âAlright, well.â You mumble, nipping the soft tissue of your cheeks. âI still won.â Though the proclamation holds foolish meaning now; not at all worthy of the lengths you went to.Â
Miguelâs hips thrust up, jostling your thighs, which remain pressed on him. Your core keels with the movement.
âLet me go.â He emphasises again. You shift to do exactly as he says, succumbing to the crushing pressure of your diffidence â only to be interrupted by his continued warning. Itâs tricky. Devastating. It stops you right in your tracks, tearing the fibres of your chest apart with mad violence. Yet the implosion is only as powerful as the various fantasies thatâve gone into this very moment, and you can only attribute your reaction to your depraved self and not the filthy words that exit his mouth.
In truth, you have to hold on to his leg to make sure you heard him right.Â
âLest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.â
chapter fourteen
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#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara x wraith#reader insert#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfiction#spiderman 2099#fanfic#fanfiction#x reader#x you#x y/n#x reader insert#smut#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#miguel#spiderman: across the spiderverse#spider-man#spiderverse#marvel#oscar isaac#miguel ohara x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#headcanons
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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)
Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.
Chapter word count: 9k
Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)
Author's note: And we start the second phase :)
Next chapter: Ten
AO3 | MasterlistÂ
Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife
-
Nine
Five Weeks Later
âBy the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.â The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.
Wanda hadnât known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, sheâd have been more than ready with an ensemble thatâs appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadnât known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietroâs suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks itâs a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these sheâll have to attend for the rest of her life.Â
âYou may kiss theââ Â
The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons.Â
And, well, karma is a bitch.
Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wandaâs been nursing the same mocktail sheâs had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything thatâs watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the partyâs over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed.Â
âStop brooding at my wedding, for godâs sake.â
Itâs Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.
"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.
"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.
Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. âTry not to get used to it though. Iâm pretty sure youâre aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.â
âDonât sass me on my wedding day, itâs just disrespectful.â
âPoint taken. Iâd offer to get you a drink, but I think thatâs just gonna push the stick further up your ass.âÂ
Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.
Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."
Wandaâs brows stitch together in confusion. âYour company?â
âStark Industries.â Shannon says, taking a sip of Wandaâs untouched water.
The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didnât get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech companyâwhich now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.
Shannon smirks. âDonât look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.âÂ
âNumber one?â Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. âHardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?â
âShe works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,â Shannon says. âBut her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.â
Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesnât, however, dwell this time about the people youâve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours.Â
"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.
âWhy do I get the feeling that youâre hearing this just now?â Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. âI thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.â Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.
"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.
âI assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.â
âI stopped by to bring her food. I didnât know I had to dress up for that.â
âHow sweet,â Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. âWell, if youâre not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.â
Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. âAnd what makes you think Iâm interested?â
âBecause despite my wrong assumptions earlier, itâs clear that youâre still head over heels in love with her,â Shannon says. âOr am I wrong?â
Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face.Â
Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. âShe recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.â
You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.
Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.
âHere,â Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. âYouâre welcome.â
Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, âWhy are you doing this?â
"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wandaâs defenses, but then she says, âOr Iâm supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it wonât lead anywhere.â
Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.
Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself.Â
âFair enough.â Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.
Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. âGood luck, Wanda. Iâm sure youâll be needing a lot of it.âÂ
Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isnât particularly chilly, but Wandaâs always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.
âSorry about that.â Pietro mutters as he approaches.
Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"
Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. âI saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you werenât having the best time.â
Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."
âDo I hear fondness in the way you said âbitchâ?âÂ
âNot a chance.â
âBetween me and her, you forget Iâm actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.â Pietro says, somewhat seriously.
âYou are,â Wanda says. âBut I stand by what I said.â
Pietro sighs. âAnyway, Iâm not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. Iâm here to say goodbye.â
Wanda sobers at that. Sheâs been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away.Â
âYouâre returning to LA?â
âThe day after tomorrow.â Pietro confirms with a nod.Â
âDoesnât she work at Stark Industries?â
âOh, did I tell you that?âÂ
âShe told me a while ago.â Wanda says.
âShe can work remotely,â Pietro explains. âAnd she prefers doing that from our home in LA.â
The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display.Â
Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, âTell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before theââ Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago.Â
But if thereâs something sheâs learned from therapy so far, itâs that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.
âBefore my overdose.â Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.
Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.
âAt first, I just wanted to check in on you,â he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. âAnd when I saw you and the cafe, I thought âsee, she doesnât need youâ. But at the same time I also realized it was meâI needed you.â
Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neckâsomething he does a lot when heâs trying not to be emotional.Â
"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same whenâ"
ââwhen itâs just us.â Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.
âYeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.â
âLA is your home.â Wanda reminds him.Â
"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."
âI love you, Piet.âÂ
âI love you too, sis,â Pietro says. âIâm rooting for youâyour happiness. Whether itâs with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heartâI know this because you love me just as I am.â
âThen why donât you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?â Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistencyâthings you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.
âShannonâs family lives in LA, and weâve already talked about settling there once weâre married.â
Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.
Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. âDonât blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because sheâs more comfortable living there if weâre going to start a family.â
âYouâre already talking about babies? Piet, thatâs a huge step.â she says.
Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.
With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."
"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"
âNo. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.â Pietro says.Â
âIâm going to be an aunt?â Wanda giggles. âI mean, congratulations! Youâre going to be a dad!â
"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.
Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.
Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."
Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck itâeven Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"
"You better. I already got you plane tickets."
âOh, and Piet?â
âYep?â
âIâll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because sheâs having your child, but because itâs⌠not normal. Itâs fucked up. Weâre fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasnât, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.
âI know,â Pietro says, looking down at his feet. âIâve been seeing a professional for two months now.â
âYou are?â
Pietro smiles and takes Wandaâs hand, leading her back inside the reception. âWhere do you think I got your therapist from?â
***
"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. Sheâs sitting to your left and Yelenaâs right, and when you havenât developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works.Â
Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how youâre both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner.Â
Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.
Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.
âSo, how was your flight?â you ask Natasha.
âQuick.âÂ
âWhen did you find out youâre coming home?â you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation
âThe other day.â Natasha says.
âHow do you like your steak?â
Natasha gives you a funny look.
Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.
âWeâve been seeing each other.â she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs.Â
Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."
Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."
Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"
With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."
"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.
âYou know,â You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. âI thought Iâm used to what you do, but itâs still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,â you snap your fingers. âAnd we canât ask you questions.â
âItâs why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,â Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. âBut I can. So, how did this happen?â she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.
âDidnât you already know?â you say with a teasing smile.Â
Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.
"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.
âI, uhââ
"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."
When you look up, Yelenaâs eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.
âThatâs a nice story, Y/N, but I didnât mean literally. More like⌠how did you arrive at the decision to be together?â Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.
âIt came to us organically, Nat. I donât know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.â Yelena says.Â
âI donât mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?â Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.
Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."
You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree."Â
âCan I speak to Y/N in private?â She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, âIs that okay?â
âSure.â you reply, rising from your seat.
You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease.Â
Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk."Â
You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty.Â
Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.
âI was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.â Natasha says.Â
You laugh nervously at the âgirlfriendâ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,â you laugh a little. âAnd well, things simply worked out, you know?â
âYeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.â Natasha quips.
"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.
Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but sheâs giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.â
âBut kidding aside, you have my blessing.â Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.
A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife.Â
Besides, you havenât talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.
But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person youâve been trying to forget all this time.
âAnd Wanda? Is that over?â
Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; thereâs just no way out of it but the truthâor at least some of it.
âWe were briefly in touch,â you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."
Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadnât had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.
âBecause you hate her?â You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. âAnd, uh, I donât know⌠Maybe because I knew youâd be disappointed?â
Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"
"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.
Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."
You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wandaâs bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.
âYouâre like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.â you say.
âIâm happy you stood by your decision without me,â Natasha says. âI was worried youâd go back to her as soon as I was gone.â
A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.
âHow about you and Bruce?â you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.
Natashaâs smile is sad as she shakes her head. âThat ship has sailed. For good.â
âIâm sorry.â you say.
âDonât be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. Heâs a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.â
âWhat about you?â
âIâd like to believe I deserve more than heâs willing to give,â Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but itâs clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths.Â
âAre you happy?â you ask suddenly, widely curious.
Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.
Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena whoâs wearing a frown after being left for so long.
âYou were both gone for a while already so I thought Iâd settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.â Yelena says. âYou guys are okay, right?â
âOf course, why wouldnât we be?â you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.
Natasha ignores Yelenaâs question and says, âHow much do I owe you for the food?âÂ
Yelena pushes the receipt in her sisterâs hand and says, âEverything.â
Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasnât been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.
âIt was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,â Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.
"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.
"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple.Â
Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.
As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.
âY/N?â
"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."
Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."
You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips.Â
âIâll wait up, okay? Hurry,â Yelena purrs against your neck.Â
âIâll be back.â you say.
At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where youâre supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelenaâs awake, youâre too exhausted to continue earlierâs steamy exchange.
Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelenaâs sleeping form.Â
You havenât had sex with her yet. The desire is thereâa hot burning coal of itâand you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.
Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.
***
âMs. Maximoff? Over here.â
Wanda looks up to find Sparkyâs doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side.Â
âIs he going to be okay?â Wanda asks immediately.
âThe results of Sparkyâs blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, weâll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if heâs responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.â
âAnd what if he doesnât respond to his medication?â
âWe will conduct further tests to see whatâs going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, Iâm afraid.â
Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wandaâs heart. âW-What could have caused this?â she asks.
This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life.Â
In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days.Â
Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.
It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.
And she wouldn'tânot even for a momentâconsider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.
But then again, you've made your choice. You didnât want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her cafĂŠ; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.
It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.
âŚAnd sheâs still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.
Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much youâve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitorâdropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.
There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.
She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.
But as sheâs about to knock, the door swings open.
âHi, Iââ Wandaâs words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.
Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders.Â
She is breathtakingly beautiful.Â
But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.
Does she live with you?
âIs Y/N home? Iâm WanââÂ
"Wanda. I know. Iâm Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like sheâs struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"
âYouâre Yelena? Natashaâs sister?â Wanda asks.
Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.
Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?
"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and sheâs just grateful youâre not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."
Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wandaâs sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.
-
The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You havenât had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of âhow are youâ and âIâm fineâ. Thereâs a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.
The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.
With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.
âHey, Iâll be home soon.â you say, assuming itâs Yelena on the line.
âY/N.â A vaguely familiar voice thatâs definitely not Yelena greets you. Thatâs when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.
âWhoâs this?â
The caller doesnât answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you havenât been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.
âItâs Vision,â The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. âWanda needs your help.â
The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. Youâve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.
âJesus, itâs freezing.â you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.
You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda donât really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wifeâex-wifeâis just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports.Â
However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, itâs near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens oftenâWanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow.Â
The sight of Vision doesnât bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.
As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.
âY/N? Is that really you?â Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. âIf youâre not, please tell Y/N that Iâm not with him,â Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. âHe just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, Iâm telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.âÂ
The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis.Â
Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. âHow did you find her?â you demand.
âI was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,â Vision recounts. âI saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.â
Youâre inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wandaâs shivering form, you canât help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.
âThank you,â you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.
âIf I find out youâre the reason why sheâs this miserable, Iâm putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.â he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.
âIs that a threat?â you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.
âItâs a warning,â Vision answers coolly. âAs far as I know, you havenât atoned for anything. And itâs not because you donât deserve it. Itâs because of her.â
Heâs rightâyou walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what youâve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how youâre not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?
Itâs a conversation for laterâyou donât need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.
âIâm ready for anything,â you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. âNow, get your jacket off her and Iâll take it from here.â
As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.
-
Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she isâ
âShit, youâre burning up,â you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.
Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor.Â
When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.
Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.
Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.
âY/N,â Wandaâs weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. âYou should g-go.â she says hoarsely.
Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.
"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.
âWhat are you talking about?â you ask.
âI-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didnât mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about SparkyâŚâ
She? Yelena? You didnât think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.
"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.
Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.
âIâm sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?â
Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liverânot normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.
"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.
"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."
You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.
"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."
Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form.Â
That's when you notice itâher wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her lifeâand yoursâthat she carries with her, in a different way.
Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving.Â
The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.
âIs thisâI mean, do you think shouldâŚ?â she stammers out, and youâre unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.
"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"
Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.
A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wandaâs hair.Â
As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew sheâd get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; itâs just not possible to restrain herself from it when youâre this gentle with her.
âCan you handle the rest?â you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.
âYes,â she answers.
âOkay. Iâll go get some towels.â
Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what youâve just done.
Donât think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer.Â
Donât think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.
Donât think.
When youâre both dry and youâre back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It wonât go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you donât think thatâs a good idea.
Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.
"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.
"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.
âBetter?â
Wanda nods with a small smile. âThank you, Y/N. Iâm sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didnât think Vision wouldââ
âYouâre welcome,â you interject as soon as she mentions his name. âWeâll talk soon.âÂ
Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymoreânot as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."
Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.
"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."
-
Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.
You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her.Â
"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"
âI couldnât sleep without you,â she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.
You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"
Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, âNo. Do you?âÂ
Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. âI took Wanda home,â you declare, bracing yourself for Yelenaâs reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.
âCan you clarify?â Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.
"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. âHe said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.â
âWhy didnât he take her home himself?â
You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.â
There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, âAnd nothing happened?â
âI helped her get change and manage her fever,â you say. âNothing else happened.â
Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.
"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."
"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.
"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."
You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.
"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.
âI wasnât going to,â Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasnât there before. âBut have you?â
You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelenaâs shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. âI donât want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,â Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.
"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff x you#wanda x you#wanda maximoff#ifiss 2#ilgoss#yelena belova x reader#yelena belova#unbetad#my writing#my fic#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen#wanda maximoff fanfiction
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Bodyguard
Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader
Warnings: anxiety/panic attack, alcohol, drunkness
Words: 3.3k
Summary: you are Natasha's bodyguard at a Comic Convention
AN: Hi everyone! Had this cute little idea in my head for a month or two and now it's finally yours!
Camera flashes shone into your faces, fans who were crying and screaming rang into your ears to the point it hurt to. Fans were pushing until people fell to the ground and got hurt. This was madness.. everything was just pure chaos. You were mad at the convention organizers, they either should have hired more security or simply sold less tickets. You were one of Natasha Romanoff's bodyguards for public events gor year already and not a single event had been as fucked up as this one. Yes conventions were an entire different story then red carpets or pride events but it still could have been all avoided if the organizers wouldn't have been so greedy.Â
Three other bodyguards of her and you tried to get Natasha from the entrance to the backstage area. But you moved in a snail pace since a tons of fans blocked every way to reach for the Black Widow. "Move out of the way!" You yelled over the loud noise. The disrespect of these people really got under your skin, you got extremely angry but you tried not to push the people harshly. You felt Natasha's small frame pressed against your back as you guys made your way through the large crowd. And since you knew her well, you knew in right that moment she was full of anxiety and most likely on the brink of an anxiety/panic attack. "IF YOU DON'T MOVE OUT THE WAY THEN NOBODY GETS TO SEE THE BLACK WIDOW AT ALL TODAY!" You threatened them. Something with the way you yelled it must had struck with a bunch of people since they backed off quickly afterwards. You soon could move smoothly towards the backstage entrance, where you made sure that Natasha was alright by guiding her to mimic your breaths. When that didn't work you tried another method. "What things do you see five times?" You asked her. She looked around. "I see five chairs." You continued with four things she saw. "Four pens." The two continued counting down. Three tables. Two doors. One apple. When you felt she was pretty alright you lead her to one of the chairs and brought a water bottle. "Here drink this."Â
Natasha appreciated you as her bodyguard so much, not only because you her only female bodyguard but also since you were the only one who always made sure that she was alright and if that weren't the case you helped and comforted her until she was her old self. "Thank you." You nodded your before kneeling in front of her, taking one free hand in yours and looked into her green eyes. Natasha still looked distraught from being mobbed but being with you helped her immensely. She concentrated on the feeling of your warm hand along with how they both fit so wonderful together. It made her heart clench with want. She actually longed to be closer to you, being her bodyguard was not enough for her anymore. The want to feel your touch every second of the day was consuming her thoughts, she also wished to know what your lips felt like on hers. But before she could think further you brought her out of those thoughts. "Are you good to continue the schedule at this convention today?" You asked with worry in your voice. It's another thing Natasha liked about you, you were a stone cold front for everyone but her. For her you were such a softie and always so goddamn gentle, it drove her insane. "Only with you by my side."Â
"Of course! That's what I'm being paid for." You teased her. "The autograph sessions are gonna be so fun so much fun." The evil smile on your face was something the Black Widow rarely saw but she knew you wouldn't do anything but sitting next to her and looking at the people in line who probably would be squirming underneath your gaze. That alone brought you joy and she knew that. After you guys met up with the other Avengers, they all went on stage and answered a bunch of questions from the interviewer and fans. It went smoothly except for some inappropriate questions that were directed to Natasha. The second they went backstage again and she saw you, she knew you were angry at the people who asked inappropriate and sexist questions. She put her hand on your arm, telling you everything was alright but it still didn't sit okay with you. It was 2023 and people still were asking questions when they just should mind their own goddamn business. Why would literally anyone want to know what she Black Widow is wearing underneath her suit? Anyone with an IQ can greatly assume it's underwear and even it she were naked underneath, in what world was that your business?? "I hate it too Y/N. But look on the bright side, that one guy who were beyond the line got an ass-whopping from a tons of fans in the audience. Not only that but Steve answered the question as if it was his."Â
"I really liked his answer. 'Would anybody really want to flash themself to the enemy if there's a malfunction with the suit or it gets torn in a battle?'" You mimicked him and his reply. "It was such a huge statement that shut that boy up real quick. In my opinion, he deserves more than just Steve shutting him up but I can't do anything about it, can it?"Â
Natasha shock her head. "No you can't but I appreciate what he did and what you'd do anyways." With a smile you lead her further into the backstage area and waited for the staff to get you to the next scheduled event.
Later when Natasha was hours into writing autographs, you noticed her hand and wrist movement being awfully off. You asked a staff member to bring an ice pack if not available then a cold wet towel. Instead of the staff guy you talked to, Natasha's manager, who was only there for these kinda public events, came with the ice pack you had requested. "How long do you think she can still last?" He asked you as he whisper talked to you. "An hour or two but no longer. If you ask me I'd arrange the queue in a way that all children with their supervisors should cut to the front, maybe even all teenage girls."Â
You glance at Natasha who brightly smiled at some girl who seemed to be in their twenties. "She'll work through the pain till the end of line of I know for sure that we have to cut it way before that so I'd really consider that at least these kids get a chance to get their superhero before we have to shut it down." He nodded then told you he'd discuss it with the organizers.Â
By the time he went away your attention was back to the red headed superhero next to you. "Gimme your wrist." She was stubborn and did not give you her wrist, acting as if everything was perfectly fine. You were patient enough though and waited a few minutes until the teenager who was talking to Natasha was gone. Next in line was a a mother with a girl that couldn't have been older than 5 years old. You smiled at them and politely told them to wait a second. "You either give me your wrist now or we have to cut short way sooner than you want to." You told the Widow sternly. She sighed but gave you her left wrist anyways. You gently put the gel ice pack, which was in a towel, onto her wrist to cool down the swelling that was caused by signing autographs all day long. While you held the pack in place, the small girl put down a cute stuffed teddy bear onto the table while sweetly telling Natasha that it's for her. You were about to take it and put it aside as you did with all her other gifts too when she beat you to it and let it rest against the front of her body. "The bear stays." You respected her request without saying anything, she talked with the kid for a bit before asking for her name to sign the poster that they brought with them. You let go of her wrist, she signed the poster with the girls name and thanked them for coming.Â
This time she took the ice pack from you herself and laid it on the table so that she could rest her arm on the table better and more comfortable. At some point Dave, her manager came back with convention staff and rearrange the queue exactly the you proposed to him. An hour later you saw it in her eyes that she couldn't do much more. You hauled down Dave and he cut the line after an elderly woman who waited in line for what seemed like hours. "What a lovely team you have! They were very nice to let me still meet you." The old lady started to ramble. "I'm not sure if you recognize me but you saved me and my husband at the alien attack in 2012! Oh sweet girl I have to thank you so much for that. The shock was deep afterwards and we had to see a specialist and they found something in my husbands organs and it literally saved him again. After his surgery and recovery we started traveling more and saw so many beautiful places before." She then gifted Natasha some crystals that they had found on their trips around the world. "Ohh I probably should hurry. Your people are waiting."
Natasha and you both answered her at the same time. You said that there was no rush and the superhero told her that she should take all the time she needs. The elderly had such a relieved look on her face that it made your heart warm. She introduced herself as Martha and she started telling you both, she included you by constantly looking at you and back to Natasha, how the Black Widow still became her idol at such an old age and how inspiring everything was with what the red head did. Before Natasha even came to signing the free autograph card, she asked Martha if she wanted to take a photo with her. The woman was bubbling over with joy. Especially when Natasha told her she'd sign another autograph card for her husband for free. And since some fans never went away and just stayed to ogle at the woman, some angry words were spewed out of jealousy. You gave each of those people a death glare that shut them up for good but you insisted for Martha to come with Natasha and your security. Fans were chaotic and it wouldn't surprise you if some people would get violent with her just to get her autographs and spread hate. Your goal was to protect both woman even if your job contained only to protect the superhero at all costs. After leaving the Black Widow backstage you brought Martha to her car and waited until she drove off. With the assurance that she left safely, you went back to get Natasha and the both of you got into the van that was designated for her to get driven back to the Hotel.Â
As soon as you arrived in your room you immediately jumped into the shower to clear your mind since all of your thoughts were consumed by how sweet Natasha was with the fans. By the time you were done, your stomach was a rumbling mess, looking through the menu you ordered yourself some fries and a burger thanks to room service. You changed quickly into a tshirt and some shorts, then looking at all your notifications of your personal phone that was hidden in the hotel room safe. A tons of it were from twitter, people tagging you in videos and photos, gushing and freaking out over how cute you & Natasha were together. There was a particular tweet with two photos attached that made your stomach flip. The first one was you looking grumpily at fans but Natasha was looking at you lovingly, the second was the exactly opposite. You were looking at her, what fans described as heart eyes, as she was smiling at a younger fan. You send the tweet to Natasha through iMessage with a simple 'lol' as caption.Â
Meanwhile, Natasha was sitting at the hotel bar with a drink in one hand and her phone in her hand. She also was looking through tweets that fans added her in. When you sent her that tweet she was staring at the same photo already. She felt butterflies in her belly when she saw the way you looked at her, so soft and protective. But that feeling vanished into a clump of anxiety when she read your message. The simple 'lol' to that tweet of you guys gazing at each other when the one of you wasn't looking was a punch to her gut. She quickly typed a reply in hope it would be a good answer.
Fans ship me with anyone who's 3 feet near me. Sorry you have to experience that.Â
I don't mind. I feel flattered that so many people actually think I have "insane chemistry" with THE Black Widow.Â
I'm still sorry about it all. It can get pretty intense with some fans. They ship people so much to a point that they'll get delusional of every single interaction.
Ahh so I shouldn't be surprised if at some point I see a tweet of someone being super convinced that we're married?Â
If that happens I'll definitely gonna fuck with them and post "hints" of my non existing relationship with you.
Maybe I should join in with your little jokes?
I'd love that. Wanna start already? I'll come over to your room after I finish my food?
I'm at the bar.
Ohh even better. I'll be down in 10. Don't have too much fun without your "girlfriend" đ
Before she knew it a new notification from twitter popped up. It was you tagging her in a tweet. Â
After a long convention day w/ @BlackWidow I finally get some alone time with my date.Â
Her heart started to beat faster than it did before. She had to re-read it a bunch of times before it true sunk it that you meant her as the date. And then, suddenly out of nowhere you stood beside her ordering yourself a bottle of beer. "I'm wondering how you felt about today. Well rather about how you feel about this texan comic con compared to the other 3 we've been to."Â
She sighed not wanting to think much about today since it all was overwhelming and exhausting but she couldn't deny you this answer since she knew you wanted to know this for future events. You wanted to make sure that she was alright and comfortable after a day like today. "The mob in the morning was awful but the autograph session and panel was fine. You hummed while taking a sip from your bottle, still watching here face to see if there was any discomfort or hatred towards the convention but all you saw was the hidden exhaustion. She was masking once again and you hated seeing her like this, though you knew why she did it that moment, you both were still in a public space and both of you were always careful incase paparazzi's were around. "So you'd be up for another convention?" She nodded but also told you that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. The superhero needed time to process this huge overwhelming and exhausting event first. And that wasn't an easy task. When you suggested to move this little drinking party that the two of you had into your room, she was quick to agree with your idea. The more privacy the better.Â
While you guys had been in the elevator, one of the two of you started to giggle and then the other one joined in and now nobody could actually stop. The giggling died down as you walked out the elevator and immediately stopped when you went around the corner. Your ex girlfriend was coming your way and you did not want her to recognize you. So you turned back around to Natasha, who also stopped laughing, now with a worried look on her face. Before she could even ask what was wrong you asked her to kiss you. She shocked out a shocked what. "Just kiss me please. I'll explain later." The urgency in your voice was something that Natasha didn't miss so she stopped thinking and dived in. And what a kiss it was. You never thought kissing the superhero would get you so deeply lost and leaving you with wanting more.Â
Since you were so engrossed in the kiss, you almost didn't hear your ex scolding you both. "These kids from today.." You tried your best not to burst out into laughter right then when you still had your lips locked with the red head. As soon as she disappeared in the elevator, Natasha broke the kiss. "Kids from today? Apparently I'm not in my thirties yet. That's good." She said then looked back into your eyes. "So why the need for a kiss Y/N?"
You gulped hard while feeling heat creeping up on you since you now felt a little embarrassed to tell her the truth. "That was my ex." Even though you both saw her disappearing, Natasha took a double look to where ex just had been. She couldn't fathom you dating someone so much older. "You dated her? That clearly very old lady??"Â
"That was around ten years ago, alright? She was happily throwing more money at me than she was already paying me for and I loved the money." You told her truthfully. It was no surprise for you that she was shocked about it. "You worked for her and then became a couple?" You nodded shyly at her question.Â
"Don't judge okay? I was young and dumb." You were feeling the awkwardness, that was a first between you two, there was hardly ever a awkward moment between you. Not only the awkwardness but also the silence was killing you slowly.Â
Natasha on the other hand was thinking hard, if you mixed business with pleasure once already, would you do it again? Were you willing to kiss her? With the way you looked at her you had to, right? If the fans were seeing something between you two then there had to be some bit truth to it. But what if she overstepped and all of this was unconsensual? She'd hate of she was treating you the way other people treated her. Thanks to her overthinking she didn't notice her inching closer to you until she felt your breath on her face. That snapped her out of the deepest thoughts she was in. The world suddenly seemed to stop for the both of you. The kiss from earlier played in your heads like a broken record but before anything could go further Natasha distanced her from you. "I think I'm a bit more tipsy than I thought I were." She apologized and looked away.Â
"And I think I'm drunk since I want you to kiss me again." You sighed. That piped her interest. "Well we do have great chemistry." You smiled at her and nodded. "I won't deny that. But I'm afraid to cross that line again."Â
"We won't cross that line if it's just one night right?" You agreed to that then pulled her into a desperate kiss. Her hands went straight to your waist, pulling you even closer. You didn't know who starting dragging the other person into your hotel room, all you knew for certain was that the night was full of passion and satisfying all your needs.Â
What you both didn't realize in your tipsy-drunk state was that you in fact crossed that line by sleeping with each other. Even fans noticed that something had changed with you and Natasha.Â
#natasha romanoff#black widow#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff x female reader#black widow x female reader#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#black widow x fem!reader
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So Warm (Padawan Anakin x RealWorldFemReader)
Summary: Itâs barely the first day of winter and already youâre tired of being lonely and cold. So, your tipsy behind decides to take matters into your own hands by following some silly, old kidsâ story and burying your poor padawan Ani figure in the snow. Better be ready, your not so âlittle dudeâ is going to be in need of some warming up of his own once he comes to life.
Warnings: 18+. Padawan Ani and reader are of age. Some good old-fashioned fun from behind. Smut, smut, and more smut.
âThey say that if you wish with all your heart and bury the possession you hold the dearest deep into the fresh winter solstice snow. Then, when the clock strikes upon the witching hour, your desire will become a reality.â
It was amazing. After all these years, you still remembered that silly, old story from your childhood. Even more surprising, you were able to do so while thoroughly kicked in the ass.
What could you say? It had been a long year and, despite only being a few hours in, an even longer winter.
You hated being lonely and absolutely loathed being cold. You had hoped a drink or two or more would have remedied all of this, but, at about halfway through the bottle, you knew that a crazier approach was necessary.
At least, thatâs what tipsy you thought.
So, there you were. Knee-deep in the snow. Shivering your ass off. Padawan Anakin figure clutched to your chest.
âAll right, little dude, I need you to be real and Imma gonna need you to do it fast,â You slurred. âGotta makes that bed toasty. We can warm each other up nice and good. Have lots of fun doin it, promise.â
You gave your âlittle dudeâ a kiss on the head and shoved him into a pile of snow.
With the deed done, you stumbled back inside. Where, once undressed, you crawled into your cold, lonely bed and instantly passed â fell asleep.
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You didnât wake until 3am. Well, you guessed it was three; since thatâs normally when you would be in need of a glass of water. But, this time around, it wasnât your thirst that got you up.
A very large and very cold someone was pressed firmly against your back. And, they were pushing something very big and even colder inside of you.
âSo warm. Youâre so warm, angel.â That someone mewled cutely once he was fully sheathed.
âThis is a dream,â you thought groggily, involuntarily clenching down. âI know that voice and there is no way in hell that-'
Willing your eyes to open, you peered over your shoulder and was met by the sight of⌠A huge grin wearing and extremely naked, Anakin Skywalker. âYup, definitely dreaming.â
âNot a dream,â Ani chuckled, nuzzling his icy nose into the crook of your neck. âIâm a real not so âlittle dudeâ whoâs here to help make the bed toasty.â
He emphasized the word âlittleâ with a hard thrust. Eliciting a small moan from you. âAinât nothing little about that.â
âNow, how about we warm each other up nice and good?â He muttered, nipping at your sensitive flesh. âWeâll have lots of fun doing it, promise.â
You felt your breath hitch in your throat. â100% a dreamâŚfuck it, might as well enjoy it while it lasts.â
âOkay,â you purred, rubbing your ass teasingly against him. âLetâs heat things up then.â
âThatâs, my girl,â he groaned.
Anakin ground his hips into you. His cock absolutely splitting you open in the most delicious way. His chilled hand gripped your hip, the other toying with your pert nipples.
Inhaling sharply from his cool touch, you let out a small whimper. âFaster. Please, go faster.â
âAs you wish,â he growled. Ani began to speed up, bottoming out over and over again. His hand now snaking between your legs to rub your throbbing clit. His thrusts becoming sloppy.
You could feel the tension building up inside of you. It was all so wonderfully overwhelming. His hands exploring the curves of your body. His lips marking up your neck. His cock perfectly hitting that right spot each time.
âAniâŚAni, IâmâŚIâmâŚâ
âGo on. Let go. Cum all over my cock so prettily,â he whispered huskily.
All it took was his encouraging words. A wave of raw pleasure came crashing over you. Your body spasming in bliss. Stars filling your vision.
Not far behind. With a heavy groan, Anakin pumped his hot cum inside of you.
âThat was one hell of a dream,â you panted, slowly coming down from your high.
Wrapping his arms around you, Ani let out a yawn. âAgain, not a dream.â
âWhatever you say, Skyguy,â you said, trying to stifle your own yawn.
Snuggling further into his hold, you then asked drowsily. âSoâŚyou going to pull out anytime soon?â
âNope, too warm and comfy,â Anakin mumbled, his breathing growing soft and even.
"Yeah, me too," you hummed before drifting off to sleep.
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You didnât wake again until early afternoon. Well, you guessed it was early afternoon; since thatâs normally when the sun shone brightly in your room. But, this time around, it wasnât the blinding light that got you up.
A very large and very warm someone was pressed firmly against your back. And, they had something very big and even warmer buried deep inside of you.
âSo warm. Youâre so warm, hatari.â That someone cutely mewled, content to already be fully sheathed.
âI guess it wasnât a dream,â you thought happily, purposely clenching down. Making that someone groan into your ear.
Willing your eyes open, you peered over your shoulder and was met byâŚa pair of soft lips. âYup, definitely not dreaming.â
âTold you,â Ani chuckled, nuzzling his warm nose into the crook of your neck. âIâm a real not so âlittle dudeâ whoâs here to help make the bed toasty.â
He emphasized the word âlittleâ once more with a hard thrust. Eliciting a small moan from you. âAgain, ainât nothing little about that.â
âNow, that weird comlink of yours went off a bit ago. Said thereâs an âextreme low temperature warningâ all day,â he muttered, giving your breast a gentle squeeze. âSo, I say, letâs stay in all day. Keep each other nice and good and warm. Weâll have lots of fun doing it, promise.â
You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you melted under his touch. âA girl could get used to waking up like this. Thank you, silly, old childhood story. Thank you winter solstice.â
âOkay,â your giggle, playfully tugging on his braid. âLetâs heat things up then.â
âThatâs, my girl,â Anakin growled, already grinding his hips against your ass.
#hayden christensen#anakin skywalker#anakin#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x reader#star wars anakin#sw anakin#anakin smut#anakin fanfiction#anakin skywalker fanfiction#star wars#star wars fanfiction#star wars prequels#star wars smut#winter solstice#first day of winter#smutty fanfiction
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you as their bite me partner.
ěíě´í ăť female reader + word count 700 genre fluff idol au warnings not proof-read skinship â more
a/n. requested!
heeseung would be so sweet; heâd try his best to not say anything thatâd maybe make you uncomfortable. if he happens to slip up his words, heâd immediately correct himself afterwards, words stuttering a little. after you two are more familiar with one another, heâd be a little more bold and flirtyâ the way heâd have the smallest of smirks toying on the corner of his lips as he tells you, âyou donât have to be afraid or anything, you can just touch me, yâknow?â but in all honesty, heâd be such a natural at thisâ a really professional and amazing partner, who just knows the right words to sayâŚ
jay would be so lovely; a dictionary example of a gentlemanâ never pushes you past you comfort zone, and always reassures you that those accidental touches are completely alright with him; would take care of you behind the scenesâ gets you a bottled drink whenever he visits the vending machine for one, passes you his heat pack whenever youâre feeling extremely cold, always checks in on you during long shoots, vice versaâŚ
jake would be a big ball of sunshine, so welcoming and sweet; heâd pop up right in front of you with the cutest of smilesâ âiâm jake! and you are?â heâd introduce, his hand outstretching for a little handshake. would try to lessen any of your nervousness by cracking small jokes, albeit theyâre a little⌠questionable; what would catch you off-guard would be his on-stage and off-stage dualityâ one moment heâd be beaming at you with the warmest of grins, the other heâd be all âbiting his lower lip with a playful smileâ and âcarding his fingers through his hair with unbroken eye contactââŚ
sunghoon would probably be a little.. no, very awkward; i can imagine him just standing there, arms pressed into the sides of his bodyâ âuh hello, iâm sunghoon⌠uhm, parkâ, heâd say, eyes shifting to nearly everything but your face; asks you simple questions like âhave you eaten yet?â or âhow are you?â just to kick things off; but when the time calls for it, heâd be as professional as he can possibly be, pushing past his awkward demeanour. during that part where you lightly tip his chin upwards, heâd remain eye contact, features absolutely radiating confidenceâŚ
sunoo would be so, so reassuring; shows you round the place with the most comforting grin to ever grace the surface of this earthâ is never afraid to ask you questions, and neither is he one to hold back when answering your queries. always makes sure that youâre feeling all comfortableâ grabs a spare blanket for you to cover your lower half with, shares his little snacks with you; i donât see him being hesitant when initiating touch eitherâ well, maybe itâs because youâre so easy to talk to, it just comes without much discomfortâŚ
jungwon would be so caring towards you. looks out for you nearly every minute of the day; always makes sure to grab an extra snack for you, just because you may feel a little awkward to take one for yourself; always brings you a bottle of water at the start of every shootâ heâs like your water patrol, always making sure that youâre well hydrated, especially under such weather conditions. is such a hard workerâ tells you that itâs a hundred percent alright for your arm to graze against his own, not wanting the hovering of your hands to disrupt the essence of the choreographyâŚ
riki would be a tad bit bashful, but for the most parts, heâd be pretty sweet; at the start, heâs all âuh helloâs and short, straightforward replies. as time passes by, however, he starts being more open, especially in his forms of expression; is never hesitant to tell you a cheesy pickup line, or some horrid joke. feels so comforting to talk toâ in fact, heâs already creating little inside jokes between the two of you. when it comes to dancing, heâs so, so focused; always monitors your pair dance parts with such concentration, and is sure to compliment you afterwards, hands raised for a high-fiveâŚ
taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels
#૮ ŕžŕ˝˛ â â á ?#kflixnet#enhanet#k labels#enhypen imagines#enhypen fluff#enhypen scenarios#enhypen drabbles#enhypen reactions#enhypen headcanons#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts#enha fluff#enha scenarios#enha imagines#enha drabble#enha reactions#enha headcanons#enha soft thoughts#enha soft hours#heeseung fluff#jay fluff#jongseong fluff#jake fluff#jaeyun fluff#sunghoon fluff#sunoo fluff#jungwon fluff#niki fluff#riki fluff
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