#drifting stardust au

[mooneltwo]

Coby why do you have children with an interstellar being

[mooneln0ne]

Day 5 Kobylu week - (Far above) On land

[nhaaauyen]

⁺˚⋆｡°✩ FLOATING ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

and baby i know you // sugar sweet like you always do

modern restaurant sev x reader au!: after your kiss on the beach, you return to work unsure of what it means now for the two of you. luckily, sevika answers that for you.

series masterpost: is it casual now? wc: 2.1k author's note: hi i could not sleep so i did the reasonable thing and wrote a sevika fic at 4am LMAOO i also wanted to try the headcannon format but I have no idea if I did it right smh </3 btw this is a sequel to is it casual now?and i wont be posting until exams are done (booo) but I hope you guys enjoy!!

♡ the beach kiss with sevika was everything - it was passionate and perfect in so many indescribable ways. but after you both parted ways, you realized you left without actually discussing your feelings - which by the way, was such a lesbian thing to do.

♡ now you're home, sprawled across your bed, staring at your phone like you could will it to buzz with a text from sevika. but the screen remains stubbornly blank. after what feels like an eternity of hopeful glancing, you finally toss it into a drawer. out of sight, out of mind. 

♡ but when you try to go about your nightly routine, your mind keeps drifting back to sevika. brushing your teeth, you remember what her lips taste like, like weed and sour candy. changing into pajamas? you’re wondering what she wears to bed instead.

♡ your resolve finally crumbles and you retrieve the phone, fingers trembling slightly as you unlock it. nothing. you wait a beat, then refresh again because maybe the universe is just running a little slow tonight. but it was, in fact not.

♡ in a moment of dramatic self-preservation, you shut off the phone completely. if you can't see the lack of messages, they can't hurt you, right?

♡ you huff in annoyance, and maybe you’re still a bit high, but it hurts... real bad.  you throw the covers on and shut your eyes, wishing for the ache in your chest to go away because it was one kiss - one magical kiss where sevika looked at you like you held the mysteries of the world and only she could uncover them. fuck, you had it bad.

♡ morning comes, and you're spectacularly late. why? because high-you thought turning off your only alarm was a genius move. clothes fly on haphazardly, hair gets half brushed, and you bathe in perfume to mask yesterday's lingering weed scent.

♡ you burst into the restaurant 20 minutes late, bracing for your head server's wrath. when you walk in, all eyes are on you and your ears turn red, from both the embarrassment of being late and the incident with your head server the day before.  

♡ beelining for the back to clock in, you instead collide with someone at the door. and of course out of everyone it could be, it's her. sevika, the one person you were hoping not to run into yet.

♡ "pagli?" the nickname stops you in your tracks. you look up, meeting that intense gaze that sends your mind reeling back to yesterday's kiss. suddenly, you're drowning in butterflies and the memory of how she looked at you like you were made of stardust.  sevika looked ridiculously good. she was wearing just her usual uniform with brown leather suspenders and a white collared shirt, but her muscles were stretched under the fabric and you’re starting to wonder how you survived working with her in the past few months.

♡ you start to stammer out an excuse, but sevika's already grabbing your arm, pulling you into the manager's office.  "your shirt has a bit of something," she says as she hands you a clean white shirt.  you look down to find a toothpaste stain, because of course.

♡ the awkwardness is palpable as you take the shirt, mumbling thanks while steadfastly avoiding eye contact. sevika seems to suddenly remember the concept of privacy and excuses herself. post-shirt-change, you brave the floor. your head server makes only one snarky comment about your tardiness. in your book, that's a win.

♡ the rest of your shift is normal. well, "normal" if you don't count your newfound spidey sense, or more accurately sevika-sense. it's like your body's attuned to her presence - you know when she's at the bar, talking to customers, probably when she blinks too.

♡ you catch her stealing glances at you across the room, and suddenly remembering drink orders becomes impossible. you don’t know how many tips you must’ve lost today from having to repeat orders.

♡ the kitchen is its usual chaos and when sevika squeezes in to help, the world narrows to the points where she touches. her hand on the small of your back as she passes, the brush of fingers as she takes plates from you - the feeling lingers even as you leave the kitchen.

♡ you're hyper-aware of every little interaction with sevika. but was it all in your head? are you reading too much into things? the uncertainty is maddening.

♡ the dining room is nearly empty as you put away the last of the chairs. a glance at the clock shows it's almost 11 pm.  suddenly, you realize how eerily quiet the restaurant is. where is everyone? 

♡ your question is answered by the soft strains of jazz floating through the air. huh. since when did the restaurant play music this late? assuming it's a speaker malfunction, you head to the kitchen to find sevika. when you find her, she’s surrounded by an array of ingredients on the kitchen counter.

♡ "where is everyone?" you ask, confused.

♡ "they left early. you didn't respond when someone asked if you were going out." mentally, you facepalm. of course you were spacing out earlier, definitely not to thoughts about a certain manager. you gesture to the ingredients. "what's all this?"

♡ "well," sevika says, "are you hungry?"  your stomach growls in response. traitor. "looks like i'm making a meal for two, then," she remarks with a sly smile.

♡ "wait, why are you still here?" you question.  "paperwork," she replies with a slight shrug. "can't leave yet." there's a pause, a moment of hesitation. "you can go if you want, though."

♡ you catch the hint of uncertainty in her voice. "well i have to stay to see if our manager can actually cook," you tease. sevika scoffs, "oh, i can cook. be prepared to have your taste buds forever changed."

♡ you laugh, moving closer. "can i help?" you settle next to her behind the counter. "promise you won't cut yourself? i can't afford any workplace injuries." she jokes.

♡ you roll your eyes dramatically. "i'm not that bad of a cook, you know."

♡ "we'll see about that," sevika chuckles, handing you a knife. as you start chopping vegetables, your arms occasionally brush against each other. the kitchen suddenly feels very warm, and it's not from the stove.

♡ "you eat meat?" sevika asks, eyebrow raised.

♡ "yeah, why?"

♡ she grins. "good. i'm making lamb curry." 

♡"i've never had that before." you admit. "never?" sevika looks shocked. "it's delicious." 

♡ you shrug, a bit embarrassed. "sorry, i don't usually eat what we serve to customers." sevika pauses, studying you for a moment. then her expression softens. "this is actually a recipe my dad passed down. the restaurant just got a shipment of curry leaves and peppers for next week's menu."

♡ "oh? will i be seeing this on the menu soon?" you ask, intrigued. she smirks, "i don't know. will my first customer like it?"

♡ the look she gives you makes you fumble with the knife. maybe you are that bad of a cook after all. or maybe it's just the effect she has on you. you're stirring the curry when sevika leans in. "give me a taste."

♡ you bring the spoon to her lips, but in your nervousness, you bump her nose instead. "no way you did that," she says in disbelief.  “that was definitely done on purpose.”

♡ "i did not!" you refute. "oh yeah?" she nudges the spoon, leaving a streak of curry across your cheek.

♡ "sevika!" you gasp, feigning outrage. she throws her head back, laughing. the sound makes your heart skip.

♡ "you suck," you mutter, fighting a smile. "i'm sorry, okay? come here." she grabs a rag, cupping your face gently as she wipes away the curry. your hand goes limp, spoon forgotten as you stare into each other's eyes. her hand is so gentle against your skin, the rag somehow feeling rougher than she does.

♡ the oven timer abruptly blares, shattering the moment. you both jump back, a bit flustered. when it's nearly ready, sevika asks you to set the table outside while she finishes up.

♡ "just sit down," she insists when you offer to help bring things out. she emerges with two steaming plates and a bottle of wine.  as you take in the ambiance - the soft lighting, the music, the intimate table setting - it hits you. this feels like a date. but you quickly push the thought away. you haven't even talked about what that moment on the beach meant yet.

♡ sevika's watching you expectantly as you take your first bite. the flavors explode on your tongue. "this is amazing," you say, eyes wide. "consider my taste buds changed forever."

♡ the smile she gives you in response is brighter than any star you've ever seen. you continue eating, stealing glances at each other over your wine glasses, and you have no idea how to stop the feeling like you’re floating right now. as you eat, the conversation flows easily. "you know, there used to be a dance floor here. silco had a band playing next to the bar."

♡ "what happened to it?" you ask. she shrugs. "people stopped using it. probably lost the confidence to dance in public." you chew thoughtfully, then suddenly stand up. "come on, let's dance."

♡ "what?" sevika looks at you like you've grown a second head.

♡ "there's music, good wine, and we're technically on an ex-dance floor," you argue, grinning. "it would be a crime if we don't dance."

♡ she hesitates. "i don't know how to dance."

♡ "neither do i," you admit, offering your hand. it's almost like an admission of something else - that you don't know how to navigate this new territory with sevika either.

♡ reluctantly, she takes your hand and stands. you pull her close, placing one hand on her waist as she rests hers on your shoulder. your first few steps are more stumble than dance. sevika chuckles, "i get why we took away the dance floor now."

♡ you shake your head, laughing. "we're god awful at this."

♡ "i know, but..." she trails off, her eyes meeting yours.

♡ "but what?" you ask, heart racing. she takes a deep breath. "but at least i get to hold you." your heart skips a beat. you look up from where your head was resting on her chest, only to find her already gazing at you with that same inscrutable look from the beach.

♡ it was like a magnetic force was pulling you together. suddenly, her lips are on yours, your hand tangled in her hair. she leans you back slightly, deepening the kiss in a move more graceful than any dance step you've attempted tonight.

♡ sevika’s lips are soft against yours, and you can taste the wine she drank from before on them.  as you part, she lets out a satisfied hum that vibrates through her chest and into yours. you keep your bodies close, foreheads touching, sharing the same breath.

♡ "was there any actual paperwork to do?" you whisper.

♡ she has a sheepish smile. "you caught me." 

♡ "the amount of kissing we did compare to work is starting to make sense now.” you quipped, feeling her shoulders rise and fall with her laughter. wrapped in her arms and still high from the kiss before, you find the courage to voice what's been on your mind. "i really, really like you." 

♡ sevika doesn’t respond with words but instead, with another kiss. when she pulls back, her eyes are twinkling. "dido?"

♡ you groan. "oh. my. god." her laughter fills the room, rich and genuine. "i really, really like you too," she enunciates clearly, her tone teasing. "better?"

♡ "way better," you affirm, pressing your head into her chest just like you did that first time by her car. but this time, it's different. where there was once uncertainty about your future with sevika, now there's a sense of rightness, of belonging.

♡ as you sway together in the dim light of the restaurant, the soft jazz still playing in the background, you notice how perfectly you fit together.  you lift your head, meeting her gaze. the look in her eyes - tender and with a hint of wonder - makes your heart swell. 

♡ "so," you murmur, "what's for dessert?"

♡ sevika answers with a grin that is wide and full of affection. "i thought we were already having it."

[wheeboo]

venus | choi seungcheol

SYNOPSIS. in which the love between you and the prince is forbidden. PAIRING. prince!choi seungcheol x servant-commoner!reader (ft. servant-commoner!chan very briefly) GENRE. fluff, angst with a hopeful ending?, forbidden love, royalty au, arranged marriage au (cheol is in an arranged marriage), established secret relationship WARNINGS. cheol and reader both have a lil argument, terms of endearment (darling, love, sweetheart), kissing WORD COUNT. 3.8k

note: fic is vaguely inspired by the bridge part of this song called "venus" by regina song 🫶💕 this is also my first time writing a royalty au, so i hope you enjoy! this also features the very iconic "you came" "you called" line 😭

The ballroom of Pledis Palace is charged with an air of enchantment. The time had just reached the peak of evening. Moonlight filters through the large, grand windows, bathing the open room in an ethereal glow. Along the sides of the ballroom are intricately carved golden marble columns, each one painted with a different tale of the kingdom's past.

In the middle of the ceiling sits a majestic chandelier hanging from a massive, golden chain. The piece is the crown jewel of the ballroom, one that easily draws visitors into all its glory and beauty, and it casts a radiant gleam that seemed to rain down like stardust upon the guests below.

The dance floor reflects the light from the chandelier, creating an illusion of stars twinkling at one's feet. You watch all the elegantly-dressed guests move with grace across the room. The women are all dressed with precise attention to detail, their gowns and jewelry like works of art on a canvas. Some wear dresses in shades of amethyst, emerald, and sapphire, embroidered with beautiful beadwork that glistens like constellations, while others prefer flowing gowns in delicate pastels, as if they've stepped out of a fairytale.

They all hold onto their partners𑁋lavish gentlemen dressed in sophistically tailored suits matching the colours of their ladies' gowns𑁋with utmost love and enjoyment, while you find yourself standing at the side, holding up a tray of drinks as a particular heaviness settles in your chest.

And as your eyes drift ever so slightly, you swear that regardless what direction you look in, he's always there at the end of it, like a light at the end of the tunnel. Yet the light this time was dim and lacked almost all the hope that used to be there when you looked at him.

Not only is the royal family of Pledis here, but also a second one. The Choi royal family of Pledis, and of course, the future in-laws.

Prince Choi Seungcheol is dancing with poise that appeared almost effortless, eyes locked in a tender gaze to his future betrothed, yet the smile to his face doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's the same kind of gaze during the times he would be with you, like in the secret corners of the royal garden that only the two of you knew, or in the times you both snuck out of the castle at the wee hours of the night to stargaze, or the intimate nights you spent with him in his quarters where you had to leave just before daybreak.

It's those times where the certain line between nobility and commoner could be momentarily blurred. It's those times where you both truly felt free in more ways than one.

As you continue to watch the dance and see the way he twirls his betrothed with ease, the world seems to blur, and it felt as if it was just you and Seungcheol in this grand ballroom. His eyes, so familiar yet so distant, meet yours in a fleeting moment. His face falls instantly.

The world and time may have pulled you apart, but in that stolen glance, you were brought back together. In your eyes, you saw the prince who had defied tradition and chosen to be with you without boundaries. In his eyes, he saw the commoner who had been his confidant and, more importantly, his secret love.

"Why are you just standing there? Go tend to your duties," the steward advises you annoyedly, snapping you out of your focus. With a start, you fix your posture, offering a quick nod of understanding to the stern-faced steward.

Hastily, you resume your duty, walking through the large crowd, presenting the tray of drinks and feeling their odd looks linger on you as you move past them. They're taunting you, not with words, but with their subtle, condescending glances. The weight in your chest only deepens with each step you take.

You reach the outskirts of the dance floor, casting another glance towards Seungcheol. His elegant moves and the seemingly affectionate way he held his betrothed gives a bittersweet feeling to your chest, and you can't help but briefly imagine yourself there with him instead𑁋being the one at the end of his smile, the end of his touch.

As the music swelled, the dance finally comes to an end. You watch as the prince gracefully leads his betrothed back to her seat, a warm smile on his face. You know he didn't have much of a choice. He had an obligation to the kingdom, to his family, and to the future over the love he had once whispered to you in the hidden corners of the royal gardens.

Your heart aches again, but you understand. You couldn't be a part of his world, no matter how much he cared for you.

You don't catch the way his eyes follow you once you dismiss yourself out of the ballroom, struggling to hold your tears back.

"Y/N, don't you think you overwatered this area right here?" Chan, a fellow gardener for the royal garden and closest friend, taps lightly on your shoulder, startling you out of your daze and nearly the watering can in your hands. You blink rapidly, bringing yourself back to the present.

All you manage is a weak smile, some embarrassment and guilt flooding your senses. "Sorry, I... I guess my mind was elsewhere."

He gives you a knowing look, gaze sympathetic yet encouraging. "It's okay. I know things haven't been the best recently." He gestures toward the grand castle behind you, its towers standing tall and proud. You know exactly what he's talking about, and it makes you let out a sigh, facing back towards the garden in front of you.

You've poured your heart into the royal garden for so long, finding comfort in its quiet beauty and the therapeutic rhythm of tending to its blooms from day to night.

As the sun dips below the horizon and the moon begins to rise, the garden transforms into a world of magic. The abundance of flowers surrounding you seem to glow vibrantly under the moonlight, and their scent becomes more rich in the cool night air. The air carries a gentle breeze, and the soft rustle of leaves soothes your troubled mind.

There was just something about simply being with nature𑁋in the royal garden and with the beauty that exists outside its walls𑁋that allows you to breathe more freely. Sometimes, you swear that even the flowers are capable of whispering words of their own, as if sharing stories with you alone, or stories that you used to listen to with one particular man.

Just as you're about to finish watering one last final section, you hear Chan's distant voice from afar.

"Y-Your Highness! What brings you here at this hour?"

You freeze in place, the almost-empty watering can slipping from your fingers as you turn around.

Prince Seungcheol stands at the edge of the garden, his gracious figure silhouetted against the moonlit scenery. He's dressed in his nighttime attire, a pair of simple yet elegant black trousers and a crisp white shirt that flows slightly in the cool breeze. His gaze flickers between you and Chan, a hint of curiosity in his expression, and the two of you both offer a respectful bow in his direction as he approaches.

"I just wanted some fresh air," Seungcheol answers sharply, locking his eyes with yours, and there's a small smile that graces his lips once he catches sight of you. "It's peaceful here in the garden, isn't it?"

You heart only flutters to his words, yet that arrow of sadness pierces through your chest. However, even below the auroral skies and with the intoxicating fragrance of flowers all around, your heart feels lighter than it has in a long time.

"Chan, you may excuse us for a moment." He gestures to the young boy, his voice carrying a warm, reassuring tone that you've longed to hear.

With a quick nod, Chan offers a polite bow, shooting you a glance before slipping his way back in the direction of the castle, leaving you alone with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol approaches you, the distance between you decreasing until you're standing just a breath away from each other. You both remain in a contemplative silence, neither of you wanting to break the fragile moment that has been rekindled after so long.

Finally, he speaks in a hushed tone. "You've been avoiding me."

Your gaze is quick to fall to the ground in guilt, unable to meet his eyes.

"You know I had to," You reply simply, voice barely more than a whisper. "We can't be together, Cheol. You should know this better than me. It was the only choice you had. Duty called, and you answered."

Seungcheol's face only contorts with a mix of anguish and frustration. "Duty? Duty won't keep me warm at night, Y/N. Duty won't make me feel alive. You are what my heart longs for. You should know this. This is all purely arranged, don't you remember?"

You let out an audible scoff, feeling your hands crumple into fists at your side. "You're being selfish right now. Think about the kingdom, your family, and the future you're meant to build. Don't you see why we can't... we can't be together? It's inevitable. We shouldn't..." Your find your voice drifting away, words getting caught in your throat.

He steps even closer, his frustration boiling over into desperation. "I am thinking about them. I think about them every day, but I... I can't stop thinking about you either. I can't stop loving you."

"This love won't feed the hungry, Seungcheol. This love won't protect our people. This love won't secure the kingdom's future. This love won't change the fact that I'm merely a commoner and you're a prince."

The moonlight accentuates the sadness in his eyes as your words sink in, and you find yourself unable to hold back the tears that have welled up. The two of you only stand there for a few long moments, simply gazing in each other's glassy eyes, feeling like the garden itself was holding in a breath of its own.

Then in a sudden moment of vulnerability, you step closer to him, resting your head against his chest, taking in his familiar warmth and the scent you've longed for as your tears stain his shirt. Seungcheol wraps you in his strong arms, pulling you closer, and you feel his heartbeat against your body, steady and comforting. It's a sound you've always loved listening to whenever you embraced each other.

"I've missed you, darling," he mutters quietly. "Don't you understand how much you mean to me?"

With his arms around you, you feel a warmth that fills the void in your heart. It's a sensation you've yearned for the past few torturous months.

"I-I've missed you too," You confess, voice trembling. "But... but we can't𑁋"

"Please," he pleads softly, tightening his hold around you. "Can't I just hold you?"

The tenderness his voice holds cuts you off, and you can't help the way your fingers instinctively knead at his shirt.

Seungcheol holds you tightly, as if he's afraid that letting go will make you vanish into thin air. In this fleeting moment, there's no kingdom to rule, no traditions to uphold𑁋just the two of you, reunited in an embrace that disregards the confines of your roles. It's as if the world beyond this secluded royal garden has ceased to exist, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly alive.

"I love you," he murmurs, voice heavy with sorrow, his lips brushing against your hair. "I love you more than anything in this world."

Usually that particularly intimate exchange brings those flutters to your stomach and a giddy smile to your face, but instead, it only makes your heart throb. Though you know with every fibre in your body that it's true𑁋that you love each other. It's not a secret, nor a feeling to deny.

You find yourself pulling away slightly, angling your head up to be able to take a look at him. His gaze meets yours halfway, and the intensity in his dark pupils nearly takes your breath away. He searches your eyes for a moment, before drawing his lips near yours, his intent clear. For a heartbeat, you're tempted to give in𑁋to taste the sweetness of his kiss once more.

But then the weight of responsibility, the duty you've always known, everything, pulls you back.

"I-I can't," You whisper, the words escaping your lips shakily. "We can't, Seungcheol. It-It's not right."

Seungcheol's breath hitches as you pull away. His lips hover just inches from yours, yearning for a connection that seems increasingly unattainable.

"I know," he replies quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. He still doesn't want to let you go. "I understand. I'm sorry."

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, caressing his skin softly. "The kingdom needs you. Your people need you. They need a strong, capable leader. They need their prince."

Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "And what about what I need? What about what my heart seeks?"

You only gaze longingly at him. The two of you know the answer to that. You don't have to say anything before he understands with a sigh. His expression softens with a mix of resignation and affection, and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"Your Highness, your presence is requested back in the palace," Chan's voice calls out from behind, breaking the fragile moment between the two of you.

Seungcheol releases your hand defeatedly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer.

However, instead of backing away, he leans back in close to whisper into your ears, "Come meet me at the royal ballroom tomorrow at midnight," Then he pauses, contemplating, and adding on, "if you wish, of course."

Then his lips curl into a bittersweet smile before turning away to leave. The sound of his footsteps gradually fades as he walks away back towards the palace, leaving you standing amidst the fragrant blooms and under the rays of soft moonlight.

Come meet me at the royal ballroom... midnight... if you wish. Seungcheol's words have been echoing in your mind for the entirety of the day, sometimes even distracting you from the duties you are assigned to in the royal garden.

The more you thought over his invitation, the more it felt like an impossible temptation, knowing well of the risks and consequences it could bring.

The day passes in a blur, the sun making its daily journey across the sky, casting a warm and inviting glow over the palace and the royal garden. And when the late night finally takes over, and the clock strikes midnight, you find yourself cautiously walking down the large corridor of the palace, your feet instinctively bringing you in the direction of the royal ballroom. It's eerily quiet at this time, nothing but skeleton staff that still heightens your paranoid senses of getting caught.

Yet as you stop in front of the grand doors of the ballroom, your heart quickens its pace. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Should you really be doing this? Was it entirely a good idea to be here?

But just the thought of simply him draws you in, your hand briefly gliding over the glistening doorknob.

With a determined sigh, you take the leap and push the heavy doors open. The ballroom lies before you, bathed in the silvery luminescence filtering through the grand windows. Your heart races as you step inside.

The ballroom is empty, deserted practically. All of the lights, including the large chandelier, were switched off, the only source coming from the outside world through the tall windows.

As you step further into the room, the sounds of your shoes echoing throughout, the sheer emptiness of the place becomes more apparent. You swear you even hear your own thoughts bouncing off the walls of the room. Doubts start to creep into your mind. What if he doesn't come? What if this was all a mistake?

However, just as you're about to give in to the feeling of hopelessness, you hear a soft sound from behind you. You turn to find Seungcheol entering the ballroom and closing the door shut. He's dressed in a simple black suit, and there's a twinge of vulnerability in his eyes that mirrors your own.

"You came," he says, and his voice is so soft that you can barely hear it over your racing heart.

You fully turn yourself to him, swallowing down a nervous lump in your throat.

"You called."

Seungcheol's eyes light up, and a faint smile crosses his lips as he steps closer to you. The moonlight bathes him in an celestial glow, accentuating his princely features. But in this moment, he's just the man you've been in love with for so long.

He extends his hand toward you, eyes locked onto yours, inviting you to share a dance with him.

"May I?" he asks gentlemanly, and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks.

You hesitate for a brief moment, glancing down at his hand and back up to his face. "I... I don't know how..."

Seungcheol's smile remains warm and encouraging, his hand still extended toward you.

"It's okay," he says softly. "I'll teach you. Just follow my lead."

Tentatively, you place your hand in his. His grip is firm yet gentle as he guides you to the centre of the empty dance floor, a certain eager bounce in his step that you notice, and the stars painting the ground seem to come to life as you stand with him. Seungcheol places his hand on your waist, and the warmth of his palm against your skin sends shivers down your spine. You loop your arms around his neck, trying to steady your breathing as you prepare to follow his lead.

At first, your steps are awkward, but you try your best to mimic the elegance and grace that he naturally possesses. He's probably had personal training for this kind of thing, You think.

You chuckle at the small moments where your feet accidentally bump or you step on his toes, and Seungcheol's laughter mingles with yours. Nothing but a soft melody of an imagined song fills the silence as the two of you move together in the middle of the ballroom.

"You're doing great," he whispers, breath brushing against your ear as you sway together.

It's scarily easy to lose yourself in Seungcheol's eyes. They're the same eyes that once whispered secrets of love to you beneath the stars. Now they say a lot without saying anything.

You don't know how long you've been dancing, but it feels like an eternity and a fleeting moment all at once. The world outside the ballroom may be waiting, filled with your separate responsibilities and expectations, but in this moment, it's just you and him.

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?" Seungcheol comments, even though you were only dressed in your servant uniform.

Your cheeks flush at his compliment, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze, and offer a shy smile. "I'm not as stunning as the ladies at the court, nor your betrothed."

Seungcheol gently tilts your chin upward, making sure you meet his eyes.

"Every time I look at you, I feel like I fall in love all over again." His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek. "Every time I watch you down tending to the garden through my quarters, I feel as if you're tending to my heart. I can simply say that you're the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on, sweetheart."

His words make your heart swell out of your chest, his grip on your waist tightening imperceptibly, drawing you closer to him. The space between you vanishes, and you can feel the heat of his body seeping through the layers of fabric that separate you. Seungcheol could shower you with praises all day long, and you would never tire of hearing them. He has a way of making you feel special, cherished, and utterly adored.

"Cheol?" You call out, voice tinged with vulnerability.

He raises an eyebrow, still guiding you through the dance. "Yes, love?"

"Are we crazy for doing this?" You ask. It's meant to be rhetorical in a way, but the uncertainty in your voice lingers, and Seungcheol's expression becomes more serious.

He slows the movement between you two, his pensive eyes locked onto yours.

"Perhaps we are," he admits wholeheartedly. "but I'd rather be crazy with you than live a life without you."

His words quietly suspend in the air around you. The moments pass, but they feel eternal, as if time itself has momentarily paused to let the two of you be together. You're captured in his eyes, just like he is with yours. You see the emotions he's trying to convey: love, longing, and the knowledge that this moment is both a blessing and a curse.

And then without a word, you both lean in at the same time, lips meeting each other's in a kiss both softly and tenderly. It's a stolen moment; it's a secret scene that only the moon and stars witness.

His arms pull you closer, fingers dancing along your spine, as if he's trying to bridge any space that might exist between you. It's a kiss that tastes of bittersweet nostalgia𑁋something of what once was and what could never be. You savour the taste of him on your lips, knowing that once the morning light arrives, this moment may become nothing more than a distant memory.

As your lips break away, you both draw back slightly, foreheads touching, breathing heavily as you savour the precious seconds of closeness.

"You know that I'd give up everything for you," he whispers, breath warm against your skin.

You only smile, tracing your fingers gently over his lips. He leans into your touch.

"I know," You say softly. "And I would do the same for you."

"But just for tonight." He pushes back some strands of hair behind your ear. "Can we pretend that the world doesn't matter?"

You peer into his eyes, and for a moment, you see a reflection of your own pining. Your heart sinks, but it also rises. A smile drifts across your face, but it also carries a trace of sadness. Leaning in, you nearly press your lips against his once again, but then you take in a deep breath.

"Yes," is all you mutter. "I'm all yours."

That's all it takes for him to kiss you again, a bit more fervently and urgently that it nearly makes you stumble in surprise. But the second you pull back from each other, he's grabbing your hand in his, a bright smile to his face, before twirling you around and pulling you in close once more, your laughter echoing in the empty ballroom together. You share one more kiss, and then another, and another, whispers of hushed I love you's against each other’s lips as the night goes on like it will never end.

And it's with each minute that passes that only strengthens Seungcheol's determination𑁋that in some way, he will make sure you both will be together, whether that means escaping the constraints of your worlds, finding a way to keep your love alive in secret, or even sacrificing a part of himself.

With each kiss, he silently promises you that he will find a way. With each kiss, you silently promise to love and wait for him.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1

[darkfluffydragon]

Cookie Run AU Ideas #9: Masquerade Dreams

[Once upon a time, in a realm bathed in moonlight and dreams, there lived the goddess Moonlight Cookies. She spun dreams from stardust, guiding all creatures into a peaceful slumber.

Long ago, Moonlight Cookies lost her chance to find her own soulmate, a love now forever beyond her reach. Her heart heavy with regret, she made a solemn vow.

From that night on, whenever fate whispered its call, Moonlight Cookies would pull every fated cookie into a dream. There, the current director of dreams would use their unique methods to help each cookie discover their true soulmate.

And so, under the moon’s gentle glow, dreams became the bridge to destined love, ensuring that no cookie would ever miss their chance at true happiness.]

Healer Cookie did not believe the fairytale spoken by the village elders, the ones the children whispered of so giddily. What reason did he have, when the one he believed himself to be fated to (and he had thought that she would see it too) had left him alone once more?

He had nothing but his name and duty, one he fulfilled diligently. Yet he desired perhaps something more, for the nights to no longer be lonely and cold. For someone to be there by his side.

One night, after a particularly exhausting day, Healer Cookie collapsed into bed. As he drifted into sleep, a gentle, silvery glow enveloped him, pulling him into a dream.

He would awake to the sound of enchanting music and found himself in the midst of a grand masquerade ball. Elegantly dressed cookies danced gracefully around him, their faces hidden behind intricate masks. Healer Cookie looked down to find a mask on his own face, ornate and shimmering under the ballroom's ethereal light.

Confused but intrigued, he wandered through the ballroom, the music guiding his steps. The air was filled with laughter and the soft rustle of silk. As he moved, he caught sight of a figure standing alone by the edge of the dance floor. The figure wore a beautiful, ebony-black suit and a mask adorned with markings. And their eyes, two different, vibrant blues.

The cookie smiled and approached him. Each step was light, almost as though they were gliding across the marble floor and the crowd seemed to move to allow him space. They tilted their head to the side and swept down into a graceful bow.

"May I have this dance?" They asked, extending his hand. “And perhaps, a name?”

“…” Healer Cookie found himself hesitant to answer, yet unable to deny the stranger. 

“Pure Vanilla Cookie.” He murmured, quickly thinking of a fake name, “my…name is Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

He took the Dream Director’s stranger’s hand.

[st4rhwa]

𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗬𝗖𝗟𝗘𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗨𝗦𝗧 k. hj

김홍중 | playboy!kim hongjoong x afab!reader smut, light angst, fluff

synopsis: much like recycled stardust, no matter how far you drift from hongjoong, you'll always find your way back into his arms.

cw: university!au, deliberate lower case, smut, angst, fluffy ending, reader has feminine attributes, ex boyfie joong, push-and-pull kind of relationship, it's not toxicity i promise, hongjoong's a little bit ooc, brief mentions of alcohol/drugs, making out, pet names (baby, princess, joong(ie)), empty threats

wc: 5.7k

𝗮/𝗻: first tumblr fic ! this might be kind of messy ?? i'm still in the learning process of everything lol inspired by: i'm yours (isabel larosa)

sw: unprotected sex, switch!joong, switch! reader, desperate make up sex/kind of hate sex?, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, i really did try to start this blog off with a soft fic but i couldn't help myself

"-you'll come, right?"

just a normal interaction, is what you kept telling yourself. it's nothing special, nowhere near the sort. just a conversation. nothing out of the ordinary.

that's what it would have been if kim hongjoong, your ex boyfriend, hadn't been the one to stop you in the middle of the road to convince you it'd be a good idea to attend his party next saturday. because i mean come on. sex? alcohol? ket? shrooms? please. that's child's play.

but how he's so relaxed around you cognisant of the long history the two of you share, you'll never know.

"i would but.." your witless muttering isn't doing anything for you other than digging your grave. his keen gaze makes your palms sweat; is it the comical height difference or the general attention he seems to be adamant to give you?

"come on," he whines. "i could convince anyone else in the world other than you to go. why do you always make it so difficult?" "not my thing," you should know that, is what you would have liked to add. "sorry." making tracks however, obviously wasn't justifiable in his books. immediately reaching for your wrist, you don't make it much further than two steps before he locks you back in his gaze.

"come on, y/n," "i don't-" "please? i'd really like you to be there." your eyes snap up to his, and the way he looks at you so enticingly makes you want to crawl up into a ball and die.

you hate the fact that he has you in the palm of his hand. especially because he knows it too.

"my ass." you mumble, shoving past another group of people. you're sweating, trying to weave yourself through the crowds of intoxicated young adults mingling, drinking and swaying to the music. you hate it. you hate it so much it's unbearable.

your friends squeeze you into a mini dress and cake you in makeup, just to leave you five minutes into the party to fuck some junkie they'll never talk to ever again. and kim hongjoong? he's nowhere to be found.

your entire being reverberates in time with the heavy bass line of whatever fusion afro beats were playing in the living room. in times like these, the kitchen becomes your safe haven; surrounded by countless bottles of alcohol for you to mix and match as you wish, only seeing the occasional person enter who'd greet you and refill their cup.

you wince when you begin to find the music has become much more bass accelerated, and you decide you need a breather. you would have guessed hongjoong would have retreated upstairs with a girl by now. you guess wrong, however, when your eyes briefly meet his in the midst of the sea of bodies.

his eyes are wide, puppy like, vivid colours reflecting in his pupils. he looks at you expectantly, ignoring the people trying to catch his recognition left and right. he opens his mouth, as if about to say something, before a girl tugs on his arm, sidetracking his attention again.

you keep your head low, shaking it as you run a hand through your hair. you make it through the living room, the foyer through to the dining room, and make a quick move to lock yourself in the bathroom noticing it's vacancy.

the door acts as a soundproof wall, concealing you from all the commotion, the chaos. what was the point of showing up anyway? you had false hope - nothing was going to happen between the two of you even if you got down on your hands and knees and begged.

in truth, kim hongjoong is a coward. it doesn't matter how hard he tries to deny it, it's simply his thing. he makes a move, poised and mighty. but once the conviction begins to fade he shrivels into nothing more than a drop in the ocean, and hides his uneasiness by picking up another side chick. one moment he loves you, the next, he doesn't.

you shake your head, hands resting on either side of the sink. your heart is racing rapidly, and you feel pathetic. you feel pathetic because you know that your cheeks are red because of him. your palpitating heart is because of him. your thighs pressing together is all because of him.

you hate him, is what you keep telling yourself. you hate him and his reckless actions, his arrogance, his popularity, his likeability, his devilish smile, his handsome face, his perfect body- fuck. that's not it. you don't hate him. you hate how much you love him, how deeply you fell for his charms.

your index finger drags along your aegyo sal, wiping away smudged mascara and eyeliner. your eyes settle in the mirror dragging over your worn expression, and you sigh. it'd probably be best if you left before it got too late.

you jump slightly when there are a few desperate bangs at the door. "c'mon! gotta fuckin' piss-" you snatch your phone from the shelf, frantically unlocking the door and pushing it open, running off before you could face any confrontation.

maybe you were just a coward too.

you immediately approach the adjacent door which leads to the garden. reaching for the handle, you swing it open and slam it closed behind you before anyone else could follow. your back rests against the cool glass, and you exhale softly, finally being able to find some peace and quiet in the midst of the clamour.

you catch your breath, pulling out your phone from your back pocket and opening it to call an uber.

"i was almost convinced you weren't gonna show."

your eyes clamp shut. make it a nightmare. make it some sort of weird twisted dream. maybe someone spiked your drink - perhaps you were just hallucinating.

you blink once, twice, before hongjoong's index finger catches your chin. "hey. look at me." you can barely pick out his features, the dim lights emitting from the inside of his dining room just barely illuminating his cheekbones. "stop-.. running, from me.." he sighs out at the sight of your uncomfortable facial expression, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. he continues, before you can stop to think, "i try to talk to you, we give it a go, you regret ever giving it a go and run off, and this whole cycle repeats itself." his hands drift to your shoulders, down your sides before finding welfare on your hips. "and i don't think that's fair.."

his soft and rich tone makes your shoulders relax, and your head leans back, gently bumping against the door. "talk to me." you pull yourself together and shake your head, pushing him off you. "you talk like it's just me doing all the running. that's pretty ballsy coming from you," the way he looks at you tells you he knows that. better than anyone else. "and why does it matter anyway. go back inside, it's your party. bet your side chick's already waiting for you."

to your dismay, his hands reach for you again. he ignores your snarky comments, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, forehead bumping against yours. his eyes are large; doe-like. they're nothing short of innocent, but you're not blind to the small flames kindling within his pupils.

"i want to know why you're ignoring me. why you've stopped loving me so abruptly." his eyes fall shut and his eyelashes tickle your forehead. "otherwise i might have to make you tell me.." he tilts his head ever so slightly, soft, pillowy lips brushing against yours. "hongjoong.." your voice only comes out in the form of a whisper, and it makes hongjoong nod softly. "shh baby.. i've got you, it's okay."

"i don't-" "what happened, y/n? just abruptly telling me you're breaking up with me and then avoiding me for weeks on end isn't you. you're better than this!" "you're not right for me, hongjoong!" shit. that came out wrong. like that, the flames in his pupils douse. hongjoong's shoulders droop and his hands fall, but his eyes stay glued to yours. "no," you shake your head, rephrasing. "i'm not right for you."

"what makes- what makes you say that?" "listen to me closely, hongjoong." he wished you'd use his name in a brighter light. "i'm not right for you." "you're repeating the same shit but you're not telling me what it fucking means!" he rips away from you, a hand tugging through his hair. "what the fuck happened?! i thought we were doing well i-, i made sure you knew i loved you and i tried to make time for you-" "that's my problem! you're too busy- you've got no time for me! you've got dance, singing, producing, all these fucking parties! where does that leave me? does it make me love you any less? no! but i can't afford to be neglected by you!"

hongjoong's mouth opens and closes like a fish, trying to wrack his brain for something- anything! but deep down he knows you're right. he's busy, he can barely catch a break. and then off he goes throwing parties when he should be spending time with you. but somehow, 90% of what you say goes through one ear and out the other-

"you still, love.. me?" you scoff. "of course i do. but i just.. think it's better if you move on an-" "why do i have to move on when i haven't lost anything?" a smile grows on his face, and he grips your wrists excitedly. "i- i thought you hated me! and-" "are you not grasping anything i'm saying right now!" you yell over his excited yapping. "i'm saying!-" he quiets down to a soft pause. "-..you need to find someone who suits your needs better."

you barely register his sudden movements as he bursts forward, taking your cheeks in his hands as he slams his lips against yours. his eyes roll back as he sighs into your mouth. god how he's missed the feeling. he presses his body flush against yours, revelling in the feeling of, well, you. your addictive lips, your sleek hair, your compelling curves, he basks in you.

you try to break away, but your body seems to have other plans, arching into him. "hongjoong-" it's not longer than a second before he once again encapsulates your lips with his. you try to make out a sentence between desperate kisses. "we- .. we- shouldn't-" his front teeth graze your bottom lip, and he pulls you nice and tight against him, just the way you like it.

you would have made more of an effort to flee if it didn't feel so fucking good. his hands never cease to wander your body like it's an uncharted island in the pacific ocean. if they're not massaging your waist, they're sliding up and down your exposed back. if they're not sliding up and down your exposed back, they're groping your ass. he just can't get enough of you- of how intoxicating you are.

"hongjoong for fucks sak-" "shh." he smirks softly against your lips. he knows that bit by bit, little by little, you're giving in to him. or more, the idea of him. you melt into his hold, whining a little at an attempt to show your frustration. but he just coos mockingly, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head. your right leg naturally hikes up against his hip, and he holds it in place with his vacant hand. "so good for me," his lips part and he kisses your nose. "such a good girl."

you can't believe this is happening. you're internally sour, trying to search for any reason left in this bottomless pit of lust you're drowning in. you can feel it rising inside of you, and it'll swallow you up eventually.

you don't think you've ever wanted him so bad. in fact, you don't think you've ever wanted anyone as badly as you do right now. you have to have him. otherwise it might just eat you alive.

"do you want-.." he's breathless, making sure your eyes never leave his. he's stuttering over his words, suddenly finding himself shrink under your gaze; it almost makes you smile. "uh- no pressure, by the way i-" your finger gently drags along the surface of his lip, deep red nail getting caught in the dip between them. you whisper softly, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "let's go."

sneaking away could have definitely been easier if hongjoong didn't always blatantly stick out like a neon highlighter in a tub of black markers. man of the hour or not, he can't help being stopped and pinched into conversations left and right and your patience is thinning. "hongjoong.." you mumble, and he nods profusely towards you in apology, excusing himself to his mates and bidding them a good night.

"aye! hongjoong, over here!" "hey guys!-" you pinch his elbow, pressing your lips to his ear. "go over to one more person and you'll get it." he feels himself twitch in his pants, but he just rolls his eyes and smiles at you with a satirising tone. "c'mon babe!~ it's 3RACHA! i can't just ignore 3RACHA!" he tries to shake away the thoughts nagging him to turn back in his head, releasing his arm from your wrist and jogging towards them. so much for not neglecting me. your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek, and you swing back around, making a beeline for the stairwell.

you're aware of hongjoong's strict rule of the second floor being prohibited during parties, but regardless of it you sneak past the numerous couples humping one another in the hallway, climbing the stairs up to his bedroom.

you exhale softly with your forehead pressed to the door, hand resting on the golden handle. you shouldn't be this nervous. it's only been a few months, you used to spend more time here than you did in your own apartment. but once you step into the room and shut the door, the overwhelming scent of him leaves you dumbfounded. your shaky hand drifts to the handle in a moment of diffidence, but you shake your head, and do nothing more than wipe your sweaty hands on the fabric of your dress.

you kick off your heels, feet dragging along the the off-grey carpet flooring as you trail over to his king sized bed. the satin sheets are cold against your lower thighs, and your hands gently grip the lush material. your eyes drift over his walls as you slip your arms out of the sleeves of your dress: his desk, his wardrobe, nothing had changed. however, what does catch your eye is a bottle of your signature perfume on his shelf, nearing its last millilitres.

you have your suspicions, bringing his pillow up to your nose. you sigh softly at the faint smell of your perfume lingering all over it. you haven't used that brand since you were last here all those months ago. you shimmy off the rest of your dress leaving you in your red lace lingerie, and you stride over to the shelf and pick up the small glass bottle. you flick the cap off with your thumb, and spritz the scented spray all over your body and the sheets.

laying back into the duvet, you feel your core throb with wanting and need as the aged memories invade your mind. your hands wander, just like his. they trace your curves the way he would, almost like it's muscle memory. "mh, joong.." you whisper to yourself as your back arches off of the mattress, unhooking your bra and tossing it to the side.

your hands fondle your breasts, and you let out the softest moan as your thumbs brush over your perky nipples. "hongjoong.." you whine the tiniest bit louder, hands hooking into your underwear and sliding them down your spread legs. sighing, your index and middle finger slip themselves between your folds, pushing them apart and lathering your wetness all over the digits. they slowly trace around your clit as you snatch your phone from the bedside table.

you would have never thought you'd be doing this again, but you open his archived chat left inactive for 5 months and click the camera in the bottom left corner. this was risky, and you'd be most likely to regret it. but nonetheless you begin recording, and whine softly into the phone. you feign innocence, pinching your clit softly between your fingers before you insert them both inside you. you gasp as you release an over exaggerated moan before hitting the send button.

you wait with a satisfied look on your face, watching one tick turn into two, from grey to blue. at that, your phone is forgotten, and your eyes flutter closed as you give your undivided attention to yourself.

hongjoong is becoming desperate. having to act like he didn't almost cream his pants at the sight of your wet pussy through his phone screen was tougher than he had originally imagined. he tucks his phone into his back pocket, trying to subtly adjust the baggy jeans hanging on his hips. while jisung and changbin eagerly talk to him, his eyes daintily drift to the side, catching seonghwa's gaze from the pool table.

seonghwa tilts his head, and hongjoong pats the side of his leg before tucking his index, middle and ring finger into his palm to form a phone sign. he holds it for two seconds before focusing back on the conversation he's having.

he thanks seonghwa indebtedly when it doesn't take much more than a blink of an eye before his phone vibrates in his back pocket. "sorry, i have to take this," he's apologetic, gesturing towards his phone. "have a good night guys!" he gives seonghwa a pat on the shoulder as he passes by, and seonghwa returns the gesture with a wink.

he can't resist himself as he walks through the hallway, opening the video again and feeling his cock throb violently in the confines of his jeans. he practically sprints up the stairs when you send another text: "you better hurry up or i'm leaving." it was a lie, obviously. hongjoong knew it too. but that didn't stop him from becoming overly eager.

he bursts through the door, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets at the sight of three fingers plunging in and out of your pussy, presented proudly out in the open for only his eyes to see, the erotic squelching sounds become apparent when he closes the door: "what took you so long," you sigh out accompanied by a breathy moan. "i'm sorry baby." he mumbles, already reaching for his belt as he kneels at the bed, unbuckling it and tossing it to the side.

"you should be," you pull your fingers out, using your clean hand to pull him into a sloppy, open mouthed, all teeth and saliva, kiss. "i'm expecting compensations." he pulls back with a grin, tugging his black tank top over his head. "of course, princess."

his knees straddle your hips, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck. with his jeans already hanging so low on his hips, your feet make a move to slide them off to his ankles, he finishes the job off, discarding them on the floor. the beautiful, overbearing scent of your perfume makes him shiver, and he grips the sheets on either side of you, striving ever so hard as not to completely lose control of himself. he wants to take this slowly with you, enjoy the moment of finally having you back in his arms again.

or at least that's what he would have liked, but it seems you had other plans. "so, you gonna fuck me or what?" you exhale, arching up into him when his lips find your pebbled nipple, suckling gently as his hand gropes your unattended tit. he supposes he could wait to take it slow another time.

"patience," he grins, drifting down to your pelvis, deciding this is where he wanted to leave his mark. "let me take care of you, sweetheart." he nips, sucks, kisses, littering red, lip sized marks all over your pubic bone, making sure they would last at least a few days. your hand reaches down to grip his gelled back hair, and he groans softly as you tug on the strands. your legs spread as he makes himself comfortable between them, and he swears he almost cums in his boxers when your ankle moves to the back of his head, violently shoving him into your wet pussy.

he moans out, arms wrapping around your thighs as his lips make contact with your clit. you taste better than he ever remembers. sweet yet salty, flavourful, delicious. "mmh, that's good.." you whisper softly, and the praise makes hongjoong ever the more motivated to pleasure you. "am i good for you baby?" you grin and nod softly. "so good." he smirks and coats his index and middle finger in your slick before pushing them into your already stretched out hole.

and you know the second that his fingers, longer than yours, push and curl into you combined with his tongue lapping away at your clit, that you won't last long. more of your slick drips out and onto hongjoong's hand; you can't remember the last time you were so desperate. "missed you so much baby." he whines out, unable to resist rolling his hips once, twice, into the mattress, trying to alleviate the aching in his boxers. "so- so good hongjoong- shit," you stutter out in between gasps and whines, feeling that familiar pit in your pelvis when his fingers drill themselves against your g-spot.

the long suck to your nub that follows straight after is what throws you over the edge. you're just tinkering on the edge of an orgasm, and you know it when your legs begin to shake. "hongjoong! hongjoong- please! oh god- oh fuck i'm cumming," you thrash around, legs wrapping themselves around his head and suffocating him in your pussy.

hongjoong feels his hard cock positively twitch and leak like a broken faucet as translucent, salty liquid leaks out of you and onto his stuck out tongue. he hums appreciatively, chest puffing up with pride when he realises he made you cum with just his fingers and tongue. faster than ever before, too. he makes the lewdest slurping sounds with his tongue, drinking you up as if he were a feral, famished man. at this point, he might as well be one.

"good?" he asks with a toothy smile, his sharp canines peaking out through his swollen lips. "so good. so good for me, joongie.." you whisper to him, running a hand through his hair before tightening it, curling and tugging him towards you. his lips meet yours in a kiss much gentler than any of the ones exchanged earlier, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. your hands reach down to feel around the wet patch of his pre-cum on the front of his boxers, and you make a fast move to tug them down his legs, tossing them to the side before pulling him into your arms. "think you deserve a reward, baby?"

he nods so eagerly, you swear you see a tail wagging behind him as he hums keenly. "yeah?" you croon, enjoying watching him become desperate to please you and himself too. he doesn't even make an effort to hide how eager he is to slip into you and fall into a deep abyss of euphoria, brain filled with nothing other than praise and pleasure - and maybe a little white noise too. "what does my baby want?"

"to cum.." he mumbles, leaning down to nibble at your neck while his cold fingers drift down to where he had left his bruises on you, tracing them lovingly. it was almost primal, to him. to see you marked up. it reminded him that you truly did belong to him. "wan' make you cum too- wanna cum inside.." he twitches when your hand comes to wrap around the base of his cock. "i'm so fuckin' hard.. i wanna fuck you so fuckin' bad, baby." he begs breathlessly, thrusting up into your hand for more friction.

"you're so lucky i love you," you mutter under your breath, and his breath hitches as his dick simultaneously twitches in response. his stomach erupts into butterflies, but he tries to suppress the mushy feelings for the post-orgasm conversation he knows he'll end up having with you whether you like it or not.

"you really are just leaking aren't you? so messy." you tease, thumb swiping over his slit and he curls into you with a hiss, eyes falling shut. "sensitive today, are we?" you mumble, twisting your fist around his cock head again to draw another reaction from him. "been hard all day," he admits, head falling into the crook of your neck. "wanted to wait so i could fuck you." you shake your head with a chuckle. "so bold to automatically assume i'd let you fuck me."

hongjoong honestly believes he sees the gates of the afterlife appear in front of him when he finally feels your wet heat press against his cock. you drag your folds up and down the base of him, using a mixture of your cum, slick and his leftover saliva to lubricate him. "w-well i'm here now, aren't- aren't i?" you sigh, guiding his tip to your sopping hole. "eh, i guess so." your palms rest against his back when you slam his hips down onto you in one harsh movement. hongjoong's breath is knocked out of him at the unexpected movement, and his fingers grip your hips as he whines loud. "oh fuck-!"

you've missed him so badly. skin to skin, lips to lips, heart to heart, you have him fully. you hum, head dropping back into the satin pillows. "that's it.. i've missed you, joong. missed this big cock so much." you don't think your cunt could ever get used to the delicious stretch his cock provides you with, with or without fingers beforehand. he just reaches that particular spot inside you that nobody else ever could, and it drives you absolutely mad with adoration.

but what snaps you out of your bliss is that you realise hongjoong has no plans of moving. his head just stays dipped into the crook of your neck, hands gripping your waist so hard the skin will positively bruise, panting hard. "hello?" you mumble, poking the side of his head. he grumbles out something unintelligible, and it makes you sigh, propping yourself up onto your elbows. "this pussy's not gonna fuck itself, is it?" your question is more rhetorical, but it makes hongjoong wince. "c-can't." his voice is strained, and you have an idea of why, yet you still choose to prod further. "what do you mean, 'you can't'?"

"feels too good.." he whispers, and you grin. admittedly, hongjoong is indeed, a very busy man. jobs, producing, lectures, dance classes, clubs, parties, he's everywhere doing everything all at once. but the most critical aspect of it all, was that he was loyal to you. he hadn't kissed, touched, or fucked a single other person since he last had you, holding onto that small slither of hope that he could win you back when the time was right.

that, however, now leaves him in a sticky - no pun intended - situation where he knows that if he doesn't pull himself together, he'll drain his balls within minutes of fucking you. "oh? poor baby.." you feign innocence, just for a few seconds before your legs wrap around his hips, beginning to grind up onto him in search of your own friction. "that's too bad."

hongjoong yelps, trying to ground himself by fisting his duvet into a death grip, little whimpers making it past his sealed lips. your hands take a hold of his hips, aiding you in your movements. "you gonna help me now, or what?" you grit out, and all he can do is shake his head frantically, bottom lip jutted out into a pout. "i- i'll cum baby- i can't!-" "so what? cum or not, we're not stopping until i do." he exhales shakily.

"so are you gonna be a good? or will i have to go find someone else who can fuck me right?" hongjoong grits his teeth, shaking his head and putting all of his body weight on you until you come to a stop, he experiments, thrusting up once, twice, before mumbling a soft: "okay.". you rub his back gently, whispering in return: "come on.."

the sudden snap of his hips catches you off guard. you squeak, hands frantically reaching for his biceps to ground yourself. "shit! th- that's it hongjoong! ngh-" he nods frantically, yanking your knees up to your chest to thrust even deeper. he groans, eyes squeezing shut as he tries not to focus on how gorgeous you look beneath him, or how slick the sounds between you are, or how good your pussy feels, or how badly he wants to fucking cum.

he sets a brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass with every deep, meaningful thrust into you. "atta boy.. ohh baby i-" you gasp out, feeling the pad of hongjoong's thumb press down on your clit, rubbing up and down in synchronisation with his thrusts.

he pants hard and desperately it's almost concerning, lips parted and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he buries his head deep into the crook of your neck. you arch up into him, breasts pressing flush against his bare chest. your rhythmic clenching, the borderline salacious amount of wetness inside of you, the raking of your nails on his back, it's almost too much for him.

the longer he pursues you, the more he realises that he in fact, cannot wait, and will cum. he had tried not to too early, truly! but he had been close the second he walked into the damn room, and the amount of different versatile sensations he has no choice but to feel drive him over the edge. "baby- i can't- i can't i-" your legs wrap themselves around his hips, locking him in. "it's okay baby. go on. cum for me. fill me up."

with that, he's gone. you don't think you've ever seen him behave this way in the years you've known him. "oh godd yes- yes yes yes-" he's lewd, and he puts professional pornography to shame. the way he presents himself is obscene, head thrown back, eyes rolled into them. a staggered groan escapes him as he comes undone, his seed flowing inside of you as he gently rocks his hips, knuckles whiter than white with the pressure he's putting on the pillows either side of your head. you guide him through his orgasm, petting his hair softly.

his back glistens with beads of sweat among the moles and freckles dotted along his shoulder blades, and they flex as his arms slowly yet surely move to wrap around your torso. he exhales, nuzzling into you as he catches his forfeited breaths back.

you supposed that if he were unable to continue, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. it was even between the two of you now, and you were both correspondingly satisfied. you reach down and grip the base of him that isn't enveloped inside of you, and can't even begin to attempt to suppress the grin on your face when you realise he's still hard. "not satisfied yet, are you?"

he's about to defend himself, promise you he's not as filthy as he presents himself to be. but there's no need for it, seeing as you give him no time to rest before you climb on top of him, and start rocking your hips. and honest to god, hongjoong has absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

he's being used like a toy, and he loves it. but at the same time he isn't sure if you want him to help you or if he should take it, so many thoughts rushing through his mind but in reality he's just trying to stall so he doesn't cum again. he's a ragdoll in your arms, the pleasure he had been feeling a few seconds ago returning in an instant with a new found sensitivity, your pussy even wetter with his cum. he ever so desperately wanted to take back the dominance between the two of you, he knew he could do it. but the most he could do to even voice a reaction was curse loudly, cry out and throw his head back.

he takes it back. completely. there was no way he could do anything other than accept it without any objections. it was everything he had ever wanted and more, there was nothing going on in his mind other than perpetual euphoria.

"fuck i'm close," you whisper, cursing in approval when hongjoong's index and middle finger work at your clit in time with your bounces. "c-cum for me? cum for me baby?" hongjoong's eyes brim with tears, a mix of sentimentality and overstimulation. you nod frantically, finally letting the knot in your gut come loose, letting out a wail as your orgasm washes over you.

he whines softly at the feeling of you gushing around him, and he cums a second time. he fills you up again with a groan through gritted teeth, in smaller spurts with less amount than the first. you pant, falling limp on top of him with a grunt. "that was good," you hum, hand moving to trace his collarbone.

hongjoong's arms come to encircle around your waist, pressing you close to his chest as he begins to soften inside of you, making no move to pull out. he kisses your temple, one of his hands moving to the back of your head, caressing your dishevelled head of hair. hongjoong has never felt such relief as he does holding you, your body feeling just right with his, and he can't help but think to himself..

"i love you." he blurts out. the confession is rushed, panicked and hesitant. you feel his body tense up the moment he registers he's said it, but you just smile against his chest, poking him in the rib. "you're okay i guess." not getting the answer he wants, he groans. "princess.." his tone is whiny, and you giggle, sitting up to plant a passionate kiss to his lips.

"i'm joking, joong. i love you too."

© st4rcig4r 2024 i do not give permission for my writing to be copied, translated or posted anywhere but tumblr.

[strawberryshortcake1495]

The Drifting Stars AU has me on a chokehold so here’s my Mabel design :3

My headcanon is that Mabel’s hair is magic stardust when she’s in the Nightmare Realm, so here’s what she’d look like if she and Ford ever travelled in any Gravity Falls AUs.

[veronicaphoenix]

fairy dust series ✨ au — part three: the girl whose blood turned into fairy dust | wc: 3.1k

— previous part: the seducing kitsune

pairing: fae!oliver x ivy (ofc) x kitsune!noah tags & trigger warnings: self-indulgence (don't mind me), age gap (but it's also understood that in fairyland no one ages), no angst (just brief mentions of ivy feeling insecure about her body in the past), recurrent mentions of noah shifting back and forth from his kitsune form, fluff, noah loves to tickle ivy, oliver likes to have his hair pulled, implied/suggested sexual scenarios including the following: ivy's first time, handjobs, oral sex, intercourse, threesome, and a bunch of mentions about fluids 👀 my works 🌙

The Girl Whose Blood Turned Into Fairy Dust ೃ༄*ੈ

When Ivy wakes up, she feels a faint ache between her legs. It’s the first sensation her consciousness registers as she emerges from her dreamlike state. 

            Next, she becomes aware of the warmth of two bodies beside her, but it’s not just their presence that keeps her warm. Noah’s nine tails are enveloping her like a soft, protective cocoon, shielding her from the cold. Although their warmth is gentle, it’s exactly what she needs after the night’s activities and her subsequent drop in body temperature. Noah, with an instinctive understanding of her needs, had covered her with his fur just as she was about to drift off.

            She is, of course, naked.

            As she opens her eyes and adjusts to the soft morning light filtering through the trees, Ivy feels Noah’s tails gliding delicately over her skin. When her eyes locate him, she just sees a man, naked and sprawled on his stomach, with silky brown hair cascading over his face. His lips are relaxed, and his breathing is calm. He looks even younger than Ivy had perceived him the day before.

            On her other side, Oliver also sleeps peacefully and just as naked. His hand rests gently on his chest, and his head is turned toward her, his lips slightly parted. Despite his longer hair, it remains neatly away from his face, allowing Ivy to admire the ethereal glow of his skin. It seems as though his entire body is dusted with a shimmering blanket of stardust. The sight is almost surreal, but Ivy knows this is not a dream, especially after the experiences she shared with both of them last night.

            This is her world now, a place where she can spend as much time as she wishes admiring Oliver’s glowing skin, savoring the tender touches of Noah’s tails, and discovering all the secrets this world is keeping from her.

            Stretching her limbs and awakening her body, so used and gloriously spent, Ivy rises with grace. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, her face lighting up with a smile as she realizes she remains in this idyllic paradise that feels like home. 

            It’s home.

            The gentle breeze kisses her cheeks, and two small yellow birds flutter around her, their cheerful chirping filling the air. They soon fly away, disappearing among the lush treetops, which seem to gently bow as if in gratitude for her presence in their world.

            As Ivy brushes her hair from her shoulders, she notices a sprinkling of glitter falling onto her feet. The glitter, likely from Oliver’s fairy dust, has adhered to her skin, which, along with her hair, now gleams with a warmer, more radiant hue.

            Feeling content, Ivy moves toward the edge of the large pond. She allows the crystal-clear water to gently lap at her feet. Gradually, she wades in, letting the cool, refreshing water envelop her. Once she is submerged up to her shoulders, she takes a deep breath and dips her head beneath the surface.

            The water feels divine.

            Ivy glides through the water with grace toward the opposite end, where the waterfall cascades majestically from the mountaintop. The mist rising from the cool, tumbling water envelops her in a refreshing embrace. The force of the waterfall is both intense and invigorating, massaging her body in a way that makes her burst into laughter from sheer delight. She feels as if the water is not just embracing her, but liberating her from all her insecurities and fears.

            In her adolescence, the reflection in the mirror had often been her harshest critic, but now, as she recalls the admiration and love in Oliver and Noah’s eyes, in their touch, her old wounds begin to heal. The vulnerability she once felt has been replaced by a glowing, confident self-assurance. She feels no discomfort in her nakedness; rather, she feels empowered, her skin radiating.

            As Ivy revels in the soothing bath, she closes her eyes and allows herself to immerse in the water, letting the waterfall envelop her completely. Around her, vibrant goldfish dart through the water like living jewels—gold, blue, and green. Their scales catch the sunlight, creating a dazzling display that complements the luminous quality of her own skin. Below her, the aquatic plants sway gently with the current.

            A few minutes go by, and suddenly, Ivy senses a presence behind the cascading curtain of water. The emerald green eyes that have lingered in her memory meet hers, causing her heart to race with excitement. Oliver emerges from behind the curtain, his laughter a crystal-clear melody that fills the space and makes her smile even wider.

            He joins her beneath the waterfall, wrapping her in a welcoming hug. His lips brush against her shoulders, chin, and cheeks with a tenderness that fills Ivy with a profound sense of joy. The connection between them feels so palpable that she can almost reach out and touch it. 

            With deliberate care, Ivy begins to massage Oliver’s hair, her fingers gliding through the silky strands. The ability to give him pleasure and comfort, just as he did for her during the night, brings her immense satisfaction.

            After enjoying this moment, Ivy wonders about Noah, realizing that she won’t be able to feel that complete unless both of them are around. “Where’s Noah?”

            “He can’t ever be too far,” he replies. With a confident motion, he takes her hand and guides her away from the waterfall. “Look,” he says, pointing to a spot in the forest.

            Following his gesture, Ivy’s eyes land on a tree. 

            Perched on a tree branch is Noah in his kitsune form. His nine tails form an enchanting halo around him making him appear majestic. His dark eyes watch her attentively as he licks his muzzle. 

            With a nimble, graceful leap, the creature drops into a clump of bushes below.

            When Noah emerges from the foliage, he’s back in his human form, naked and wearing a wicked grin. His confident, seductive stride sends a wave of excitement through Ivy. She’s certain that if Oliver weren’t by her side, she might stagger with excitement.

            Noah approaches her with large strides, stepping into the water with a feline grace. His gaze is a potent mix of dominance and affection that makes Ivy’s skin tingle. 

            In an instant, Ivy finds herself swimming toward him, and as she reaches him, Noah scoops her up with a strength and tenderness that makes her feel utterly cherished. Her sweet laughter mingles with Oliver’s from behind. She nuzzles her head into Noah’s neck, tightening her arms around his shoulders.

Hours later, Ivy sits on the sand, feeling its warm, soft texture beneath her bare feet. She is wearing a short green dress with delicate thin straps that drape gracefully over her shoulders. Oliver sits between her legs as she carefully combs his long brown hair, the strands shimmering with an etheral glow in the light.

            Behind Ivy, Noah lounges comfortably on the sand,  propped up on one elbow, shirtless, his tanned skin glowing in the sunlight. He playfully tugs at the straps of Ivy’s dress, and each time his fingers touch her skin, Ivy squirms, her giggles bubbling forth. 

            “Stop it,” she protests. 

            “You don’t mean that,” he replies with a husky voice, fully aware of the effect he has on her. He obeys, though, replacing his fingers with his lips, his smile widening into a broad grin as he revels in her reaction. 

            “I can’t braid Oliver’s hair if you keep doing that!”

            “Liar,” he mutters. 

            “I’m not—” Ivy starts to say, but Noah interrupts by nibbling at her neck while his hand slips around her waist and under the skirt of her dress.  

            Ivy erupts in laughter, accidentally tugging at Oliver’s hair as she falls back. Noah catches her in his arms, drowning in the joy of making her laugh.

            “Ouch,” Oliver complains, rubbing his scalp, smiling nonetheless. “I love having my hair pulled, but not like this.” 

            “You’re also a liar,” Noah tells him, continuing to shower Ivy with gentle nibbles and affectionate kisses on her shoulders and clavicle. Each touch feels like a warm spark on Ivy’s skin, and her laughter blends with the soft whispers of the breeze that drifts from the nearby pond. “Look at him, Ivy.” Noah grabs Ivy’s chin and guides her head towards Oliver’s spot between his legs. “You caused that by just pulling at his hair accidentally. Imagine how much harder you could get him if you did it on purpose.” 

            Oliver’s gaze is heated as it meets hers. 

            “Why didn’t you ask for it last night?” Ivy asks, fluttering her eyelashes at him. She’s still a bit shy about what they did the night before—at the things she let them do to her. 

            “Because last night was all about you.”

            Before she can reply, Noah’s voice is in her ear.  

            “Did we please you, Ivy?” 

            He knows they did; he just wants to hear her say it. 

            “You did,” she breathes out. “A lot.”

            At her answer, both Oliver and Noah smile.

            Still behind her, Noah reaches around to move a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear before placing a tender kiss on her earlobe. 

            “You were really, really sweet.”

            She melts. 

            She leans back against his chest, letting Oliver reposition himself at the front so that he can touch her thighs. Maybe they’ll cover her in flowers again, later replacing them by kisses and licks here and there. 

            No one had ever shown so much reverence to her as Noah and Oliver do. She’s only been here for a few hours, but she already feels so entertained, so cherished and loved. 

            Before Ivy began combing Oliver’s hair, she and Noah had been engrossed in what she’s learnt is Noah’s favorite game. He can never play hide-and-seek with Oliver because he always knows where he is, and all the other creatures in the realm show little interest. But Ivy? Oh, Ivy is thrilled to play with him, whether it’s hide-and-seek or something else.  With his kitsune agility, Noah makes the game challenging, speeding away from her and hiding in places he knows better than anyone else. Ivy spent what felt like hours running around barefoot, squirming through trees and plants she’d never seen before, peering into the bushes, and looking up the trees. Just as she was about to give up, Noah had appeared behind her, in human form, wrapping her in his arms and surprising her with a playful tickling attack of his lips and nose against her neck. He loved tickling her—she had learned that much by now. He caught her and laid her down in the sand, their laughter mingling as she squirmed with delight. 

            It was only when she felt a different kind of tickling on her arm that she realized she had been hurt—perhaps by a broken branch or a thorn hidden beneath the sand. Instead of blood, what emerged from her skin was fairy dust, drifting down to form a small, glittery pile beside her.  

            Her eyes widened in astonishment as she looked at the shimmering dust. Noah’s expression turned to one of concern, while Oliver, standing nearby, simply smiled.

            He knew everything had finally fallen into place, and Ivy belonged to them just as they belonged to her. 

Years later

Ivy stands in the water, which reaches only up to her navel, the breeze gently caressing her bare breasts. Her hands move in the water in a slow, cadent dance as her eyes remain fixed on the scene unfolding in front of her, on the sand. Ivy is biting her lip, her eyes darkening with a growing hunger and desire, the heat between her legs growing more scorching with every second despite being in the water. 

            On the shore, Noah and Oliver are playing with each other, stealing caresses, kisses, moans. Their hands are exploring each other’s bodies, their lips grazing each other’s skin. It’s an idyllic image, and while Ivy longs to be a part of it, she also finds a certain satisfaction in being an observer. 

            Of course, this isn’t the first time she’s seen Oliver and Noah like this. 

            They engage in such scenarios quite often, and they do it with her too, whether it’s by the pond, in a clearing in the woods, or in one of those castle rooms that appear and disappear at will, where the mattresses are the most comfortable imaginable, covered with soft pillows, and with streams of different vibrant colors filtering through the wide windows. 

            Ivy recalls the last time she was there, in one of those rooms. Noah and Oliver had instructed her to get on all fours, and she had complied obediently. One of them positioned himself in front of her, while the other took his place behind. 

            During those intimate moments, it’s almost transcendent how their bodies come together; the sensations so profound that it’s hard to distinguish where one body ends and the other begins. 

            When Ivy is between them, she feels a deep sense of completeness and an unexplainable self-confidence. 

            No matter how many caresses and kisses Noah and Oliver bestow upon her, they continually amplify that feeling, mirroring the crescendo of her orgasms. She’s never able to keep her eyes open when they happen, but Oliver has often told her that her body emits a magnificent glow when she comes—like watching the sunrise without any of the pain. He has called it the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.  

            Ivy remembers how different she was when she first got there. The girl she once was has been replaced by someone confident in her own skin, who embraces every curve and imperfection. Oliver and Noah have shown her the value of her body and soul, but it is her own effort that has shaped her into the confident person she is today, and now, years later, no one compares to the confidence Ivy exudes. You can see it in her eyes, in that determined, fierce gaze with which she watches like a hawk every touch Noah and Oliver give each other. She observes intently as Noah frowns and closes his eyes with every tug Oliver gives him. He’s about to come.

            When Ivy emerges from the water and approaches them, Noah is lying on his back, the remnants of his orgasm on his stomach, glistening under the sun, his breathing still ragged. Oliver lies beside him on his side, nibbling on Noah’s shoulder and tracing delicate patterns on his right pec. The picture is tripping, and Ivy’s smile, still teasingly nibbling on her lip, widens as Noah opens his eyes and greets her with an ecstatic smile. 

            There’s nothing prettier than seeing Noah in a post-orgasmic state, smiling, eyes shining, hair tousled, with his own semen smeared across his navel. And beside him, Oliver, lovingly tending to him, clearly eager to give him another orgasm as soon as he’s ready for it.  

            “Hi there, our pretty girl,” Oliver says to Ivy when he notices Ivy. He pulls back and props himself up on his forearms, fully exposing himself. His erection is powerful, still glowing as brightly as it did the first time Ivy saw him naked. He looks as delicious as Noah, and Ivy fantasizes about getting Oliver in the same state as Noah, and have them both lying exhausted on the sand, covered in their own sticky release and with those satisfied expressions on their faces. 

            She knows she can get them like that, and it fuels her confidence. However, she can’t deny her enjoyment of how they treat her with care and indulgence, with softness and delicacy. After reaching out to her, Oliver makes some space for Ivy to settle in between them, her body still covered in water droplets glistening in the rays of sunlight falling on her body. 

            Hours pass unnoticed. Time behaves differently here, and Ivy struggles to keep track of it with their hands and tongues working their magic on her, making her mind feel soft and hazy. 

            She lets them play with her, touch her, lick her. 

            They know how to taunt her. Oliver’s fingers glide down the valley between her breasts. He traces patterns all over her stomach. He watches as Ivy’s skin reacts with goosebumps and flushes. He wants her to beg him to go lower. When she does, the touch is already so familiar to her, but it never fails to elicit moans that Oliver says remind him of songs he’s heard in the past. 

            Meanwhile, Noah keeps his grasp on her chin, ensuring her face remains turned towards him so he can savor every expression she makes while Oliver touches her. 

            After a while, as Ivy’s most intimate spot becomes slick with her own release, Noah nuzzles her neck with his nose. Unexpectedly, he offers her a peach. 

            He holds it out for her. As she bites into it, keeping her eyes locked on Noah’s, the juice drips down her chin and onto her chest. 

            Noah moves his hand away and gestures for Oliver to hold the peach. He then lowers his lips to Ivy’s breasts and drinks the sweet juice that has dribbled onto her skin. As he sucks and licks, he’s intoxicated by the combined sweetness of the fruit and the softness of her nipples. He’s aware he’s going to come, even without her having to touch him. She has a power that he’s never encountered before, and he’s thankful that Oliver decided to wait ten years to get Ivy to come here by choice. 

            After some more time on the sand and then in the water, their bodies sated, stomachs full, and muscles tired, they find comfort under a large oak tree. Ivy and Oliver craft flower crowns together while Noah lies on his stomach, a pencil in hand, his eyes shifting between Oliver and Ivy and the paper on the ground. He keeps his drawings private, hiding them in a hole in the ground when he’s finished, planning to gift them to Ivy someday, perhaps in a book with a cover made of leaves.

            The sun sets one more time. Ivy curls up against Noah’s fur and lays her head on Oliver’s chest, so that she can fall asleep to his heartbeat. She has learned that Noah used to sleep on Oliver’s back, but since she joined them, the kitsune tattoo on Oliver’s back has not reappeared, leaving his skin a blank canvas. She understood long ago that this change signified that their bond had grown into a trio, and when they snuggle close at night, she swears she can touch the love they share.

Author's note ✍🏼: this is it! I looooooved writing this little thing and i'm so glad I got to share it with you all. Thank you so much for reading it and dropping a comment or message me after. It means the world and I love engaging with readers and other writers to discuss stories. I'm forever thankful <3

my works 🌙 Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @poppy-in-the-woods | @blessedwithabadomen | @dsireland86

@bluestdai | @poisongirl616 | @lma1986 | @shilohrosechicken | @fadingangelwisp

@dominuslunae | @sunsshinesunny

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 16

Masterpost Read on AO3

Definitions post has been updated

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: “He’s the heavens and the Earth and the depths of the sea. He’s the entire universe, settled into stardust, at the center of a single beautiful soul.”

---

I will love you.

Even if this life tries to tear you limb from limb, plaguing us both with nightmares that clutch at our throats and bind our hands in iron shackles of a memory that might never leave us in peace. I will love you even if you come back to me a changed man, an echo of who you thought yourself to be, the remnants of someone who dared to fly too close to the sun. I will love you in life, and I will love you in death, and I will love you in every infinitesimal point between the two. I will love you.

In any way that you are.

I will love you even if you don’t remember me. If your eyes should find mine and not recognize within them the life we lived, the way your hands held mine and the way your voice forged the foundation of my life, I will still love you. If your fingers shake and your voice breaks and your lungs give out, I will hold you up with every last bit of strength I have. Because I will love you, even if you can’t say it back, even if you can’t feel it the same way, even if it will bring me to pieces every damn day… I will love you, even if you don’t come home to me.

You’ve come so far, and I need you to come just a little farther. It won’t be easy. It will hurt. I’m selfish, I know, but as I wait for the tides to bring you home, every time my heart beats, it’s beating for you. Every breath I take is to remind you to breathe, too. I hold my head high and I speak with the certainty of the officer, the leader, that they tell me I was born to be. I grit my teeth and I tear my hair out and I wear holes in the floor as I pace to the ends of the Earth, acting like I’m fine when everyone knows, I’m still standing because I have no choice. To sit down is to give up, and I will not give up on you.

I will love you. With everything that I have. I will love you. From the heavens above to the sea below. I will love you. From the dawn of time to the end of time. I will love you. Because I don’t know who I am if I don’t. 

I will love you.

So please, come home.

—

November 26 Low Earth Orbit

Helen: “Rosie? Do you copy?”

Helen: “Rosie?”

Rosie: “Huh?”

Rosie reaches a clumsy hand up to rub at his eyes, and he squints into the sterile darkness of the cabin. It’s quiet, everyone asleep, the Earth looming large out their window. So close he feels like he could fall right into it, but they aren’t ready yet.

Helen: “Can you check on John? His heart rate and breathing are elevated.”

Rosie takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to gather strength. It’s the middle of the night, and he feels like he hasn’t slept in days. Because he hasn’t. But he makes a noise of acknowledgement and releases himself from his sleeping bag, drifts away from the wall it’s strung up on. When he makes it over to Bucky, the commander is fussing, making sounds of distress. Rosie has found him like this several times in the last couple days – he always seems most confused, most agitated, at night, when it’s dark and he’s alone. When Bucky’s eyes meet Rosie’s, sure enough, there’s little comprehension there. His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat.

“Shit, shit no, don’t do that, John.” Rosie lunges forward to grab at Bucky’s hand, which is tugging weakly at the IV taped to his arm. The skin around it is extremely irritated and the catheter rests at an off angle that makes Rosie’s heart drop. “Fuck. Oh god, John…”

Helen: “What’s going on, Rosie?”

Rosie pushes away from Bucky to get the lights turned on, unable to move fast enough in this little cabin when there’s no gravity to scramble through. His other crewmates groan at the brightness. Waking to Bucky trying to injure himself in some new way every night is not all that different from the faulty alarms they dealt with on the way to the moon, except now it’s their friend that’s malfunctioning.

When Rosie tells Helen “He’s dislodged his IV,” everyone wakes up that little bit more and starts to get moving.

Rosie unzips Bucky’s sleeping bag and pulls him upright, the commander fighting him the entire time. When Rosie tries to grab his arm to get at the IV, Bucky whines and shakes his head, pulling away.

“I need to get that out of there before it causes serious damage, John,” Rosie explains. “You’re gonna need a new one for the morning.”

Bucky shakes his head again, going so far as to block the catheter with his other hand. Rosie reaches for his hand and clamps clammy fingers between his own.

He grips his own hair with his other hand, trying to stay patient even though his own heart is beating too fast and he feels half delirious from exhaustion. “I know you don’t like it,” he says carefully. “But you need all the strength you can get before we go home. It’s only for… about six more hours, okay? That’s all I’m asking for. Let me fix this, and I’ll take it out in six hours. Deal?”

Bucky shakes his head, but the motion makes him so dizzy that his eyes go wide and he groans in discomfort, seeming to lose all sense of orientation in the zero g. His nose scrunches and he closes his eyes against the sensation. Somehow, he ends up with his head resting against Rosie’s shoulder for support. Rosie sighs and wraps an arm around him, holding him close and rubbing his side soothingly. He half expects Bucky to ask for Gale, seeking that safety again, but he doesn’t. He just stays there, tucked against Rosie’s side, too sick to move or care or comprehend any of it, wanting nothing more than comfort and someone to take some of the pain away. He won’t remember any of this, save for uncomfortable snapshot moments.

Rosie lets him stay there for a good few minutes, by which point Alex and Curt have both snapped into action, communicating with Helen about what’s happening. Curt makes his way to Bucky’s other side, brushes back his sweaty hair, offers him his water pouch. Bucky sips weakly, but struggles to swallow and makes no move to try again. His progress and regression occurred in whiplash increments as it was, but the fever has sapped any strength he was regaining right out of him.

As Curt convinces him to take another sip, Alex brings over the necessary supplies to remove Bucky’s IV so Rosie can replace it.

Rosie squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m gonna take out your IV, alright?”

Bucky protests weakly, wordlessly. As Rosie is about to shift around to his front and get to work anyway, Bucky points at the far side of the crew cabin. “Bear.”

Rosie follows his finger, and sure enough, Beary Egan has floated away, clear to the window of the capsule, where he seems to be looking out at the Earth below them. A quick little laugh pops out of Rosie’s mouth. “Is that what’s got you so worked up? Trying to tear out your IV because you lost the bear?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, but his eyes follow Alex as he retrieves the stuffed animal, and he reaches for it. Once Beary Egan is in his hand again, he gives Rosie no issue about cleaning up his arm and replacing the IV.

—

Johnson Space Center. Houston, TX

“Your husband’s a sassy little shit, you know,” Benny says when Gale arrives in Mission Control. Red Shift doesn’t start for another couple of hours, but Gale insisted on coming in early as the crew preps for re-entry, mostly in case Bucky needs him for any reason. Marge was coming in regardless to speak with reporters about the re-entry process, and she was all too happy to shove Gale off on Benny when they arrived.

“You’re driving me insane, Gale,” she told him when he wouldn’t stop shaking his leg or tapping his fingers or biting his lip. The depressed, tired grief that Marge has been worried about for days has been replaced with an anxious energy as Gale awaits Bucky’s safe return. She gave him a tight hug before he entered Mission Control, taking a minute to help him regulate his breathing. “Calm down, and keep your head on this planet.”

“That’s not news,” Gale tells Benny now. John’s always been a sassy little shit.

“Even when he’s sick, sitting on death’s door…” Benny throws his hands out in exasperation. Gale swallows the pressing need to say don’t say that. Because Bucky is going to be fine. He has to be fine. 

Instead, he asks what happened. And Benny tells him about the IV ordeal, which makes Gale rub a hand over his eyes because it’s too damn early to be told that Bucky keeps finding ways to almost kill himself. If he came all this way only to die by air embolism…

“We’re all pretty sure Rosie caught it before it caused any damage,” Benny reassures him. “Replaced it with a new one for the morning, and Rosie’ll take it out before they get him suited up.”

An equally demoralizing thing to hear is that Bucky’s fever isn’t getting any better, and, among other obvious ailments, it’s left him confused, uncomfortable, and lethargic all night and for much of the morning. He started refusing food again last night, complaining of nausea and extreme pain. He hasn’t been very lucid, and his strength is pretty much shot. But he’s started talking more throughout the morning.

“Any time I try to talk to him, he just says ‘fuck you,’” Benny reports. “I know he can say other words. I’ve heard him talking to the guys. But for me, all I get is a fuck you.”

Benny rolls his eyes in irritation, muttering something along the lines of “what the fuck did I do?” But it makes Gale smile for the first time since he left JSC yesterday, because if nothing else, that sounds like John. He accepts the spare headset that Benny grudgingly holds out to him.

Gale: “Good morning Artemis 3. I hear my husband is being a handful.”

Curt: “Benny’s just a wuss.”

Gale: “Is John there?”

Curt tells him to wait a moment, then there’s crackling as headsets turn on and off on the other side of the transmission. Gale exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he hears Bucky’s voice.

Bucky: “Hey doll.”

Gale: “How are you?”

Bucky: “... pretty bad.”

Gale nods, biting at his lip. A dumb question. He resists the urge to tell his husband that everything’s gonna be okay, that he’ll be okay.

Gale: “You’re coming home today, you know.”

Bucky: “Mmm.”

Rosie: “Heads up, Buck, he’s speaking well but he’s still pretty out of it. Can’t focus for shit. Keeps getting confused and disoriented.”

Gale: “Thanks Rosie. John, I’m here at the space center for the day, okay? I’ll be right here with you if you need me.”

Bucky: “Mkay.”

Gale: “I love you.”

Bucky: “Mhm.”

Gale shakes his head and ignores the way Benny is trying not to laugh beside him.

Rosie: “Sorry, Buck. He’s just up here kinda existing right now. Looking out the window. I’m gonna take the headset off of him, but I’ll let you know if he needs you.”

Gale thanks Rosie, shoves Benny’s shoulder, and goes in search of coffee. 

—

On TV, a live broadcast has already started hours before Orion is scheduled to land back on Earth. A news crew is stationed outside of Johnson Space Center, where the sun has yet to rise.

“The eyes of the whole world have been on NASA for the last week, since American astronaut, Major John Egan, suffered an accident on the lunar surface that left him unconscious and in unstable condition. The Director of the Human Spaceflight Program, Colonel Neil Harding, cited a faulty rover wheel as the cause of a driving incident that ended with the rover tumbling down the side of Shackelton crater, crushing Major Egan beneath it.

“The Artemis 3 commander is said to have suffered a traumatic brain injury and a tibial fracture in addition to decompression illness after his oxygen regulator was compromised during the incident. Egan remained in a comatose state for more than two days, suffering seizures and decompression symptoms. Starship pilot, Curtis Biddick, worked tirelessly to keep Egan alive until they could rendezvous with their other crew members in the Orion crew capsule.

“Egan continues to endure TBI symptoms, but is said to be steadily recovering. The crew has spent the last three and a half days on an emergency return trajectory from the moon, and will splash down off the San Diego coast later this morning. We’re here outside of Johnson Space Center, where NASA’s Mission Control has worked nonstop to bring Major Egan and the rest of the Artemis 3 crew home alive.

“Yesterday, we spoke with Major Egan’s husband, Major Gale Cleven, who is a flight controller and fellow astronaut slated to travel to the moon on Artemis 4. This is the first time we’ve heard from Major Cleven since the incident occurred.”

The broadcast cuts to a clip from the day before, when the reporter jumped Gale and Marge as they walked into JSC. Gale is dressed in his typical Mission Control work attire, his hair is styled perfectly, and dark aviators hide the exhaustion in his eyes. It’s obvious that talking to this reporter is the last thing he wants to do, but when she asks him about re-entry and John’s odds for survival, he turns and flashes that cocky pilot’s grin. Major Buck Cleven.

“We’re gonna bring our boys home safe,” he assures her.

“Including your husband?”

His smile falters, but he nods and runs a hand through his hair, somehow managing to look calm and sure when he’s anything but. “Yes.”

She asks about failure, what it could mean for the space program.

Gale looks at her for a long moment, works his jaw. He starts to turn away. “Failure is not an option,” he states, an Apollo-era motto that still rings true. He walks towards the Mission Control building, head high, back straight. He doesn’t look back.

—

Bucky starts showing more signs of life as the morning goes on and activity picks up around him – cabin housekeeping, communication with Houston, calculation checks, general mayhem. As they prepare for re-entry, even Bucky’s sleeping bag has been rolled up and stowed, leaving him floating in the middle of the cabin with nothing to keep him in place for the first time since he came back aboard Orion.

Curt pats him on the shoulder and releases a mostly empty packet of soup into the air to float across the cabin to Rosie, who discards the trash. Bucky swallowed a good three quarters of the soup and seems comfortable enough, no immediate signs of spitting it back out.

“Orange juice?” he asks. He frowns and scrunches his nose, closing his eyes as his hand drifts up towards his head. Rosie took the gauze off when Bucky woke up this morning to make the com cap he’ll have to wear more comfortable. But he gave a strict warning that if Bucky scratched at the wound for so much as a second the gauze was going back on. No one could tell if he understood, but he hasn’t made any move to bother the gash since. He’s been shivering all morning, his cheeks bright red, and he keeps complaining about his head hurting.

Rosie sends a packet of orange juice drifting towards Curt, who catches it and gets it open. “Don’t let him have too much,” Rosie instructs. “I need him to keep it down this time.”

Bucky sticks his tongue out, and Curt does it back to him. “You heard the doctor. Just a few sips.”

Curt lets him drink about a quarter of the packet before pulling it away and handing it back to Rosie. Bucky wraps his arms tight over his chest, Beary Egan secure over his heart. His body shakes as he leans his forehead against the capsule window, letting the cool glass press against his forehead. His fever’s running at 101 degrees now, his face burning as chills rack his body.

Curt faces him, putting a hand on each of Bucky’s arms and rubbing at them gently. When Bucky looks at him with a pained expression, eyes wet and dazed, Curt pulls him against his chest. Bucky rests his head against Curt, looking for comfort or relief or something to make this go away. He can’t focus, can’t think, can’t move. The shivering is making his whole body tense up and everything is sore or broken as it is. The pounding in his head isn’t getting any better and he feels like he might throw up all the damn time even though he hasn’t in a little while now.

“You’re alright,” Curt tells him. “Just think, in a few hours we’ll be floatin’ in the middle of the Pacific. Sun shining. 72 degrees. The sound of the waves, the birds. Blue sky overhead.”

Bucky nods against Curt’s shoulder. “Home.”

“Yeah, we’re goin’ home. We’ll get you all fixed up. Gale’ll break down every door on the planet to get to you, and he won’t leave your side. And you’re gonna be alright.”

Bucky whispers a muffled ‘Buck’ into Curt’s shoulder, and Curt holds him tighter, willing everything he said to come true.

“Alright boys,” Rosie says, coming up beside them. “Let’s get that IV out. Time to suit up.”

—

Alex: “One minute to re-entry interface.”

With the Orion capsule returned to it’s launch/entry configuration, all four astronauts sit in the center of the cabin. They’re clad in their OCS suits, preparing for re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere. Bucky gave them some attitude about it, but he eventually conceded his seat to Alex so that Curt could have a consistently coherent co-pilot. It breaks Bucky a little bit inside, but it’s the only option. He sits in the back row with Rosie, his head turned to the side so he can see out the window. They can no longer see the entire Earth, just the curvature of its horizon and the storm systems rotating across the vast oceans, the continents outlined in browns and greens against the dark blue of the water. 

Alex: “Thirty to RRT.”

Curt: “36,076 feet per second. Comin’ in hot boys.” 

Bucky tries to read the numbers on Curt’s screen, the ones that he, as commander, should be aware of, keeping track of, and calling out. But trying to focus on the text as they hurtle full force into the planet’s atmosphere makes his vision swim, making him feel sick. He sips water from the straw in his suit’s neck ring and looks out the window again, focuses on the Earth, the stars. The feeling of flying faster than any man on Earth. He smirks a little bit. 

Bucky: “Almost as hot as you, Buck.” 

Everyone groans. Alex mutters something about preferring when Bucky couldn’t talk, even though everyone knows he doesn’t mean it.

Gale: “Save it for when you’re on land, Major.” Bucky can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Alex: “Six seconds. Five, four, three…”

Curt: “Mark. RRT. The clock is running.”

Gale: “Artemis 3, we have a dropout in telemetry. You’re passing through the atmosphere.”

Bucky’s brain latches onto the sound of Gale’s voice. The sound of home. He’s heading towards it, and he’ll make it even if it almost kills him. He tries to ignore the sharp pain ripping through his head and every part of his body, the way his vision doesn’t want to work right, the way his ears ring.

Curt: “Hundredth of a G… a tenth.”

They are officially no longer in zero gravity. Beary Egan, resuming his duty as zero g indicator, has been tied with a string to Bucky’s seat so he doesn’t get in the way during re-entry. Bucky watches him drift to the floor, no longer weightless.

Alex: “We got some glow up here.”

Curt: “Oh shit look at that.”

The exterior of the capsule is engulfed in a fiery glow as it interacts with the upper atmosphere, cutting through its layers like a bowling ball through a stack of paper. The blunt force of the capsule and the friction between it and the air causes a build-up of ionized gases, creating plasma that glows hot orange and blue. The heat shield on Orion’s exterior is the only thing protecting the crew from burning alive.

Bucky: “Fuckin’ fireball.”

Curt: “0.27 Gs… 0.65… 1.23”

Gale: “Comin’ up on 1 minute.”

Curt: “2 Gs. Comin’ up on blackout.” 

At one minute and 20 seconds, Orion hits its maximum heat load of nearly 4,500 degrees fahrenheit, a fireball hurtling through the sky half as hot as the sun itself. The plasma interferes with the signal between the capsule and the ground, causing a routine communications blackout. Around 1 minute and thirty seconds, they encounter the maximum gravitational force of their return trip, roughly 7 Gs that press them into their seats with such force that it’s nearly impossible to move, making them feel like they weigh seven times more than usual.

Bucky tries not to scream in agony at the feeling of his broken leg being crushed under the excess weight it puts on his body, gritting his teeth and groaning against the intense pain. His vision gets darker and darker around the edges and his hand tries to fumble around for Rosie’s arm, searching for something to ground himself, but it’s too hard for him to move. Rosie notices and finds his wrist, squeezing it. 

Rosie: “You’re gonna be alright, Major.”

Curt: “Gonna get you home, Bucky. Just hang on.”

Bucky: “... Can’t…” Bucky feels his heart rate going up, so fast he thinks it might burst out of his chest, but he doesn’t understand how that would be possible when his whole body is pinned to the seat.

Rosie: “Hang in there, John.”

Bucky: “Gale?”

Curt: “We’re in blackout. Hang on and I’ll get you back to him, okay?”

But the way the world is crushing his body – digging spears into his brain and twisting his leg like a wet rag – tears a scream from his lungs that no one but his crew can hear. His eyes watch the bright blue of the heat licking at the windows, like a gas stove that’s as hot as a literal star. He wonders, if the window broke open, would it vaporize him fast enough to make the pain go away? An Icarus on Earth, this capsule his wings.

His vision goes almost completely black as he watches the firestorm, listens to Curt and Alex rattle off readings. “5 Gs… 2 minutes… Look at this baby fly… 4 Gs… Pressure good… roll… She’s doin’ her job real well…”

The blaze outside starts to recede, but the one in his head doesn’t go with it. He doesn’t stay conscious long enough to hear Gale’s voice searching for his after the blackout ends. His heart feels like it might just give up. 

Rosie: “He’s out. Whole lotta Gs for him.”

Gale: “Don’t tell him that when he wakes up. He’d be embarrassed that he couldn’t handle 7 Gs.” There’s the slightest hint of nervousness to Gale’s voice, and they all know he’s trying to hide it. 

Alex: “I can’t even lift my head. Don’t wanna imagine the hell it was for him.”

Gale: “Coming up on five, boys. How’s she doing?”

Curt: “Smooth ride, Buck. Smooth as anything I’ve ever flown.”

Gale: “Can’t be too smooth then.”

Curt: “You’re full of shit.”

As the gravitational force on the capsule begins to decrease, slowing down to only a few hundred miles per hour, they can actually see the oranges and pinks and dark blues of an Earth-bound daybreak out their window.

Alex: “It’s beautiful, Houston. We’re riding at 3 Gs. Look at that sky out there!”

Gale: “We’re getting some data back now. Everything’s lookin’ good.”

Curt: “Think we’re just about at the transonic region.” Over 30,000 feet above the surface, they’re finally slowing down to Mach 1, the edge between subsonic and supersonic, the sound barrier itself.

Alex: “Let me know when we reach 30k.”

Gale: “Bring it home, boys.”

—

Red Shift took over thirty minutes before re-entry, and Gale stands behind his console with a headset over his ear, pacing back and forth with such intensity that his shoes leave scuffs on the old carpet floor. He can see Marge repeatedly glancing over at him even as she tries to focus on relaying information for the public, but he can’t deal with her worry right now. He has a crew to bring home.

He bites at his thumbnail and watches telemetry readings start to fill his and Croz’s screens once again. The capsule is performing as hoped, no major concerns yet. The heat shield survived the inferno of the upper atmosphere, protecting the crew from a fiery death. That’s what space travel is, after all – designing ways to survive one deathly hazard after another, shoving the human body past the limits of where it was meant to be. Intense gravitational forces, zero gravitational forces, star-level plasma blazes, decompression, toxic atmospheres, vacuums that suck the life out of everything that dares to enter... The list goes on.

And yet they do it anyway. They can’t get enough.

Gale knows John won’t regret this mission, no matter how much it hurts. It’s who he is. Who they both are.

“What are John’s vitals?” Gale asks, forcing his voice to stay measured. It’s only the second time he’s asked since they began re-entry over six minutes ago, and he feels like he deserves an award for that. He’s been standing here, jaw clenched, trying desperately not to request an update every thirty seconds. Gale may be a husband, but he’s also a flight controller, and there’s four astronauts on this spacecraft, not just one. He tries to convince himself that if something went wrong, Dr. Huston would inform the room immediately. If Bucky’s heart gave out, if his lungs stopped working, if his brain shut down…

Bucky passed out before the blackout ended due to the force of 7 Gs on his body, something he could ordinarily handle with no more than a little discomfort and a wild, daring grin on his face that just begs the universe to throw something more challenging at him. Here they are, talking about the man that passed fitness tests and astronaut candidate training with flying colors. The man who would laugh while his simulators spun out of control before getting down to business to stop the roll. The man who thinks the reduced-gravity aircraft they use to simulate weightless environments – lovingly nicknamed the vomit comet due to its pension for making passengers sick to their stomachs – is nothing more than a time-of-your-life carnival ride. Bucky would take that ride over and over if he could, playing weightless volleyball with Gale and Curt every time they reached the zero-G point of their parabolic flight path. 

No big deal. None of it.

And now he’s passed out because he can’t even handle 7 Gs with no rotation at all. And Gale is sitting here, wondering if he’ll survive it. 

“Heart rate is elevated,” Dr. Huston replies. “Blood pressure… elevated. Temperature high. Respiration rate is a bit low.”

“How elevated and how low?” Gale all but growls.  He glances back at Dr. Huston to gauge his level of concern.

Dr. Huston meets his gaze, his stare hard, giving away nothing. “As long as it stays where it is, he’ll be alright, Gale.” It’s not an answer, but it’ll have to do.

Just keep breathing, darling. 

Curt: “Approaching 30k.”

Alex: “ELS Logic. ELS Auto… stand by.”

Orion’s Earth Landing System, activated at 30,000 feet above the surface, will pop the forward heat shield and automatically deploy the drogue chutes and main chutes to decelerate the capsule at predetermined intervals. Generally speaking, this prevents the capsule from smacking into the Pacific at Mach 1 and flattening the crew like a pancake. Gale holds his breath as he waits for confirmation that ELS is functional.

Curt: “Goodbye heat shield.”

Rosie: “There go the drogues!”

At seven minutes and 46 seconds after re-entry, Croz reports, “Drogue chutes deployed.” Gale forces himself to take a breath.

On the screen at the front of Mission Control, their first visual of the capsule pops onto the screen. Orion, its scorched heat shield having been jettisoned into the waters of the Pacific, falls through the dawn at 300 miles per hour, 25,000 feet in the air, slowing down with every millisecond that passes.

Gale: “We got you on TV, boys.”

Curt: “We’ll give you a good show.”

Croz reports that the main chutes have deployed.

Curt: “There’s the mains.”

Rosie: “Felt that one for sure.”

On screen, three red and white parachutes blossom up from the capsule. Each 265 feet long, 116 feet in diameter. They’ll reduce Orion’s speed to just about 25 miles per hour.

As Curt and Alex run through their final command module checklist, turning off propellant and getting the capsule ready to power down once they land, the recovery teams start reporting visual on Orion. The helicopter that will lift the crew from the water, the sniffer boats that will conduct hazard checks before egress, the swimmers that will assist with egress, and finally the Navy LPD ship that will retrieve the Orion capsule and house the crew temporarily.

USS Portland: “Artemis 3, this is Portland, we have visual.”

Alex: “3200… 2800.”

Rosie: “Looks like we could just land right on them the way we’re comin’ down.”

Curt: “Hear that? We’re comin’ for you, Portland.”

USS Portland: “Copy, Artemis 3. I think you’re gonna miss, though.”

Curt: “We’re a good couple miles off target… Marco.”

USS Portland: “Polo?”

Alex: “Fuckin’ helicopter out the window.”

Curt: “Nice to not be the only ones flyin’.”

Gale watches the capsule descend towards the ocean, closer and closer and closer. He knows the whole world is watching, waiting, willing the crew to land safely in the water. America holds its breath for Major John Egan.

—

The capsule hits the water of the Pacific at 17 miles per hour, splashing into the waves about 2 miles off target, 500 nautical miles off the American coast. The oranges and pinks of the sunrise reflect off the battered exterior of Orion as the self-righting flotation system inflates, keeping the craft upright. 

“I’ve always wanted to swim in the middle of the goddamn Pacific,” Curt says as he flips up the retractable visor on his helmet. 

“Don’t think you’ll be doing much swimming,” Alex tells him as he stretches his arms forward. He feels weak, a little unsteady as they rock with the waves. “That sure is some gravity, there.”

Rosie reaches over to flip up Bucky’s visor. “John, can you hear me? Bucky?”

Bucky mumbles something unintelligible, but his eyes open, wet and glassy. “Fuck.” He groans and reaches towards his broken leg, hand pressed against his knee. “Fuucckkkk.”

“Glowing reviews about planet Earth,” Curt teases, and Bucky sticks his tongue out as he closes his eyes again and tries to stop everything from twisting in funny directions around him. 

“Artemis 3, recovery’s got eyes on you.” The voice of the recovery team lead crackles over the coms. “Swimmers deployed at main chute two… second and third teams deployed.”

Curt: “Roger, recovery. We’re just here enjoying the view.”

Bucky: “Just fuckin’ water.”

Alex: “That is what an ocean is made of, Bucky.”

Bucky: “Fuck off.” He chokes on a breath that doesn’t quite want to make it to his lungs, and he winces as his ears ring and his whole body protests the way the atmosphere presses down on all sides. His heart still feels funny. “Gale?”

Gale: “I’m here, sweetheart.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything else. He just needs to know his husband is there. 

Curt: “Powering down now.” Curt shuts down the Orion capsule.

USS Portland: “Artemis 3, this is Portland requesting astronaut condition, over.”

Rosie: “We got three of us in good condition, ridin’ the waves. Major Egan is… awake. Runnin’ real hot, in and out of consciousness but seems coherent if his sass is anything to go by. Can’t be too sure what this did for the TBI, and with the tibial fracture… Have you been briefed, Portland?”

USS Portland: “Roger. We’re ready for him here.”

Bucky: “Get me back up there. Gravity sucks.”

Rosie: “No way cowboy. We’re gonna get you on that ship, then straight to a hospital.”

Bucky: “No.”

Rosie: “Yes.”

Bucky: “No.”

Gale: “Yes.”

Bucky: “...no.”

Recovery: “Waves are 12 knots, sea swell running about 3 feet. Orion is riding nicely. Artemis 3, we’ll conduct our hazard checks and get you secure, shouldn’t be long before egress.” 

The crew waits for 40 minutes, bobbing in the waves as small sniffer vessels deliver a team of navy divers to the capsule. They check the air and water for any leaking ammonia or hypergolic gases, fatal if consumed and yet critical components for capsule functionality. Once the area is determined to be safe, one of the divers climbs up the side of Orion. He knocks on the window to let the crew know he’s there, and Curt smiles and waves back, giving a thumbs up. The diver returns the thumbs up and goes about his work attaching cables to the spacecraft. 

Once the capsule is secure in the water, ready to be towed into the Portland’s well deck, the diver leaps off the top of Orion, splashing into the water before climbing aboard one of the small boats. Another team of divers finishes deploying life rafts alongside the capsule as a helicopter hovers overhead, ready to receive the crew and transport them to the Portland. 

When the hatch opens, the crew breathes in fresh air for the first time in three weeks, the smell of salt and sky. Bucky smiles as the breeze drifts into the crew cabin, and Rosie laughs, shaking him by the shoulder. “What d’ya think of that, commander?”

“Nothin’ but blue skies…”

Rosie hums the tune of Blue Skies for him while Alex and Curt egress, the Navy divers dragging them out through the hatch and onto the orange life raft bobbing alongside Orion. They grin up at the cloudless sky above, letting the rising sun hit their faces. From inside Orion, Rosie helps Bucky maneuver to the hatch. All of them are a bit weak after three weeks in space, but Bucky had little strength even in zero gravity. He winces at the pain in his leg and his head, but manages to grab weakly onto the diver who has crawled half inside to help Rosie guide the commander out of the module.

The diver settles him in the middle of the raft. “How are you holding up?”

“Like shit,” Bucky groans, but he says it with a smile on his face as he feels the warmth of the world, the sway of the waves. The diver pats him on the shoulder before he helps Rosie out of the craft.

Rosie: “Recovery, Artemis 3 is going off coms. Houston, see you soon.”

Recovery: “Recovery, roger.”

Gale: “Copy, Rosie. See you on the other side. John… behave. I’ll see you soon.”

Rosie egresses the capsule, and he grins at the sky along with the others as the diver helps him onto the raft. He crawls over beside Bucky, whose eyes are blinking slowly against the bright sun climbing higher above the horizon. Rosie settles next to him as Curt crawls back over to the edge of the raft to ensure the hatch is closed. “Lieutenant Biddick is ensuring the Orion hatch is fully closed,” he hears one of the divers say.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Bucky,” Rosie says. “Curt and Alex are gonna head up first. Then I’m gonna send you up. A recovery team member is gonna come down to make sure you’re alright in the net, and they’re gonna lift you up into the chopper. I’ll come up after you. Sound okay?”

“Don’t feel great,” Bucky says. His eyes drift away, towards the edge of the raft that’s bobbing up and down with the sea swell.

“I know. Look at me, lookin’ down there’s gonna make it worse.” Rosie reaches into Bucky’s open helmet to tap him on the cheek, getting his focus back on him. “We’re gonna get you on the ship, and they’re gonna take care of you. All the fluids and meds you need. It’ll feel like you’re floatin’ on a goddamn cloud.”

Bucky nods and attempts a smile, but it falters as nausea rolls through him and his vision fades in and out.

The recovery net drops out of the helo, and the divers help Curt climb in. He sticks his tongue out and waves as he’s lifted out of the raft, and all three other astronauts stick their tongues out back. Curt looks to the sky, holding his arms out to the sides as he ascends towards the recovery chopper. Then they send the net back down for Alex.

The recovery team and the crew of the Portland ran a just-in-time training a few days ago, when Navy crews were officially assigned to the Artemis 3 recovery. Using an Orion mock-up and a stand-in Artemis crew, they ran through the crew recovery protocols in order to simulate the end of the mission. They practiced a couple different methods of pulling Bucky up into the helo, unsure of what his condition would be and whether or not he’d be conscious. With the commander awake and in considerable discomfort, they do just as Rosie said they would: they send the rescue net down with a recovery team member, who ensures he’s secured in the net. 

“Not gonna lie,” he tells Bucky. “This is probably gonna suck for you.”

Bucky gives a sort of thumbs up that only makes it halfway, and he nods. He bites back a scream as the divers lift him into the net, trying – and failing – to position his leg in a way that won’t hurt like a bitch. The recovery team member keeps one hand on Bucky’s shoulder the whole way up to the chopper, making sure he stays steady.

The world falls away below as they’re raised into the air, and the clouds spin as the sun shines into Bucky’s eyes. He breathes deeply, feeling that salt water air that he missed so much fill his sore lungs, and he wills the nausea to go away (it doesn’t). When they pull him inside the helo, he hears voices talking to him. He manages a smile and another thumbs up, and then he’s out.

—

Much of the country is currently watching the same exact video feed that Mission Control has displayed on the screen in the front of the room. There hasn’t been so much public interest in a crew recovery since Apollo 13, but there’s something about a risk of fatality that makes people invested, pulls people together to hope and pray for a man that many are calling a national hero.

They all watch with bated breath as the crew is pulled out of the hatch; they watch Rosie speaking to Bucky; they watch them all stick their tongues out at each other; they watch Bucky, mostly limp and dazed, get loaded into the recovery net. They see him wince in pain. They see him look to the sky, watch his eyes close. Marge, as public affairs officer, narrates what’s happening for the public to understand.

“Lieutenant Curtis Biddick is the first astronaut inside the Recovery… Astronaut Alexander Jefferson is being hoisted into the Recovery… A recovery team member is ascending with Major John Egan to ensure his safety… Major Egan is unconscious, but appears stable…”

Gale watches the same feed as he stands beside Croz, one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth. Croz puts a hand on his shoulder. With Artemis 3 off coms, there’s nothing to do for Mission Control but wait for confirmation that all astronauts are aboard the helo, then that they’re aboard the Portland.

Recovery: “Major Egan is safely aboard Recovery.”

When the announcement comes, the entire room cheers – the entire country. It’s another milestone that marks John’s long journey home.

Gale feels his legs give out as he collapses into the CAPCOM chair. He rubs a hand through his hair, already a mess even though it’s still early in the morning. Croz pats him on the shoulder, and Gale would be smiling if he wasn’t just so damn relieved.

—

The Navy doctors pull Bucky into the Portland’s med bay, which is far larger and far better equipped than the one on Starship or Orion. They try to talk to him, try to ask how he’s feeling, but he can hardly even keep his eyes open. He drifts in and out, people swirling around him in a blur. He groans and winces when anyone does anything that causes pain, be it touching his leg or speaking too loud or generally existing beside him. He throws up over the side of the stretcher they have him on. He weakly tries to fight someone who tries to touch his head. 

They stick another needle in his arm, making him squirm away in protest. And he passes out again.

It will take the USS Portland a good day and a half to cross the 500 nautical miles of Pacific Ocean between Orion’s landing zone and Naval Base San Diego. Curt, Rosie, and Alex are comfortably walking around within a couple hours of being wheeled into the med bay and undergoing initial medical examinations. They spend most of their time on the ship chatting with the recovery team and making friends with the Navy crew aboard the vessel.

Curt – an Air Force pilot – and the Navy guys give each other shit all day, throwing insults back and forth like they’re long lost siblings with a life-long rivalry. The astronauts pose for pictures and regale everyone with stories about the moon and traveling through outer space, some a little embellished, though most don’t need embellishing at all. They play cards and engage in a fan-favorite practice of trading NASA and Navy gear, challenge coins, and patches.

The three astronauts spend a lot of time sitting beside Bucky’s bed. He’s receiving an appropriate amount of IV fluid now with a high dose of some strong drugs that they hope will reduce the pain and, if they’re lucky, the fever. He opens his eyes here and there, expresses discomfort or confusion or simply looks around or stares at the ceiling, never really seeming present. The doctors tell them that it’s likely he’ll be out for most of the trip. But, never one to miss out on the fun, Bucky fully wakes up early the next morning, about 8 hours from the shore.

The doctor keeps telling the other astronauts to be quiet and quit disturbing “Major Egan,” but they don’t listen. It’s Curt’s laughter that Bucky wakes up to, blinking tiredly and tilting his head to follow the familiar sound.

“Hey, astrofag!” Curt exclaims when he sees Bucky’s eyes on him. Bucky sticks his tongue out and raises a weak but no longer shaking hand to flip him off. He manages to get his other fingers most of the way down, middle finger out straight, to get the point across.

His cheeks are flushed, and he’s still sweaty, his body tensing with chills, but he tries his best to grin at them. “What’d I miss?”

Over the next hour or so, a stream of Navy sailors stop by to visit Bucky as he sits up in his med bay bed, supported by Rosie on one side and Curt on the other. He’d protested at first, but both astronauts pulled away to let him support himself, proving a point, and he immediately felt dizzy again. So he reluctantly accepts the help.

He listens as the sailors chat with him and gives fist bumps and gentle high fives. He banters back and forth with them as much as his muddled brain and scratchy throat can allow. 

“You might’ve fared better if you were in the Navy instead of the goddamn Air Force,” one guy quips.

Bucky laughs and flips him off in the same half-accomplished way he did to Curt. “The goddamn Air Force got me to the moon.”

The picture that gets sent to Houston that morning – the picture that will show up in the news and on social media within the day – is one of all four astronauts dressed in blue NASA flight suits, Bucky in the middle, looking sick but ecstatic, with Navy officers gathered around the bedside. They’re all beaming at the camera – crew secure, Major Egan safe, a time for celebration.

It’s officially Thanksgiving in America.

—

November 27

While most Americans spent Thanksgiving watching parades and football, eating turkey and pumpkin pie and spending time with family, the Artemis 3 crew spent half the day on the USS Portland in the middle of the Pacific. They celebrated with their new Navy friends, eating surprisingly good turkey and pie of their own at lunch time, before arriving in San Diego. John managed a bite of pumpkin pie, but otherwise stuck with soup.

At the naval base, the astronauts were loaded onto another helicopter and taken ashore. From there, Alex and Curt boarded a NASA GV to fly back to Ellington Air Force Base in Houston, where they’ll be welcomed home by their families and housed at JSC for the night so they can undergo further medical evaluations and meet with the Mission Control team the next day. Bucky was boarded onto a medical transport plane, Rosie at his side, and taken straight to the hospital, as Rosie promised. Bucky, for better or worse, is unconscious for much of this process, saving everyone the grief of him complaining about going to the hospital.

Dr. Huston meets them there, and he and Rosie discuss Bucky’s condition with the doctors and nurses, who whisk the Artemis 3 commander away for tests and treatment.

Gale forgets that it’s Thanksgiving until he turns on the news late in the morning – his first morning not working a Mission Control shift in nearly a month – and sees the Macy’s Day Parade on the screen instead of a news story about Artemis 3. He doesn’t know if it’s a relief, or if it makes everything feel worse. He’s thankful as hell, don’t get him wrong. John is back on the same planet, safe, on his way to Houston for evaluation and treatment. And yet so much still seems unsure. So much is unsteady. Like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff and could be pushed either way depending on the direction of the breeze.

He didn’t sleep last night any better than he did any other night. His hands shake as he drinks his coffee – out of a ceramic mug that reads “World’s Best Astronaut” instead of out of a cheap paper cup. His breathing comes in unreliable bursts. He feels edgy and jumpy and nervous. Dark circles rest beneath his eyes and his hair is a disaster. He shrinks into the Yankees sweatshirt and tries to convince Pepper to eat even though she won’t give him more than a few bites. 

He turns off the TV. He can’t stand the good mood of New York City and parade floats and giant balloons making their way down a crowded street. 

Instead, he, Marge, and Benny go on a walk with the dogs. They stare at the sparkling water of the bay and Marge holds his hand and they all quietly think about everything that happened in the past few weeks. Gale tries not to cry. He lowers himself to the ground, sitting on the boardwalk, and he lets his feet dangle above the water. Pepper and Meatball sit beside him, Marge and Benny at the ends. 

It’s been 21 days since the SLS rose off pad 39B on Cape Canaveral, forging Artemis 3’s path to the stars above. It was a perfect launch. But even then Gale knew, there’s no such thing as a perfect mission.

It’s been 36 days since Gale last held his husband’s hand. That day back in October, when they were just newlyweds saying goodbye, ready for the adventure of a lifetime. 

864 hours. 51,840 minutes. Over 3 million seconds. Not a single one of those numbers feels like enough.

What’s just a few more hours?

Some of the flight controllers gather at Croz’s house for Thanksgiving, a late lunch or early dinner, no one knows. But it’s complete with turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing and pie. Gale keeps losing himself among the chatter of his friends, pushing his food absently around his plate. At some point, Jean leans into his space and says “Honey, I know you’re not pushing that food around cause it’s not good. Eat up.”

Gale blushes and says “Sorry ma’am,” before shoving a bite of stuffing into his mouth. He doesn’t finish the plate, but Jean pats him on the shoulder and takes it away so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore. He does happily accept a small piece of pie and a cup of coffee while everyone sits around, talking and laughing and trying to heal, all while avoiding the elephant in the room.

They wait anxiously for news. They wait for the Portland to reach the naval base. They wait to hear that the crew is safely on their way home. They wonder what kind of shape John is in.

When Gale’s phone buzzes in his pocket, he pulls it out and immediately covers his mouth with his hand. A photograph – Bucky, awake and sitting up in the Portland’s med bay. He’s surrounded by his crew and the Portland sailors, and despite the paleness of his skin and the sweat matting his hair and the red tinting his cheeks, the grin on his face is so quintessentially him that Gale nearly gasps when he sees it. Bucky Egan: wild child. 

Gale passes the photo around, and Croz raises his mug of coffee in toast, in thanks, to Major John Egan. American hero.

—

By the time Gale is finally allowed to see his husband, it’s been almost two days since Orion splashed down in the Pacific. 40 hours. 2,400 minutes. 

150,000 heartbeats.

Bucky’s heart is still beating. Gale tries to remember that.

He arrives at the hospital at 8pm, his hands shaking so bad he can barely pull out his ID as he tries to explain to the front desk that he’s Major Egan’s husband. Marge comes running up behind him as the nurse explains that John is still being examined. 

“W-When can I see him?” Gale tries to ask, but he isn’t sure that the words come off his tongue right.

The nurse takes pity on him and makes the effort to find out John’s exact status while Marge leads Gale over to a chair. She gets him sitting down, tries to tell him to breathe, but he’s back on his feet before she can even get the words out. He doesn’t pace. Just stands there, eyes darting around the waiting room, running his thumb across his wedding band over and over and over.

It’s another three hours before the nurse – who has very patiently answered Gale’s periodic requests for updates – informs him that Bucky has finally been set up and settled into a room. A doctor comes out to see him, and she explains that there is still inflammation in Bucky’s brain. They’re hopeful that it will continue to heal over the coming days and weeks with the right rest and treatment.

The gash on the back of his head has become infected, but they aren’t overly concerned about it right now, treating it with antibiotics. His leg was adequately set – kudos to Lieutenant Biddick – but became slightly displaced again during re-entry, requiring them to set it again. They can’t be sure about the cause of the fever, which isn’t responding to medication but doesn’t quite align with criteria for neurogenic fever, particularly since neurogenic fever doesn’t usually cause sweating. They’re trying him on drugs cited as showing success in treating neurogenic fever anyway, and they are working to keep his temperature down manually. On the other hand, the shivering he’s been experiencing can increase intracranial pressure, and they’re working to reduce chills through medication and warming of Bucky’s hands and feet.

Gale can’t help but find that last part a little funny, considering Bucky is always complaining that Gale’s hands and feet are too cold.

Lastly, the nurse tells Gale what he’s so used to hearing in recent days: Bucky is currently asleep; he’s been in and out of consciousness all day; he at times seems confused and agitated; the first thing out of his mouth when he woke up in the hospital, other than the word fuck, was Gale’s name.

Gale’s head is spinning as he’s led down the white, sterile hospital halls. He hopes Marge thought to write all that down or remember it because there’s no way he’s going to. She’s going home for the night, though. Said she’d be back in the morning. And for the first time in days, Gale is left alone to remember how to breathe on his own. He presses his wedding ring to his lips and doesn’t even care how wrecked and exhausted and terrified he looks, because he’s about to see his husband and his heart doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to do anymore. It beats too fast, and he doesn’t even know if it’s out of anxiety or relief or fear or love or excitement or need or simply a pulse of the universe alerting him that his other half is just on the other side of this door, waiting for him.

The nurse holds the door open for Gale and he trails in behind her. She tells him that the couch beside the bed is all set up for him, and insists that he let her know if he needs anything, but he can barely even nod because everything he needs is right there, laying on a hospital bed.

Bucky lays propped up on the bed, his broken leg raised and freshly adorned in a light blue cast from knee to foot. His head is wrapped in white gauze, his curls tucked away beneath it. A cooling blanket rests over top of his still body in an effort to cool him down, and different sensors are attached to all different parts of his body, connecting him to machines that read out his vitals. They reassure Gale that Bucky is alive, lungs breathing, heart beating, blood pumping. An IV is sticking out of his forearm, held in place with excessive amounts of tape, no doubt at Rosie’s prodding. Beary Egan is tucked against his side, having been retrieved from Orion after the capsule was towed aboard the Portland.

Gale can’t even move at first. All he can do is stare at this man, sick and broken but by far the strongest and most beautiful person he has ever seen. He wonders if this is real, if he’s actually standing here, staring at his husband. He waits for some cruel figment to pop out and tell him it’s all a sick joke or a hallucination or a dream, that Major John Egan actually died next to Shackleton Crater, crushed beneath a moon rover.

But it doesn’t come. 

The room is dim, the world dark outside the window. It’s quiet but for the beeping of the machines proving every second that Bucky is alive. Gale runs a hand through his hair before pressing his fingers to his lips, holding his breath so he doesn’t break down at the foot of the bed. 

He doesn’t really comprehend that he’s doing it, but he’s suddenly putting one tentative foot in front of the other, walking around the bed to Bucky’s side. He worries his heart might beat right out of chest. It jumps as he gently takes Bucky’s hand in his, feels the warmth of his skin. He stares down at their fingers, trying to remember what it felt like the last time he held this hand in his. Trying to remember what they said, the look in John’s eyes, the exact expression on his face.

He kneels on the hard floor for a hell of a long time, wordless and still. He thinks about the better days they spent before quarantine, that chaotic but rose-colored time when they were not only newlyweds, but also astronauts on the cusp of something unimaginable. He thinks about Bucky wrapping him in his arms. Kisses in the darkness of their bedroom. Their hands finding one another, holding tight just to feel the closeness, the care. He thinks about late nights and early mornings. Shared cups of coffee and exhausted hugs. Certainly not for the first time, he thinks about their wedding.

He fiddles with Bucky’s fingers in the same way Bucky so often does to him, and he sings softly, pushing past the gravelly emotion coating his throat and the tears welling up in his eyes. Their song. Their first dance. “Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

Bucky always tells Gale that he has a beautiful singing voice, begging to hear more of it. It makes Gale blush and hide away, but now he thinks about the way Bucky watches him when he sings, like he’s the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen.

He’s finishing the song, staring down at Bucky’s hand in his, when he hears it.

“Hey, angel.”

Gale’s focus shoots to Bucky’s face so fast it makes his vision blur. Bright blue eyes are staring right at him, and Gale wonders how long they’ve been open. The corner of Bucky’s mouth is quirked up in the smallest, tiredest smile. His eyes are glassy with fever, but they’re locked onto Gale with a fierceness that he didn’t expect to find.

“I love when you sing,” Bucky says weakly. But Gale has suddenly forgotten every word.

He falls into that gaze, feels the universe spinning around him, weaving back together, becoming whole once again. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and can’t even speak because those eyes are on him and all the emotions he tries so hard not to feel crash into him all over again.

John is here, in Houston, where Gale can touch him and hold him and never let him go. The love of Gale’s life. The other half of his soul. His reason for existing on the surface of this planet. He’s right here. He’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s looking at Gale with those damn blue eyes like he doesn’t know which of them went through hell but it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s here.

He’s… 

God, he’s everything.

He’s the beating of Gale’s heart. He’s the breath in his lungs. He’s the tides rolling in and the stars in the sky, the gravity that keeps the world turning on its axis. 

He’s the heavens and the earth and the depths of the sea. He’s the entire universe, settled into stardust, at the center of a single, beautiful soul.

And Gale can do nothing but press his forehead to Bucky’s hand, both of them trembling. He squeezes his eyes shut even though he doesn’t want to take his eyes off his husband, and he feels the tears drip off his nose, stream down his cheeks. When he looks up, Bucky is still watching him, and Gale can’t figure out the look on his face. A face that he can usually read like a book.

Pain and joy and longing. A pressing need to fix whatever is making Gale cry even though Bucky’s the one in a hospital bed. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispers.

Gale laughs wetly, and he reaches his free hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek. “You scared me to death, John.”

Bucky blinks slowly back at him, the smile widening before it falters again. “I’m the one who almost died,” he mumbles.

Gale recognizes it for the joke that it is, but it makes the breath catch in his tight throat, and he closes his eyes again, causing more tears to fall, splashing onto Bucky’s wrist. He bows his head, holding tight to Bucky’s hand. After a moment, he feels shaking fingers stroking his hair back away from his forehead, and it makes him hiccup softly, like every touch from John is a bolt of electricity that shocks his system into reassembling itself from the pieces left in Artemis 3’s wake.

“Don’t cry, angel,” Bucky says, letting his hand rest against the side of Gale’s head. They’re the same words that Gale imagined days ago, when Bucky was still comatose on the moon. The words that kept Gale going when he had no idea if he could. Spoken aloud in that warm, perfect voice that he was terrified he’d never hear again. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

Don’t cry, angel. “Just breathe.”

…

…

Part 17

[mooneltwo]

Cobylu space au edition

[vegeta-bananabluish]

Choose Your Adventure: Wedding Night Edition! – A Reader-Insert collaboration by the authors @Bananabluish, Stardust HB, @yeowangies & @raditzxsthighband! Chapter 5: Vegito x Reader (Link) Real life - DBZ crossover. Snuggled under the covers, your mind drifts into the realm of dreams, where a cosmic anomaly brings you face-to-face with someone from another universe: Vegito, the unexpected love of your life. But is he real, or just a dream?

Chapter specific tags/warnings: AU!Vegito x Female!Reader, mind-boggling, explicit, dreamception, throat training, deep throat, Dom/Sub, playful Dom, cockworship.

[greyskyflowers]

You know how there's the soulmate AUs where people leave spots of color where they touch you? Like that but with blood.

I like idea of the people you love who bleed on you leaving marks. Not necessarily romantic soulmates but soulmates in the sense of I think we come from the same stardust.

Maybe it just lasts until that person heals, then it fades away.

Wounds that scar leave colors that never truely disappear but instead just water down to pale colors so both people are permanently marked.

All the hands stained from pressing on wounds.

All the shoulders and backs dyed from carrying someone.

All the knuckles covered, fights forgiven and forgotten but the skin remembers.

All the arms painted from relieved hugs.

The reminder of a kiss that left a mark like lipstick.

The lingering of a handprint so perfect it looks intentional.

All the fades spots on you that mark the places your loved ones have scars.

The stories you could tell, the memories that would linger.

Luffy: Crimson, burning sunsets and glowing embers fading into dusty rose

Zoro: forest, fresh ivy and week old bruises dimming into grey sage

Nami: Citrine, orange peels and fall leaves sliding into muted april

Usopp: Dandelion, flower pollen and honey combs settling into neutral cornsilk

Sanji: Cobalt, fish scales and sea glass washing away to pale celestial

Chopper: Rouge, spring flowers and winter sunrises easing into sweet blush

Robin: Wine, fresh blackberries and humming bird feathers drifting off into dusted heather

Franky: Cyan, open ocean and clear skies cooling into arctic blue

Brook: Obsidian, night skies and storm clouds weakening to sea mist

Also consider:

What if it was the people who love you that leave color? The surprise of color on your skin from someone you didn't realize loved you.

What happens if the love fades? Could you be covered in color from someone you love who now hates you?

What happens if it was never there at all? Do the marks show if you're trying to fool yourself into loving someone?

Could you bleed on someone you supposedly love and both of you are stunned into silence when nothing happens?

[cyberdragoninfinity]

could you tell me more about that arc v college au (that was yours, right?)

YESSS i have indeed sent the arc-v gang to college to get more knowledge. mostly. some of them, anyway </3 ive given some overview details on 'em before but lemme lightning round some more tidbits about the Arc-V side of Not-Lawrence, Kansas:

ok refresher: of the yuboys and bgirls only yuri (19), yugo (19), celina (20), and lulu (22) are the only ones Actually Enrolled in College. yuya and zuzu (16-17ish) are still in high school, yuto (22) graduated with a BFA in game design recently, and rin (20) works at Stardust Auto Body and Repair.

i have so many little college AU vignettes drifting around in my brain that I'd like to write/am mid-writing and I wont chat yalls ears off about all of 'em but man. MAN. thinking a lot about Yuri, Dennis, and Celina as a trio of characters dealing with finding out the conservative summer camp they got sent to was a front for a cult and just like. Having to work through that with each other whether they want to or not. (Yuri and Celina were childhood friends who had a MESSY falling out when they were like 10, Celina and Dennis are dormmates, and well Dennis and Yuri are Making My Brain Melt.) Sora is also somewhere in there Dealing With That Too but he's like 15 and his parents dont gaf about him so THATS ALSO NOT GREAT. AND HURTS BAD.

I feel like sylvio's dad donated a bench to the performing arts highschool yuya & co go to and sylvio does nottttt shut up about it DUDE IT'S A BENCH. DO YOUR AP ENGLISH HOMEWORK

yuya gets his first job at a Culver's and ended up getting fired because he Wasnt Very Good At It and oh the fallout was catastrophic. oh you know that boy was having a meltdown in the walk-in.

Zarc's 33 year old grownass man ass keeps harassing his baby cousins and it's like. GET A JOBBBBBBB

Shay works at a shooting range 🔫🐦

there is so much going on with all of these characters' family situations i completely made up in my brain. dennis doesnt even know he has a 40-something year old lesbian older sister living in Washington D.C. with her wife and her Boston Terriers

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

A Real Boy (Hannigram) - shortfic

Explicit // M/M // Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham // Tags: Can be interpreted as AU or post S3, I think this might be a dead dove? non-con, dub-con, dollification (kinda), body horror, loss of bodily autonomy, blow jobs, anal sex, rough sex, very rough sex, physical injury, pain, painful sex, whether this is a happy ending or not depends on whether you are Will or Hannibal. WGA prompt fill.

A fill for the upcoming WGA Server Halloween fest. My prompts were:

Halloween prompt: doll

Bottom Will prompt: raw sex

Hannibal is an amazing creator and Will loves to watch him work.

A Real Boy (2.9k):

Will’s eyes hurt, unable to blink. He was focused on the way Hannibal moved around the room. So precise and purposeful. He always was when he was crafting, so caught up in what he was doing. 

His hands were one of the things that Will liked the best about the man. They were so skilled and strong, he seemed to be able to turn them to anything, including the most delicate task. As now, whilst Will watched him create what looked to be some kind of bangle. A beautiful open bud of a flower with a hole at the centre, made from the soft wood of a cherry tree. The whole workshop was filled with the scent of the tree and the dust created as Hannibal filed and whittled.

And that scent brought back so many memories as Will watched. He’d seen Hannibal create so much. They had spent this time together in the workshop bonding over these beautiful things that now sat on the shelves around them. Hannibal was a creator in the truest sense of the word - God-like in his mastery of pulling form and function from a tree no longer living. 

Hannibal held the wood up to his lips and blew softly - the floating remnants glinting like stardust against the afternoon light that spilled through the window behind him. 

“This seems perfect,” Hannibal marvelled. And that was another thing Will liked too - no false modesty. Hannibal knew he was talented and he knew when he had created exactly what he had aimed for. And yes, at times he was unsatisfied and started over as he strived for perfection, but he also acknowledged his own skill and took pride in it. As he should. 

Will marvelled with him, his own pride there too. Another part completed in this project Hannibal laboured so hard over. Will would miss these moments when it was done, but equally looked forward to a time when Hannibal might rest. Take a break from this obsession.

His mind had drifted a little in those thoughts but came back immediately to Hannibal when he noticed he had moved onto something else. Will thought he would be done for the day, but now he picked up a small box and set it on the workbench. 

Will was curious, but content to watch and see what new and interesting thing was about to be brought to the table - literally. 

Anticipating something rarified, like the slice petrified stump Hannibal had purchased not so long ago, he had to admit he was baffled and surprised when the item pulled from the box appeared to be man made - perhaps plastic or rubber, it was difficult to see from the otherside of the workshop. 

Hannibal rarely worked with man made materials, preferring everything as natural as possible. So he had to have good reason. 

As Hannibal turned it over in his hands, he frowned, as though trying to puzzle something out. And when he picked up the beautifully carved ring of wood, he held them together, and frowned some more. Will watched with deep curiosity as Hannibal set both pieces down and then picked up a tape measure. He went back to work on the ring, using the chisel before going back to the more refined tools to finish and polish the piece to perfection. He measured again and this time seemed satisfied. 

“Ah, perfect,” Hannibal commented as he placed the items together and they practically slot in place as though made to be a pair - a wide, short tube topped with the beautifully carved ring. By the time Hannibal finished tinkering, a little glue here and some filing there, the daylight was almost gone and the only remaining light was the dull overhead strip lights and the excessively bright desk lamp on the workbench. 

Will chuckled inwardly as Hannibal’s expression creased in concentration - the way the light cast shadows over his face he looked almost like a mad scientist. 

“Well, Will, I think we’re finally finished.” Hannibal turned and looked at him, that absolute adoration that Will felt deep down into his gut. It was always so overwhelming that Will almost wanted to look away.

Hannibal collected the complete piece and came over to the side of the workshop where Will had been sitting quietly. He set it down on the long, empty bench before turning to Will. 

“Ready, my love?” Hannibal asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer as he took Will into his arms as though he weighed nothing at all. Moving quickly, Hannibal placed Will on the bench, laying him out with such deft speed that Will felt a little dizzy. 

He felt the chuckle in his chest. 

It was lodged there. Unable to go further. Unable to make it to his mouth and out into the world. 

Will tried to open his mouth, but he found that impossible too. 

“You’ve been so patient,” Hannibal murmured, his voice low and seductive. It made Will shiver internally, a sensation that turned to anxiety in the pit of his stomach as he realised it was internal only. No internalised sensations reached the external. 

Will jolted, his body tugged slightly but he was unable to look down to see what was happening, unable to move his head. He could feel Hannibal’s hands on him but even that felt strange and distant. 

“This shouldn’t hurt,” Hannibal reassured and Will felt his legs being spread and hooked over the end of the bench. 

He could feel Hannibal’s hands on him, running over the thick and hard appendage there, feeling almost alien to him. And then lower, feeling a space, an emptiness waiting to be filled. 

Hannibal grunted as he pushed something into the cavity.

Will was wracked with a shock of pain that would have had him leaping from the bench but he couldn’t move, he had no control over his limbs. He felt every movement as Hannibal pressed the tube into him, turning it until it slotted into place - every moment agonising for Will.

“There,” Hannibal stepped back. Will knew because he could now see him from the corner of his eye, and the pain had stopped. 

Hannibal stepped to the side of the bench and looked down at him, he stroked a finger down Will’s face, which felt numb - he knew there was a finger on his cheek, but the sensation was muted. 

The realisation hit Will then - he’d been drugged. Hannibal had given him something to paralyse him, but leave him aware. He could feel everything that was being done, even if it was somewhat dulled, but he couldn’t move. 

He wanted to cry out but that was impossible. 

Continue on AO3

[maudiemoods]

Ok. I wanna dip back into drawing my aus but I need help deciding which one because I am overwhelmed by how many I have! So you all pick!

Ok, that last one and the assassin au don't have a lot to them yet so I'll be surprised if anyone remembers what I have for them! That last one specifically only has like, two post? It's the one where they ran a daycare in a spaceship and it got knocked out of orbit for a very very long time! When it drifts back around, y/b is part of the recovery team and discovers sun and moon yay!

[lightning-of-farosh]

To The Stars

AU: Hyrule is smol, Legend is not. Was kind of the start of Mischief Makers before I decided to do other things with it

A bloody sunset reached across the clouds, turning into a thief devouring the sky and still reaching for more, more, more. It nipped at the heels of the slow rising moon and ate at the stars hoping to be left with something besides the dark.

Sparks drifted up like released stardust, ready to join the infinite once more before they were whisked away by an unkind breeze. A pot sat over the flames, bubbling and broiling, chunks of meat and vegetables mixing together in a cobbled together stew. Paws padded forward and a cat arched up, sniffing at the steam.

Steel met steel and the feline jerked away, darting into the nearby bushes.

Beneath the longing, reaching shadows, an orange blade arched through the air and was parried by silver.

Legend grinned under his bangs, the tip of his hat caught on his shoulder. He looked not-quite-human beneath the dusk; all unsaid words and sun warmed armour. His boots flew over the grass, startling beetles from the dirt and disturbing worms in their tunnels as he pulled back to thrust again.

The boy before him met the blow with strength that vibrated through his blood like the oil of old things that never really slept.  His brown hair was windswept by chaos, his eyes bright like make-believe ghosts in a forgotten graveyard.

“You’re good,” Legend pulled away, his sword crying out in defiance as it was denied once more.

Teeth greeted him, bared in a coyote-smile. Rubies caught the last of the light, rippling with a chorus of bloodshed. “You’re not so bad yourself,” Hyrule said before he leaned forward, scooped up a handful of dirt, and threw it into Legend’s eyes.

A cry of playful outrage was chorused with a cackle and two bodies hit the ground, swords flying off into the grass.

“Brat!” Legend cried, laughter popping like candy up in his throat as fingers poked at his ribs and tugged at his hair. A knee jabbed into his stomach, an elbow caught his sternum. He dragged his arm over his eyes and tried to snatch the kid trying his damndest to pin down a larger form with his smaller body only to get a heel against his thigh.

Hyrule yelped as hands wrapped around his wrists and weight tipped him over. He knocked his palms against Legend’s chest and tried to wiggle his legs only to find them caught. “Geddoff!” His voice was muffled against a red tunic, “You’re heavy!”

“This is what you get for cheating,” Legend spread out his arms, resting his weight down on the boy. “You promised it would be just a friendly spar.”

Something was grumbled beneath his ribs, vibrating through his bones.

“What was that?” He leaned his head down until his hair was mixing with the blades of grass. “‘I’m a dirty cheater, Link’? ��I know that I promised that I wouldn’t but I just couldn’t help myself, Link’?”

A shorter sentence rumbled through the child’s throat.

Legend didn’t need to hear it to know that it was a pretty sound ‘fuck you’. 

Sighing, he rolled over, bringing Hyrule with him. The child stayed, splayed across his chest, and picked up his head to rest his chin below Legend’s collar. Dirt was smeared against his cheek and brown hair was spiked from the dew in the grass. The green hat was lost, but neither of them reached to pick it up.

Behind them, the sun finally vanished beneath the horizon leaving arches of purple through the sky, scarring the night with the last dredges of sunshine. Fire light drifted over the grass, casting amber shadows across freckled cheeks and pointed ears.

“You said you wanted to know what I could do,” Hyrule said with a huff, his teeth clacking together when he was done speaking from the weight of his skull.

“Yeah,” Legend said, “With a sword.” Fingers poked his jaw and the hero arched his neck as far as it could go to get away.

Hyrule huffed. “You should’ve said that,” he said, managing to reach up and dip his finger inside an ear.

Jerking away, Legend swatted the hands away from his face. “You stop that,” he said.

“Or what?”

Legend lifted his shoulders, threatening to tip the boy back onto the grass and grinned at the fingers scrambling at his tunic to hold on. “Yeah,” his voice dripped with honey smugness. “That’s what I thought.”

Pouting, Hyrule pressed his cheek against the other hero’s chest. “Meanie,” he mumbled.

The laughter that burst from Legend’s mouth was full of blooming petals and rippling pond water. He sat up, catching Hyrule before he could fall, and buried his face in messy brown hair. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, smiling against a long ear.

“You’re silly,” Hyrule shot back, wrapping his arms around Legend’s neck.

Closing his eyes, Legend breathed in the velvet antlered night and hummed as Hyurle shifted to settle in his lap. Fingers pressed against his shoulders and the child leaned into him. The whole world was a buzz of blurring lines, like a street after rainfall while the clock was approaching midnight. His bones-muscles-arteries felt as though they belonged in an oil-colour painting that hadn’t quite dried.

Some secret part of himself had always dreamed of moments like this; so soft they lived on in memories like down feathers on strong, wide wings. Sweet-smelling, heather scented moments.

Their stew bubbled and popped.

Legend sighed, and let the moment slip away. “Dinner?” he asked the boy in his arms.

Hyurle hummed.

oOo

There was a wolf on the edge of their camp. Legend stood, newly cleaned bowls and pot in his arms, sword strapped to his back, and watched as it ducked around the dome of firelight. It toed the line, ducking its head low, but had its pointed ears up and forward.

Hyrule had his sword in his lap, head tilted back so he could look at the stars even though his eyes flickered, turning to the shadow that padded just far enough to not be a threat.

Yet.

Legend leaned over, never looking away from the beast, and put the pots down on the grass and softly as he dared.

Ears swivelled towards him. Shadowed blue eyes looked from the wolf’s face and it paused, mid-step, to stare. Greyed markings were etched into its features, dotting its brow and muzzle. Light glinted off something metal around its foreleg and a blue earring swayed as it lifted its wide head.

Fingers twitched, itching for a sword, and Legend glanced between Hyrule and the Wolf, judging the distance, the time it would take—

The beast huffed, turned on its heel, and ducked back into the woods.

Legend counted to ten and followed, pushing through the bushes and frowned as the tracks in the mud headed further into the woods. He sighed and rolled his shoulders, going back to fetch the pots.

“How long was it here?” Dumping the pot next to the fire to dry, Legend took one last, passing glance over the shadows around their campsite.

Hyrule leaned fully back, spreading his arms over his borrowed bedroll and turning his full attention to the sky. “Only a few minutes,” he said, “I think it was just curious.”

Humming, Legend sat down beside him, resting back to trace over the new but old constellations hanging above their heads. His withered, weathered soul opened ever so slightly, bearing its petals to the brushes of moonlight.

Fingers brushed against his hand and he flipped open his palm so they could tangle with his own. Hyrule squeezed and settled; the healing cuts and scrapes on his legs looking like jagged lines against the dim, flickering flames. It was like every sorrow of creation was splayed above their heads, etched in things that stretched across time until they seemed limitless.

Hyrule inched closer, shifting bit by bit until he could rest his cheek against Legend’s shoulder. Something deep and warm spread in Legend’s chest and he let a smile grow on his face.

Wood snapped in the darkness.

Breath stilled and ear twitched. Neither of them moved, listening to the silence that settled in the trees.

Sparks cracked and curled into the air, twisting into beastly shapes that faded as soon as they were formed.

“Fire attracts things,” Hyrule breathed against Legend’s shoulder, his words swallowed up by the night before they could fully settle.

Legend gritted his teeth at the quiver in his words and reached back to draw his sword. It slid free with the ease it always did, singing beneath his palm. They had walked through the portal together, stumbling upon a land not ripped apart by ash and blood.

He was a fool to forget that danger always herded his heels, guiding him forward to whatever destiny awaited him this time.

Pliable and willing, Hyrule moved when he sat up, both of them leaning together, their hands on their swords as they searched the darkness.

A bird called out and wings fluttered, taking to the sky.

“Sorry—”

Ember steel sliced through the night, swinging around in an arch of golden sparks that stopped at the newcomer’s throat. Legend felt finger brush the back of his knee and heard rather than saw Hyrule tumble behind him, drawing his own sword.

The man had hair that could have been brown or dirty blonde with eyes that were a churning, blue mirror of the gods that reflected deep, restless souls.

His hands were up, his palms out.

There was a sword and shield strapped to his back.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said and his voice reminded Legend of traveller wings and sand spilling out of an hourglass, “but we were wondering if we could join your camp for the evening.”

We? Legend glanced over his shoulder to the towering figure standing on the edge of the woods.

His arms were crossed over his chest, dark gaze shifting over him and the kid even as a massive draft horse nickered at his elbow. A grey pelt hung from his shoulders, accenting his broad chest.

Legend adjusted his grip on his sword.

“No pressure, of course,” the first man spoke up, a small, understanding smile on his face. His gaze drifted down towards Hyrule. “We’d understand if you and your son would prefer not to share with strangers.”

“He’s—” Legend started and bit down on his tongue. It took every bit of willpower in his body not to turn and look down at the child behind him. “Where are you from?”

The man laughed. “Nowhere around here,” he said, face achingly soft. “We’re a bit lost.” Behind him, the horse pawed at the ground and pushed forward, sniffing at something on the ground.

Legend snorted. Join the club, he thought. Fingers latched onto his sleeve and tugged. Blinking, Legend looked down at wide, brown eyes. “Excuse me,” he told the stranger as he was reeled towards the ground.

“Of course.”

Hyrule clambered against his shoulder once he was close enough and cupped his hands around his mouth. “They look okay,” he whispered.

The figure by the horse snorted and turned away to hide his smile.

“Yeah?” Legend leaned back, looking down on him with a grin. “You think so?”

Hyrule nodded once and turned to stare at the massive horse. His eyes were wide and darting across the white stripe down its nose and the packs strapped to its back.

“Alright,” sheathing his sword, Legend rested his weight on his heels. “The kid says you can stay.”

A sunshine smile spread across the first man’s face and he bowed his head to Hyrule. “Thank you for your generous hospitality,” he said with a serious formality that made a childish giggle drift through the golden heat around them. “We’ll be sure not to break your trust.”

Be sure that you don’t, Legend huffed and reached down to nudge Hyrule back to the bedroll. “To sleep with you,” he said. “We have a ways to go in the morning.”

“You’re so bossy,” Hyrule grumbled, shrugging off his weathered sheath and dented shield, but he laid down next to Legend, curled underneath a couple of worn blankets, and didn’t protest the fingers combing through his hair.

Leaning back, Legend watched the strangers murmur quietly together, settling down their things for the night. His eyes drifted up towards the sky as the seconds passed and a star shot through the darkness, carving a star in the black.

Closing his eyes, he made a wish.

Deep in the tangle of fate-lines, it dug deep, settled in the soil of destiny, and planted its roots.