#come! enjoy this grainy hand holding goodness with me :)

[shesailsships]

Lockwood & Co

You're safe now, okay?

We've got you now.

[love-quinn]

— COLLECTORS' GUIDE

summary — you love books, and spencer can't figure out why you don't have a single one inside your apartment. his only solution is, of course, to buy you some.

warnings — swearing, reader has a toxic ex

pairing — spencer agnew x fem!mythical reader

pronouns — none (you/yours)

featuring — spencer agnew, nicole enayati, vianai austin (mentioned), kiana parker (mentioned)

word count — 1.8k

note — as someone who LOVES mythical kitchen i've been toying around with the idea of spencer and someone from that show or even just mythical in general, also she was speaking to me she told me she's a bookworm i don't make the rules sorry. thank you so much for all the love on my last two spencer fics <333 hope you enjoy

LA’s a big city; it’s loud, it’s dirty, and it’s busy. Working in the industry you do, you don’t have a whole lot of calmness in your life, which is why you make it your personal mission to make your apartment as soft and cozy as possible. 

You pile your couch with throw blankets and pillows, you have lamps where you can control the brightness, you hang art on the walls and you love it there. You layer your rugs and you keep candles on every shelf. Your apartment is one hundred percent yours, and that’s the reason Spencer likes spending time there as much as he does. 

You and Spencer are a fairly new couple, you’ve only been together a few weeks, and he still can’t quite believe the two of you are together. You work in the Mythical side of the office as a producer and sometimes on-camera for Mythical Kitchen so the two of you see each other fairly often but not every single day.

He likes to think he knows you pretty well – he is your boyfriend. But one of his favorite parts about being in this relationship with you is getting to learn more about you. Neither of you are shooting anything today so he decides to drop by your desk during his lunch break. You’re on yours too, you and Nicole are chatting across your desks, you have half a wrap in one hand and a folded over paperback novel in the other and Spencer brightens at seeing you.

“Hi, babe,” he drops a kiss on your hairline, leaning over and peering at what you’re doing. “I was gonna see if you wanted to go for lunch with me but you seem to have it covered.” 

You tilt your head back to look him in the eye, face lighting up. “Hi! I didn’t know you were coming over here.”

He shrugs, leaning on the back of your chair. Nicole excuses herself to go meet Vi for lunch like they planned and offers Spencer her chair while she’s gone so he doesn’t have to hover. Spencer watches you smile up at her as she leaves and can’t stop the frown from making its way onto his face. 

“You’re not going with them?” From what he knew, the three of you were really good friends, at the very least close coworkers. Seeing Nicole talk about her plans with your mutual friend right in front of you without inviting you felt… not wrong, but definitely weird.

You just shake your head. “No, Thursdays I usually eat by myself, they go out somewhere.” You catch the look on Spencer’s face and amend yourself quickly. “They do invite me, I just prefer to eat my lunch at my desk, I can get a chapter or two in before they get back.”

Spencer looks down at the paperback in your hand again. “What’re you reading?”

You hold it up for him. It’s an older book, with frayed edges and a peeling vinyl cover, a grainy lighthouse on the front. He takes it when you offer it and flicks through it, careful not to disturb the bookmark. “I was gonna take it back to the library on Saturday and get a new one, but I can come over after that?”

Spencer shakes his head, only now just seeing the Los Angeles Public Library sticker on the back cover. “Can I come with you? Unless that’s like, something you wanna do by yourself or whatever? I didn’t know you went to the library.”

You take the book back and put it on your desk, out of the way. You and Spencer have wordlessly begun to split the wrap that you’d packed for lunch, something you’d made at home that made his mouth water. “Yeah, of course you can come. I go most weeks, I try to read a book every week but sometimes, y’know,” you gesture around the office.

That’s how Spencer finds himself on the steps of the LAPL for what he believes to be the first time. He’d been to libraries before, obviously, but not since leaving Florida, and not for a long time. He knows you like to read, there’s often a paperback in your hand or your purse or your car, it’s your quiet time activity. He just assumed you bought your own books, but getting to walk hand in hand with you through the stacks as you browse, he definitely sees the appeal. 

You find your new book of the week and hold it up to him gleefully, and you don’t even have to pull him along to the desk for him to follow you dutifully. Spencer would let you stay in there for hours, gazing lovingly over at you as you talk familiarly with the librarian. 

Eventually, you cut yourself off and excuse yourself to return to your boyfriend, knowing that his ideal weekend plans probably didn’t include letting you drag him around the library. You really like Spencer, you don’t want to hijack all of your time together. 

Spencer hasn’t even considered that. In fact, he is actively planning the next time that the two of you can come back, desperate to see you so happy again. Desperate to make you that happy. 

It becomes almost a routine. The two of you begin your weekend by going out for breakfast somewhere, Spencer follows you around the library and then the two of you go home and spend the rest of the day quietly in one of your apartments. Usually it involves him playing Zelda on the couch with your feet in his lap while you churn through your book.

You fold around each other comfortably. You have your separate friends, your separate jobs (well… technically separate), and your separate hobbies. But as the weeks turn into months, Spencer sinks right into your little oasis in your apartment. 

His clothes end up in your drawers, he starts going in to work with homemade meals that are obviously made by someone who graduated culinary school (i.e, not him). Love pours endlessly out of every crevice, and Spencer feels like he’s drowning in it. Spencer loves his apartment, it’s his home, but as somebody who also loves you he loves your apartment a lot as well.

It feels like every single time he goes over he finds out something new about you and the way you love, which is why he’s not quite so sure why it took him so long to notice the empty shelves in your room.

You’re on your phone, lying on your stomach with your feet by the head of the bed. Spencer is just coming back from the kitchen, your coffee order in his hand when he notices it. “Are you gonna put something on that shelf?”

You look up from your phone to see the shelf he’s gesturing to. Spencer can’t pretend not to notice the way that your face falls. “Uh, sure. I can if you want?”

Spence shrugs as he comes to sit down beside you. You wriggle up so you’re sitting and take the coffee out of his hand. “I don’t care, babe. It’s your room.” He plants a kiss on the side of your face and swiftly moves on. “I just remembered on Saturday I made plans with Kiana, so I’m gonna have to skip the library, I’m sorry.” He does seem genuinely sorry to be missing out on the time spent with you, you deflate subtly.

“That’s totally fine,” you return his kiss. “Tell her I say hi. I’m not done with my current one anyway, so I might just stay home.” You love the library, you spend a lot of time there, but you’re looking forward to a nice morning by yourself at home. Then, you remember the date and groan quietly under your breath. “Never mind, I have to go in to renew it anyway, or else I’ll get another late fee.”

You’d only ever returned a library book late once in your entire life, something that Spencer found completely adorable. Especially so the fact that you viewed it as such a big deal. 

“I guess that’s the price you pay for them being free,” Spencer points out. 

You hum, “I wouldn’t mind having one or two that I get to keep,” you say it so concretely, so nonchalantly. As though it’s not actually something you’re able to do.

“Why don’t you buy a couple?”

You glance over at the empty shelves. “‘Cause it’s like, childish?”

Spencer frowns, sitting up straighter. “Babe, do you think I’m childish?”

You rush to fix your mistake. “No! Of course not, that’s not at all what I meant-”

Spencer takes your hand, putting the empty coffee cup on your nightstand. It’s filled with his things and that makes his heart swell. “No, I know you weren’t calling me childish. But do you think I am?” When you shake your head, he continues. “I have like, video game bullshit all over my place. You’re not childish for having things that you like in your apartment. Plus, books are like the most normal out of all collectibles.” His eyes are deep and sincere and you roll your heels underneath you, moving so your legs are spread out in front of you. “You want books? Buy a million fucking books, babe.”

You sigh, biting your bottom lip. “I know, it’s… I used to have stuff on that shelf,” you admit. “I had a bunch of books, I’d been collecting some of them since I was a kid and everything. My last boyfriend he, well. Doesn’t matter, long story short, I came home from work one day and they were all gone.”

Spencer is probably the last guy you’d expect to see involved in a fistfight. He’s 5 '6, he loves Hawaiian shirts and there is video evidence of him Fortnite dancing. But more than that, though, he loves you, which is why his first instinct is to go find whoever it was that did that and fuck them up.

“That’s so messed up?” He can’t even wrap his head around it. “Babe, what? No, oh my god.” He can’t even formulate a coherent sentence. You love so liberally, so generously, that the idea that someone had thrown away something you love made him physically sick.

“I’m so sorry that he did that to you, that’s fucked. Not your fault you know how to read and he doesn’t.” That makes you laugh, your chest shaking as you lean into him. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your temple, rubbing your forearm gently. 

He and Kiana have plans on Saturday, and he has no intention of bailing on them, but that doesn’t stop him from pulling out his phone and texting her, asking if she’d be willing to make another stop with him while they were together.

The next Saturday, you get home from renewing your library book to find your boyfriend waiting out the front of your apartment. He beams at you as you reach him and you don’t have to look inside the box to know that once you stop kissing him you’ll find the beginnings of your next book collection. 

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Torment

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes does that thing with his metal arm on a mission that stirs something inside you. Something that needs immediate attention, even if it has to be on the quinjet.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dirty talk, fluff, is metal arm kink a thing?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Square Filled: Kissed to keep quiet

Word Count: About 900?

A/N: Written for @avengersbingo 2021. I blame FATWS and Sebastian Stan for this.

Avengers Bingo Masterlist

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @marvelgirl7 @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias @fanofalltheficsx @ladyburberry​

Taglists open! Send me an ask or DM if you wish to be included! ;))

.

Torment. It was pure torment.

Watching him take out the bad guys to infiltrate a building that housed important mission data along with Sam Wilson while you manned the quinjet and helped the boys by hacking into the security system for easy access. After getting them in, you were the audience to the fight that ensued which you had to admit wasn’t the worst part of your job, in fact quite the opposite.

The super soldier fought putting all of his previous assassin training to use. Whether it was a hand to hand combat or a weapon, his movements and actions never failed to leave you awe-struck.

It never failed to let desire bloom deep in your belly either, given it was often at the worst of times, but you weren’t the one to be blamed.

Like now, you had almost missed Sam’s thumbs up from the CCTV footage you had access to for having successfully infiltrated the main section of the building because you were too busy ogling at Bucky who was taking down a heavily armed guard.

“Just let me know when you’re done making heart eyes at your boyfriend, (Y/L/N).” Sam’s voice came through the comms sharply, breaking your little trance.

Bucky knocked the guy out of consciousness with a single blow of his Vibranium arm before turning to look at you straight through the cameras, that knowing smirk visible even through the grainy visual.

.

The jet hummed quietly as it glided through the clouds homeward while you went to check on Bucky who was in the bathroom taking longer than usual to freshen up.

“Hey are you ok—”

Before you could complete the sentence, his hand pulled you inside the cramped space while another went to silence your startled scream.

Bucky pinned you against the door, the smirk returning as realisation dawned on your face of his intentions.

“You enjoyed the show?”

That soft whisper travelled right down to your core as he lowered his hand slowly, purposely tracing an invisible line down your front.

“Can’t blame me.”

He chuckled and leaned in as your hands went to cup his face, soon weaving into his shorter, soft hair as he hummed into the kiss.

Without warning he yanked your pants down in one swift motion, earning a gasp as his lips left yours, moving down to your neck.

“Is this what you wanted?” He murmured into your skin as he grabbed both your hands before securing them over your head with his metal one. The hold was tight enough to restrict any movement but loose enough knowing you wouldn’t dare. Besides, he knew just how much you enjoyed being held down by his arm.

“Oh yes.”

“Better be quiet then.”

Bucky traced your exposed skin before reaching your panties, toying with the hem. Fingers running over the fabric smoothly, teasing as your breaths got shallower.

Reaching in, his fingers were met with the wetness gathered between your legs, your arousal evident. The light touches he was teasing you with turned you into a wriggling mess as you moved your hips further into his hand for more friction.

“Don’t be a fucking tease Bucky.”

“Hush now sweetheart. Don’t make me shut your mouth.” Bucky’s voice low just the right amount of sexy to drive you insane, almost begging you to misbehave.

Your walls engulfed his fingers as they entered your wetness, making your head hit the back of the door in a low thud as you sighed.

“You want more?”

“Mmhmm. Please..”

“So pretty when you beg.”

The supersoldier released your hands momentarily to undo his pants but did it for him, desperate to have him inside you after fully getting rid of your bottoms.

You gave his cock a few pumps with your hands before aligning it along your entrance, as awkward as it was standing up, you managed.

“Fuck you feel so good.”

He bottomed out, his forehead on your shoulder. Grabbing the back of your knees, he lifted you up with ease and began thrusting in and out against the door.

A loud moan escaped your lips as he hit the spot. It didn’t take long for Bucky to cover your mouth with his and plunge his tongue inside, battling your own in a dance you were so familiar with.

His hips never faltered as your cries were swallowed in the brutal kiss, turning your mind foggy as your orgasm approached.

Bucky smiled against your lips as he felt your walls clench around his cock, knowing just what to do to send you over the edge.

Your fingers dug into his leather-clad shoulders as he rubbed circles around your bundle of nerves with one hand, making you see stars as you came around him, cries muffled by the sloppy kisses that continued for what felt like eternity.

The aftershocks of your orgasm still wracked your body as his hips faltered and his cock twitched inside you, filling you up with his seed.

“That was uh..”

“I know.”

“That’s it. You’re coming with me on all missions, I don’t care what Steve says.” Bucky stated, handing you your clothes.

Sharing a few lazy kisses, you got dressed, grinning like kids who’d stolen candy.

The smiles turned into full blown laughter when you heard Sam yelling ‘I’m never getting on this jet with you guys again’ as he stormed past the bathroom most probably shaking his head in disgust.

[1tad0ri]

(u can say no if u no like but-) giving itadori yuuji a blowjob in the bathroom stall cuz he was feeling horny and was being handsy with reader (this is before being involved in jujutsu) thank you so much!!

warning: public sex, blowjob (even tho this is before the jujutsu stuff, they’re still 18+ so pretend the jjk school is a college or smth <3)

itadori yuuji x fem!reader

how can i NOT like this

“that was embarrassing.”

“seriously? i thought it was pretty hot.” yuuji was trailing wet, open mouthed kisses on your neck, one hand shoved up your shirt to squeeze your tits while his other hand kneaded your ass.

you rolled your eyes, arms looped comfortably over his shoulders. “yeah, it was hot, but you weren’t exactly subtle, babe.”

“no one even noticed!” he leaned back to look at you, indignant, and you took in his swollen lips and the shimmer of your lip gloss along his jaw. he was so cute. you leaned up to peck his lips, finding them soft, thinking about how he was so sweet (even in spite of him groping you like this).

“yeah, i’m sure the prof didn’t notice you trying to finger fuck me in the third row of the lecture hall.”

“yeah, he didn’t.” when yuuji grinned unironically, you resisted the urge to slap him, instead pushing him back and against the opposite wall of the bathroom stall. you sunk to your knees and set about unbuckling his jeans while he automatically rested a hand atop your head.

“you look hot like that.”

you rolled your eyes, freeing his cock from his boxers and pumping the length, smearing the leaking precum along the head. “you always say that.”

“and it’s always true.” his hand slipped down to brush against your cheek. “you’re always beautiful, babe.”

you rolled your eyes again, but still turned your head to kiss his fingers in thanks, letting your tongue loll out when he pressed against your bottom lip. yuuji slipped his fingers into your mouth and you sucked on them, tongue running all over as you stared up at him.

“holy fuck.” he shoved them further in and you greedily coated them in your saliva, maintaining eye contact with him. “babe, please let me fuck you right now.”

you let the fingers slip out of your mouth, spit dribbling down and you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth. “nope!” your chipper reply had his face falling and he pouted. it was so hard to resist that look. “you act like you don’t want your dick sucked, yuuji.” pumping the length, you landed a tentative lick to the head, making him shiver.

“i just want you to feel good too, baby.”

fuck. there was a reason he always left your legs shaking—yuuji was an unselfish lover, always eager to please, whether it be you wanting to sit on his face or his dick, he let you do whatever you wanted. there was something else you wanted to do right now though. instead of saying anything else, you leaned forward to wrap your mouth around his cock, pushing it in as far as it could go, hands wrapped around what couldn’t fit.

“fuuuck.” his grip on your head tightened as he threw his own back, the stall wall shaking as his head slammed against it.

you popped his dick out of your mouth, saliva coating the surface of it, shiny under the grainy bathroom lights. “yuuji, baby, you have to be quiet.” after class, he had pulled you into the closest bathroom to the lecture hall—not exactly subtle but it’d do. thankfully, the room had been empty, even with the mass of students milling around just outside in the hallway.

“right, right, sorry.” yuuji’s sheepish grin was a heavy contrast to the current situation and you once again wondered how he had so much duality. “feels good. i’ll be quiet—i promise. pinky promise.” he held out his hand—oh my god, he was actually serious—and you looped your pinky around his just to humor him—this bet would be over before it even started.

hand squeezing around the base of his cock, you raised an eyebrow at the strangled groan that bubbled out of him. “mmm, yes, very quiet, yuuji,” you mocked him, giggling, and set about pumping his length again. the slick coating it let your hand slide easily over the skin. “if we get caught i’m blaming you.”

“you can do whatever you want.” yuuji watched you with lust-darkened eyes, humming under your touch, and you felt a light push on the back of your head. “come on, baby girl, going to take me all, right? you’re torturing me here.”

“dramatic,” you mumbled under your breath, but still sucked the salty tip onto your tongue. you could tell he was trying his best to control his breathing and you decided to take pity on him, pulling it out of your mouth again. before he could complain, you began leaving soft kisses down the sides of the flushed skin, enjoying the way his thighs shook and how his eyes kept squeezing close in pleasure despite him fighting to keep them open and watch you—you’d work him up to his high, carefully, slowly, letting him keep his voice low.

“shit,” he whispered, back of his hand pressing against his mouth when you set back pushing his cock down your throat, stopping halfway to let him adjust to the warm heat. your hands worked on the lower half, messy and wet from your spit. “fuck, yes. just like that, baby girl. can i move?”

you gave a slight nod of your head—well, as much as you could with your mouth filled like this—and an affirmative bat of your lashes. you knew he liked when you looked pretty just for him. with that, you felt both of his hands on the back of your head now and you let him cant his hips forward, forcing you to swallow more and more of him. your hands fell away from his cock to grip his thighs, hollowing your cheeks and opening up your throat to let him slide in easily.

“you’re doing so good. just a little more for me, okay? shit... yes, keep going. you’re so good, babe.”

by the time your nose hit his pelvis, you were taking shallow breaths, trying to wipe off the drool that threatened to drip from your lips around his cock, and doing your best not to gag as he filled your mouth so wholly. yuuji was drawing circles on your cheek with his thumb, mumbling praises, and you could tell he was trying not to cum right then and there.

“that’s my baby. your mouth feels so warm. god and your fucking lips. so messy... i love you, you know that? mmm... bet your pussy feels even better.” everything he was saying was going straight to your core and you could feel the building arousal between your legs, cunt throbbing. you squeezed your thighs together to satiate it for now (he’d take care of you soon).

as soon as the weight holding you down released, you pulled off of his cock with a gasp, the back of one hand shooting up to wipe off the fluids that were dripping down your chin and your other hand setting a steady pace sliding up and down his dick once again. spurred on by his earlier words, you set back kissing and sucking along his dick, hands and mouth working in tandem. yuuji was cursing and moaning under his breath, biting at his fist to keep himself from yelling out. he set a steady rhythm where he would tilt his hips forward to meet your mouth when you would sink down—it made you gag but the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat was perfection.

his breathing grew labored the longer you worked, hand splayed against the stall wall behind him to keep himself steady. “fuck... gonna cum. swallow it for me, baby? don’t wanna get you messy—your little outfit looked so cute today.”

knowing he was close made you quicken the bob of your head, slurping and licking along the shaft. “mhm. yuuji, wanna taste you.” you kissed the tip. “on my tongue?”

“anything you want, princess.”

you let him push and pull your head along his cock as he reached his high, his face contorting into pleasure—you could see his muscles straining under his thin shirt, biceps flexing as he held onto you, and neck pulled tight as he tried to bite back his moans. it wasn’t long until yuuji was spilling into your throat and you dutifully waited until he was done, doing your best to swallow around his cock, and then lapping up any of the excess—you showed him your tongue full of white as a cheeky reward, biting your lip and grinning when he took in a sharp breath.

“that’s my baby girl.”

[daydreamingleclerc]

the man on your right (0.6) | mason mount

not my gif but choke me next time daddy <3

sorry this chapter has taken so long! i’m finally settled back in any uni and i put off writing this for a while until i solidified how i wanted this series to end (don’t worry, there’s a few more chapters left!) so yeah, i hope you all enjoy <333

•

cloud nine was a feeling you hadn’t touched for a long time, not so much as even a little taste on the tip of your tongue, but after the events of last night, it felt pretty close.

you woke up that next morning filled with nothing but joy, like a child on christmas morning. it was juvenile, and you knew you must’ve sounded like such an idiot when you told zach and will, but he really liked you. this sort of thing didn’t happen to you, in your life — it was as normal as they come, a regular job living on regular salary. world famous footballers don’t whisk you away on perfect dates, slip up that they want a second date and then tell you they really like you. things like that just don’t happen.

he followed you on instagram that night, too. it caught some attention, stirred a few people up in your DM’s, but you taught fifteen year olds how to dance and you’d heard a hell of a lot worse. the sheer amount of people raking into his follower count was daunting, with almost four million people notching up the count as if it were nothing. luckily for you, though, there were no pictures of pretty girls in mykonos anywhere on his feed.

you woke up to several messages from aaliyah that morning, with one sent as an attachment from a website called sporting daily with an article titled ‘chelsea footballer mason mount looks smitten on date with a mystery woman’ and your heart sunk a bit. 

the knife of reality seemed to sting a little harder when you saw a picture of you and mason, holding hands and walking from the amusement complex to the restaurant. despite the fact that they were grainy, it was fairly obvious the pictures were of you the closer they zoomed. it was only a matter of time, that much was clear, but you didn’t intend on it being this early.

“miss y/l/n?” 

the sheer amount of school children bombarding you all morning was beginning to get unbearable. you could barely focus on your work as they walked past the dance hall and stuck their heads through the windows and doors like bystanders at the zoo. it was horrible not having the majority of your usual students around for the next few days, their residential had been extended until the weekend but you were required to come in for cover teacher duty. 

it wasn’t just students that were treating you differently, some of the teaching staff had caught wind of your escapade the night before, and had began looking at you as if you were damaged goods. 

“did you really sleep with that football player?” 

“excuse me, michael, who told you i slept with anybody?” 

the queue in the lunch hall was enough to drive you insane, and you regretted not just taking your car and zooming off into town for a bite. instead, now you were forced into a game of twenty questions with three year ten boys who had an unhealthy obsession with your love life. 

michael shrugged, “’s just what everyone’s saying about you, miss.” his tone was avoidant and standoffish, covering for friends who wouldn’t appreciate getting another detention with the headmaster at the end of the week because of a few little lies. if you weren’t the most likeable teacher in the school, perhaps you would’ve hunted down the source of the lie, but they were just having harmless fun. 

“well, i didn’t sleep with the football player,” you insisted, watching as more ears pricked up. michael bounced the basketball down to his feet as he stood in the lunch line next to you, “he just took me out for dinner, and we played bowling.” 

the ginger headed boy smirked, and bounced the ball between his legs once more. “did you win?” 

“of course,” you smiled. “kicked his ass.”

*

you arrived home to three messages from mason, all of which had been sent over a course of hours throughout the afternoon. you felt guilty, wanting to avoid your phone for a few hours so no one suspected what -- or who -- you were texting. 

mason i’m so sorry, you quipped, fingers moving painfully fast as you slammed the front door shut, i didn’t have my phone out for obvious reasons. is everything OK? 

do they know? have your students seen the pictures? 

so he understood your tone without words getting misconstrued, you called him, partially out of desperation so you could hear his voice, and partially because you didn’t want your sarcasm to come off as rude. “hi,” you chimed when he picked up after the third ring. voices were obvious in the background, and so as you flopped down onto the sofa, you pressed your other hand to your other ear so you could hear him better. 

“hey,” he chimed back.

“to answer your question, yes, the students have seen the pictures,” he sighed heavily as you spoke, unable to let you finish your sentence as he slid in with a reply.

“so i’m assuming this call is bad news.” 

“huh?” you asked, knitting your eyebrows together. 

“well, usually i get a phone call after being pictured out on dates and it’s always bad news,” he explained, shouting over the chants gently until you heard him snap at a few friends. the sadness in his voice was evident and you felt your heart break slightly. 

“i just thought that’s why you were calling.” 

“no, i, uh,” you panicked, chickening out of letting him know how much hell your students dragged you through today, despite needing a well needed release of pent up frustration. the bag of mason’s things you’d borrowed at the party sat on the edge of the coffee table, and you thanked yourself for being ditsy enough to forget them last night. 

“i actually called because i wanted to let you know that you still didn’t pick up your things last night.” 

he let out a breath, totally and fully relieved. with the other girls, when they texted him and told him that enough was enough, he didn’t care, but they weren’t you. if you did that to him he would’ve been devastated, heartbroken most probably. he’d only been on one date with you, and he’d forgotten what it felt like to be normal for so long that you made his world stop spinning, you made him feel normal just for one night. he’d never felt that way this early on about anyone before, not even liv. 

“oh, yeah, my clothes,” he laughed, stuttering and stammering over his words. you heard his name get called through the line, and it sounded important. “what time do you have your lunch break usually?” 

“twelve thirty, why?” 

“no reason,” you could hear the amusement in his voice, and he got shouted again. “just make sure you keep them in the backseat.” 

* 

you did as he asked, slipping the bag of clothes into your backseat on friday evening, but today was the following wednesday. you’d barely heard from him over the last few days, with only a brief phone call sunday evening apologising for the lack of communication. 

he told you chelsea had two games in four days one was played on sunday, a league game against wolves that he didn’t specify about too much, and the other was on tuesday evening, some sort of qualifier for a league they won a season prior. he was apologising profusely that sunday evening when he admitted the earliest he could see you would be late wednesday afternoon. you trusted his judgement because in all honesty you didn’t have the foggiest idea of what he was talking about. 

after admitting to zach and will that you wouldn’t be seeing one another for a few days, the pair had dragged you down to the pub on the corner of the street so the three of you could watch mason play his league game on the tuesday evening, the place quiet but with the odd table of men in royal blue chelsea shirts and other men and women who just came to watch. it was strange, you’d kissed the man, been on dates and completely destroyed him at a game of bowling, yet you’d never seen him play football until that moment.

“right, guys, please don’t forget to learn that choreography for friday’s lesson,” you shouted over the bell as it cut your lesson off rudely. you knew half of the class wasn’t listening, too stubborn for their own good. “if anyone needs any extra practice i’ll be around today and tomorrow from three o’clock until five thirty, okay? please make my time useful otherwise i’ll be dragged into helping doctor taylor do another one of his useless science experiments.”

“does the help apply to me?” 

you spun around from your place on the floor, finding a grinning mason, who was dressed in a black tracksuit combo, which as he took a step closer, looked very much like a training kit. he stepped aside so that some of the students could slide past, most of which not caring who he was. 

some loitered around, one gazing eye on the famous man in the doorway and one on their school shoe laces, trying to hover for just a second to see what they could take away and use as bait. a bright, toothy smile fell upon your face. 

“mason, hi,” you blushed when he met you in the middle, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. some students were already forming at the windows at the opposite side of the dance hall, and you waved goodbye to the remaining students that saw his lips touch your face first hand. “what’re you doing here?” 

the orange visitors lanyard clashed with the yellow on his jacket, and you couldn’t help but look. he held out a carrier bag full of food, and smiled at you widely. his facial hair had started growing back after he shaved it during your phon call on sunday evening against your advice. “i thought we could go for lunch in holland park,” he smiled, and you glanced up at the big clock above the mirrors, “i know it’s a bit of a walk but i--” 

“--no, mase, it’s perfect,” you kissed his cheek now, returning the favour, “i have a free period until i’m covering an english lesson at two.” he watched as you pulled a pair of cosy looking leggings up over your gym shorts and wrapped yourself up in a big, beige puffer coat and a plaid scarf.

the pair of you found a quiet spot in the kyoto garden, a small trickle of water making its way down the rock faces and into the pond, a peaceful little scene considering the last few days the pair of you have had. you exchanged bags when you got into the car -- he’d handed you the food bag while you’d handed him his things to dump into his expensive fendi leather rucksack. 

“does this count as a second date?” 

your voice lulled him out of a daze while he watched the water, and you couldn’t help but admire his beauty as he sat facing it, a half eaten apple in his hand. 

“hm?” he asked, turning his attention to you. you picked the last pineapple chunk out of it’s plastic containment, and laughed.

“is this our second date?” 

“do you want it to be our second date?” 

he raised an eyebrow and watched as you sat in front of him with a smirk on your face. you nudged him with your shoulder, and he couldn’t deny how much he’d missed that expression. a blush made its way across his face, “i asked my question first,” you teased, snatching the apple from his hand to take a bite. 

“well, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, and laughed, “yeah, i suppose it is.” 

you were the one blushing now, all flustered and red like a schoolgirl. he took the apple back from you, and admired how you looked in the late november sunlight, hair pushed back into the sleekest messy bun he’d ever seen, and a thin line of sweat still glistening over your face, making you look angelic. “i meant what i said, the other day,” he spoke up although his voice was being slightly drowned out by the water, “i do really like you.” 

“i know,” you smiled. it was a soft and tender moment, your hand outstretched to caress his cheek, and his lips pressed soft kisses against the palm of your hand. you leaned in slightly, lips catching in a moment of pure bliss and adrenaline, only for a second before you pulled away. although you were hesitant to admit your feelings to him in such an open and vulnerable setting, he knew you felt the same. he could feel it radiating off of you.

“why don’t you come over for dinner this week?” 

his face lit up at your proposal, as if he’d been waiting for the silence to be filled by something other than trickling water. “i’ll cook for you, as a thank you for buying me dinner and lunch, and you could meet zach and will, we could watch a movie - whatever you want,” you smiled, and as his hand squeezed yours electricity buzzed between you.

“y’know, i could just bring you breakfast tomorrow morning and then i’ll have the golden trio.” 

“mason,” you scowled, pinching his wrist between two fingers, and he laughed at your seriousness, “please let me cook for you, i owe it to you, and you don’t need to buy me breakfast.” 

he leaned over and stole a quick kiss from your lips, pondering over what his schedule looked like for the next few days. “how does seven o’clock on saturday night sound?” 

“absolutely perfect.”

[keilemlucent]

take care of me

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~4.4k

beta’ed: @hawnks

keigo is perfectly happy to help you forget a stressful day

warnings: daddy kink (no age play), spanking, aftercare, praise kink, self indulgent smut, spit kink <333333, bdsm, masochist reader 

...

self indulgent..... caregiver dom keigo? we knew it was coming. enjoy loves <333

||||||||||||||||||||||

You ached all over.

The mental exhaustion of the day was far more grating than the physical, but the dull throb of your tired muscles was impossible to ignore, even when you were only half-conscious on the couch. 

You were put out. 

You’d been burrowed under a pile of blankets since you’d stumbled into the penthouse after work, curling up without even bothering to take off your shoes.

Night had fallen, the apartment cold, silent and still. Normally, you might’ve whipped up some dinner or showered, maybe done something productive.

But not that night.

You’d held yourself together through the day. Each angry word and sneer you faced was handled with a smile, despite how you were cracking inside. You even managed to keep an even expression when your scalding morning coffee was splattered over your shirt, almost burning you.

Well, you weren’t sure if it hadn’t. You hadn’t checked, considering you were still wearing the stained garment. Maybe, the skin of your stomach was as inflamed and puckered as it felt.

Maybe that was just your mood.

...

You hardly stirred when the balcony door of the apartment slid open and then shut, Keigo’s ruffling and booted footsteps echoing across over the apartment.

Your eyes stay half-lidded and hazy when Keigo rounds the couch, eyes softening as he notices your cocoon of blankets.

“Hey, dove,” Dropping to his knees neck to the couch, he cups the side of your cheek in a gloved hand, “Feeling a bit tired?”

You nodded, lips still sealed.

There was nothing in you to give, just the slow simmering of exhaustion and sadness that you couldn’t escape.

Keigo’s gaze softened, gold and far-too pretty in the dim light of the living room, “Bad day?”

“Y-yeah.”

Your voice cracked when you spoke, the words going grainy as your chest tightened.

As you sniffled, burying your face into the blankets as unwelcome tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

Very bad day.

He shed his jacket and gloves, tossing them to the side without a care. Keigo coaxed you to rise, only enough for him to slip into the blankets, laying underneath you to pull your head to his chest.

“I’ve gotcha’, dove,” He hummed, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You didn’t respond, only bit your lip and buried your face into his chest.

Keigo had just arrived home after a long day, and the last thing you wanted was to be a chore to deal with consider how fucking trashed you felt. The idea of being a burden— 

His voice shocked you from your thoughts. 

“Do you want daddy to take care of it?” 

His words and all of their insinuations washed over you.

You knew Keigo had no issues taking that role— fuck, he confided in you many, many times that he loved being able to take care of you in any and all ways. 

Giving it a name, an identity, made him purr with pride. 

You swallowed, the idea curling your head. Catharsis by Keigo’s hand sounded fucking fantastic in the most gut-rotting way.

You nodded.

Keigo smiled against your hair, his own insides twisting. He’d had his own day of annoyance and had been more than ready and willing to come home to you and blow off some steam, but if this was what you needed, he was more than willing to provide and have a fantastic time doing it. 

Keigo hummed, smoothing his hands up your sides. “So what are you feeling?” He knew you wouldn’t be great at giving anything other than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, but he could try and coax a bit more out of you. 

Options.

“I could start off slow, just how you like,” His voice curled over your ear with a nip as he slid his thumbs beneath your waistband. “Let you rut on my thigh like the cute little dove you are. If you’re good, maybe you could suck daddy’s cock while I lick your pussy clean.”

You buried your face in his neck, a high whine echoing from the back of your throat.

Keigo felt his cock twitch, wings stirring from their crunched position.

“Or, I could knot your wrist tight, give them those nice, pretty burns, tie you to the bottom of the couch and fuck you into the floor.”

You buried yourself deeper, all of the ideas in your head were alluring, but not quite right.

A kinder option was also a good idea. 

“Or, I could hold you nice and tight like this for a while. Maybe take a bath, use that new massage oil we ordered, rub you down until all of that tension is pulled out by my hands.”

The pads of Keigo’s fingers rolled into the knots in your shoulders, some of the stress dripping away with the preview of his words. 

It took the softness to realize what you really needed:

“I want it to hurt.”

Oh, and fuck, you wanted it to so bad.

You wanted to be fucked up and used so bad you could barely move. Fucked stupid, so all of the nasty thoughts of the day would melt away. 

Keigo practically rumbled beneath you, his wings flexing and puffing up against your back, just inches from your face.

He wanted it— no, needed it, just as bad as you. 

He took a few deep breaths beneath you, his hand wandering to settle with a bruising grip at the fat above your waist.

“Gimme your taps,” Keigo nuzzled against your cheek.

“One tap is that I’m good, two taps is slow down, three taps is stop, four taps is that I’m having trouble talking.”

It was an easy system, one you and Keigo had adapted to suit your needs and the often merciless ways he’d lay you to ruin. 

“Perfect, dove, god,” Keigo sang his words like sweet prayers. Slowly, he sat up, still holding you tight to his chest. “You go wash up quick in the bedroom, I’ll get myself all settled and ready. Wear whatever you’d like and shout if you need me, okay?”

You swallowed, gut turning.

“O-Okay, I love you.

“I love you too, so fucking much.”

...

You took a few minutes in the bathroom to ground yourself. You still felt like shit, but in the way that now craved something different and more carnal to get it to fall away and release.

You trusted Keigo with everything in you. He knew how to pick you apart just the way you needed. 

You wandered back into the living room, padding in quietly in a pair of fluffy socks, an oversized tee that hung just below your ass, and a pair of shorts that showed the barest bits of your cheeks.

Keigo was in the kitchen, the hilt of the knife clicking against the metal of the rings he wore as he chopped up a few of your favorite fruits and placed them into a wooden bowl.

He’d changed as well, looking sharper and much more like the ‘daddy Keigo’ that you knew. His black pants were sharp and perfectly fitted, along with the black mock neck he wore. He accessorized with a few rings on each hand and a chain necklace laying over his collarbones.

Keigo’s eyes flickered up to you as you regarded him, a little grin beginning to grow.

“Seems I overdressed.” His wings flared behind him, unable to hide his excitement the same way his face was. 

“I-I can change—” 

“Absolutely not,” Keigo slid around the kitchen island, tsking quietly. “You’re perfect, just like this.”

You didn’t reply, not until Keigo stopped in front of your and grabbed your jaw, pulling your gaze to him.

“Sweetness,” His affections rolled over your skull in the exact way you needed. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

“P-Please.”

The word was desperate, shaking and shuddering as it slipped from lips.

Keigo’s smile grows wider, his plumage ruffling.

“Sweet girl, try again.”

Your lip wobbled as he stroked down at your pulse point. 

“Please, d-daddy.”

What a role to have.

Keigo loved it, notably.

It had started early, that incessant itch to care for you in any way that he could was semi-insatiable until he started to indulge it to his heart's content. You thrived off it too, needing that personal attention that he was so willing to give. And hell, it wasn’t like you didn’t return it constantly with endless love and sweetness.

He just took care of you. 

The details, all the small things he’d gathered about since you’d gotten together (and before then too) were things he cherished. Little things about you he wasn’t even sure you noticed, he collected them and accommodated them in any way he could. 

There was the more mundane, like your favorite smells and tastes and touches. The knowledge of the best textures of clothes and blankets that he loved to gift you and your favorite spices and sweets were coveted. 

There was the more intimate, too.

He had taken breaking you apart with pleasure as a divine rite, that first time he got you on the silken sheets of his bed. Learning every twitch and shudder and what it meant felt like his life’s goal as he buried his face in your cunt.

You liked it all, notably. 

You thrived off the attention, though it took a while for you to accept that ‘yes, you do indeed deserve this, very much so.’ 

Once more, you returned it. Perhaps you weren’t quite as perceptive as Keigo was, you didn’t have the training (thank god), but you did constantly return love to him. Your own touch and kind words more comforting than anything he’d ever received in his fucking life.

He could only return the favor by taking care of you in any way that you needed.

And that night?

You needed to hurt. 

And Keigo, truthfully, was in the mood to get a bit of tied up anger out in the sweetest way possible. 

...

Keigo drifted to the couch, your hand in his with you in tow. You were so meek that day, eyes downcast.

He’d have to be careful, watch your body and expressions and not push you too far. He trusted you to call things off, but he still never hurt you beyond what you could handle.

Besides, Keigo had crafted a wonderful plan that he was fairly (very) certain you would enjoy.

Keigo sat down on the couch, thighs parted the slightest bit, a half-chub already pressing against his trouser.

“Lie down, dove,” He kept his voice so sweet as he tapped his thigh. “Let me help you.”

You scrunched your shirt in your hands, mind beginning to get pleasantly hazy with his words and you laid yourself over his lap. You adjusted with your arms cushioning your head, knees pressed against the cushion. 

“Talk to me, sweetness— What’s going on?” Keigo spoke as he nudged your hips upwards, your back bowing and arching under his touch.

 “Just a bad day,” You swallowed, burying your face into the cushions. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Your head was already swimming, you didn’t want to mentally relive how awful the day had been— 

“Then let’s make it good, hm?” Keigo mused, cupping your ass through your shorts and squeezing. “Make you forget in your favorite way. I know how much you like this.”

You tried to speak, but your jaw snapped shut with a click and a cry as Keigo’s palm smacked over the fat of your ass.

“You just need a little bit of extra help today, hm?” Keigo smoothed his hand over where he had struck. The motion was tender in the same way his words were, washing over you enough to almost distract from the pain that was just beginning. 

“Uh-huh,” You replied, weak and muffled into the fabric beneath you.

Another strike sent you pressing into the cushions, whining against upholstery as Keigo rubbed over your skin was against, his other hand going to stabilize your back, tracing his name and little hearts over your spine. 

“‘Uh-huh’, who?” 

“Daddy!” You screamed with the next strike. Your words melded with the echo of the sounds of your flesh.

Keigo was beaming at you, you could feel it. His wings were puffed up, rippling in time with heavy breathing.

“Good girl, god, dove, perfect,” He leaned down to press a kiss to the back of your head while smoothing a hand beneath your shorts. “You’re just so good. You deserve so much good, you know that?”

You nodded as Keigo shucked your shorts to the ground, pushing up your shirt to leave most of you bare to him.

It felt vulnerable, despite having been in this position before. 

“I d-do,” You stuttered, words sticky. “I am good.”

It felt real, for a moment, brightened by the sharp pain that was growing constant from your cheeks.

“God, perfect,” Keigo waxed, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing. “Here’s what you’re gonna do sweetness— here’s how I’m gonna take care of you today.”

His hand slid between your clenched thighs, pushing them apart and barely teasing your slit, “You’re gonna hurt for me, so fucking good. I’m gonna give you... twenty-five, how does that sound?”

You nodded, an answer Keigo accepted.

“Good,” You could hear his grin. “You’re gonna take each one so well, I know you will, dove.”

The expectation hurt so bad you winced. 

Keigo hushed you with a hand to the back of your neck, “It’s alright, I’ll be right here. Just want to break you a little bit, hm?”

You whined this time, shifting your thighs together as Keigo chuckled. 

“Maybe a lot, but we’ll see. I don’t want you thinking after this.”

Holy fuck, neither did you. You’d be content to be close to braindead when Keigo was through with you. 

Any reply you had was just a warbled moan into the cushion below as Keigo slapped his hand down once more.

“Count, sweetness.”

“O-one.”

Another smack, to the other cheek, flesh growing hot. 

“T-two— “

And Keigo didn’t fucking relent.

Each smack was hard, the fat of your ass jiggling and burning against the flat of his palm. The knick of his rings against the soft flesh only added to burn and sting. 

Perhaps, in other conditions, Keigo would have built up to the level of pain he was providing. Preamble a bit with some softer touches and sweet words as opposed to relentlessly spanking your ass so hard you swore you could already feel welts forming from the rings he wore.

“T-t— Ten!” 

Your voice cracked in your throat, each impact bringing up sprinklings of tears that were rubbed into the couch. 

All the harshness of his strikes was in harmony with the sinfully soft way he was touching you otherwise.

A gentle hand running through your hair, mindful of any knots or tangles. His fingertips stroked up and down your neck, nails teasing the thin skin just below your ear. Even the way he rubbed at your flesh between strikes was so fucking tender, despite how his touch made the hot skin boil even more.

Your first muffled sob was what got him going verbally.

“Oh, wow,” Keigo whistled to himself, a sharp-nailed finger running up your spine. “Are you crying already, sweetness? Does this hurt too bad?”

“N-no,” You forced the words out, even as they clung to the back of your tongue. 

The confusing feelings and emotions thrumming through you made you want to just let go. The tears mixed with the loving fullness in your chest, all counterpointed by hot pain that was ripping through your nerves from the bruises and singed skin from your ongoing spanking. 

Not to mention the slick coating your thighs— 

“Seems not,” Keigo clicked his tongue, pausing to run a finger over your slit. “Still dripping for me, even when I’m touching you like this?”

He spanked you again, right over a pre-existing welt.

You sputtered in the cushions, almost sobbing but still trying to hold onto a semblance of your composure.

Keigo could see it in the rigidity of your shoulders. No matter how he pressed into the muscles in time with the strikes he dealt, you just wouldn’t loosen up.

You shook against the cushions below, exertion from holding your arched back clear.

Keigo hummed to himself.

You said you wanted it to hurt, right?

And God, if he wasn’t going to deliver. 

In a flurry of motion, Keigo shifted, bringing you with him.

Your cheek remained against the leather of the couch, blood rushing to your head as your ass was thrown up and over the armrest. 

Keigo stood up, wings unrestrained and extended. You couldn’t see the angry, red plumage, only the shadow it threw over you.

“Oh, dove,” Keigo waxed. “You just need a bit more, right?”

Another strike.

“F-f— Fifteen— “

“You’ve had such a rough day, haven’t you?” 

His words stir something vile in your soupy brain, a whimper leaking through your parted lips.

(Maybe, you were more fucked out than you thought.)

He hushed you with a yank on your hair, forcing your back and neck to bow.

“My dove just needs to know how loved they are, hm?”

You nodded, his grip tightening but you could hardly care. Each spark of pain felt so fucking good, your lingering barriers broke down more and more with each one of Keigo’s touches.

Whether they were that syrupy comforting kind or burning, bruising kind, you couldn’t care or tell. The blend of it all was flooding through you so well, all you could do was blubber out numbers between bursts of tears and ‘more’s and ‘please’es.

“T-we— n— ty!” The syllables felt choppy, maybe, but you hardly cared.

“Good girl, fuck,” Keigo gritted out, palming the front of his trouser. He’d been graciously (read: cruelly) ignoring your dripping cunt as well as his own ache throughout your spanking session.

He’d make sure the two of you were satisfied by the time it was all over.

You did have five strikes left.

 “Taps for me, love,” Keigo’s rubbed at your back, hips bumping into your broiled ass. 

You gave the leather below a single hard tap.

All good.

“Perfect.”

 And with very little reverie, a few of Keigo’s feathers shot from his wings, wrapping around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the leather.

And with even less reverie, Keigo’s spread your asscheeks wide and spat onto your cunt.

“K-Keigo!”

His name ripped from your throat, mixing with a shriek as the cold spit went clammy against your burning flesh.

“Try again, sweetness.” 

The next strike was hard, and Keigo’s hold didn’t shift from your cheeks. 

He’d hardened two fucking feathers.

Larger ones, broader enough to strike down at the top of the curve of your ass with a swift flick.

They were so much harder than his hands. 

So.

Much.

Harder.

Harsher.

Crueler. 

“D-daddy!”

You corrected yourself instantly, clawing into the cushions. Your chest burned as your sobs turned to weepings, your cheeks singeing with each harsh breath.

“Tw— e— nty one!

You barely managed to get the words out before Keigo buried his face in your cunt.

And fuck, did he eat you like the prized meal you were. His words be damned, he had plenty of ways to break you down beyond his verbal praise. 

He lapped at the tacky slick on your thighs, licking up to tease at your pussy with the tip of his tongue. The stubble along his chin roughed up your most precious bits, but you didn’t mind.

If anything, you wanted it to hurt more. 

For that reason, his feathers could finish the job. They surely had a harder hit than his hands had.

Based on the way you were quaking against him, stammering and blabbering little pleads and adorations, they were doing their job.

Broken little thing, weren’t you?

But that was the point, of course. 

“Four more, dove,” Keigo murmured against your folds. “Say thank you with each one, dove. Keep being good for me.”

The command was all you needed, hurriedly nodding into the tear-soaked fabric below.

The feathers struck down again, skin breaking.

“T— wen-ty two!” 

Keigo chuckled against your cunt, pulling away only to tease slide his fingers over your clit, “Feeling good?”

“T-Thank you!”

Oh, you were fucking braindead. 

Keigo was all too pleased, a few smaller feathers going to prop up your hips as they trembled.

“Good,” His words were muffled by your sex, but neither of you had the mind to care about words. It was all in the soup of sounds that kept you rutting back into his tongue. “Keep going.”

The next strike was so loud, it eclipsed the sound of your own shriek.

“TW— wenty three! Thank you!”

Keigo could feel you wheeze, but no taps came.

No reason not to continue.

His own pants felt tight as he rolled his hips into the side of the couch, eyes rolling back into his head as your cunt gushed around him.

Your entire body was thrumming, pulsing from the inside out with what had to be pain, but you could hardly tell. You were spinning somewhere harsh and fast and you didn’t dare try to rationalize it.

All you could ground yourself on was the slap of Keigo’s feathers and the feel of him eating you in earnest.

It was enough, barely.

The next slap just added to your feelings. 

 “TWE— EN— ty f-four! T-thank you!”

Keigo pulled away, wiping your arousal from around his lips and scooting around the couch to get a better look at your face.

As absolutely hot as he was, and how desperately he wanted to eat you up until he burst, he also knew he was pushing you fairly hard.

“Sweetness, ready to take your last one?” 

Keigo ran his fingers through your hair as your eyes focused on him in their half-lidded position. 

“I-I can’t do it, daddy.”

He paused.

You’d have given taps if you wanted to stop, truly. He trusted you on that.

“Yes, you can,” Keigo cooed, thumbing a bit of drool over your cheek. “I know you can.”

“I-I can’t,” You sobbed out, burying your face into the couch. Despite your words, you stayed tense and rigid.

All you needed was a little push.

Keigo took to leaving gentle touches across your back, rubbing out your tension wherever he found it knotted. Your weeping didn’t fully subside, but it certainly quieted as you took gulps of breath was some gentle coaching.

“Can you take one more for me? For your daddy?” Keigo glowed with pride as he spoke, seeing the way your eyes lit up and your head bobbed against the cushions.

“Uh-huh,” You leaned into his touch where you could. “One m-more, f-for you.”

You gave a single tap into the cushions.

 Keigo couldn’t help but be proud of you as you readjusted, arch going harsher and deeper.

He’d finished your spanking off with his hand, you earned it after taking so much so well.

The large feathers returned to him, while a single small one drifted between your sticky thighs to part your folds.

Slowly, the plume circled around your clit, lapping at the nub as his tongue would, your juices soaking it all the same. 

Even as Keigo laid the most gentle touch on your ass, the throb and burn of it made your whimper and whine. 

One more.

Just one more strike and all of that mundane stress and anger would be broken off from you and dissolved in a puddle of your own tears.

“When I give you your last one, you’re going to cum all over that feather for me, dove, understand?”

You nodded, hurriedly, barely grinding against the stimulation. 

Keigo wound up, wings extended and full, before putting all of his weight into his swing.

His palm hit your rear with such a crack that it broke both of you.

You screamed, shrieked, as your thighs clenched and gave out beneath you. Any cries you’d be managing to hold back ripped from your throat with the last smack as your cunt clenched and pleasure exploded in your gut. 

Barely, you managed to speak through your tears.

“Twenty-f-five.. .. thank you....” 

Keigo had to take a moment himself, breathing hard and particularly weak-kneed. 

The sweet cry that had torn from your mouth was all he needed to be pushed over the edge, his cock twitching and spurting while hardly even being touched.

He was impressed, with both himself and you.

“God, dove, you did so well for me,” Keigo wiped the salt from his brow, ignoring his creamed pants to slip onto the couch and pull you into his arms.

You were half-lucid, sticky with sweat and arousal but you couldn’t find yourself to care. All you could fixate on was the feel of Keigo’s heat and the ruffle of his feathers as you settled into his lap.

Keigo pressed kisses against your temples and cheeks, positioning your thighs around his own and allowing you to sag into his chest. 

You clung to him with everything you had as you spun down from your high.

He whispered little affections to you, small praises and love for doing so ‘well for him’ and ‘how good you took it, took it all’. 

A few of his feathers came and went carrying a bowl of fruit, chilled and cut up into bite-sized pieces.

From your haze, Keigo pressed a piece of sweetness to your lips.

“Eat, love, take it,” He purred as you opened your mouth just enough for the fruit to slip in. You chewed slowly, focusing on the flavor and texture before swallowing.

The spare drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth was quickly scooped up by Keigo’s thumb, gathered and popped into his own mouth.

His feathers rippled.

“I feel a lot better,” You slurred into the crook of his neck. “Thank you.”

Keigo chuckled, something high and light that made your guts turn anew. His hand brushed over the meat of your ass, bruised and covered in welts, “You’re welcome, but...”

His touch hurt, but in the best way.

A pleasant reminder.

“How does this feel?” 

“Painful, but good,” You hummed, opening your mouth for another piece of fruit. The tartness of the bite brought you closer to lucidity. “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“Flattery, when you’re this fucked out? I’m impressed,” Keigo pulled you closer by the small of your back. “Rest for a little bit, then I’ll clean us up, sound good?”

“Very,” You circled your arms around him, locking your hands just below his wings. “But... ‘us’?”

“I might’ve nutted. Maybe.”

You snorted, but you were quickly quieted by another piece of sweetness and plenty of distracting affection.

Desperately needed, by both you. 

....

thank you for reading!!! check out my links (ko-fi, ao3, and twitter!!)  

[pitaparka]

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

[willwriteforhugs]

you saved me- park seonghwa

seonghwa x reader - one shot !

word count: 2k

genre: fluff, meet-cute

synopsis: a busy and cold winter day leads you to a (very close) brush with death. but a stranger seems to be in just the right place at just the right time...

warnings: mentions of loneliness, near car accident (nothing too serious)

a/n: 

me as i open tumblr with the intent of actually posting for once: god i need to go post something so i feel less bad about being alive

so, anyways. first seonghwa fic- which is really just a long drabble. i always knew i wanted a seonghwa meet-cute, and this idea just seemed to suit him... please remember that this is for entertainment purposes only, though, so be respectful! (also, ^^^THIS genre of seonghwa pic, with the grainy filter and the tan...bruh...)

 anyways, i hope you enjoy, and as always- thank you for reading :)

- - -

your breath comes out in short, angry puffs, which you can see reflected in the cold afternoon air. the temperature in seoul is absolutely freezing, and you are not dressed for it. when you had left for work this morning, (in your standard sweater + jeans combo) you clearly were not anticipating that the sky would dump snow all day long. you long desperately for your warm winter coat.

so now, here you are: jogging, but only as quickly as you feel is safe in this weather. your condo is only a few blocks down- hence why you had walked in the first place, and why you hadn’t brought cash to pay for a bus. but god, the cold is just piercing.

the streets are practically empty, because of the terrible weather. so, at the very least, you are spared the embarrassment of having to waddle awkwardly on the ice in front of others.

but, to add to the stress- your day had seriously not gone as planned.

 when you first took it, you thought that the simple receptionist job would be easy- and doubly so with the convenient location. but these past few weeks were proving you wrong, today especially. while being distracted by coworkers, you accidentally put an important client on a somewhat permanent hold, and ruined a potential sale. as if that wasn’t enough, the next call you routed to a completely different office by mistake, earning you a strict talking to by the supervisor. 

so, to put it plainly: you were tired, annoyed, and cold. so. freaking. cold.

heaving a sigh, you continue your jog/waddle towards your street corner, which is two intersections away. faintly, you can hear a city bus approaching, the one that always stops near your work building. from where you are standing, the bus will be driving perpendicular to you, and you cock your head in thought. you don’t need the shuttle itself, since you live so close, but you wonder how close the bus is now...

feeling a sudden burst of energy, you speed up a bit, challenging yourself to beat the bus to the empty corner, even though you know it won’t stop there. this is something you do often- set up little games for yourself. it’s mostly an attempt to stay busy, but- though you’d never admit it, it helps with the loneliness too. when you race against the clock (say, to make a speedrun to the copy room at work) it almost feels like you are competing against an old friend.

you obviously know that you can’t beat the bus, but the thought itself is entertaining, so you throw caution to the wind. your feet slap the pavement as you run, and you hear yourself laugh a little. the cold air rushing by your cheeks helps distract you from your own thoughts.

you sprint through an empty intersection, and as you approach the final corner- having obviously lost the race to the bus- you begin to slow down a bit. but as you near the end of the sidewalk, (which is parallel to the moving bus, whose hulking body is getting ready to pass you) you feel your previous momentum get the better of you. 

you stumble off of the curb- and right into a vicious patch of ice on the waiting asphalt. 

it happens in slow motion: your feet slide harshly backwards, and you scramble for any traction- but to no avail. you hear yourself cry out as you fall forward, right into the path of the oncoming shuttle.

you slam your eyes shut.

but instead of hitting the ground, or the bus, a sudden weight catches you around your middle and lurches backwards. you scream again, certain you’ve already died.

you hear the sound of the bus honking as it speeds by- the only thing traveling faster than it is your frantic pulse.

you hit the ground hard, with all of your weight on your left shoulder and hip. even so, you start with the relief of knowing the bus didn’t even graze you. 

only after a moment do you realize why it hadn’t.

someone had caught you.

grabbed you from behind, and used their whole body weight to get the two of you to safety. 

you lurch forward, startled. as you turn around, you see him lying on the ground, in the same position you were in just seconds before- and you meet the eyes of the person who’d just saved you. 

it’s a man- a young one. and good god, he’s beautiful, too. the boy on the ground before you is seriously the epitome of korean beauty- large, dark eyes, an open face, and full lips. as soon as he opens his mouth, you wonder at how his teeth could possibly be so perfect.

it takes you a moment of staring before you realize he’s speaking to you. 

“um.” your voice breaks. “what?”

the boy scrambles onto his knees, shuffling towards you. “i asked if you’re alright- are you hurt?” his voice is concerned, and his hands flutter about your face- too wary to touch you, but clearly wanting to.

his eyes are more genuine than you can even take in, and you hesitate at the whole scene- what the hell is happening? did you hit your head?

you stutter, trying to make sense of the situation. the boy leans back on his heels as you finally catch your breath. 

your words are breathy, but deliberate. “you- you saved me.”

the boy tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “yes, i suppose i did.” a beat passes before he continues. his eyes, though now bordering on playful, still look worried. “you probably shouldn’t be running in this sort of weather.”

you heave a sigh that comes out in a laugh. “yeah, i realize that now.”

your counterpart picks himself up off the ground, brushing off his front. he then extends a hand towards you. you stare at it for a moment, confused. for a moment, he looks down at you intently, waiting. your puzzlement passes, and you blush as you cautiously place your palm in his, allowing him to help you up. 

“i’m seonghwa, by the way. park seonghwa.” the man- no, seonghwa looks down at you, letting his sentence hang.

you clear your throat, feeling a harsh wave of embarrassment at the situation. “um- i’m y/n.”

seonghwa nods at you, taking a step back. his brow is furrowed. “well, y/n-ssi- you didn’t actually tell me if you were hurt or not. do you feel dizzy? nauseous?”

you throw your hands up in protest, not wanting to cause any more distress than you already had. “no, uh- i’m fine, really. maybe a little bruised, but i’m okay. i think it would be a bigger problem if you were hurt...”

you are not exaggerating- you can only imagine the guilt you would feel if he’d been injured. 

seonghwa represses a smile. “i’m alright too. you did startle me, though. thought i was about to witness something pretty terrible...”

at this, you give a surprised chuckle. “yeah, i’m so sorry...you really came out of nowhere, huh? i seriously didn’t even know you were there until i was on the ground!”

this time, it’s his turn to laugh. “yeah, those bus stops provide great cover.”

the two of you settle into a stiff silence, and you can practically hear your heart pounding- both with leftover adrenaline, as well as the sudden nerves that seonghwa was giving you.

“here,” he says, breaking the quiet. “take this.” he shrugs off his long winter coat, and before you can argue, he’s reached over and settled it on your shoulders. the relief is near instantaneous, but you find yourself a bit too tongue-tied to thank him.

you sigh again, determined to get the words out. “oh, god, i really am so sorry about that, um-” you stutter. “i really should thank you, for the coat. but also-” you take a deep breath. “thank you, park seonghwa, for saving my life.”

at this, the man actually blushes. he reaches a hand to rub the back of his neck. “no, really, it was just a gut reaction...”

you shake your head, insistent. “it doesn’t matter. i could have died, but you prevented that. now-” you can feel yourself gaining confidence. “what can i do to repay you?”

seonghwa’s face, which had previously harbored a look of child-like innocence, suddenly turns mischievous. 

you tilt your head, indicating an answer.

his smug smile is full now, chin tilted upwards. “i actually do have a request.”

“okay, shoot.”

“you’ll do anything i ask?”

you frown, narrowing your eyes in an almost flirtatious way. “i suppose i have a few limits...”

to your surprise, seonghwa interrupts you, eyes twinkling. “you’ll repay me- by allowing me to take you out on a date, y/n.”

your mind goes fully blank for a moment. 

...huh?

you blink in shock, not being able to suppress your initial reaction. “wait, come again?”

“will you go on a date with me?”

you stare at him- this terrifyingly beautiful man was asking you on a date? after you’d fully humiliated yourself in front of him? what on earth?

suddenly, before you can even finish the thought, you find yourself nodding. “i suppose i can arrange that.”

seonghwa’s smile is completely smug at this point. “does tonight work?”

you bite your lip, heart pounding despite the chilly weather. your voice comes out in a whisper: “yes, i suppose tonight works.”

seonghwa tries to bury his smile and looks at the ground. “that’s great.” he pauses, allowing his gaze to flit back to you. “do you- i hope this doesn’t sound weird, but do you want me to walk you home?”

you smile, but shake your head. “it’s alright, i live close. here- i’ll give you my number, though.”

you dig through your work satchel for a piece of paper and scribble your phone number on it. when you extend it, he accepts the slip, still trying to suppress his grin.

a beat passes, and the two of you look at each other intently.

and with that, seonghwa reaches down and gently takes your hand, glancing at your face to make sure the action is alright with you. when you don’t pull away, he lifts it up and presses a soft kiss to the top of your hand, holding your gaze the entire time. his lips are cold, an unlikely and romantic nod to the temperature.

you feel your neck and cheeks go red, but you smile in an attempt to seem casual. “thanks again, seonghwa. for helping me.”

“of course.” the man’s eyes are twinkling again. “as grim as it sounds, i’m sort of glad it happened. if it hadn’t, i probably wouldn’t be talking with you right now.”

you smirk in what you hope is a flirtatious manner. 

“well,” he continues. “don’t let me keep you. after all, you’ve got a date to get ready for.”

seonghwa begins to walk away, then turns back. “although,” he calls over his shoulder. “i’m pretty sure the guy you’re meeting with won’t care what you’re wearing. you could probably show up in your pajamas and he’d still think you were gorgeous. just for the record.”

before you could manage an answer, he turns on his heel and strides away- but even from here, you can tell he still has a goofy grin plastered on his face.

heart pounding, you turn and make your way towards your apartment building. 

despite yourself, you also can’t seem to keep the grin off of your face.

[purecantarella]

Reunited

belated happy Dahyun day! 💓🍞 so this is a tad overdue but here it is HAHAHAH the fic is hella long, over 2k words but i honestly have no clue how it happened?? guess i got carried away. anyway enjoy! disclaimer : this is a three genred fic, so fluff, angst, and smut. viewers discretion is advised, if you're below 18, please find something fluffier or angstier things to read.

Dahyun was incredibly upset with you, and she didn’t want to be, especially not now. It was the eve before her birthday when you told her that you had to miss your date with her to rehearse for your group’s latest comeback. While she didn’t want to be petty, especially since she understood the lifestyle you lead, she was still sad that you weren’t going to be around on her special day for the first time since you got together years ago.

“Are you sure you can’t just escape?” The pale girl asked rhetorically as she lay in the bed, staring at your image on her phone screen. Biting your lip as you stared at her sympathetically gave her all the answers she needed. Your girlfriend sighed sadly, leaning back into the bed. “I know it sucks, sunshine.” A prominent pout appearing on her lips, making you chuckle softly.

You looked around before whispering into you device, “I just want to be with you right now…” Seeing your fellow idol’s pout begin to crack, you continued to flatter her. “Doing everything I want to do to you…” You paused, gauging her reaction. Dahyun had given you her full attention, a sly smirk gracing her lips.

“What would that be, L/n?” She questioned, propping her phone up on her pillow, her hand holding up her chin. Dark chocolate orbs trained intently on you making you grin playfully. “Why cuddle, of course! What else, Kim?” You retorted making her groan out before laughing softly. A satisfied smile finds its way onto your lips.

“There’s my Dahyunie.” You said, making her cheeks tint to a cute pink hue. “I just wanted to see you smile, sunshine. I hate seeing you so upset, especially if I’m the cause.” Dahyun, feeling guilty, stroked your grainy face through her phone. She placed a gentle kiss over the screen, making you chuckle softly, trying to expel the sinking feeling in your chest. As she was close to the screen, she whispered like a prayer, “It’s not your fault.”

Before you could get another word in, your bandmates called out to you, making you cringe and sigh heavily. As she could sense your disappointment, she hushed you and offered you the smile that you fell in love with. “Go! I want to see you do well during your comeback!” Flashing a sad smile, you nodded before getting up and walking over to your bag to put your phone back in your bag. “I love you, Dubu. I’ll talk to you soon, my sunshine.”

The moment the line died, Dahyun fell onto her side feeling bad about herself. She ran a hand through her hair trying to hold back her irrational tears. It’d been months since she last saw you, and it was becoming harder and harder to not miss your soft voice, the way you held her when you cradled her at night, the sweet way you smelled. Just you. The pale Korean simply closed her eyes and dreaded another moment without you in it.

On the other side of Seoul, you stared down at your phone, your beloved ray of sunshine as your lockscreen. You bit the inner layer of your cheek softly before nonchalantly tossing your phone into the piles of bags, swinging your arms back and forth frustrated. When your leader saw you, they couldn’t help but laugh at your expression. You glared at them as you began stretching again.

“Shove off. It’s hard enough that I haven’t seen her in months, makes it worse that I can’t be with her on her birthday.” You breathed out before pushing your hair out of your face. The other idols around you chuckled in their own accord before one said, “She’s turning 23, Y/n. I’m sure she can handle one without you.” You sighed sadly and nodded slowly before proceeding to practice your dance moved to yourself as your other members looked at you, a guilty feeling resonating with them.

After the practice, your members piled over you. You’d been distraught the whole time and it was about time that they did something for you and Dahyun. As you slung your bag over your shoulder, prepared to go home, all of them stopped you. You raised a brow at them, your tired features making them feel worse than they already did.

“Y/n, we’re sorry that you can’t see Dahyun right now—” You cut them off with a tired sigh, the frustration in your chest building more with the explicit reminder. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll get over it.” The group’s leader cut you off hastily by saying, “No, no, we’re legitimately sorry for belittling your problems, and we want to help.”

A small smile began to etch its way onto your lips as you heard what they said. “Help how exactly?” The other members looked at each other, small grins on each of their faces. “You’ll see, N/n-unnie!” Your maknae said dragging you along making you laugh.

The next day, Dahyun rose from her bed tired and managing a slight headache from both the tears and tossing around in bed the night before. Releasing a heavy sigh as she looked down at her phone. With the multiple greetings from her family, her friends, and the Onces, a genuine smile befell her with the sense of sadness that not a single text or post from you came up.

Sana was the first one in the room, a big, happy smile on her face as she ran up to her member and friend excitedly, tackling Dahyun to the bed. Both of them laughed as she wrapped her arms around the Japanese woman.

“Happy Birthday, Dahyun!” She cried out loudly, catching the attention of the other girls as they all began to pile into the room. They all burst out singing, off-tune and loud, causing the celebrant to laugh and clap for them, dancing along to the out of harmony singing. For a moment, the rapper felt truly happy.

“Okay, so after practice today, Dubu…” Jihyo paused briefly, to build up the suspense of the night. “We’re going to dinner, Nayeon-unnie and Momo-unnie are going to buy drinks and we’ll come home and have some fun of our own. How does that sound?” The vocalist offered with her signature gummy smile. Dahyun nodded, looking at the girls around her, feeling grateful for the people here yet she still held hopes that you would find a way to get to you.

Somehow.

But as the day drew on, with no call, no message, no random gift from you, she didn’t feel too hopeful and her morale was obviously low. From getting choreography wrong to not being in the mood to goof off with her other members. Her birthday was turning up to be one of the worst to date.

Dahyun wasn’t hopeful for the dinner but she it’s not like she could skip it. She got ready despite the disappointment that continued to eat at her mood. The rapper got up to see her members who waited patiently outside for her. As she excited her dorm room, the girls cheered and showered her with compliments making the pale skin of her cheeks turning to a bright red, the familiar big smile gracing her face.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late, pretty girl.” Chaeyoung said taking her hand and dragging her out of the dorm, filling the group up with laughter and talking about other things they’d seen or done throughout the day.

At the restaurant, the girls were all giddy while Dahyun couldn’t bring herself to feel the entire party, still sulkily sipping at the spiked iced tea they had ordered. Nayeon, who’d been next to younger girl, nudged her gently. “Cheer up, it’s your special day, Dahyunie.” The bunny-toothed woman gave her a smile, making Dahyun smile gently.

“I’m sorry everyone, I just…I wanted to at least talk to Y/n and she hasn’t—” Before the younger woman could finish her thought, the almost empty establishment sprung to life with a group of seemingly familiar faces in zip-up hoodies, caps, and shades. There were about seven of the unknown people and Dahyun was becoming increasingly nervous.

A single figure stood in the middle, turned around, more hidden from the rest.

“I hope you’re ready for a show, darlings…” The figure turned tossing the hat and the mask to the side. When the speakers burst to life with the voice that Dahyun knew like the back of her hand, she became speechless. Once she got a good look at the performer’s face, the bright smile returned to her face and you returned it.

“To my love, my girl, my sunshine. Happy Birthday.” You smiled and tossed jacket that you were clad in in the direction of your girlfriend, who caught it and held it close to her chest, swooning. Your group began to perform their regular numbers, filled with energy and TWICE began hyping them up. Once the group had burned through two of their songs, ones that you had specifically written for Dahyun.

Then, your band members tossed you a handy guitar. Before you began strumming it, you paced close to the rapper, a fond smile on your face. “When we met, I was a trainee with nothing to my name but a guitar and a passion. You took the time to get to know me and who knew that I would fall madly in love with one of…” You paused to smile at Chaeyoung and your group’s rapper before continuing. “The best rappers in South Korea. That I’d be willing to do the dumbest things and say the cheesiest things because I need you in my life. I love you, Dahyunie.” You were right in front of their table, a smile on your face as Dahyun held back soft tears.

From across the table that was flushed against the back of the restaurant, you took her delicate hand, placing a kiss over the back of her hand. You continued to strum the guitar, for a solo, acoustic cover of ‘What is Love’, making the girls both cringe at you singing their own song but still finding the gesture sweet. After the song ended, Dahyun couldn’t sit patiently anymore. Jumping out of her seat, though with great difficulty, to get to you.

Finally, after months, you dropped the guitar and took her in your arms happily, carrying her and taking in the scent you’d missed so dearly. You placed a kiss softly on her cheek, so happy to be by her side again. “My girl, my precious girl.” You whispered against her ear, pulling her impossibly closer. Dahyun on the other hand, choked back the satisfied sob.

You pushed her away, looking into her eyes and stroking her cheek lovingly. “Happy Birthday, my ray of sunshine.”

Once you were both reunited, the entire dinner Dahyun couldn’t be helped but be latched onto you. While the girls talked to your members, you two were stuck in your own world. Talking about the things you’d missed out on, spoilers for your latest comeback, and of course, just how much you both missed each other.

She hid herself in your neck and left little kisses here and there while your hand busied itself on her thigh, dangerously close to her center. When she knew no one was listening in to both of you, she bit your ear gently. You smirked down at her as an embarrassed flush fell over her face. While Dahyun was the good Catholic girl, she knew what she wanted, and that was long awaited alone time with her girlfriend.

“It’s clear one of us wants it more than the other.” You teased in her ear as you lay another kiss gently on her cheek. Sure, she wasn’t the only one who wanted some, but you weren’t going to let her down that easy. The rapper pouted up at you as you giggled softly as you took her lower lip between yours. It took all your restraint not to pull her onto your lap and take her there and then.

"Wanna get out of here?" You whispered suddenly, you breath tickling her neck. Usually, you’d try to stick it out and Dahyun was the same, not wanting to cause a scene but after months of being apart…you both very much needed some alone time. Without hesitation and with just a wave to all the people present, both of you got up from the overcrowded booth, whispering things to each other while both your groups looked on in horror.

“Love is gross.” Tzuyu said poking her food around.

"And we just lost our ride home." Your group's leader commented.

The moment you left, neither of you could keep your hands off of each other. Getting out of the parking lot alone was an uphill battle all on its own. Your body was tense, her gaze was locked on your perfectly colored lips, and the air around you was so deathly thick.

You couldn’t get to your dorm fast enough.

Upon entering, knowing you were both completely alone, she pushed herself onto you. Pinning you against the wall beside the dorm door. The rapper’s hand trailing to the back of your neck as your lips met in a fiery passion. A desperate moan ripped violently from Dahyun’s chest from your tongue meeting hers. You smirked at the sound as you pulled away leaving kisses to her ear, hands already working on the back of her shirt to unhook her bra.

“Fuck I missed you, princess.” You groaned, moving to kiss her again. Her hand trailed up to thread her fingers into your hair, tugging slightly wordlessly asking for more urgency on your part. Taking the hint, you leaned down to give more attention to the nubs that had now become rather firm because of the cold air. “And these, holy shit they still look good.” You note before your tongue greets them through the fabric.

Dahyun groans at the sudden contact, running her other hand through her hair. “Y-Y/n…” She stammered out as you looked up, mouth still religiously suckling on the nipple. “Please.” Her voice shaky as she begged for her pleasure. Standing up once again, your lips collide with her pink ones as she desperately ground her hips towards yours, looking for any kind of friction.

You pulled away before taking her shoulders in your hands as you pressed her against the wall.

Admiring her features in the moonlight, a fond smile found its way to your lips. Seeing her face so needy for you; her eyebrows contorting, her lower lip under her teeth to suppress the embarrassingly obscene noises. “So gorgeous, Dahyunie…” You whispered, you hand dancing its way lower and lower until you reach the top of her bottoms, slithering your way into her underwear. Feeling the patch of arousal that has now ruined the underwear, you smirk again.

Your other hand on her breast once again, twisting the nipple making her groan out. “My girl missed me so much that she’s ruined herself…” You experimentally played with the erected bundle of nerves. “Oh God…Y/n…More, please. More.” She begged as her lips looked for yours. The smirk on your face growing tenfold as your finger moved further down to her center, pushing your finger into her, making her cry out.

“Ooh, princess, you’re just so fucking tight aren’t you? So tight for me.” You teased, pumping your finger into her before adding a second one, stretching her out in the most delicious way possible. Moans and gasps fell past her lips, begging you for more as your finger worked tirelessly against her. “Did your pussy miss me, Dahyunie?”

With no response, you slowed your movements making her groan loudly, grinding up against your fingers. A stern expression falling over your face as you twisted her nipple again, pushing your lips against hers forcefully, repressing her cries. You pressed her sweaty forehead against yours, forcing her to look at you. “I asked you a question, baby.” You simply said as you began pumping your slick fingers between her core again.

“Yes! Fuck yes! I missed you. My pussy ached for you…You looked so fucking hot during your last few stages, it was so hard not to call you to have you take me in every way possible, N/n.” She panted out, desperate for her release. Pulling your fingers out of her, you carried her to your room. Her whines driving you further.

Once in your room, you placed her on your bed gently before kissing her lips again. Teeth now ramming into each other from the raw need Dahyun’s hand cradling your face, nails scratching your jaw slowly making your body tremble with want. Reluctantly, you pulled away from her lips as you kissed your way down, marking her chest, so it wasn’t visible to the public, down to her center.

Seeing the wet cavern, you couldn’t help but lick your lips hungrily seeing the sexy beast that was your girlfriend. You hooked your arms under her thighs as you stared into her dilated and dark eyes. Teasingly, you blew a huff of air into the exposed pussy, chuckling softly as she shook under your touch.

“Y/n…Please.” She pleaded through lidded eyes.

“What my princess wants, she gets.” You whispered before diving into the sopping wet core. A loud cry echoed through the empty room as her head shot back, back arching in pleasure of your tongue digging into her pussy in ways that she could only long for late at night when she missed you. You ravenously licked and sucked at her clit as your fingers found their way back into her doubling the intense feeling of the knot beginning to tighten in her stomach. Her hand pulling at your hair once again, begging you to work harder to bring her to her climax.

“Holy God, Y/n. More, fuck you feel so good!” She cried out as her legs began to shake around your head, closing from the pressure that was building. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Just a little more. Please! Oh shit, yes!” Dahyun moaned out, her essence coating your chin like a painting as her body convulsed.

You offered small kitten licks to help her ride out her orgasm while also getting a taste of your favorite flavor. Once she tapped your head, signaling you that she was too sensitive at this point, you made your way back up. Small kissed littered across her now pink skin. You lay beside her panting form, as you pecked her lips gently.

“What abou—” You cut her off with another kiss, making her smile dazed at you. “Don’t say it. You need rest and can wait.” The rapper smiled up at you before wrapping her arms around your still clothed midsection pulling you closer. “I can get you a shirt you know, sunshine.” You offered seeing as she was still naked.

Dahyun shook her head before pushing her head into your neck, savoring the smell she missed so much the past few months. “That can wait as well. I still want to cuddle.” You chuckled softly before pulling her onto your chest as she looked at you again sleepily.

“You are not staying away from me for that long again, N/n.” The pale woman said before yawning and cuddling into your chest. You nodded along and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”

Before she could fall asleep completely, she whispered, “I love you.”

Your smile grew wider as you pulled her closer to you, nuzzling into her hair. “I love you too, Dahyun.”

yeah, i'm going to hell for a lotta things and that last part is on the long list i would say HAAHAHAHAH this has to be my longest fic yet 🤔anyway, remember that requests are open on any group and i will get to them as soon as i can and comments or criticism is always welcomed! 😊 alsoooo happy pride month everyone! love is love always! keep safe always and i will see you all very very soon! 💕 taglist: @labrachrosite

[tommybaholland]

I would like you to write tom holland x actress!reader, so y/n is getting ready for photoshoot but tom holland was facetiming y/n hoping how's it going, he misses her. they haven't seen each other for a month. After that they do photoshoot and Wired autocomplete interview. then the crew got surprised and y/n misses tom, she sooo surprise and he came to visit for her. i luv them!

missing you

featuring: tom holland (x actress!reader)

you thanked the hair stylist once they were done with your hair and remained in the dressing room to have a quick facetime with your boyfriend. 

“hey, love,” tom answered, his voice slightly raspy. “wow, you look really beautiful.” 

“thank you,” you smiled. you couldn’t see him too well but you could make out the grainy outline of his facial features and part of his bare shoulders and chest. he looked like he was still in bed. “why is the room so dark?” 

“i’m just laying down for a bit,” tom explained.

“how are you feeling?” 

“okay. i just wish you were here.” 

you frowned. “yeah. i wish i was there to take care of you.”

“nah. then i’d just get you sick. your company is really all i need. i’m so lonely,” he pouted playfully. “but if i get you sick then i get to take care of you so it could be a win-win for me.” 

you laughed at his very ‘tom’ logic. “i know. i miss you too. i think we have some time off soon but if you’re sick then we can always see each other when we’re done with promotion stuff.” 

tom groaned. “ugh. i don’t know if i can wait that longggg, love.” 

“i know this has been a long one but what you do you normally do when i’m away?” 

he didn’t respond, his face buried in the pillow. then after a few minutes, he started giggling. 

“what’s that one line from spongebob? where spongebob’s like, ‘what do you normally do while i’m at work?’ and patrick says--”

“‘wait for you to get back,’” you finish for him, laughing along. 

“yeah. i feel like patrick right now, babe.” 

“aww. well, just focus on getting better and maybe do some golfing and i’ll be back before you know it,” you promised.

the pout was still present on his face. “okay. i’ll try to survive until you come home.”

you smiled before you looked at harrison in the mirror, seeing that he had entered the room. 

“we’re getting ready to start-- oh, is that tom?”

“harrison?” tom spoke through the phone. 

you nodded, raising the phone up to harrison so he could see his sickly best friend.

“hey, mate,” harrison greeted. they had a quick chat about harrison’s recent debut. 

“it’s been fun to see you on the other side of things, dude. i’m so happy for you,” tom praised. “i’ve been watching your interviews and they’re hilarious.”

harrison laughed. “thanks, tom. we have to get going if we’re gonna make this next one, though,” he reminded, looking down to you. 

you nodded. “okay, babe. looks like i have to go.”

“alright, baby. i love you and miss you so much,” he blows a kiss to the camera.

“love you. miss you too,” you smile. 

“see you, harrison.”

“yeah, see you, man.” 

you end the facetime and follow harrison out to the set where you would be doing a promo shoot for the irregulars. like harrison, this was your first major role and the promotional part was just as important as the actual shooting of the show. you had been with tom through several of his press junkets but now you understand how taxing and exhausting it can be, especially when you’re away from your boyfriend for so long. 

you would’ve liked to have him with you for some of it, like you had with him. but lately your schedules haven’t been matching up so easily. once you were done filming the show, he had gone off to film for spider-man and once he was done with that, you had started the promotional period for the show. there were short periods in between when you got to see each other but it wasn’t nearly enough time. 

the heart certainly grows fonder when you’re apart from each other. 

besides all that, you found press stuff to be pretty fun for the most part. photoshoots were really easy and usually didn’t take that long. this one took a little longer because harrison was with you and you both took some individual pictures as well as some photos together. if anything, you’re glad he was your co-star. you knew this wouldn’t be the case for every job you get so you tried to enjoy it while it lasted. 

after the photoshoot, you and harrison went over to the studio where they film the wired autocomplete interviews. interviews were a bit more daunting part of press, mostly because you felt the pressure to be liked by the general public and that could put a lot of stress on you to be more performative. luckily, your actor boyfriend has been there to remind you to just be yourself and that’s really the best way to handle it. 

you had seen several of the autocomplete interviews and always thought they were funny so you were actually looking forward to this one. 

once you arrived at the studio, you got all set up with harrison beside you and then the director explained how it was going to work. it seemed like it was pretty lax, which was nice because there was no one asking questions. rather, the questions were actual google searches that people had made so you and harrison were the ones who really got to lead it. 

“you guys ready?” 

you and harrison nodded. 

“three...two... one...action!”

harrison started. “hi! i’m harrison osterfield.”

“and i’m y/n.”

“and this is our wired autocomplete interview.” 

“ladies first,” harrison insisted, prompting you to grab your board. 

“okay,” you agreed with a laugh. 

“here. i’ll hold it and you can rip the tape off,” he offered.

“good idea.”

a lot of the questions were pretty basic like where you were from, where you went to school, if you went to acting school, what your favorite food is, etc. but then you got to a certain one. 

“‘is y/n--’ okay. let’s see,” you said as you peeled off the masking tape before reading the full question. “‘is y/n dating tom holland?’” 

you laughed awkwardly before answering, as this was the first question about your relationship status in an interview. 

“yes. we are dating,” you responded. your mind suddenly wandered to your earlier conversation with him, causing your mouth to keep moving. 

“i haven’t seen him in a bit but--” you paused when you realized what you were saying. “um, i’m pretty busy these days.” 

you ended with another awkward laugh and shrug as harrison nodded. 

“okay. that’s all for me. your turn, harrison.” 

you continued on with the interview despite feeling put off by the fact that you missed tom. fortunately, harrison’s questions were more entertaining and perked you up again. 

“‘does harrison osterfield drink the juice?’ wait. what does that mean?”

you bursted out laughing at the vague question. 

“y/n, what’s so funny? i don’t get it.”  

“nothing, nothing,” you replied. “just answer what you think it means.” 

you had finished the interview on a high note. 

“you seemed to be in a better mood than earlier,” harrison remarked. 

“yeah.”

“are you okay?” 

“i just,” you started. “we’ve never been apart for this long and it’s just really hard. i didn’t think it was going to be a big deal and i thought i could handle it but i can’t.”

harrison frowned. “hey. no, no. you’re doing a great job. i promised,” he comforted before looking down to his phone. 

you stood up off your chair. “i’m going to get some water.” 

you began to walk away until harrison abruptly stopped you. “wait, y/n!” 

you looked back to him as there was some commotion at the back of the set. you ignored it, looking incredulously at harrison. 

“what?” you asked in an annoyed tone. you just wanted some water. 

suddenly, a third voice appeared. 

“aww, love. don’t be mean to harrison like that.”

you turned to see none other than your boyfriend standing there. you couldn’t react in any other way other than clapping a hand over your mouth and beginning to cry in disbelief that he was actually there.

“baby, it’s okay,” he cooed, walking over and wrapping you up in a hug. some of the crew watching the whole reunion began clapping and cheering. 

he rubbed your backed as you sobbed into his shoulder for a few moments before lifting your head up to wipe your eyes.

“how, how-- what-- i,” you stuttered, wanting to know how this could be happening right now. 

“what? are you not happy to see me?” he pouted playfully, brushing some hair out of your face. 

“no! i am but i thought you were sick.” 

“well,” he smirked. “i am an actor, darling.”  

you rolled your eyes facetiously before he continued his explanation. 

“i got in late last night and stayed in a hotel. i wasn’t sick but i gotta admit, i am pretty tired.” 

you laughed. “you’re so dumb.” 

“don’t blame this all on me! harrison was in on it too!”

you looked over to harrison who was still sitting there, watching this all go down. he held his hands up. 

“guilty. but i’d like to add that tom was freaking out that you had found out somehow and has been texting me all day.”

“no. i really had no idea but i was worried about you,” you prodded at tom’s shoulder with a finger. 

“i’d say it was worth it. wouldn’t you?”

you nodded. “i suppose.”

“can i have a kiss now, please?”

you leaned in and pressed a short kiss to his lips but of course, that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. he kept pulling you in for more before you began to get embarrassed with the other people around. 

“alright, i’ll stop. but don’t think you can escape from my sneaky kisses!” he took your hand in his and began leading you out of the studio.

“wait, we still have some promo stuff to do for today.” 

tom shook his head. “you don’t. can’t say the same for him,” he nodded over to harrison. “i’ve sorted it all out with your manager and it’ll just be me and you for the next two days. does that sound good?”

well, you couldn’t argue with that.

welcome to wild card night! requests are open and ready..

[blue-bird-kny]

This took way to many days to write for absolutely no reason, but I liked it in the end so please, enjoy~Amanda

Warnings: N/a

Words: 2.4k+

↳{Fluffy first baths together are nothing short of what you’d expect with Inosuke}

The gentle pitter-patter of water droplets drizzling down bamboo shoots and swaying green leaves filled the otherwise quiet space. The welcoming scent of dew and greenery danced through the night air as you overlooked the outdoor bathing area, “absolutely perfect” you thought as your muscles cried in despair. You, along with your team of idiots and sweet Nezuko, had walked miles in search of a home bearing the Wisteria crest, everyone in desperate need of some rest, repair, and (hopefully) lots of delicious food. “Come in, young child, as weary as you may be, your body needs food to begin the healing process” a grainy voice beckoned. An elderly woman, just barely 5 feet wrapped in purple with shimmering silver hair, waited patiently beside the open door, “I think my husband was too excited to greet you all because he got carried away and made far too much food” she continued. “Oh don’t worry, my boys are very capable of eating you out of house and home, especially my boyfriend” you giggled while climbing the wooden steps to meet her.

You walked side by side to the dining room, the smell of beef stew and rice already reaching you, “Thanks again, to you and your husband, we’ve spent weeks running around and I know we desperately needed the break” she chuckled, “No need child, my husband misses the thrill of battle even in his old age, so we are thrilled to have you.” your eyes widened slightly but before you could ask the shorter woman of her husband's past, a loud crash could be heard behind the thin sliding door. Behind its papery protection was a scene that couldn’t be anymore hilarious; wrestling on the floor was an older man, thick and burley with round rims sliding down the bump of his nose, hovering over a wailing Zenitsu whose body was being forced into a backbend with his head held tightly in a choke-hold by the man’s hairy arms. Tanjiro stood beside the duo desperately trying to pull his friend out from under the other, trying to talk over the hefty laughter and screaming, while Inosuke stood cheering the man on as if this were some sort of cage fight.

You could feel the twitch in your eye act up, ready to pull them apart but before you could open your mouth the elderly woman cleared her throat, causing the wild bunch to freeze. Her husband's eyes slowly fell on hers as fear overcame them and as for the other three, they couldn’t help but shiver at the dead set look on yours. “What’s going on here?” the women commanded, her steel set tone sending the group scrambling into seated positions as she prowled into the room- you followed slowly behind her. Tanjiro croaked first, “W-well Mr.Shimura was telling us about his days in the force and he just wanted to show us some of his, uh, moves'' Tanjiro's voice wavered a bit at the end, not sure if ‘moves’ was the right way to describe assault. “Y/n! Please don’t let this man torture me anymore, he’s crazy!” the blonde rushed to your side with teary eyes and a tight grip on your arm. The women pulled her large husband up by his ear, “Don’t worry, you children enjoy your food, my husband,” she tugged on the lobe for emphasis, “and I will be off to bed” she turned to you, “I assume you’ll be able to find the bathing area and your room?” “Of course” you assured. The moment the couple became shadows behind the door, you could hear the wife’s grumbling- you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Unsettled by the silence, you turned to find all eyes on you, waiting for a reprimand you had no intention of delivering, “Oh ease up, eat before the food gets cold'' a collective sigh could be heard around the table, your hand gentle releasing the part of Zenitsu that was still clinging your clothes. The spot open next to Inosuke was as inviting as the mouth-watering scent of a hot meal that had been calling your name since further down the hallways. Your fingers faintly fell on the tuft of your boyfriend's hair, ruffling them a bit, before diving into your own bowl of rice and soup. While Inosuke felt your small act of affection and craved it a bit more, he only offered a messy smile as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth. 

Ceramic dishes once filled with hand-cooked deliciousness were now cleaned empty, stacked into small towers all across the wooden table in some sort of toppling city. The room was almost empty too, Zenitsu and Tanjiro both eager to wash the wear away and to finally allow themselves to be consumed by uninterrupted dreams, had already taken off for the night. “I’m going to die,” the bloated heap on the floor cried, his duo-toned hair sprawled out around him and his robe strewn on the ground. You laughed, “No, Inosuke, you aren’t going to die” you laid on the carpet beside him, propped up by one elbow. As the man heaved and sighed as if he were going into labor, your nose caught a whiff of something salty and musty and earthy and gross, “I swear if you don’t go shower right now, my eyes are going to melt from my skull” you complained nasally as you pinched your nostrils shut; You were met with only louder moaning and heaving. “C’mon everyone else already-” you stopped yourself short, an idea too good to pass up crossing your mind. “Since everyone else is already tucked away, why don’t we bath together?” before you could even finish the question, Inosuke sat up faster than light, his eyes challenging yours as if saying “Are you playing me?”. “We never get to do anything just us so if you're up for it, I’m down” you concluded slightly smug as he clung to each word you uttered like a puppy waiting for a treat. You stood to leave, crouching down once more to balance your fingers below his chin, forcing him to face you, “But, no funny business”. 

You didn’t even have to look to see Inosuke was following, his second set of steps echoing yours as if they were the thunder that follows lighting; two things equally as powerful, yet relied on the other for strength. Again, you were greeted by the soft flow of water streaming into the natural spring, the brilliant moonlight above lighting the large basin carved from polished rock that sat in the middle of the space. “Turn around” you asked, to which Inosuke surprisingly compiled too with only a tiny grumble. You slid your filthy clothes off layer by layer, the black garments piled together as you tip-toed into the warm water, the steam instantly feeling irresistible on your skin. “I-I’ll close my eyes so you can get in, too” you stuttered, the heavy realization of the intimacy that was to come next, an intimacy that had never been shared before. “Whatever you want, we’ll be naked anyways in the water” Insouke pointed out as he too discarded his smaller pile onto yours, however, you didn’t dare peek before you heard the breaking of water as he climbed in, didn’t dare breathe as he groaned in relief. Slowly, you uncovered your eyes, trained steadily past the demon slayer's face; awkwardly and in unusual silence, you two sat five feet apart, waiting to see who dared to move first.

Well of course it was Inosuke who shuffled through the water first towards you, “You can look at me, ya know” he said with a sort of want in his voice, as if your gaze offered an approval he sought from only you. Whether the pink that painted his skin was from the temperature or the heat of the moment, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t dwell on it for long because other things piqued your interest. While the number of times you’ve seen Inosuke wear a shirt was almost non-existent, the steam rising from the water altered his scarred chest into something else; it was more chiseled, more tanned, each dip and mark was more perfect, the reflection below somehow glowed in a way that was more than you had every painted Inosuke to be and it took your breath away. “What are ya looking at?” he asked defensively, fidgeting in an almost timid way; it reminded you that you shouldn’t be nervous around him, “You, ya dummy”. He scoffed at your bluntness, grateful to hear the normal bite in your tongue instead of the disgust he feared you’d feel towards him. His stunning pair of green orbs watched as you leaned closer to him, arms stretched as you grew even closer, “What the hel-” he panicked slightly only to be fooled as you grabbed something that was behind him; two bottles waved in front of his face as you teased, “What? Afraid of some soap, piglet?”. He muttered a string of complaints, ‘tease’ and ‘mean’ being the only two you could work out.

You squeezed the white shampoo into your open palm, setting it down somewhere on the edge of the bath, “May I?” you asked, hovering your hands beside his head. He sucked on his teeth before mumbling a raspy “fine”, easing himself between your awaiting limbs. You worked the suds into his scalp, gently massaging his dark roots with the pads of your thumbs before working your way down to bunch his falling strands, lathering them in the floral-scented soap. As you worked to cover every last inch of his scalp in bubbles, Inosuke struggled to keep quiet; his half-lidded eyes fluttered with every circular rub, his mouth slightly agape as he relished in your touch and had to work at suppressing the purrs that threatened to escape his chest like a cat.

“Bend down a little, will ya” you pushed against his head till he was close enough to the water that when he tipped back, his long tresses would be covered. You rinsed his hair gently, taking your time to enjoy this rare chance  with your loved one (along with the funny faces you knew he was making). Inosuke wanted to say something, anything would do really, but he just couldn’t put syllables together as if with every trail your fingers followed, you sucked away his ability to think. You had already rid his scalp from the soap, however, you weren’t ready to let go just yet; you ushered him out of the water so you could use your nails to push the soaked strands back, twirling them into a loose bun at the back of his head. Inosuke was so close, he was sure he’d make it out of this without any weird noises but the subtle scratching against his skin was too much for any man. A low rumble emerged from his throat followed by a relieved sigh, “If I knew all it took to tame this wild boar was a few head scratches, I’d have started a long time ago” you giggled, sliding your palms down the length of his neck to rest on his shoulders, “all done”. His brows furrowed at the weight behind his head and the lack thereof on his back, “It’s a bun” you explained, “Yea, well I feel bald” “Don’t knock just yet, it helps keep your hair from your face when you’re fighting, plus I think you look hot with it” you tightened your hold on him for a second as a blush crept its way onto his skin.

“It's getting late, you can get out if you want, I’m going to wash up” you reached for the same bottle of shampoo, tipping it over to collect its contents, but before the suds could touch your skin, Inosuke’s grip caught your wrist. “I’ll do it” he stated firmly, “You don’t have to-” “I’ll do it” he repeated, already taking the bottle. A glop of shampoo slapped against his palm as he rushed to spread it between his two hands. You closed your eyes, ready to be serenaded by his sweet touch when you were quickly reminded of who you were dealing with here- the furthest thing from sweet. Water splashed haphazardly as Inosuke drilled into your skull, roughly kneading your scalp. “Ouch! Stop it! Is that what it felt like to you?! Any harder and I’ll be the bald one!” you yelled, moving away from his hands still hanging above the water. Inosuke shrunk a little, visibly upset as he looked to his right at nothing specific. Instantly regretting your reaction, you acted to fix the situation, “Here” you gently placed his thick fingers against your scalp once again this time placing yours above his, easing them into a gentle, rhythmic massage. “See,” you sighed, “not everything in life is a race.”

Inosuke looked at the way your face fell at the feel of his fingers gently working against you, he almost had to double-take to make sure it was his touch that was providing you so much pleasure- in fact, it sort of inflated his already bulging ego. Although he spent less time washing and rinsing your hair as you had hoped (you could have sat there for hours) the water was growing cooler and time was nipping at both your ankles, reminding you of the sleep you oh so needed. Washed and feeling refreshed, you reached for his shoulders, using them to glide through the water until your chest was pressed against his, becoming more familiar with the feel of his warmth against yours. Your arms dangled over his shoulders with your head buried in his neck, while his large palms found themselves holding your waist, “this was fun” you whispered into his skin. Inosuke grunted, exhaustion creeping up on him too. “Let go to bed” you yawned ready to detach yourself reluctantly from the strong man when you were suddenly carried above the water, exposed and shivering you wrapped your legs instinctively around him. “What are you doing?” you asked embarrassed and flushed red. A wide grin overtook his face as he held you tighter, “Figured you’d be too weak to walk after I almost put you to bed with my magical fingers” he replied as he trudged through the water and out the bath, two towels already waiting to dry your skin.

Later that night as you both lay covered in cotton robes and silk sheets surrounded by the gentle buzz of the others snoring around the room, together on one futon with eyelids as heavy as stones, something occurred to you. “Hey babe?” you whispered, getting a half grunt in response, “you never took that bun out, did you?” the arm that was holding you securely to his side flicked you gently, “hush women” he breathed. You chuckled low, snuggling closer into Inosuke's warmth, falling effortlessly into a peaceful sleep.

Thank you~

Masterlist

[spacestationdaedalus]

it’s called freefall

in which Jon has trauma related to his time with Michael Crew, and it makes falling off the ladder in 198 just a little bit harder. Martin (and Basira) try to help.

dedicated to the lovely @captaincravatthecapricious for this wonderful idea!! ao3 link here!

The statement finishes with a trailing buzz of static, and none of the relief.

Although, Jon can’t help but think, that’s not entirely true. He can feel the pressure, the thick weight easing from his mind. Like a fog, lifting with the Eye’s satisfaction. But there’s a deep dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, icy fingers cramping around equally icy and rickety metal and ah yes, I’m still on this god forsaken ladder.

The rusted steel is coarse underneath his fingers. The scar on his right hand might dull some of the rough cold, but the loss of superficial sensation is made up for with a deep aching pain that's practically begging him to get on with it. To let go.

He wasn’t lying when he told Martin and Basira that the fall wouldn’t kill them. Of course he wasn’t. He Knows with absolute certainty that this is true, as surely as one might know their name or their favorite color. He wouldn’t have let them fall if he didn’t.

And yet.

Jon takes a breath. And another, around his heart that has decided to make a home at the base of his throat. It hammers away, hard and loud but not quite loud enough to drown out the echoing yells of the statement’s victims. Screams overflowing with the mindless terror of falling to unforgiving ground. Not knowing when the ground will come-

Jon had never considered himself afraid of heights. There were a lot of things he didn’t used to be afraid of.

And yet.

The Eye eagerly supplies an empty silence when he tries to Know how far the drop is. What he does get, is the knowledge that humans tend to greatly overestimate vertical distances, especially when viewed from above. That studies have shown height overestimation is greatly correlated with fear. Jon sighs, because of course having all-knowing powers would be this useless.

He's not sure how long it’s been since he finished. But there’s no use in keeping them waiting, right? And there’s nowhere off of this ladder but down. Jon knows and Knows this.

And yet.

It takes a few tries for his brain to start unclenching his fingers, curled tightly as they are. He takes it slow - first his pinkies, then the ring fingers, until it’s only his thumb and index fingers - and his feet planted on the bottom rung - keeping his balance. A clammy sweat breaks out across his palms, and breathing is getting more and more impossible around the tightness in his chest. The thought of the last time he fell comes unbidden to his mind - of a wooden chair, wooden table, a face that might be kind if it wasn’t making him feel like he would never touch solid ground again for the rest of his life-

Stop. Focus.

Actually, stop focusing. Stop thinking. Just get it over with. Just let go.

He does, against every instinct and nerve screaming at him not to. Jon lets go, and everything is worse.

His stomach drops out from underneath him and he's falling falling falling no where to go but down. The wind whips at his hair and his face and steals any hope of breath out of his throat. How people can manage to scream while falling, he doesn’t know.

He's back in that chair, at that table, but not in the chair or at the table. He's not touching anything but open air. Then it had been a deep, unnatural blue, but now. A grey mist, thick and heavy such that opening or closing his eyes means nothing. He thinks his eyes are closed, already lost sight or feel of up and down and where-

The terror is so paralyzing, so encompassing in it's consumption of his thoughts, he hoped it might dull the pain of hitting the ground. It does not. Fire blooms across his back, his neck, his head, in an agony so acute he bypasses any sound all together. The wind would be knocked out of him, if there was any wind to knock out in the first place. And he's still falling.

Is he? Jon registers a dull graininess under his hands, cool earth on his back. Ground?

It can't be. His insides are still weightless, dropping, he's on the ground but not on the ground. It might as well be empty air. He's falling straight through the earth, and he will for the rest of his life. If he opens his eyes all he'll see is sky blue enjoy sky blue-

He doesn't know how long he lies, falls, in silent terror. But after a moment hours seconds something grabs his arm, both of his arms, and pulls. The world lists with a dizzying vertigo, a shift in gravity and up and down and he feels himself tilting, but to or from where when how he can't tell and he never will. Something grabs him again, his shoulder, maybe, and it should help but now he wants to scream because it doesn't it doesn't it doesn't please make it stop-

He tries, oh god he tries to breathe. His lungs, his throat, seized tight with panic and wind and sickening emptiness. Like a vacuum bag, every last molecule of air sucked away. There's still a gaping pit where his stomach should be, and he wonders numbly if he'll ever get it back.

Something that might be words pass over his head. A conversation intercut with the sound of blood and wind in his ears.

"Is he-"

"-ou alright? Hey-"

"-can we-"

"Jon?"

There's something - a hand? - against his cheek. It's warm and rough against his wind chilled face, so warm it almost burns, but the shock of it is something to focus on that isn't falling falling fal-

"Hey, it's alright. You're alright-"

Martin.

Jon feels another hand, Martin's hand, on his face, stroking thumb pads against his cheekbones. Jon reaches blindly to grab onto his wrists in some mockery of purchase. Something, anything to stop the falling. He opens his eyes, which is strange because he doesn't remember closing them. He can feel how his face aches though, with how tightly he had clenched them shut.

And Martin is there. He's kneeling in front of him, eyes searching him in flickering panic for some kind of injury. He meets Jon's eyes, and something bordering on relief flickers for an instant before his brow furrows again. He's saying something, and Jon wants to hear it so badly he could cry. He tries reading his lips - it’s something he's usually good at when his brain can't keep up with sound. 

But his eyes can't focus right. Everything in his vision shifts back and forth, his brain trying to compensate for movement that he knows isn't there. He closes his eyes again, against the dizzying nausea. It's a bit easier, in the same way that stabbing yourself is a bit easier with a sharper knife.

"M-...m-ha-"

There's barely enough air for him to breathe, let alone speak, and all that comes out is a choked wheeze. And it's as painful as it is concerning, even to Jon's own ears.

"Hey hey hey, it's okay, just- just try to breathe with me, okay?"

He can hear Martin's voice again, as muffled as it is, laced with worry. Jon wants to apologize, to tell him it's ok, it's fine, but it's not really fine, is it? But there’s Martin's breathing, deep and slow, exaggerated in such a way that Jon can hear it over the sound of everything else. 

It's something for Jon to focus on, and it helps. He thinks. Painstakingly, forced wheezes become shallow breaths become gasps for air. His lungs burn with the strain of it, but it's probably a better pain than suffocating on nothing. So he keeps going.

There are words, again. Some close, some further away. Something - Martin Martin it has to be Martin - shifts beside him. A steadying hand rests on his back, leaning him forward until his head is between his knees. It almost sets off the vertigo again, but the movement is just slow, just gentle enough not to.

The hand stays, though, solid and warm and comforting above anything else.

The breaths come easier with each passing what-might-be-a-minute.It's hard to tell time under the weight of what his brain still thinks is some twisted imitation of freefall. Equilibrium comes back to him with all the speed of a dripping faucet, but there's ground beneath him and Martin next to him, and it gets better. The world is less of a sickening drop and more of a lingering dizziness, like stepping off of a merry-go-round a little too quickly.

The vertigo fades and the adrenaline leaves with it. Jon can feel his hands start to shake, but it doesn't stop him from reaching a trembling hand out towards where he thinks Martin is. Eyes still closed. He's met with another hand almost immediately, squeezing his tight, and the pressure soothes the most ragged edges of the tremors.

"Jon, hey- are you…?"

Jon nods, slowly, carefully. He's not entirely sure what question he's responding to, but Martin deserves some kind of acknowledgement. For whatever...this is. There's a shaking weakness deep in his core, like he just ran a marathon at a dead sprint. But he looks up, cautiously opens his eyes. And Martin is there. Still. Again.

Martin brings a hand to his cheek, just like before, and Jon can't help but notice how soft it is in spite of the rough dryness of his skin. It's a shaky thing around the edges, but Martin smiles at him, breathing a sigh of something like relief.

"There you are."

Jon really doesn't want the tears to well up in his eyes. But the fear is so acute, sharp and hungry in a way that leaves him hollowed out, with nothing but lungs that still barely work and a surge of emotion that he doesn't know what to do with. He reaches for Martin- or, he tries to, but he doesn't have to go very far, because Martin meets him more than halfway.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, come here-"

Martin pulls him close, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and another in his hair. It's pulled free from it's tie, still a complete mess from the fall. But then again, so is Jon. His shoulders are shaking with the force of muffled sobs, and Martin holds him tighter. Everything hurts, bruises from the fall that aren't really there, his head, his chest, his lungs that still don't feel like they're getting enough air. It might help if his face wasn't buried in Martin's jacket, but it feels like a fair trade at the moment.

He can feel Martin's pulse where his face meets the crook of his neck. It's steady and strong, a little fast, maybe, but so comforting in a way that Jon could probably never put into words. He lets himself be, miserable but alive and held in Martin’s arms, until he feels like more of a person again.

After what probably isn’t long enough Jon pulls back, but Martin’s arms don’t let him go far. He reaches up to wipe his face with clumsy hands, and tries for words. They come a bit easier now. "Martin, I'm-"

"Nope, absolutely not, don't you dare apologize." Martin cuts in immediately. He strokes a thumb across Jon's cheek, brushing some of the remaining tears away.

Jon sighs. "I just- I didn't mean to worry you, is all."

"Well, it is a little bit late for that." He's going for brevity, but it's quickly drawn into something more serious. "But don't worry about that, that's not- are you alright? What happened?"

Jon swallows, his throat sticky and sore. He wants desperately to say he doesn't know, but he does, and he just hopes he can get the point across in the fewest words possible. "It's just, uh… the, falling, reminded me of… Crew. I didn't realize how- how much that still affected me, I suppose."

Martin sucks in a breath. "Oh, Jon. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's okay." Jon supplies, and means it wholeheartedly. "I mean, I didn't- I didn't know either, until it was, ah… a little too late."

There's a small tap on the ground to his right, and Jon looks over to see Basira kneeling next to him. She has a small water bottle in her hand, held out towards him.

Jon takes it in muted surprise. "Oh, thank you. Wh...where did you-"

"Don't worry about it."

There are too many other things to worry about right now, so he doesn't. "...Right."

They don't really need to drink anymore, but the water is cool and surprisingly fresh. Basira speaks again.

"It's not like we're in a rush, exactly. London isn’t going anywhere. We can wait here for a bit." She shifts from a crouch to a sitting position on the ground next to them. Martin hums in agreement.

After a moment, Martin gestures to the elastic band on Jon's wrist. Jon hands it over wordlessly, with a rush of affection, as Martin begins sorting through the tangles in Jon's hair.

It's not the first time he's done it. The feeling of gentle fingers through his greying locks, diffused afternoon sunlight seeping through the windows like honey in Scotland. Jon showing him how to braid, just a simple one, because Martin claimed to not know how and they had nothing better to do. Later, Martin admitted it was a lie, an excuse to play with his hair. After which Jon had kissed him and said he'd never need an excuse. Ever.

Martin's fingers comb through his hair, pulling at his scalp in a way that never quite hurts. Not like when Jon does it himself. It soothes the tension still wound around his chest, the hammering of his heart easing beat by beat into something resembling normal. He feels the strands twisting into a braid under Martin's hands, and when he's done he rests it over Jon's shoulder. It’s a little lopsided, a little uneven, and utterly perfect.

Jon takes one of his hands, laces their fingers together in a sign of appreciation. Martin squeezes his hand, and Jon squeezes back.

They sit like that, for a while longer. At Jon's cue Martin and Basira help him up, on slightly shaky legs, but he's alright, really, I promise. And it isn’t a lie. So they continue on.

[bokutosworld]

over again | iwaizumi hajime

pairing: iwaizumi x gn!reader word count, genre: 1.8k words, angst + fluff in the beginning. warnings: mentions of death, car accident.  summary: he blames himself for the past but you help him take the first step to moving on. a/n: @ricerice​ i promised i’d tag you in an iwa angst so hope you enjoy this hahah

—

“Iwaizumi!” 

Who’s there?

“Hajime!” 

Huh?

“Babe!” 

Iwaizumi’s blinded by the harsh sunlight when he opens his eyes. Where am I? He hears people laughing in the distance, children running about, and waves breaking at the shore. With an outstretched hand, he feels the texture of hot, grainy sand beneath his touch. The next thing he finds is the warmth of another person’s hands. 

“Hajime, get up! This is no time for sleeping under the shade.”

He comes to his senses and his vision clears to make out a familiar face. You were hovering over his body, blocking the sun from his eyes and he could see how you were smiling so happily at him. 

He gets up from his lying position and cups your cheeks, thumbs grazing your face so tenderly as if he’s afraid to break you. He tugs you for an embrace, his hold tightening for every second that passes. 

Worried, you wrap your arms around his torso. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?” 

And that’s when you feel it. Tears streaming down his face and leaving a trail on your neck. Your heart quickens and you pull back to see him silently sobbing. 

“Why are you crying?” 

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Because even he doesn’t know the reason why he suddenly broke down. It came out of nowhere, his chest constricting at the sight of you and the overwhelming feeling of longing and desperation. 

You’re wiping his tears and he catches your palm, bringing it to his lips. Finally, he smiles, “Nothing’s wrong. Shall we go take a swim?” 

— 

Is this dèjá vu? 

Iwaizumi could swear that he’s been in this exact spot in the exact same time with you. Like he was experiencing it all over again. If he dug around in his mind, he could pull out a similar memory where you were enjoying the feel of the water in your feet and calling out for him to join. 

Maybe it was just a coincidence. 

He decides to stop overthinking and relaxes his tense body. Approaching you with a smile, he surprises you when he places an arm under your knees and your waist and lifts you with ease. 

“Hajime,” you exclaim, hitting his biceps. 

He spins the both of you, the water splashing around before letting you fall in the water. You’re completely soaked, hair sticking to the sides of your face when you come up to breathe and Iwaizumi’s bending over his knees as he laughs.

The thing about Iwaizumi is that he has a beautiful laugh, his eyes often turning into crescents and the sound is music to your ears. It’s rare for him to openly show emotions unlike others you know who wear their hearts on their sleeves. You’d have to be someone he was comfortable with, someone he trusts before getting the privilege of seeing the rarest sides of him.

And to Iwaizumi, you have always been that person. 

You grab his hand and pull him so he could join you in the cool seawater. It takes a moment before he comes up for air and when he does, he’s grinning with a mischievous look in his eyes. You feel his arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your lips are only a hair’s breadth away. 

“Are you happy right now?” He asks. 

Humming, you grab at his shoulders and press your forehead to his. “I am.” 

“Good,” he says before leaning for a kiss. It’s gentle, it’s passionate, and it captures a million loving thoughts and emotions that neither of you could ever translate in words. You feel him smile into the kiss before breaking apart. 

“You taste salty,” you tease to hide how he has just literally taken your breath away. 

He chuckles and in your closeness, you feel his heart racing. “That’s your fault. You nearly drowned me in the water.” 

Rolling your eyes, you hit at his bare chest and make a move towards dry land.

“I’m hungry! Let’s go get something.” 

As he watches you go back to your lounge chair and grab a towel to dry off, the scene before him blurs. He shakes his head, blinks once and twice before you were fading right in front of him. He calls your name and catches you look back at him before all he could see was black. 

— 

When he comes to his senses, he finds himself laying with his head on your lap. Your fingers are softly brushing through his hair, the gesture ushering him in a state of euphoria and he thinks could go back to sleep. 

But then he remembers what happened and he’s up. 

“You’re awake.” He senses something was different with how the corners of your lips turned upwards solemnly. Your eyes glossed with something he couldn’t describe. 

“How long was I out?”

“Well, you missed lunch. And we’re the only ones left here,” you inform him. Your gaze looking past the vast ocean. 

Iwaizumi turns to where you were looking and he’s mesmerized. By now, the sun has set and the sky was turning from clear blue to warm orange hues. He looks at you and his heart jumps, admiring the glow of your sun-kissed skin. 

“Have you realized it yet?” You break the silence. 

What are you talking about? 

You glance at Iwaizumi with a sad smile. When he doesn’t answer, you take it as your cue to continue speaking. “Do you remember when we took our first trip to the beach right after we graduated from high school?”

He listens. 

“It was our first out-of-town date as a couple and I was so nervous to be alone with you,” you chuckle at the distant memory. “But you made it easy. You were such a gentleman, you never made me uncomfortable, and every moment with you felt natural.

“That day, I had the most fun that I’ve had in my years of existence,” you turn to him, eyes boring deep in his and you smile. “That was my favorite memory of us.” 

As if a lightbulb flashed in his head, Iwaizumi finally makes sense of what’s happened. Why the earlier events seemed so familiar to him. 

Because, indeed, they have already happened. 

He feels something in the pit of his stomach and he averts his gaze, looking at anywhere but you. He observes how the clouds look superficial, how the waters before him look almost imaginary, how you look alive. 

His voice is trembling when he asks, “This is all a dream, isn’t it?” 

“That’s right.” 

And for the second time, he cries. Oh god. Of course, this can’t be real. Of course, this was all a figment of his imagination. He’s been praying for this opportunity to spend time with you again. 

 “It’s good to see you, Hajime.” 

Because you weren’t in his life anymore. 

He crumbles in front of you, shoulders shaking violently as he weeps for you. He’s saying something but it’s incomprehensible. He reaches for your hand and you take it, feeling the strong grip on your palm.

“Why?” I have longed for you for days, months. “Why show yourself only now?” 

“You’re still suffering. And I don’t like to see you hurting.”  

“I’m sorry, so, so sorry,” he mutters repeatedly. 

You cradle his shaking body. “Shh, Hajime. Stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.” 

He remembers the day it happened so vividly in his mind. It was unpredictable and it happened in a blink of an eye—he could still hear the tires screeching, could still feel the impact of the collision, could still picture himself with you inside that car when it went flying across the street. 

Despite the immediate assistance from an ambulance, the doctors at the hospital declared you as dead on arrival. And when he woke up three days after the incident, he couldn’t believe the news he was hearing. He wanted everything so badly to be a bad dream, wanted to be able to hold you and hear your voice one more time. 

Losing you felt like he lost a part of himself too. 

“I miss you,” he croaked. “I miss you everyday it hurts.” 

“I know.” You hold him close for a while. “I’m only given one chance to visit someone in their dreams so I want to make this worthwhile. Iwaizumi, I want you to move on. For my sake and yours.” 

It takes him a while to calm down, only reveling in the moment when he could finally touch you, talk to you, and hear you even if it was only in his dreams. 

“I can’t,” he stutters. “I can’t move on. There are pieces of you in everywhere I go, everywhere I look. On my table, there’s still the coffee cup you always used when you come to my apartment. Your toothbrush is still sitting beside mine in the bathroom.

And your parents, god knows I’m thankful for them. But every time, they call to check up on me, I’m reminded of you and how I let you die.” 

“It’s not your fault. Stop thinking of that.” Your heart shatters whenever he says that. “No one expected that to happen. And I’m also frustrated and heartbroken that I can’t be with you anymore.”

There’s a long minute where neither of you say anything. The two of you just holding on to one another and savoring the moment. 

“I have always dreamt of growing old with you,” you whisper dreamily. “We’d own a house and live there with our children. I was thinking one boy and one girl. I’m sad that I can’t make that happen with you anymore. But you have a whole life ahead of you. I’m still rooting for you to achieve your dreams, you know?” 

Finally, he laughs as he’s slowly coming to terms with his reality. 

“Forever and ever. That’s how long I said I loved you and that has not changed. Even when I’m already gone, I will always be,” you rest your hand on his chest near where his heart lies. “Here.”  

He grabs your wrist and intertwines his fingers with yours before kissing them. He doesn’t want to let go of you again. He’s already lost you once and he’s not about to lose you again, wishing that he could stay in this dream forever. 

As he’s about to tell you something, he’s brought out of his unconsciousness and his eyes fall to the empty space in his bed. The sheets feel damp and it’s only when he touches his face that he realizes he’s been crying in his sleep. It’s cold when he reaches out to your side of the bed, thinking back to the nights you slept beside him and he felt content. 

He remembers what you said. 

Forever and ever. That’s how long I said I loved you. 

He wills himself to be comforted by those words, repeating them in his mind like a chant until he finds peace and falls back to sleep. He hopes that tomorrow will be better. 

[gogolucky13]

Ghost of You [Seventeen]

Series summary: Bucky has worked hard to come to terms with his past and enjoy the new life he’s been given. But his mind is still plagued by nightmares of what he’s done and by the face of an unknown woman. What happens when the team is tasked with recovering another Winter Solider, causing Bucky’s past and present to collide in the form of the woman from his dreams?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader (platonic)

Chapter warnings: Angst. Some fluff (happy ending!). Implied smut.

Word count: 3,850

A/N: I can’t believe we’ve reached the end (plus an epilogue!) but this is basically it! I can’t even express how much love and gratitude I have for everyone who has given this story a look, like, reblog--thank you so so much, it means the world to me. Anyways, I hope this ending is good enough, I tried my best to wrap everything up. Enjoy! 😊💜 

Chapter Seventeen

The walk to your room is the longest of Bucky’s life. Uncertainty lingering in every step, every breath he takes the closer he gets. He tries to focus on the back of Steve’s head as he walks, even out his breathing, but it’s useless. 

He just wants to see you, hold you, make sure you’re okay.

Entering the viewing room is like stepping into a time warp. Bucky makes eye contact with Bruce, who stands with a folder in one hand and a pen clutched in the other. Then, his anxious blue eyes land on you. Back in the white room, you lay still on the bed turned away from the window.

“Is she—“ his voice is grainy and Bucky clears his throat to try again, “Is she awake?”

“Yeah,” Bruce says. “She’s awake.”

“Are you sure about this, Buck?” Steve asks, turning to his childhood friend, concern pulling at every feature. 

Silently, Bucky nods his head in response before making his way to the door. Trembling legs barely carry him, a shaking hand unlocks the door, and then he’s in your room.

The door softly shuts behind him, but it’s deafening in the otherwise quiet space. You remain on the bed, not turning to see who’s come to you. The sound of your muffled cries are barely heard over the pounding of Bucky’s heartbeat in his ears as he steps further into the room. He’s unsure what state you’re in, or better, what state your mind is in. So, he takes a chance, but uses the one thing he is certain of.

“Lotus?”

His voice is gentle, as to not startle you, but worry laces around the syllables.

Steadily, you turn over to face him, standing up from the bed. The white scrubs you wore before have replaced your pajamas. A flash of silver and a blinking yellow light around your wrist catches Bucky’s eye—another tracking bracelet. Tiny cuts and bruises speckle your arms and parts of your face, remnants of the fight from earlier.

But then Bucky notices something else.

Relief in the form of comforting waves washes over him when he sees the look on your face, a tight breath falling from his lips that are taking on the form of a smile. Recognition of the name and his face reflects within the depths of your watery eyes—you haven’t forgotten him. But when Bucky regards you entirely, worry slowly starts to seep back in, stealing away any bit of comfort he just had. 

“Lotus?”

The recognition is there in your eyes, but something else has taken over your being. Contorting your features and wrapping itself around your rigid body—anger.

“Lo—“

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice is harsh. The words cut through Bucky, sharper than the knife you lodged between his ribs, and definitely a thousand times more painful.

“You know who I am?” Bucky asks to confirm.

“Yes, I know who you are.”

Taking a risk, Bucky begins moving closer to you. The palm of his flesh hand itches to touch you, and he clenches it into a fist. 

“Then why…”

When he sees you recoiling from his approaching figure, Bucky abruptly stops. A sharp pain shoots up his side from the sudden movement, eyes falling closed as he waits for the discomfort to subside. Your gaze lands to where Bucky places a tender hand to the still healing stab wound, tears resurfacing.

“I hurt you.” 

Your voice is small, but it’s loud enough to bring Bucky’s attention back to you. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Guilt crumbles every facet of your being as Bucky tries to assure you with words he doesn’t blame you. None of this is your fault. He knows it and he wants you to know it and believe it, too.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he states again with a bit more conviction. 

Gazes locked on one another, your chest begins to rise and fall with short pants as a conflict of emotions rattles your body and mind.

“I can’t…” you begin quietly, stopping to clear your throat, a newfound roughness finding its way into your voice, “I can’t… I hurt you.” 

A forced coldness and detachment is evident in your eyes, selling a false truth when you speak again.

“Please leave.”

“Lotus,” Bucky tries, the name almost sticking in his throat because he can’t believe this is happening. 

He had you. He had all of you.

And now you’ve been taken from him again. But knowing this time is a conscious effort on your part to push him away…he’s close to falling to his knees and breaking down right in front of you.

“Leave.”

Blood is rushing in his ears, tears welling in his eyes, he doesn’t want to accept it.

“Lo—Y/n...”

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t hear the door opening behind him when he goes to take another step towards you.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve calls.

Nausea rises from the pit of his stomach, his breaths are shallow, mind going hazy. The riptide has come back for him. Pulling him under the surface again and sweeping him back out to sea to be lost forever.

Clenching his jaw, a long, frustrated sigh passes through his nose. He wills himself to hold back the tears that threaten to fall as he gives you one last look before nodding his head in reluctant understanding, leaving you alone.

Something he was once told rings in his mind, sparking a small flame of hope in the dying embers of his heart.

Give her time.

__________

It’s been almost a month. Three weeks, two days, and seven hours to be exact. You’ve chosen to stay in the white room downstairs, despite the pleas from Steve and Wanda, even Tony went to talk you out of locking yourself away. But you refused to leave. 

Bucky went to see you, too. Except he stayed in the viewing room, watching over you and waiting for the day you’d come back to him again.

After the incident, the security at the Compound was increased. All personnel now required to provide two forms of identification, including a fingerprint scan, before they could enter. Dr. Walters resigned from her position, not surprisingly choosing to take some time off to reconsider her continued affiliation with the Avengers, and to spend time with her family.

Therefore, a new doctor was brought in. Based on recommendations by Bruce and Dr. Walters herself, Dr. Leonard Samson was assigned to your case to help evaluate the damage done by Hydra with the secondary set of trigger words. It was a relief to everyone when it was determined the subsidiary words weren’t as deeply connected to your subconscious like the original words. Only recently being embedded, prognosis for a quick recovery was good, and Bucky was eternally grateful for that.

“Back again?” Wanda rhetorically asks when she enters the viewing room. She raises an auburn tinted eyebrow at the super soldier who sits quietly on the table, intently watching you through the window.

“Why is she doing this?” Bucky inquires, his gaze never faltering from you.

Wanda sighs, setting down the tray of food she’s brought and stepping to stand beside him, attention focusing on you before she responds.

“Guilt. Sorrow. Remorse. The list could go on.” She pauses and looks to Bucky. “We’ve all been there after something goes wrong on a mission, you know that.”

“But no one blames her.”

A hum of agreement resonates from Wanda. “No, but she’s probably needed to feel a sense of control again. I’m sure it’s difficult knowing someone could just rattle off some words and then before you can do anything you’re no longer you.” There’s a slight raise of her brow again, a knowing look on her face as she waits for Bucky to give a sign of understanding.

“I just miss her,” he sighs, shoulders slumping as his gaze falls to his hands. He swipes a finger over the broken skin by his thumb that’s started to bleed.

“Give her—“

“Time,” Bucky finishes with a nod, moving to get off the table “I know, I’m trying.”

The visits with Wanda were ones she requested to keep private, not wanting your trust to be broken if you thought you were telling her something in confidence when it actually wasn’t. And Bucky respected that. 

Standing in the doorway for a moment longer, he gives you one final look before leaving, closing the door behind him and retreating back upstairs to his room.

__________

The white walls you once found comfort in now act as your prison. Four walls that protected you from the darkness outside now contain the darkness that’s inside you.

You know it’s not truly your fault; everyone has told you so. But there’s still a deep, lingering feeling of guilt that’s planted itself inside and won’t go away. 

Maybe if you had woken Bucky up when the strange man came to your room none of it would have happened. Maybe if you had fought harder to stop the man from threatening Dr. Walters you wouldn’t have been triggered. 

If only…

Memories of that day are foggy. There was the stranger that came to get you. A gun he had pointed at you then to a crying Dr. Walters as he ordered her around. Then things start to blur after that, the last thing you remember before waking back up in this room was seeing a face. 

His face.

That’s the clearest memory you have of that day. Beautiful blue eyes gazing at you in fear, but with an underlying look of love breaking through. Soft lips moving, calling out for you.

Lotus… please… Lotus…

Warm tears fall from your swollen eyes, rolling down hot cheeks and onto the pillow below. Crying seems to be the only thing you want to do these days. 

A soft knock breaks you from the endless thoughts you’ve been caught up in for weeks. Turning onto your back, you watch as Wanda enters the room, a tray of food in hand. Gingerly, she places it onto the table, giving you a friendly smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She hates that you’re punishing yourself.

“Lunch,” she states, pulling out one of the chairs to sit down.

With great effort, you move to join her. The invisible weight of remorse that sits heavy on your shoulders makes your movements slow, requiring a lot of effort.

“Thanks,” you reply, taking the seat across from her. 

A bowl of chicken noodle soup is placed in front of you, the savory aroma of the broth wrapping your senses in a comforting warmth. The Scarlet Witch is privy to many things, and your lack of appetite is one of them. She’s mindful to bring you light foods, nothing that would sit too heavy in your stomach.

As the two of you begin eating, a comfortable silence settles between you, but you sense a bit of tension radiating off the woman across from you.

Sighing, you drop your spoon and give Wanda an expectant look. 

“What is it?”

Emerald eyes shift from the soup to you, an unusual hesitance dulling the naturally vibrant green.

“Come back upstairs.” 

“Wanda…” you sigh again with slight frustration. This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation, and you know it won’t be the last until you finally relent.

“I hate seeing you like this,” she says, brow creasing in concern. “You’re room is still there. Please.” She reaches across the table to place a hand on top of yours.

Bottom lip catching between your teeth, you bite down to prevent a new wave of tears, but it’s futile.

“I…I can’t…”

“We miss you,” she tries, looking back at you and gently squeezing your hand before adding, “He misses you.”

Shaking your head, you try to protest.

“I don’t think—“

“Y/n,” Wanda interrupts, “staying down here and punishing yourself isn’t going to change what happened. It isn’t your fault anyways. You’re just hurting yourself, and the people who love you.” She pauses, her gaze flicking over your features, “Please, come back upstairs.”

You’re silent for a moment, considering her words. You know she’s right. Staying down here won’t change anything, but you thought it could help ease some of the guilt that grew like unwanted weeds inside you. Instead, you ended up wallowing in your own self-pity, unintentionally hurting the people who have shown you nothing but love.

A tear slips out of the corner of your eye when you gently nod your head, voice barely above a whisper when you reply.

“Okay.”

__________

The next day, Wanda comes to take you to your old room. Before she left yesterday, you asked her not to tell anyone about you moving back upstairs just yet. You wanted some time to yourself to readjust without people fretting over your current state. 

The hallways are empty as you follow Wanda, and you’re thankful for that. Until you reach the floor where the rooms are. As you approach the door to your bedroom, a tall, familiar figure comes around the corner, nearly stopping in its tracks.

Bucky.

Your heart rate picks up at the sight of him, throat going dry. And it seems he has the same reaction. Blue eyes are widening, mouth falling open, it’s like he’s seen a ghost.

“You’re…you’re coming back up here?” He asks, taking a few hesitant steps towards you and Wanda.

Inhaling a steadying breath, your nerves try to get the better of you, but you attempt an even tone when you respond.

“I am,” you say, “for now.”

Bucky doesn’t get a chance to respond because Wanda is ushering you into your room. You can sense the look she gives Bucky over your shoulder, a tender warning of don’t push it.

Once the door is closed, your legs become weak and you move to sit on the edge of the bed. Anxiety rising, a panic attack is creeping close to the surface.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you say.

Wanda fixes you with a stern look. “No,” she responds, moving to sit beside you. “Don’t say that. You belong up here, you understand?”

Glancing to her, you nod in response.

She places an arm around you, pulling you in for a gentle embrace before she quietly speaks again.

“Just give it time.”

After a few quiet moments, Wanda leaves you to settle in. The sun is beginning to set behind the tree line, and you stand to get a better look at the pastel painted sky. As you admire the fading colors, allowing the warmth of it to ease your uncertainties about coming back up here, your eyes catch sight of something. 

Down below, the lake rests. Quiet waves creating hypnotizing patterns, but then your gaze falls to the dock with the bench. The one you shared with Bucky at the end of your countless walks. The memories of it brings tears to your eyes, and you decide to go for a shower in hopes it’ll help calm your nerves.

Skin warm and mind a bit more at peace, you climb into bed after your shower. The bed in this room is a lot comfier than the one downstairs you quickly remember as you settle into the mattress, white covers blanketing over your body. 

It’s still a bit early, but sleep has been calling for you at unusual times over the past month. When you reach to turn off the lamp on your bedside table, you freeze. 

There, lying innocently on the wooden surface, is the last book Bucky gave you, and underneath it, your journal. With a shaking hand, you opt to leave the light on, and instead reach for the little black leather book.

Opening to the first page, you scan what is essentially gibberish. Random words and thoughts as you wrote down parts of nightmares and pieces of the memories Dr. Walters uncovered. Flipping further into the book, you come across an entry dedicated to the one man you’ve been trying to avoid, but find fate won’t allow it.

“Team dinner was tonight. Talked to Bucky for the first time since he came to see me. I thanked him for giving me this journal. It’s been helping.”

Vision beginning to blur, you find more passages.

“Went on a walk today with Bucky. He’s so kind and patient with me.”

“Bucky gave me some books to read and I’m slowly remembering how much I enjoy it.”

Another sight catches your eye when you turn the next page—the broken skin around your thumb. Running a light finger over it, you continue to read.

“Everyday I see Bucky and don’t remember I get a bit more frustrated. I just want my memories back. I just want to be able to tell him I remember. That I remember him.” 

“Nightmares are getting worse, but there’s something in them that makes me feel safe. Loved maybe.”

The beating of your heart increases with every page turn. Trembling fingers hold the journal as silent tears roll down your cheeks. Reading all the entries about Bucky has you realizing he’s been there for you. He’s wanted to be there for you. Patient and kind, taking any opportunity you would give to spend time together. Helping you through the process of regaining your memories and relearning how to be together.

And you realize he’s loved you. He’s always loved you since the beginning, and will continue to love you. Nothing could ever change that.

You jump out of bed, dropping the journal to the floor in haste, and you go to him.

__________

An impatient knock cuts through the otherwise silent space, and Bucky instinctively snaps his eyes towards the door. He doesn’t move right away, unsure of who would be coming to see him, but when another knock comes, louder this time, he moves to get up and answer it.

A soft sigh of frustration falls from his lips because he really doesn’t feel like dealing with anyone right now. Especially not after his brief exchange with you earlier. Still cold and distant, another piece of his heart shattering.

But when Bucky opens the door and sees you on the other side, all feeling leaves his body.

There’s a concerned and slightly panicked look shading your features. It’s not until Bucky hears you speak that he’s brought out of his daze.

“Hi,” you breathe, “Can... Can I come in?” 

Hesitance keeps your voice small, and an uncertainty, Bucky can sense, that he might slam the door in your face. But he would never.

Still unable to form a coherent thought, Bucky silently steps to the side to allow you entry. He gently closes the door, resting his hands on the wood. Taking a moment before turning to face you, a calming breath easing his jittering nerves.

“I needed to see you.” Your voice floats from behind him, soft and quiet.

Finally, Bucky turns to look at you. It’s obvious you’ve been crying, again, and he wishes he could just take it all away. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you decide to continue.

“I thought if I stayed downstairs, away from everyone, it would make me feel better, but...” you sigh as your voice wavers, a tiny cry breaking through, “but it didn’t. All I did was miss you...so much.”

The idea of words is slowly formulating in his mind as Bucky overcomes the shock of your presence in his room. He blinks a few times to ensure this isn’t a sick, twisted dream, worse than any nightmare.

When his senses and mind have confirmed this is no dream, this is the reality he’s been waiting for, he clears his throat of the emotion bubbling up inside before he speaks.

“I...I missed you, too.”

He takes slow, cautious steps towards you, aware you’re still not yet convinced he forgives you and you deserve to be here. As he approaches your defensive figure, he takes a chance. A large hand, cool metal on soft skin, cups your face.

Blue eyes stare into yours, silently conveying everything is alright, he is alright. 

“Lotus,” he whispers, wiping away a stray tear that falls when you close your eyes. “It’s alright.”

Leaning into his touch, Bucky’s heart swells and a feeling of exhilaration sweeps through him when you’re opening your eyes to look back at him. Once cold and distant, now thawed to warmth and love.

Before he brings his face closer to yours, he speaks one more time.

“I love you.”

Then his lips are gently slanting against yours. The kiss is soft, tender, no need to rush because now he has all the time in the world with you.

Goosebumps prick at his skin when your hands find their way to his waist, fingertips grazing just under the hemline of his shirt against his bare skin. Instinctively, he deepens the kiss, a strangled moan trapping in his throat. Mind going slightly dizzy from the overwhelming sensations and prospects.

There’s a tug of his shirt and he allows you to remove it. Your eyes quickly fall to the now healed stab wound, only a faded, white line remaining. Gentle fingers ghost over the scar, and Bucky’s eyes fall close at the intimate contact. He brings his hand to cover yours, pressing it against the mark and holding it there.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, looking back to you. 

His other hand moves to your jaw, pulling you in to place a gentle kiss to your forehead then to your lips. When he senses your eagerness, and wanting nothing more than to feel as much of you as possible, he reaches for your shirt, carefully pulling it over your head.

This time, Bucky’s gaze falls to a thick scar on your shoulder, one he remembers from before. When he runs a gentle thumb over the raised skin, he hears you inhale sharply.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Bucky’s brow creases in confusion, then in frustrated realization. He grabs your face gently, but with enough firmness so to bring your full attention to him when he speaks.

“Don’t ever apologize for that, ever,” he says, “do you hear me?”

Silently, you nod your head in response, damp eyes looking to his that only find love and adoration for the woman before him. Then his lips are back on yours, a bit more fire and passion behind the gesture, and he guides you to bed. 

His touches are light, delicate, like if he pressed too hard your figure would crack and crumble to ash beneath him, and you’d be gone once again. Soft lips press against heated skin, breathy moans and quiet cries fill the sensually charged air around you both. And when Bucky is able to be with you for the first time, it’s two lost souls finding their way and uniting as one.

He was a broken man who pretended to be whole, but is now no longer alone. The storm clouds in his mind clearing at last, giving way to brighter skies.

And he’s finally saved.

Previous // Next // Masterlist

[wasabito]

thank you to @sparkexplosive and @vs-redemption for beta reading it for me! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone ♥️

➽ synopsis: being a member of the royal guard is a grueling and thankless job, so you decide to remind katsuki a little of what it’s like to be young again—what better way to do that than with some healthy competition.

➽ word count: 1.7k

➽ tags: fluff, budding romance, royalty au, childhood friends

➽ author’s note: i had a ton of fun participating in my first ever secret santa!! this is my gift-fic to the lovely @katsushimaa​ hope you enjoy, yssa!

"So, this is where the hell you've been hiding?"

His voice tore through the midday stillness like a blade, equal parts raspy and gruff. He sounded irritated and mildly fatigued. Not that Katsuki Bakugou would ever admit to being anything less than a hundred and ten percent. He climbed off his steed, heavy boots crunching under the weight of his feet, and secured his horse against the stump you were leaning on.

You flipped the page of your book, not sparing the man even a cursory glance. You would prefer to keep your attention occupied by fictitious worlds, warriors, and battles fought in the name of love and justice.

It was much easier to allow yourself to become the bearer of fictional hardships, because at least they could be solved through a well-constructed plot with each turn of a page, as opposed to the realities of your actual life, a slow spiraling disaster in comparison.

Bakugou stood in front of you, vein ticking on his throat with every clench of his jaw. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, red gaze pinned on your hunched form. He wasn't at all the kind of person anyone could easily ignore. His very presence demanded attention and drew eyes like a magnet.

Case in point, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you simply couldn’t.

"Please tell me you aren't going to stand there the entire time. Take a hint will you." You went to turn another page, but Bakugou reached over and snatched the book from your hands with deft fingers and speed you couldn't hope to match.

"Give. It. Back."

"Nah, I don't think I will just yet." He sneered, thumbing through the pages. "I was told to bring your dumbass back to the estate, so that's exactly what the hell I'm 'bout to do."

You blew a puff of air from your lips, eyes blazing with a kind of defiance that only burned harder the more you glared at him. "Then I guess you'll just have to drag me back kicking and screaming."

Bakugou only smirked, teeth spread in a feral grin that sent a chill down your spine.

That had always been his intention.

Almost an hour later, you stood before your parents, clothes dusty, creased, and smudged from having been manhandled like a sack of flour before promptly dumped in front of your waiting audience.

A frown marred your delicate features as they began their lecture.

Your mind drifted elsewhere the more they reminded you of your lineage and that you were royalty and how it was imperative you behave as such. You’d heard it all before, known this for as long as you could remember. As the King and Queen of your home country, your parents never failed to emphasize the importance of keeping your every move in check because of the reputation you had to uphold.

Katsuki stood somewhere behind you, and although he stayed mostly silent, you could almost hear him grinding away at his molars. The King and Queen were taking turns subtly digging into him as well, implying that his incompetence was a stain upon the royal guard perfect record of achievements. If he couldn't keep you in line, what was the point of holding rank?

They annoyed him way more than they did you, but he dare not voice it, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders. Far be it from him to send himself to the guillotine

You both were in for a long night.

“Honestly, this kind of behavior is unbecoming of someone of your status. What will our countrymen think if they see you roaming about unattended like a vagabond?” Your father stroked his beard as if waiting for a response. But everyone in the room knew he really just liked to hear himself talk.

He was no better than a machiavellian swindler in expensive robes. A puppet if you would.

The real leader of the land was your mother. After all, she had only married into the family, having been the daughter of a mere advisor with no royal blood. She spoke little, but her glare was more than enough to convey just what she was thinking.

By the end of the lecture, you felt like all of your energy had been sapped from you, but thankfully your parents left you to retreat into your bedroom for the remainder of the day. Bakugou escorted you, following close behind.

“You’re gonna do it again, aren’t ya?”

You paused, foot nearly catching against the carpeted floors of your bedroom. Fiddling with a piece of your hair, you shrugged. “...maybe.”

“You’re a huge idiot.” Bakugou shook his head with a low laugh.

A tiny smidgen of a grin danced on your lips as you considered him. He was your childhood friend. No one knew you better than he did. And he was also the guard most assigned to watch over you and keep you safe from harm.

Despite that, you’d come to notice how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the same Katsuki you grew up knowing and you missed him dearly. Occasions like this, where a part of his guard was let down, were becoming few and far between. There had to be something you could do.

“Let’s make a wager. If you can manage to find me, I’ll do one thing at your command.”

“Challenge accepted.” He reached into the folds of his uniform, pulled out your little novel, and slapped it right into your open palm. "No matter where you run off to, I'll find ya. Trust me on that, princess."

His eyes were like candles in the night, ignited by a spark of passion. Not a single lie could be detected.

"I won't make it easy on you, Katsuki, just so you know."

"Heh, you better not." He sniffed, tucking his hands into his uniform pockets. And with a final half-wave, he was gone.

In and around the capital city, winter had completely lost it's bite. The weather was tepid, swinging a mild breeze that coasted through the countryside. It was the sort of winter where one felt as if woolen clothing were worn more for comfort than necessity. In what should have been the chilliest part of the year, Bakugou found himself traversing one of the many beaches that hedged the southern peninsula.

After a full week following the challenge issued in your bedroom, Bakugou realized you were entirely too good at evading him or any of the other guards at the kingdom’s disposal, for that matter.

Day in and day out, he spent his shifts searching tirelessly for you, just to stumble upon you in the most random of places and only when you had wanted him to find you. The running score was six to five in your favor, but he was determined not to lose to you again.

And there you were, standing at the very edge of the shore, as if a mere thought had manifested you right before his very eyes. Your loose billowing dress of soft satin waved to him like a white flag of surrender in the air. He'd finally found you.

"Not gonna run off this time?"

"Nope! You won this round." Your cheeks creased in a smile.

Given the boots he'd worn, it was no surprise that his feet kept sinking into the sand. You said nothing as he toed off his shoes and socks, bare feet settling into the depths of warm, grainy sand.

He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed. Over the past few months, he’d found himself losing sight of his goals, caught in the dredges of the mundane and routine.

The cool waters lapped at both his and your feet, fizzing and bubbling, leaving behind traces of salt. You went further into the water’s touch, your back to him as the tides licked at the your calves. Even he had to admit, the view was a beautiful one, possibly even more so with you against the backdrop.

“I’m glad you found me,” you called over the cry of seagulls. “For a second, I was worried you’d lose this round.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Tch, as if I’d ever lose to you, princess.”

“Naturally.” You laughed.

“What the hell are we doing out here anyway?”

He knelt to roll up his pants, a mere moment away from following after you like always.

“I... really just wanted to show you the view. Do you remember when we used to come down here as kids? Remember how we used to dare each other to see who could go the farthest into the ocean?”

Of course he remembered. Those were some of his most cherished memories of his time spent with you before duty to the kingdom took precedent.

You reached a hand out to him, an open invitation. “I just thought you needed a little reminder of what that was like.”

For some reason, Katsuki was determined not to meet your gaze, scowling at some point on the horizon, until you came over and nudged him with your elbow. “It wouldn’t kill you to admit that I’m right.”

With a sigh, he reached over and tugged you into a hug. You snuggled close to his chest, gripping the back on his uniform. It may have been your imagination but you could’ve sworn you felt the soft press of lips against your temple.

“Thanks... you know... for everything.”

Beaming, you leaned back to get the full view of his heated cheeks.

“Of course, of course.”

There was something earnest in his eyes that told you no matter how far you went, or however far you traveled, he’d always be a step behind you. It sent your heart hammering in your ribcage. You were suddenly all too aware of the way he held you secure against him like he would never let go.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

You blinked owlishly, taken over by your feelings and mumbling a hushed. “Oh, nothing.” The two of you were just a royal and a guard, bound to one another by duty.

If there could be anything more than that...well, only time would tell.

[winterscaptain]

focused.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: thanks to kira for helping me through the last dregs of this!! you’re amazing!! As promised, here’s lo-fi/mayhem in our ajf world. as (usually) usual, no context required to enjoy, but it’s pretty fun over here!

words: 6.4k warnings: language, canon-typical injury/violence, everyone’s mad and everyone’s worried!

summary: “knowing when to fight is just as important as knowing how.” terry goodkind, faith of the fallen. au!may 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? updated: february 1st, 2021

“Don’t get comfortable. There will be time to debrief on the plane.” Hotch’s eyes are trained on the monitor, where grainy security footage plays and replays an exceedingly casual murder in an underground subway station. 

Reid, entering behind you, squints at the monitor. “Where are we headed?”

“New York.”

Rossi advances on the monitor. “Five shootings in two weeks. It’s about time we got the call.” 

You watch as Hotch replays the tape again. “Why the delay?”

Aaron doesn’t answer you, but rather addresses Derek. “I want to take Garcia with us. Hopefully they’ll give us access to their surveillance systems.”

He’s distracted, almost absent-minded. It’s odd. 

“What do we know?” You try again with another question, and Emily dips her chin - she had the same one. 

Hotch pauses the video, turning toward the rest of you - loosely circled around the table. “All the killings are mid-day. Single gunshot to the head with a .22.”

“Any witnesses?” As always, JJ looks for somewhere to go as soon as wheels are down. 

She really doesn’t get paid enough. 

There’s something odd in her voice and temperament this morning, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Now that you’re really awake and looking around, everyone's a little jumpy this morning. It doesn't help that the two most grounded people on the team are the most absent-minded of you all. 

“No.” 

Spencer pipes up. “.22-caliber pistol’s only 152 decibels. New York streets and subways are routinely well over a hundred.”

“So,” you ask, “could it be such that possible witnesses don’t even clock it before the unsub’s already on their way?”

Spencer nods. 

Derek shifts beside you. “They sound like mob hits.” 

Aaron dips his chin, but says, “Except none of them have ties to organized crime.”

The rest of the facts and questions fly past you - no connection between victims, no communication or contact, surveillance footage that shows next to nothing, an establishment that the unsub is bold and well-trained. 

Seems completely random. 

Spencer voices your next thought. “Son of Sam all over again.”

The grim look on Aaron’s face tells you all you need to know. 

+++

Derek, Penelope, and Emily shoot the shit as they get on the plane, but you notice JJ staring forlornly out the window. You resolve to discover what that’s about as soon as possible. Having her down was odd…

But she has been acting strange lately, not just today. 

You sit beside Hotch, across from Reid as Rossi flips through photos of the victims. 

Spencer makes astute observations about the continued pattern of, well, no pattern at all, while Hotch provides some remarks here and there. 

One of them catches your attention. “It’s a joint FBI-NYPD taskforce?” 

Yeah, because those always go over so well. 

“Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She’s running point on the case and called me directly.” He calls out to JJ, who then informs the pilot you’re all ready to get wheels up. “Kate’s starting to butt heads with the local detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes.” 

There’s something in his voice you can’t place. History, maybe? 

“Joyner, I know her,” Derek says. “She’s a Brit, right?” 

Hotch shrugs. “Well, dual citizenship. Her father’s British, her mother’s American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau.”

You look over at him. 

That’s a ridiculous amount of knowledge for someone who doesn’t work in the same state, Aaron. 

“I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass.” It’s a test. The defiant tip of Derek’s chin tells you as much. 

Hotch takes the bait. “I didn’t think so.”

You can’t help it. “You know her?”

“We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard.”

You look at Emily, who shrugs. 

“And she’s good?” You wouldn’t call Dave’s tone skeptical, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was another test. He’s a lot subtler than Morgan. 

Hotch looks back at Dave. “I think we’re lucky to have her.” 

+++

You all step out of the elevator, and you stay closest to JJ. Her absent-mindedness had yet to leave her, and as the person closest to her age, you were doing your best to support her with your presence alone. 

JJ leans toward you as you approach the center of the office. “Is it just me or does she look -”

“- exactly like Haley?” You finish JJ’s thought. “Yeah.”

There’s a little smile you can see on Aaron’s face, just touching his profile. Agent Joyner has one too, and it makes you feel...something. 

Whatever it is, it isn’t comfortable. 

“Kate.”

“Aaron. How’ve you been?”

You take another glance at JJ. She seems to have the same thought as you. 

First name basis? How close are they?

“Well, thank you. This is my team.” He introduces you all one by one, and you attempt to plaster a polite smile on your face, just like everyone else. Derek’s the only one who doesn’t make an effort, and you tap the side of his shoe with your foot. 

Penelope gets settled right away, and the NYPD detectives approach shortly after that. Of course, they start with a snide remark at Spencer. Your hackles rise, and you take a little huff of a breath. 

Calm down. 

Kate introduces Detectives Brustin and Cooper. Dave gets right to the point, doing his best to establish baseline rapport. 

It doesn’t work. 

You don’t notice that you’ve crept closer to Aaron throughout the proceedings, now standing just off his shoulder, next to Emily, until Kate leans into him. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

The crumpling of your brow is quick, and you hope nobody noticed. Emily’s head, whirling around to look at Derek, is far less subtle. 

“Sure.”

Emily tracks back to JJ, who looks confused. In a hushed and suggestive tone, she tells her, “They...liaised when she was at Scotland Yard.”

You hide your laugh in your shoulder, covering your movement with an attempt to adjust your backpack. 

Derek steps up behind you. “Let me get that for you, kiddo.” 

You look up at him, hard-pressed to keep your mirth to yourself. A little smile plays at the edge of his lips as well. He turns you around when he’s done pretending to be helpful, holding you in the little huddle that develops between the rest of you and the NYPD detectives. 

Derek’s eyes keep flickering to Kate’s office, where she and Hotch chat informally and perhaps even fondly, to an extent. Heat rises in your cheeks. 

Get over yourself. 

+++

You attempt to ignore the sheer amount of time Aaron spends looking over Kate’s shoulder behind her desk. Tearing your eyes from her office window, you return to your task. 

The whiteboard marker in your hand is seeing lots of use as you follow Spencer’s instructions, tracing lines between key points, making notes, etc. Cooper’s banter with Emily puts a little smile on your face. 

“Anti-geographical profiling? Now you wonder why we’re so skeptical?” Cooper’s voice is full of play, but there’s a very real concern behind it. 

Emily laughs, but then explains, “This unsub’s organized. He strikes at the same time of day, he knows where the cameras are placed. That means he’s doing his own surveillance.”

You offer your two cents in support of Spencer, who outlines the difference between need-motivated killers and organized killers. Cooper looks a little impressed by the time you add, “So, essentially, we need to look everywhere this unsub isn’t to find where he lives. He has a comfort zone, and we just have to find it.” 

“What are we finding?” Hotch and Kate roll out of her office, and he settles beside you, peering at the map.

You look over your shoulder at him. “He’s organized, so we’ve redirected to an anti-geographical profile.” 

“Keep looking.” He turns on his heel and walks out the door, Kate trailing behind him with a confidence that tightens your jaw. 

Maybe Derek was right. Maybe she is a pain in the ass. 

+++

You keep your eyes up as Rossi and Hotch inspect the body on the busy New York street. Your mind wanders to a lecture at the academy, the voice of the late Jennifer Shepard echoing through your head. 

“Always watch the watchers.” 

But then again, she’d always backed it up with another story about “the man with all the rules” to undermine the rules in question. The stories did more than make you laugh - they helped you remember. 

“See anything?” Hotch looks up, not at you, but you know you have his attention. 

You shake your head, your eyes still on the crowd. “Nothing obvious.” 

He hums, and tunes back in as Derek says, “From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they’re gonna get is the back of his head.”

“Let’s not be too quick to decide what we do or don’t have.” Kate meets Derek’s eyes and stares him down. You bristle, but Hotch turns just the smallest bit toward you, reminding you to behave. 

The detective makes another snide remark as Kate brushes past the rest of you. 

Derek turns toward Hotch, and you step back, giving them the illusion of privacy. “You mind telling me why I’m catching attitude from her?”

Because you’re better at your job? Because you don’t have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Atlantic? Because you probably haven’t maybe slept with our unit chief, maybe?

“FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn’t bring this case home, she’s gonna be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her.” 

“You’re kidding me.” 

Aaron squints a little, but his words are deeply genuine. “Why should you be surprised? You’re good at your job. People notice that.” 

He’s right. 

“What happened to the Bureau patting itself on the back from stealing her away from Scotland Yard?” 

Hotch shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know. Politics here are different. And you can see she doesn’t pull punches.” He walks away, and Derek looks over his shoulder at you. 

With a little smile, you say, “He’s right, you know.” 

“You’re a terrible ass-kisser, kid.” 

Nevertheless, he taps your shoulder with his knuckle and you both make your way to Rossi, examining a tarot card. 

+++

“We’ve got more than one unsub.” Hotch’s tone is more than defeated, and you peer further over his shoulder, your fingers pressing lightly into the back of his arm for balance. 

Rossi circles the desk. “So, we have more than one unsub. What does that tell us?”

“Most teams stick together,” Spencer says. “Ng and Lake. The Krays. Bittaker and Norris. They don’t usually kill separately.” 

Derek is next, offering, “Could be some kind of gang initiation.” 

Emily and JJ volley about gang operations and local task forces for a moment before Kate asks. “Do you think we have enough for a working profile?”

You startle a little. She’s closer than you thought, on the other side of Hotch. You lean around him, the soft wool of his suit sleeve still under your fingers. “Broad strokes, maybe. Nothing specific, yet.”

Hotch makes a few assignments, but you’re focused on Derek. As you suspected, he has an idea. “I think we should get out on the streets.”

Also unsurprising, Kate has an immediate rebuttal. “I brought you here to create a profile.” 

“Which we can give in the morning, and they can share it with the afternoon shift.” 

She huffs. “We’ve allocated every extra man we have.” You don’t miss the warning glance Hotch shoots Derek or the way Derek ignores it. “This is New York City. It’s not like adding a few more people is gonna blanket the city.” 

“I understand it’s a long shot. But these guys, they hit at mid-day. We could target ingress and egress to particular neighborhoods. Position us near express stops - 14th, 42nd, 59th -”

“Morgan. It’s not your call.” Hotch’s rebuke is harsh, surprising. 

You inhale sharply and tuck your lip between your teeth, retracting your hand. 

This is gonna be a long case. 

+++

Thankfully, you’re all headed back to the hotel in fairly short order. Hotch has all but ordered Kate to bed, and you try not to let your thoughts stray too far in response. 

Spencer’s eyes wander up, and you follow them. “JJ -” 

Will?

You’d only met him once but like him well enough. He was polite, pleasant, and even funny. Seeing as you hadn’t heard much about him in the last few months, you assumed JJ had broken it off. 

Guess not. 

She turns. “Will.” 

“Hey,” he says, “took a shot and flew to D.C. but it didn’t work. I figured I’d train up to New York - only a few more hours.” 

Hotch looks a little surprised, which probably means you do too. He extends his hand. “Detective.” 

Will takes it. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. I know you’re working. But, um…” He drops his voice. “I can’t stand you being on this case and me not being here - not with what’s going on.” 

You look at JJ, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then Hotch, who looks a little confused. Aaron’s the first one to speak, and you’re more than a little touched by the concern in his voice as he addresses JJ and JJ alone. “Is there a problem?”

Will dips his head, and you know he’s disappointed. 

What the hell is going on? 

She turns toward the team. With a little laugh, she says, “I’m pregnant.”

Hotch freezes, and you step close to him as Emily congratulates her. Will extends his hand and Hotch shakes it again. “I’ve asked JJ to marry me.” 

JJ whirls around, and there’s a warning in her voice. “Will.”

“We’re, ah, working out some kinks.” 

“We’ll, um” Aaron says, coming back to himself, “give you both some privacy.” He nods and steps away. You follow close behind him, but you fall back as JJ hops after him. 

“Hotch -”

There’s something in his voice you’ve never heard before when he replies. “JJ, you could have told me.” He almost sounds...hurt? Your brow crumples, and you try to stay out of his eye line as they chat. 

Pin that for later...

“I know.” 

“I understand if you need to take some time.” 

“No, I want to be here.” She’s firm in her conviction, and you can’t say you’d be any different if you were in any similar situation - injury, illness, otherwise. 

“Okay. Seven AM.” 

She nods and turns back to Will while Hotch continues toward the elevators. The rest of the team passes ahead of you, leaping into the open lift. Aaron hangs back and you follow his lead, letting the doors close. 

“Are you okay?” 

He sighs. “Yeah. Just unexpected.” 

Taking a little leap, you step close to him in a show of camaraderie. He’d never let on, but he needs contact sometimes. You might even go so far as to say the poor man is touch-starved. 

He wraps his arm around you, and you bite back a pleased smile, feeling more than a little chuffed. You examine his profile. “What’s on your mind?”

His shrug says many things. His sigh says more. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”

+++

“We’re not having that discussion, right now.” Hotch’s cutoff is flat, and it shoots irritation through you.

Your brow furrows, and you sputter for a second before turning on him. “What’s with you? That’s like the sixth time you’ve shut me down today.” 

Hotch opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Kate’s voice chirps from behind you. 

“Are all your younger agents this insubordinate, Aaron, or is it limited to this one?”

You grit your teeth, and blatantly ignore the apology blossoming in Hotch’s eyes as you say, “Excuse me, sir.” You turn your head, not quite looking at Kate. “Agent Joyner.” You brush past Hotch, almost shoulder-checking him, and leave the room. The door shuts loudly behind you. 

Derek looks up, and you wave him off as he rises to follow. 

Throwing the stairway door open, you fly down two flights of stairs before sitting heavily upon the landing. You throw your blazer off, the heat under the fabric only fueling your anger. 

Your hands cover your face and you manage three deep breaths before tears press in at your eyes. Molten humiliation courses through you, your face hot and hands shaking. 

It’s not fair to expect Kate to understand the rapport you have with Hotch, why you can push him inexplicably further than the rest of your team. It’s not fair, but you still feel betrayed by Hotch’s accommodation of her insecurity and Kate’s own ridiculousness. 

The lack of sleep doesn’t help.

A few relevant thoughts regarding the profile float through your head and you pin them for later. 

The door opens two floors above, and you hear Aaron’s familiar footsteps hesitate before they slowly descend to your level. You keep your face pressed into your hands as he sits beside you, resting his arms on his knees. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you today.”

You sniff, but don’t answer. He waits for you, a few minutes passing in silence, but you don’t have anything to say. 

“I’ve done my best to make Kate feel supported, but I -” he huffs, and you know he’s working hard to properly articulate his feelings. You appreciate it. “I’ve failed both you and Morgan in the process. I’ve explained the situation to him, but I didn’t speak to you before I…” He trails off. “For that, I’m sorry.” 

You drop your hands from your face, wiping at the evidence of your anger. “Just...remember who’s on your team, would you?”

“I do.” 

“Then -” You throw your arms up and huff at him, his response inspiring a new wave of irritation in your chest. “Then why the fuck are you riding my ass about this shit today? You haven’t taken a single one of my ideas, and all but one has been really good.” 

He sighs. “I know. I also know that you can take it. I trust you to be resilient in difficult political situations such as this one. I don’t have that same trust in Kate right now.” He pauses and you watch his left thumb worry a track back and forth over the knuckle of his middle finger. Your eyes wander to the barely-noticeable tan line where his wedding ring used to sit. With a start, you realize you didn’t notice its absence and you don’t know when he took it off. When he speaks again, your eyes snap back to your feet. “Your ability to step away instead of rightfully lashing out at Kate speaks to your excellence and professionalism in your role, and shows me my faith is not misplaced.” 

You look at him, finding his brown eyes soft and apologetic. “Thanks.” 

He grabs your blazer off the ground and stands. He straightens his suit jacket, offering you a hand. You take it and rise, using the back of your other hand to rid yourself entirely of tears. 

With gentle hands, he slips your blazer over your shoulders, fixing the collar and brushing debris off the back. You let him fuss, knowing all the while his concern is another apology. 

“It’s far too organized to be just organized crime, by the way,” you inform him casually, as if remarking on the weather. 

He looks almost startled. “What?”

You tug on his arm and take the stairs two at a time back up to Kate’s floor. “Look.” He follows you as you burst back through both sets of doors into the conference room, stepping in front of Kate for access to the map. “We have more than one unsub. They’ve attacked different neighborhoods across Manhattan - all different demographic and socio-economic backgrounds. They’re trying to send a message, and each attack is a play to build their audience. If anything, our presence tells them that it’s working.” 

A look of realization crosses Hotch’s face, and he presses a hand to your shoulder, his fingertips squeezing just a little before he lets go. “Well done.” He turns to Kate. “We’re ready to update the working profile.” 

You keep your eyes trained on Aaron, but Kate’s clenched jaw doesn’t escape your notice. 

+++

“Focused? From where I’m standing, your focus is on her.” 

It’s finally come to a head. Derek has absolutely lost it, rightfully so, in the middle of the federal building, while Hotch tries to keep the peace, and Kate looks appropriately chastised. 

You reach for Derek’s elbow with gentle fingers, but he shakes you off. 

“Take a walk. Now.” Aaron’s tone is nothing to trifle with, and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Fuck. 

“Derek. C’mon.” You yank once on his sleeve and lead him out the doors. He’s pissed, almost vibrating with energy. 

You look over your shoulder exactly once to check on Aaron, who leans heavily over a desk. When he looks up, you turn your head before he can meet your gaze. 

Yes, it’s a punishment. Yes, he knows it. He'll get your attention once he’s earned it again. 

Derek cools off a little once you get outside, and he leads the way to the hotel bar. You’re sure you'd be better off returning to your post upstairs, but he needs you more than anyone else right now. 

You also don’t trust yourself to be in the same room as Aaron - the likelihood of losing your usually-endless patience with him is dangerously high. At this rate, you’d get yourself a first-class ticket to Suspension City - at worst ending with your removal from the unit. 

There was no way on this green earth that you’d end up off the unit of Hotch had any say, but your exhausted brain was only giving you the worst-case scenario at the moment. 

He sits heavily on a barstool and orders a Stella. You don’t comment on his choice to drink while on the clock. You take a water, and wait for him to speak. He doesn’t touch his beer. 

“Thanks for coming with me.” 

“Of course.” 

“You should go back.” 

Looking up, you see Rossi walking through the doors. “Alright, but you’re not getting out of anything.” By the time you’ve finished, Dave is at Derek’s other side, getting comfortable. You press a hand to Derek’s shoulder, leaving them alone. 

You take a few deep breaths before returning to the proper floor. Kate is in her office with Hotch over her shoulder. 

He looks up when you walk in. How’s Morgan?

“He’ll be back.” 

+++

You reach Emily with Derek and JJ, and she looks flustered. 

“Are you okay?” Derek takes stock of Emily, but you figure out there’s nothing to know about Cooper. 

Emily walks through the moments before and during the shooting, growing increasingly intense. You watch her as Derek digs and digs - finding the right questions for the answers she wants to share. 

“Wait,” you ask. “You think he deliberately shot someone where he could be caught?”

“What if he did?” Her eyes are wild, angry. “What if they chose this spot because we were here?”

“What are you thinking?” Derek leans forward, searching her face for answers.

She enumerates her points. “He had no ID on him. He waited until we caught up to him. He was strangely calm- it’s almost like suicide by cop.”

“Why?” You hear yourself ask. “Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to make us think everything was finished.” 

You look at Derek. He looks back at you. 

“We need to walk back through this profile.”

Just then, Aaron and Kate dip under the police tape and make a beeline for Rossi and Reid. Dave looks grim and you can’t hear what they’re saying, but you’re sure they’ve come to the same conclusion as you. 

Terrorism. 

+++

“So much for theory.” Dave uncrosses his arms and the room leaps into action. 

Kate grabs her blazer and looks at Aaron. “We need to hit the ground running.” 

“I'm gonna head to the hospital,” Emily says, already headed for the door. “I'll check on Cooper and brief detective Brustin.” 

“Good.” Aaron makes the rest of the assignments. “Dave, will you go talk to the commissioner?” He assigns you and Derek to Homeland Security for a briefing, and you grab your things. You will be Derek’s shadow for the duration, and you’re more than happy you’re with him. 

So why does something feel...wrong?

You look at Aaron, and his brow is furrowed. He meets your eyes. What’s wrong?

I don’t know. 

His mouth presses into a thin line. This first, then that. 

You nod and he starts talking again. “Kate and I will go talk to the mayor and we'll meet back here as soon as possible.”

“One advantage that we have right now is that they don't know we know they're watching.”

For once, you agree with Kate. It’s about damn time. 

+++

You get into the car with Derek and head toward the DHS field office. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. You’ve done well.” 

Smiling a little, you thank him. “Though I do think we’ve pushed Hotch to the absolute limit this week, between the two of us.” 

He rolls his eyes, speeding down the shockingly barren New York streets. “If one of us isn’t, who is?”

“Rossi.” 

You both freeze as an explosion goes off. You don’t know where it is, but Derek turns around with a spectacular screech of tires. 

“Derek...What -”

“We’re going back. That’s not good. Let’s go.” He guns the engine, and you’re on your way back to the federal building with sirens blaring. 

His phone rings and he checks the caller ID as he answers. “Yeah. I'm still here.” He looks at you. “We’re still here.” 

“Yes, you are. Thank God.”

Garcia. 

“I'm almost back at the federal building. What the hell's going on?” 

“Alright, we're going over the closed-circuit footage right now.” You can hear her faintly through the phone, and he puts her on speaker. 

“Who else have you checked on?”

“You're the first. Rossi and Reid called me.”

“All right. Keep me on the line while you check on everyone else.” 

Emily picks up next. “Is everyone ok?”

Garcia tells her she’s got the both of you on the line, and she’s already spoken to Rossi and Reid. 

Your body is almost completely bowed toward Derek, twisted in the passenger seat. “Emily, where are you?” 

“I'm following detective Brustin to one of the NYPD’s Critical Incident Command Posts.”

“One of them?” Garcia’s confusion is only a little frantic, and you more than sympathize with her tangent. Anything is a better thought than the one you’re all sharing at this very moment. 

Derek explains the decentralization of the CICP’s following 9/11 - too many eggs in one basket. 

Garcia cuts him off, getting back on track. “Has anyone talked to JJ?”

Emily answers her. “She was headed back to the hotel.” 

“In an SUV? 

“I think so. Stay with me a minute. I'll dial her mobile.” 

JJ’s voicemail rings through Derek’s phone, and your heart sinks. “This is Agent Jareau, Communications Director for the FBI’s Behavioral--” It cuts off.

You lean over the center console. “What was that? What happened?”

Garcia’s voice is flustered when she answers, “It went dead mid-message.”

“Try her again. She's probably back at--” You lose Emily. 

You lost all of them in the middle of a sentence, and all the blood drains out of your face. Derek drops his phone into one of the cupholders and reaches out. You grab his hand, holding it in both of yours. 

This is a nightmare. 

Derek keeps driving, and you find a police barricade on your way back to the federal building. Derek throws the car into park and you both leap out of the car, flashing your badges at anyone who will look. You find the man in charge, but he tells you to get back to the federal building. 

Hot anger flies through you. 

Who does he think he is? 

You stick close to Derek, but startle when you hear Hotch cry out. Pressing along the barricade, you call across the block. “Aaron! Aaron! We’re here!” 

You get leave to go, and you and Derek sprint toward Aaron and Kate. He’s covered in blood, both his and Kate’s and you get on one side of him while Derek crouches on the other side of Kate. Your hands flutter over him for a moment, one of them landing on the nape of his neck. The softness of his hair is the same as it’s always been, and it grounds you. 

“Aaron -” 

He’s not looking at you. “Morgan, we've got to get her out of here.” 

Derek throws his arm out of the side, outlining the situation. “They're not letting any ambulances down here ‘til they clear the scene.” He turns to the young man hovering behind Aaron. “Kid, you gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go. Go!”

Hotch nods at him. “Go, Sam.”

“Good luck.” The kid sprints off, and Derek draws Hotch’s focus again. 

“Talk to me. Can we carry her?” He leans further over Kate, into Aaron’s eye line. “Hotch, can we carry her?”

“No, I tried. Morgan, she's gonna bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We gotta do something.” The ache in his voice is horrible. You reach out, brushing some hair off Kate’s forehead. She’s cold to the touch, and you press your hand to the side of her face, willing your warmth into her. 

“C’mon Kate.” You whisper to yourself. She’s still not your favorite person, but Aaron’s agony as he literally holds her body together tears your heart in two.

Derek’s phone rings, and it’s Penelope. “Garcia, I got Hotch. But listen to me. You gotta get somebody down here right away, you hear me? Right now. What? You're absolutely sure?” Derek looks up, finding the kid standing by the shelled remains of the car. “Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber.” 

“Go.” Aaron’s voice is defeated, and you hesitate as your body coils to chase after Derek. Aaron looks at you. “Please. Stay.” 

You nod, and tuck in close to him, keeping one hand on his arm and another on Kate’s cheek. An ambulance pulls up, and you’re more than relieved. 

Hotch briefs the paramedic. “She's got an arterial bleed in her back and I'm doing my best to hold it closed. 

“You ok?”

Isn’t that the question of the hour. 

“I just want to get her out of here.”

That’s not a fucking answer, Aaron. 

You let it go, for now. He’s a mess, but he’s alive and he’s conscious. That’s what’s important right now. You tune back in. 

“You were calling for help and I couldn't listen anymore. My partner was too afraid to come in here with me.” 

Aaron leans into Kate, and your heart pulls again. “Kate, we're gonna get you out of here. We're on our way out of here.”

You help as much as you can, following instructions and making sure Kate’s stable. 

+++

When you’re all finished, you get into the passenger seat of the ambulance. Hotch is on autopilot and he shouldn’t be driving, but you’re ready to take over at a moment’s notice. 

When you’re stopped at the emergency room entrance, you flash your credentials as Hotch explains the situation as clearly as he can. The Secret Service agent reluctantly waves you through. Kate’s crashing in the back, and Aaron’s agitation flies through the roof. 

It’s a blur, but you finally end up in the hospital, shadowing Aaron. He collapses, and you cry out for help, holding his hands as he hits the ground. 

Everything's happening so fast. 

When will it end?

+++

“Kiddo, where’s Hotch?” Derek comes flying through the doors of the ER, and you throw yourself into him. 

“He’s fine. Massive trauma to his right ear and a shrapnel wound. Kate’s in surgery.” 

There’s a commotion from behind the open door, and you both rush in when you hear Hotch’s voice.

You get in between Hotch and the attending, doing your best to calm him down. “Aaron, Hotch. Calm down. Slow down. You’re really hurt.” 

“Where’s Kate?” 

You press your hands into his wrists, and he twists his arms, surprising you by gripping your forearms. “She’s in surgery. Your go-bag is on its way. Nothing’s happened since the first blast.” 

He looks somewhat placated but looks over at Derek. “Sam?”

“He’s dead.” 

Hotch releases you. “Morgan, the profile's wrong. Call JJ.” 

+++

“Are you ok?” Emily takes full stock of him, and isn’t happy with what she finds. 

“Yeah. I just want to understand why I'm still alive.” You help him with his vest, minding his shoulder. You’re not sure what’s wrong with it, but he’s favoring one over the other. He looks at you, and there are thanks in his brown eyes. You offer him a quick, soft smile but continue with your task, gently tightening the vest around his tender ribs, smoothing over the velcro with even pressure. 

You’re listening as they go along, talking signatures and bomb-making and all manner of horrific precedent. You pass two pieces of fresh cotton to Hotch, who immediately replaces the bloodied cotton in his right ear. He shakes his head with two deep blinks.

His ears are ringing something stupid right now, I bet. 

I wish I could do more. 

Just be here. Do your job. That’s what you can do. 

All at once, you figure out that the ambulance is the bomb. You spot Hotch as he moves (way too fast) down the hallway. 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

+++

The bastard slit his throat. 

Fuck. 

The look on Aaron’s face is nothing short of disgust, and you’re sure yours matches. 

+++

You’re waiting for him when he walks out of the operating room. His eyes are hollow and they seem to look through you rather than at you. 

“Hotch - Aaron - I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t particularly like Kate, but you know how much he cared for her. His pain often feels like yours - even more frequently, you can't parse his from yours. While you didn’t expect to mourn her, you find that weight in your belly anyway. Your eyes mist up against your will, your breath hitching in your throat. 

He doesn’t say anything, and your voice is almost desperate when you ask, “What can I do?”

Brown eyes flicker around the room. He looks more like a caged animal in this moment than in any other you’ve ever seen. You approach him slowly, and you’re not sure if he heard you. There’s still blood on his neck from his ear, and you’re terrified he’s lost his hearing for good. 

“Aaron?”

He finally acknowledges you when you’re close enough to him to take his hand. You catch him as he wilts, pressing a hand to the back of his head as he tucks his head into your neck. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Aaron.” 

He mumbles something into your shoulder, and you lean back, holding him up with your hands on his biceps. 

“What?”

“Call Haley. Tell her, please. They got along really well. She’d want to know.” 

You nod and guide him to a chair. He sits heavily, tilting his head against the wall. Pulling your phone from your belt, you ask, “Do you want me to stay here?”

He nods, his eyes closed. 

You dial the familiar number and hold the phone to your ear, settling down on his left so he can hear. 

Haley answers the phone, a question at the end of your name. 

“Yeah, Haley, it’s me. Hi.” 

“Hi. Is everything okay?”

You look at Aaron, who’s still and quiet beside you. “Not really.” 

“I heard about the bombing in New York, the murders...Is everyone alright?”

“We’re alright. Aaron’s fine - some mild injuries but nothing serious.” 

“Okay?” You hear the unspoken question. Then why are you calling?

“I was told you’d - um.” You take a deep breath, and it catches. Aaron flips his hand palm-up on his knee, and you take it. “I was told you were close with Kate Joyner, from the New York field office. She used to be at Scotland Yard?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Her voice falters. “Wait. Oh, God…”

“Haley I’m so sorry.” You swallow some tears. “I’m so sorry, but she was killed in the bombing.” 

You hear a shaky breath on the other side of the line. “Oh.” There’s a pause, and you suspect she has more to say. You’re right. “Aaron told you to call, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” 

She sighs. “Can I talk to him?”

You look over and he nods, releasing your hand and holding it out for the phone. “Yeah, he’s right here.” She says something else, and you put the phone back to your ear. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I just wanted to thank you. Thank you for telling me.” 

You nod to yourself. “Of course. Here’s Aaron.” 

He takes the phone from you. An exhausted, “Hi,” leaves him. 

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

A little smile pulls at his lips. “I’m alright. How’re you?”

Her bright laugh echoes faintly through the phone, but there’s a solemn edge to it. “You’re asking me how I am?”

His eyebrows rise, his eyes still closed. “Isn’t that polite?”

You can almost see her suppressed smile. “It is. I’m fine. Jessica and I just finished dinner and put Jack down for the night.” 

“How’s Jack?”

You tune out, the exhaustion taking over. Aaron pats the seat on his other side and you shuffle around, tucking yourself under his open arm. Leaning against his shoulder, you close your eyes, letting the voices of two divorced people who love each other very much lull you into something that feels a little like sleep. 

+++

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