#i just want to preface this by saying those 18 days were some of the worst times of my life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tkwrites · 3 months ago

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It Doesn't Matter - Part III - Nico Hischier x ofc

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Title: It Doesn’t Matter - Part III

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Nico Hischier x Original female character

Summary: Though they’ve finally confessed their feelings for one another, a 7 day road trip stands between Nico and Lena finally beginning their relationship. When Lena sends a photo of herself Nico never expected to receive, it springboards them into new territory. Upon arriving home, he and Lena are finally able to be together in ways they’ve only dreamed of.

Warnings: Lots of fluff, followed by lots of smut (18+ only): oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), talks of feeling singled out and a really dick ex-boyfriend.

Word count: 13,400

Comments: Phew! We made it. Just barely.

I gave myself a deadline for this series, liking the idea that I’d publish each installment on the last day of the the month, and I’m really proud that I was able to stick to that goal.

This piece is LONG, so strap in. It was so much fun to write and string together, though. Writing Nico and Lena finally getting together has been such a joy for me. I really hope you enjoy it, too! If there's anything you'd like to see in their universe, please let me know!

If you do enjoy it, please consider letting me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.

It Doesn’t Matter - Part III

Two days into the road trip, Nico was feeling restless and unsure. He wanted to call Lena and tell her he missed her. He wanted to talk to her about everything and nothing. Hear about her day in class and tell her about practice. Now that they’d crossed that initial physical barrier, he wanted to have phone sex and listen to her getting herself off. He wanted… he wanted so many things, but he wasn’t really sure where they stood. Could he just call her up and initiate a conversation that spanned both their friendship and their newfound sexual connection? Even when they were just friends and roommates, he hardly ever called her to just say hi. That felt too much like something he would do if they were dating, and he couldn't take the disappointment that came with not having that part be true.

Except maybe now it was true?

Staring at her contact photo, he wondered how people did this.

For Lena’s part, she was pacing the apartment, wondering if she should go through with it. Earlier in the day, in a fit of missing Nico so much it ached, she put on the lingerie set she bought the first week she’d moved in, set up her phone and took some photos to send to him. There was one in particular she liked, and she even had it queued up in a message. Now that she had someone to wear it for, and it, amazingly, turned out to be the guy she’d always hoped it would be, she couldn’t get the idea of wearing it for him out of her mind. And why wait until he was home when she could send a picture now?

He was off this afternoon, which meant he was likely napping. She could send it during the game, but there was more of a chance someone else might see it if she did that. And this was for his eyes only.

She thought about prefacing it with a Don’t open this until you’re alone, message, but wouldn’t that ruin the surprise?

Finally deciding it’d be better to send it now, while he was more likely to be alone than after the game, she hit the blue arrow. The whooshing sound let her know it was delivered, and her heart immediately jumped into her throat.

It was too late to take back now, and trying to explain her reasoning over text seemed impossible. She’d just have to wait for him to respond.

Walking to her easel, she decided she needed to distract herself until he did. If she didn’t, she knew she would obsess powerfully and end up sending him something written from pure anxiety, and those messages never turned out well. For all she knew, he could be asleep and wouldn’t see it for another few hours.

The thing was that Lena had never done this before. She'd never sent a picture of herself that hadn't been requested first, and she’d never wanted to.

Past boyfriends wanted to ‘see her when they were apart,’ but that really translated to ‘I want something to show off to my friends.’ She'd been shocked to find Milo showing one of his buddies a picture she’d sent him while they were at a party. Together. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. The picture showed Lena in nothing but her underwear, one arm wrapped around her chest for some semblance of modesty when she didn’t really want to send the picture in the first place. The fact that he had it pulled up and was showing it off so casually made her feel objectified and cheap.

That night, she did the sneakiest thing she'd ever done in a relationship and used his sleeping face to unlock his phone so she could delete all the pictures she'd sent him before breaking up with him the next morning. She even told him what she did. He complained that she was an uptight bitch who didn’t understand he was showing her off, and shouldn’t she be flattered.

Nico would never do something like that. She knew him too well. He would know and had told her that photos like that were for the recipient only and shouldn’t be shared with anyone else. He told her once that one of the guys on the Mooseheads tried to show him a picture of his girlfriend, and the rest of the boys teased him for turning away.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he complained to Lena later that day, “I don’t want to see that.” It was one of the first times she knew he was different, and her rule about not dating hockey players was going to be broken.

It was because of that. Because she knew he wouldn’t show anyone else, and because she had the suspicion he would never ask for something like this that she’d sent it.

The whole time she’d known him, Nico had been the nicest cute boy on the team. Always easy going and quick with a smile, even when he didn't understand what anyone was saying. He never treated her like a piece of meat like some of the guys did, always seeing and celebrating her humanity before anything else. He was genuinely interested in her art, and not just as a means of getting into her pants.

When she met him, and they began hanging out with mutual friends, she remembered thinking, I'm going to tell people I met the love of my life in my senior year.

Setting her phone face down on the end table, she picked up her palette and brush and turned her focus to the mountain sunset she’d been working on all week.

When Nico's phone buzzed with a text from Lena, he opened it right away, anxious to hear from her. He didn't think anything of the preview that told him it was a photo. She often sent memes or funny photos of Cookie around the apartment or progress on her latest painting.

Had he thought this might be anything close to possibility, he would have opened it in the bathroom.

An embarrassing noise, overflowing with longing, crawled up his throat.

Jonas shot him a confused look, and Nico had to act like everything was normal. Like he wasn’t taken completely off guard. Like he didn’t have a hard on in their hotel room. Like Lena hadn’t just sent him a picture of herself in pink lingerie, winking cheekily at the camera.

He wanted to bury his head in a pillow and groan. He wanted to call her and tell her how beautiful she was. He wanted to detail each and every way he was going to make her come when he got home.

“I’m —” Nico coughed, “I’m gonna go on a walk,” he told Jonas, bolting out of bed and into the hallway. Maybe this was worse. Now, he had a boner in public. He needed a place where he could talk to her alone.

There was a conference room the coaches were using this morning, wasn’t there? He ran down the hall and found the room empty and blissfully unlocked.

The whole wall facing the hallway was glass, but it’s not like he was going to do anything indecent.

The call went to voicemail.

Frowning, Nico pulled the phone away from his ear. Certainly, in the time it took him to run down the hall, she hadn’t gone away from her phone. And she didn’t send that thinking he wouldn’t respond, right? That would be crazy. No woman would send a picture of herself like that if she didn’t want a response.

The device buzzed in his hand, and he felt a sigh let go in his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, bringing it back to his ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding a little breathless, “I didn’t want to drop my palette all over your living room.”

“Thanks,” he said, laughter in his tone. He was amazed she could just go back to painting after sending a message like that. He’d be a nervous wreck.

The awkwardness that passed over the phone line between them made Lena’s heart race with indecision. How was she supposed to broach this subject? Did you get the photo I sent? Do you want to talk about it? Are you calling me because it had the desired affect?

Finally, she decided to go into neutral territory, “so, how are you?”

How was he supposed to answer that question?

“I got your message,” he said, wincing at the accusing tone in his voice. He didn’t even answer her question.

“Did you…” she felt suddenly self-conscious, “I mean, did you like it?”

Did she think he was blind? “Yeah, I wouldn’t have minded some warning, though,” he admitted. The sound that had come out of his mouth when he opened it rang in his head, and he felt himself flush out of embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she said, voice sheepish. “I was debating about telling you to open it alone, but I just kind of freaked out and sent it.”

Laughter rumbled from his chest, “you don’t need to apologize. I really liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t know a man alive who wouldn’t like getting a picture like that from the woman he loves.”

The casual way he said he loved her made her heart pitter-patter.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Lena,” he said.

She liked that he used the word seen. Not the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Heat raced into her cheeks, “really?”

“Yes.” It almost came out a groan. Just thinking about it got him worked up, but now that they were on the phone, he didn’t think it was the time to broach phone sex. Maybe that was her intention in sending it, but their conversation was too sweet and awkward to steer in that direction. He didn’t want to ruin it, or for her to think he only wanted her physically. He wanted every part of her.

His simple answer turned her insides to goo.

She sniffed, and panic spiked in his chest. “Are you crying?”

“A little.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong,” her voice was wobbly, “I just…I can’t really believe this is my life, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I spent six years pining after you, thinking you didn’t like me, and now you’re telling me I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. It almost doesn’t feel real.”

“Yeah,” he swung his legs up onto the sofa under the windows and lay back. “The whole time we were kissing, I kept thinking I needed to pinch myself.”

She giggled, knowing the feeling all too well.

“I wish I told you sooner,” he said quietly.

“Tell me about it,” she groaned.

He knew he would beat himself up about this, and his siblings would hold how they were right about Lena over his head for the rest of time.

“I can’t believe you sent me a picture of yourself in lingerie,” he said, voice full of wonder and longing. “I don’t think I ever even let myself imagine that.” The reality of it was too much. It made their relationship more tangible somehow.

“I missed you, and I just kept thinking about how I finally had someone to wear it for other than myself, and I don’t know, I just…I wanted you to see it.”

Her admission made his insides feel gooier than a raclette. “I miss you too,” he said, glad he hadn't steered the conversation to sex. That would come, he knew, but he was glad for this reassurance.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Nico pulled in a calming breath.

“How was class on Friday?”

“Good. Professor Brown really likes my sketches.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, she said I really turned a corner and understood what she was trying to get us to do.”

“That’s great.”

Posing for her would have never been in vain when it brought them together, but he was glad the art wasn’t going unnoticed by her teachers.

“She wants to put them in the student showcase for this semester.”

His mouth went dry. “What?”

“She said they’re such a cohesive story and series, she’d like to put them in the showcase. It’s a huge honor. I told her I had to talk to you before I could say yes, though.”

Mind racing, Nico wondered what on earth he’d gotten himself into.

“I…” he paused. “How —” his voice squeaked over the word, and he had to clear his throat, “how long would they be up?”

“Basically through December. I think the show goes up that first weekend.”

That was only a few weeks away.

“And they take it down when we come back after the break, so mid-January, I think.”

“I just…” he gulped, “I — what if someone recognizes me?” It was highly unlikely people who attended art shows at the New York Institute of Art would know him on site, but the thought of a fan seeing the sketches and recognizing him posing nude still made his stomach turn.

“Well, they won’t be up for sale, so no one will be taking them home but me,” she assured.

That was a relief.

“I could try to take out your tattoo, make you a little less recognizable.”

He didn’t respond.

“You don’t have to decide now. You can take time to think about it.”

The hesitation in her voice made his mind up for him. He wouldn’t be the thing holding her back. He’d figure it out.

“You should show them,” he found himself saying.

He’d have to tell the teams PR about it in case someone posted them on social media.

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I’m…” Why hadn’t he led out with this? “I’m really proud of you.”

Her insides turned to pudding again, “thank you, Nico.”

He would figure it out. It would be fine. The most important thing was that she was getting the recognition she deserved. “We can go see it together?” he asked.

“They have a gallery opening I’ll have to attend. I’ll have to make sure, but I think it’s on the 6th.”

He pulled up the team calendar. They were, thankfully, in town and didn’t have a game that Friday. “I can come.”

“I would love that.”

“I want to be there to support you.” She supported him through so many things, he was glad he could return the favor. “I can invite some of the guys?”

“Only if you want,” she said, feeling a little taken aback. “If you’re okay with them seeing the drawings.”

“It’s nothing they haven’t seen before,” he said with a laugh, “and I want them to know how talented my girlfriend is.”

“Oh, am I your girlfriend now?” she asked, teasing.

If it were up to him, she’d be his wife before too long. “Yes. Finally.”

She giggled, “I never thought I’d actually get to call you my boyfriend.”

The excitement in her voice pulled a giddy feeling in his stomach.

Someone knocked on the window above him, and Nico sat up, startled. Jack was on the other side of the glass, exaggeratedly asking him if he wanted to go into the city.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said, nodding at Jack.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon?” she said it like a question.

“Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“That sounds great.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, and it filled his chest with a warm, buoyant feeling. Turning away from the window, he said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Nico. Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching.”

Lena hung up the phone, shaking her head. She'd gone into that call expecting phone sex, and instead, she got emotional reassurance. How was he even real?

He hung up the phone, grinning.

“What’s got you all cheery? Who was on the phone?”

“Lena,” he said, slipping the device into his pocket.

“Dude, you’ve got to make a move.”

Nico smiled to himself. He’d tell Jack and the guys eventually, but for now, he was just reveling in the fact that he had, and it turned out better than he ever imagined.

The photo haunted him for the rest of the road trip. It wasn't even the picture itself, which did live in his mind rent free, and he'd jerked off to at least three times. No, the thing that really haunted him was the fact that she sent it in the first place, that she felt comfortable enough to send it, that she wanted him thinking about and desperate for her. And he was desperate, in a way he'd never experienced before.

He wanted her to feel the same way, but knew from experience that she didn't like dick pics.

In a fit of indignation after receiving one on a dating app, she'd handed him her phone to unmatch the guy as she told him, “I don’t know why men think everyone wants to see their dick. I can promise you, no one wants to see your dick. Unless a woman tells you, ‘send me a picture of your penis,’ she doesn't want to see it. Even if she sent you a picture to get off to, she doesn’t want to watch you do it unless she asks for it.”

He'd asked her what a woman did want.

“Send her a picture of your hands or your forearm while you’re doing something. Men's forearms are sexy.”

So he'd done just that. A video, actually, strategically cropped to show the flex of his forearm and wrist as he got himself off in their next hotel while her name fell from his lips over and over again. He didn't even need to look at his phone anymore. The photo was burned into his brain and etched onto his eyelids.

She responded within minutes of him sending it. That's the sexiest thing a man has ever sent me, Nico. I can't believe you remembered.

The video popped into her mind all the time. She couldn't stop thinking about his big hands and the veins winding up his forearm, standing out under his skin. She couldn’t stop hearing the hushed, breathy way he moaned her name.

It even happened in school if she let her mind wander, which resulted in her creaming her underwear and having to clench her legs together until the feeling eased off.

Touché, Mr. Hishier. Touché.

Four days later, Nico walked into the apartment, surprised to find lights still on. It was Friday night, but still, Lena usually went to bed early. No matter the day, her biological clock kept a rigid schedule.

Perhaps she left the lights on when she went to sleep, not wanting him to come home to a dark house. As he walked through the living room, however, he found her on the couch, asleep with Cookie tucked against her like a little spoon.

“Lena?” he asked, squatting in front of her.

She didn’t even stir.

“Lena,” he repeated, gently brushing a lock of hair off her forehead.

He loved this simple version of her - the peaceful, soft lines of her face and the gentle curve of her mouth. Her nose ring was slightly off center with her on her side, but it still fit on her face like it was a permanent feature that had always been there. When she showed up in Bern, having had it done just a few weeks previous, it had taken him a full half hour to realize what was different. It fit her and her personality so well, it didn’t stand out as a major change in his mind.

He hadn’t thought it was possible he could think about kissing her more than he already did.

“Nico?” she asked in the most adorable sleepy voice he’d ever heard. The visions he had of waking up next to her were suddenly much more real and much sweeter than he originally imagined.

“What are you doing out here, hase?”

Her eyes finally fluttered open, and her stomach clenched when they met his. His hair had flopped into his eyes, but she could still clearly see the soft care in them. He was in a gray Devils hoodie that looked supremely soft.

Cookie stretched, yawned, and slinked out from under her arm as she reached forward to trace her fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “You’re so handsome, Nico.”

The dimple in his left cheek deepened with his bashful smile. He wasn’t used to her complimenting him so openly. “Danke, hase. What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting up for you,” she said with a chagrined smile, “or trying to at least.”

“Lets get you to bed,” he said, standing before he worked an arm under her legs, the other under her shoulders, and lifted her off the couch.

Lena snuggled into him with a contented little noise. She hadn't been carried like this since she was a little kid.

He lay her on her bed, then pulled the covers out from under her body before settling them over her.

“Will you stay?” she asked, quietly.

Something behind his sternum fractured a little. “Natürlich,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her hair. “Let me go get ready, ja?”

She nodded.

Nico thought for sure she would be asleep when he got back after washing his face and changing into some pajama pants, but though she was still in the same position he left her in, her eyes were open and she gave him an adorably sleepy smile.

In some sort of dream came true, he walked around the bed to slip in behind her.

Except Cookie was laying there, pressed against her back, blinking at him slowly as if to ask why Nico was there and what he thought he was about to do.

“Uh,” he began, not sure what to do.

“Just move him over here.”

So Nico took the cat around the middle and lifted him over Lena. He squirmed and made a grumbling noise but didn’t swipe. Before he could jump off the bed in a fit of indignation, Lena gathered him against her chest and kissed his head.

Cookie grumbled again. It was apparently all for show, though, because he settled in her arms almost at once and began purring and nuzzling her chin.

Now that that was settled, he lifted the covers and slid under them.

Lena felt a contented little sigh escape her as he fitted his body against hers. The oxymoron that was Nico Hischier hit her again. He was big and strong, but he was so gentle and warm as he wrapped his arm around her waist over the blanket. She felt cocooned and protected.

Cookie turned around and nuzzled his head under Nico’s hand. Chuckling, Nico scratched behind his ears and heard the purring start up again.

“I’m glad you're home,” Lena said in that slow way people do while they’re falling asleep.

“Me too,” he responded, tucking his nose into her hair and settling in for the night.

Though he’d lived the past week, it still felt a little like he didn’t know how he ended up here, or like he should be dreaming. Yes, he dreamed of making love to Lena, but more often than that, he dreamed of these things: of not going to bed alone, of taking care of her, and being taken care of. Not only was he not going to bed alone, she asked him to stay. He felt comfortable holding her, and she felt comfortable enough to lean against him, letting him support her. More than anything else, it felt incredible to be genuine about his feelings and to have them lead to this moment.

It was the best thing he could have asked for.

The fatigue that always came with coming home from a road trip caught up with him abruptly, and before he could think about anything else, he was falling asleep.

Lena woke before Nico did. Which wasn’t unusual. She almost always woke before anyone else in the house. No matter when she’d gone to bed, or what she’d done the day before, she was almost always up before 6:30. It’s why she’d been so shocked to find it was already 9 the morning after their portraiture session.

Her watch told her it was twenty-two minutes past six.

Sensing movement, Cookie stretched and put his face in hers, brushing his whiskers over her cheeks.

She wrinkled her nose at the tickling sensation. “Okay,” she whispered as he put his wet nose to her brow and licked with the tip of his tongue, “okay.”

Nico’s arm was still heavy around her waist, but he only stirred a little when she lifted it so she could slide out of bed.

She fed the cat, drank a glass of water, and went back to the bedroom.

Nico was still asleep, now sprawled on his back, legs and arms spread wide to take up as much room as possible.

The blankets only covered part of his naked torso. Allowing herself a moment, she admired him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed set of his fingers, his slightly open mouth. He was a beautiful man. the fact he was in her bed, that he'd held her all night, made her feel as giddy as a school girl.

Sneaking back into bed was always harder than leaving it.

She’d just managed to tuck herself into his side, resting her head on his chest, when his arm curled around her back.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said quietly.

His lips smacked softly. “S’okay,” he mumbled.

“Do you have practice this morning?”

She felt him shake his head, chin tracing over the top of her hair at the movement.

“No practice and no game?” she asked, tracing a finger up the valley between his pecs through the course hair that had been getting thicker through the years. “What are you going to do with yourself?”

Tightening his arm around her, he nudged Lena on top. She went willingly, draping herself over him.

“Can think of a few things.” His voice was low and sleepy, and when she looked into his face, she found his eyes were still closed.

Wonder at how comfortable they were filled her. Of course they were — they’d known each other for more than half a decade. But all these milestones, like waking up in the same bed, were new. She’d never experienced this in a relationship before. There were no nerves eating at her stomach, and no worries about how she looked in the morning plaguing her. He’d seen her in much worse morning states before and never said a thing. It was just Nico, comfortable as always.

Lying her head on the front of his shoulder, she listened to the steady beat of his heart and the strong rhythm of his breathing.

That music was lulling her back to sleep when his hand slid up her back, under her sleep shirt. She didn’t know if that part was intentional or not. She supposed it didn’t matter. She still savored the feel of his calloused fingers.

“Your skin is so soft,” he mumbled as his fingers splayed wide over her spine.

“So is yours,” she said, adjusting a bit so she could tuck her nose into the base of his neck. He smelled the same as usual, soap and sweat, and that something cedar-y, plus a musky smell she somehow knew only came with sleep.

He chuckled and said something in German.

“Come again?” she asked, lifting her head.

One half of his mouth lifted in a smile, dimpling his cheek, but he didn’t offer any other explanation.

Shaking her head, Lena rested her ear against his shoulder again, sighing when his fingers traced lazily up and down her spine.

Nico couldn’t believe this was his life. Waking up next to Lena was so good. Having her comfortable weight on top of him on a lazy morning? It was such a dream. Even the very fact that he got to touch her like this now felt like a miracle.

Before he could think it over, his sleepy brain was running his mouth, “I can’t…”

“You can’t?” she repeated. Her other hand came up to trace the straight line of his collar bone.

“I can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” he said.

She smiled and turned her face just enough to press her lips to his skin. It sent an explosion of fizzy, giddy bubbles racing through his stomach.

“I should have told you sooner.”

“Me too.”

Each of them had said some variation of these same sentences each time they’d talked on the phone over the past five days.

“But we’re here now,” she said, fingers trailing over the round musculature of his shoulder and back. She felt a little amazed that she could touch him, too. She’d wanted to for so long, and now, she could. There was nothing holding her back. It felt a little like she’d dropped into a dream.

He took in a deep breath, and she loved feeling his muscles move and shift beneath her.

“What do you have today?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he repeated.

“Nothing but you,” she said, pushing herself up so she could look into his face.

The smile he gave her was lazy and tired, but it still sent butterflies into flight in her stomach.

Because she could, because that’s where they were now, she leaned down and kissed him.

His other hand came up to cradle the back of her head.

She was kissing him. In the morning. After sleeping next to her all night. Feeling his brain come to life while her sweet mouth was on his? There was nothing better. Nico wouldn't mind waking up like this every morning.

They spent a long while in a sweet, lazy exploration of each other.

Lena worked one of her hands into his hair as she tipped to the left to deepen the kiss.

When Nico caught her tongue, sucking gently, a soft moan fell from her mouth into his. She'd never had someone do that before, and now couldn't imagine kissing without it.

“I love that sound,” he mumbled, lips whispering over hers.

She hmm’d and silenced him again with her mouth.

Though they still remained soft, their kisses grew more urgent, as did Nico’s growing erection, which pressed insistently against her thigh.

The deep desire purring in her belly shifted into a higher gear.

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

She'd been thinking about it for so long, imagining the pleasured noises she could pull out of him. She’d thought about it so many times while he was gone, she couldn’t wait to bring it to fruition. The memory of the way he groaned her name when she was touching him had been the fuel for many lonely night sessions with her vibrator.

“Was?” he breathed, certain he hadn't heard her correctly.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” She repeated, trailing kisses along his jaw for good measure.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Was this his real life? He pinched his side and flinched from the pain. He wasn't dreaming, then. Not that he’d really thought that. When he dreamed of her going down on him, it usually started with her lips wrapping around him, not with her asking permission.

His eyes fluttered open to meet hers. “Has anyone ever said no?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I don't know. This is the first time I've asked. Every other guy I’ve been with requested before I could offer.”

“Did you think I would say no?”

“Maybe? Sometimes, I'm just not in the mood for stuff, you know? I don't want to just start in on something you're not ready for. That's not fair to you.”

He'd never had someone ask before, and the sweet thoughtfulness of it broke him open a little more to her.

“Only if you want to,” he whispered, leaning up to brush his lips over hers, “and only if I can return the favor.”

Her breath hitched, and her wide eyes darted to his.

“I’ve been thinking about how you taste since last week,” he confessed, voice gone gravely with the memory of cleaning her release off his fingers.

“Nico,” she whispered as heat pooled between her legs.

“When you sent that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded, hands sliding up her sides. Her shirt bunched atop his wrists.

She leaned down so her lips were a breath away from his ear, “and what do you want to do to me?”

Though she had him practically panting, his voice somehow still came out a low tambour. “I want to lick you over that lace before I take it off and make you come on my tongue.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered, core throbbing at the mere thought of it. “I…”

If someone told her, even just five days ago, that Nico Hischier had such a dirty mouth, Lena wouldn’t have believed them. He was usually so polite. She’d never even imagined him saying something like that.

She liked this filthy-mouthed side of him she’d never seen before. Why had she waited so damn long to tell him?

Rolling them onto their sides, he pressed his lips to her neck, unable to keep his mouth off of her anymore.

“Do you want me —” her voice dropped into a moan as he pushed her onto her back, licking and sucking along the column of her throat.

“Yes,” he growled into her skin, “so damn much.”

“Do you want me to put it on?” she finally managed to ask, gasping the words out before he could steal her breath again.

Lifting his head, his brown eyes met hers. He had that same wide open, loving look in them. “Put what on?”

Why would she put anything on? He was far more interested in shedding her clothes.

“The lingerie.”

Oh.

Well.

That was a bit different.

Lena watched his eyes go dark with lust.

“You’d do that?” he whispered, touched and incredibly turned on.

Nodding, she bit her lip before deciding she could just blurt it out, “I want you to do what you wanted to, and I want to see your reaction.”

Now that he’d brought up the idea of licking her over her underwear which, what the hell, sounded so hot she could hardly stand it, she needed to feel it. She wanted THAT to be her first experience with his mouth.

Nico was such an excellent kisser, she knew he would be good at oral. Plus, the idea of wrapping her fingers in his hair as he went down on her? That fantasy had been in regular rotation for years.

He paused, seemingly caught between saying yes and just continuing as they were.

Maybe he needed a little more incentive. “What if I put it on to suck you off?” she asked, voice seductive and low in his ear.

With a soft groan, he buried his face in her neck. He had to admit, fulfilling the initial fantasy that had flooded his mind when she sent that picture was incredibly tempting, and if it included her wearing it to go down on him? That was a fantasy in and of itself. He couldn't find his voice, but he nodded all the same.

“Meet you in your room in five minutes?” she suggested.

Five minutes felt like an eternity when she was under him now, but he knew they would be worth it.

“Okay,”

A few minutes later, she knocked on his doorframe, and he spun. She had a soft looking robe on. Green with matching lace trim.

He looked almost instantly disappointed.

“I thought you might want to take it off,” she offered quietly, taking a few steps toward him.

He was still just in his pajama pants, the band of his boxers peeking above the waistband. God, why was that always so sexy?

Though he appreciated the gesture, Nico shook his head.

Stopping abruptly, Lena confirmed, “no?”

Shaking his head again, Nico managed to clear his throat and tell her, “want you to.”

Fingers trembling with excitement, she pulled one end of the tie, slipping it from the bow.

This was an exercise in a kind of vulnerability Lena had never experienced before. Yes, Nico was her best friend, and she trusted him with her life, but she’d never undressed in front of someone like this. This wasn’t just about seduction. This was about bearing herself to a man she loved and who she knew loved her. There was anticipation, but no nervousness, longing, but no worry. There was love and more love and more love under that. She’d never felt like that before.

This wasn’t some kind of strip tease meant to thrill. No, she was bearing a piece of her soul.

Nico found he was holding his breath and made himself pull air into his lungs.

Lena grasped the two sides of the robe and pulled them apart until they slipped over her shoulders. The fabric puddled to the floor around her feet.

A noise he couldn’t control flew out of his mouth. God, if he thought she looked beautiful in the picture, it was nothing compared to this. To the reality of her standing in front of him. She was real — supple skin and hazel eyes and curves he wanted to spend his entire life traversing — right down to her hands, which were splayed over the flesh of her hips as if she didn’t know what else to do with them.

She was…she was a goddess. He would worship her every day of the week. “You’re so beautiful, Lena,” he croaked.

“Thank you,” she said, a blush pinking her cheeks.

“Can you —” he had to pause to clear his throat.

She nodded encouragingly.

“Can I see the back?”

She let out a little giggle and turned for him, looking back over her shoulder.

The back of the bra was fairly standard - straps and a band that was secured by a row of hooks. The underwear were anything but. They cut high on her cheeks and perfectly accentuated the curvature of her hips. His jaw went slack.

This was a better response than she could have asked for. When she’d bought this set, one of the selling points was how good the panties made her ass look. Having Nico appreciate it to the point of open mouthed silence, sent a delighted thrill through her.

“Now you?” she said, turning back around and nodding at his pants.

Taking a deep breath, he worked his thumbs under the waistband of his pajamas. Pushing the elastic over his hips, the cotton fell down, and he stepped out of it.

Lena let out a thick sigh, eyes roaming over him, from the bob of his Adam’s apple and flex of his stomach to the dark hair trailing from his belly button into the elastic band of his briefs and the lighter hair that crept up his thighs. She'd seen all these things before as an artist, but now, she was seeing them as a woman. She didn't have to stuff down her desire or try to channel it through her pencil. She got to admire him as a woman who wanted him.

When their eyes met again, his were nervous, as if waiting for a verdict. Instead of saying anything, she took the few steps forward, slid her hand to the back of his neck, and nudged him down as she raised herself on tiptoe.

Their lips met, and that feeling of rightness filled Lena again. As her tongue swept into his waiting mouth, she pressed herself against him.

Taking the time to savor the feel of the lace beneath his palms, Nico caressed her hips slowly before sliding them around to cradle her rump.

She broke the kiss, and his hands were suddenly sliding up her body as she lowered onto her knees in front of him. “Shit, Lena,” he breathed.

A coy, sexy smile took over her face, and Lena leaned in to press her lips to his right thigh. The muscle jumped beneath his skin.

“Wait.”

Pulling back to sit on her haunches, Lena looked up at him, surprised. No man had ever told her to stop when she was setting up to suck him off.

Half of Nico’s brain was in his dick, but he needed to get this right. “I went first last time,” he said.

“It’s not like we have to take turns.”

“I know, but I want to give first.” When she didn’t move, he added on a slightly desperate, “please.”

She nodded, and he took her hands to pull her to her feet. They turned so her back was facing the bed, and he smiled indulgently at the way she had to do a little hop to sit on the mattress.

“Lay back,” he said.

She scooted up to the pillows and did as he instructed.

She was a fantasy in his dark sheets.

Biting his lip, he paused to admire her for a moment before climbing onto the bed and covering her body with his. As their mouths met in a passionate, desperate kiss, he settled between her legs. He rutted his hips into her, and she moaned. The sound made him heady, and he did it again just to hear it. If they kept that up, he would be begging her to let him fuck her right then. But he knew from fingering her the week before that she would need to be relaxed and stretched a bit before she could take him comfortably. Plus, now that she was in his bed in this lingerie, he had to bring his desires to life. And he really fucking wanted his mouth on her.

He broke from the kiss and trailed his lips over her chin and down her neck and chest. Too impatient to wait, his mouth found her pebbled nipple, teasing it through the fabric of her bra.

Lena had never felt anything so hot in her life. Her hands wove into his hair, and she moaned. “Nico. Oh my god.”

He moved on too quickly, but before she could complain, his lips were skimming over her stomach, down to the band of her panties. The memory of his confession crashed into her mind.

I want to lick you over that lace before I take it off and make you come on my tongue.

She writhed beneath him.

He nosed her mound gently, playfully, and glanced up to her face. “This is still okay?”

“Yes!” she hissed, voice pulled tight. “Please, Nico.”

Who was he to deny what she wanted?

Spreading her thighs with his hands, he leaned in and trailed his nose up the gusset of her underwear. His mouth started to water. Shit, she smelled so good.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. His tongue met the lace, licking a slow stripe up the center. He could almost taste her through the fabric. The sweet, tangy flavor he'd been craving for a week was so close.

Lena could almost feel him. There was pressure, and the heat from his breath was there, but the full stimulation of his tongue wasn't. Experiencing him like this was so hot, the anticipation of feeling him built and built until it felt like she may just explode. She let out a wanton moan of his name.

He teased her until her hips were grinding up, and her breathing was coming out in hot puffs. He teased her until he couldn’t take it anymore.

She whined when he pulled back but cut the noise off when his fingers slipped into the band of her underwear and started pulling it down. Desperate to please, she lifted her hips, allowing him to peel them from her body more easily.

He took his time, running his hands down her legs, and when the fabric was free, he brought it to his nose just to work himself up a little more. His dick twitched.

“Fuck,” she whispered. Who knew her polite, cheerful Nico had this side to him?

He almost wished he was still wearing pants so he could slip her panties into his pocket. Instead, he tossed them over the side of the bed. He’d pick them up later.

Settling between her legs again, he looked up to meet her gaze over the expanse of her body. Propped up on her elbows, her chest rose and fell, testing the limits of her bra with every inhale. He could hardly stand it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She blushed. How did he know exactly what to say? Could he read her thoughts or something?

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” he verified, “or if you want something else?”

Only after she nodded did he get to work, plunging his face between her thighs like he’d been dreaming of for years.

A sense of deep satisfaction rumbled in his chest when she cried out.

She tasted the same, like he remembered, and better: sweet and tangy and fresh. He couldn't get enough. He licked and kissed and teased and tasted.

Falling back against his pillows, Lena moaned his name.

Her left hand found its way into his hair again, weaving the long, soft strands through her fingers. The reality of this fantasy coming true made her shake as much as his clever tongue did.

He moved to lap at her entrance, which was not where she wanted him at all.

“Nico, I –” her voice cut off with a moan as his nose nudged her clit.

Fuck it. Tightening her fingers into a fist, she tugged on his hair, guiding his mouth where she needed it.

He grunted into her as his lips surrounded her throbbing pearl, so eager for his attention.

“There,” her voice was a breathy pant that made his heart race, “right there, Nico.”

Hands tightening on her thighs, he feasted.

Her hips shifted, and even though it made it near impossible for him to breathe, he kept on, intent on his mission.

“Suck.”

It took half a second for his brain to understand her word as a command. He obeyed, and the groan she let out made him light headed. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. It didn’t matter. There was no way he was stopping until she was falling apart beneath him.

He thought briefly about using his fingers, but no. He wanted to make her come like this first.

His lips and tongue continued working their magic on her. Pressure built and tingled in her pelvis until it spread, shooting down her legs and making her toes curl.

“Nico,” she gasped.

When he glanced up, he found her right hand cupping her breast, thumb and forefinger teasing the peak of her nipple through the lace of her bra. The sight of it — of her adding to her own pleasure — made his eyes roll back.

The vibration of his groan lit her on fire. It was the final push she needed to tip over the edge.

She crashed in an explosion of color and sound as his eager mouth kept working, sending wave after wave of ecstasy rushing through her body.

The pleasured noises she chanted were the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. She pulsed under his mouth, and he lapped at her release. He wanted to drink from her fountain for the rest of his life.

Coming back to herself, Lena pushed him away from her core before the overstimulation could turn into pain.

The sight of him — eyes hooded with desire, mouth and chin wet with her orgasm — made her moan again as he pushed himself up.

Nico felt drunk. Drunk on her pleasure and the fact that he’d been the one to pull it out of her.

He licked his lips, pulling more of her release into his mouth before wiping his face with the back of his hand.

He lay next to her and slid his hand over her stomach, letting it come to rest comfortably cupping her breast.

Lena was flat on her back, trying to get her breathing back to a normal rhythm.

“Oh my god,” she finally managed to gasp.

“It was good?” he asked.

“Yes!” she smacked his chest when she said it. “I don’t… I mean…”

He smiled as she tried to find the words.

Turning her head, she met his gaze. “I never knew you were so nasty.”

“I wasn’t mean,” he defended, hurt that she was accusing him.

“No, like kinky.”

He hated this part of speaking English. Why did so many words have so many different meanings that they already had words for?

“It’s kinky that I like the way you smell and taste?”

“I’ve never — I mean no one has ever…”

“It was my first time with you,” he said, nuzzling his nose into her neck. “I wanted to savor it.”

“Speaking of, I think it’s your turn,” she said coyly, pressing a hand to his shoulder. She shoved, and he flopped onto his back without protest.

She climbed over him, straddling his torso.

Finally feeling the weight of her on top of him was heaven. She was tethering him down to earth.

Her hot wetness against his skin made him twitch. He couldn't wait to bury himself inside her. Just imagining how tight and wet she'd feel around him made him moan.

“I haven't even touched you yet,” she smirked.

“I want you so bad.” The words slipped out in German. He started to translate, but she cut him off.

“I got the idea,” she said seductively as she leaned down to kiss him. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue as she did her best to work him up with her mouth alone.

The way he moaned sent a bolt of desire through her. Unable to stop herself, she rutted her hips against the hard wall of his stomach.

He choked out a curse, head tipping back into the pillows.

Taking advantage, she connected her mouth to his throat, feeling his Adams apple move under her lips as he swallowed hard.

“Lena.”

She moved to the other side of his neck.

His hands slipped to her hips, desperate to touch her.

As she slid down his body, her core passed over his, causing gentle pressure on his cock through the confining material of his boxers. His hips thrust up, desperate for more.

Bracing on his chest, Lena pushed herself up and ground her hips down on his.

Lashes fluttering, his eyes rolled back, and he gripped her hips with more ferocity.

She’d never had this kind of power over a man before. It made her heady with the want to tease him until he begged.

“Lena,” he groaned, almost as if in pain.

“Hmm?”

“I’m —” he gasped as she reached around, unclasped her bra, and took it off. She threw it across the room.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warned as she rocked against him.

“Is that so bad?” she asked, her voice thrown into mock innocence.

“I — fuck.” She was riling him up and he loved it. “Want to feel your mouth,” he finally managed to say.

“What if I want to hear you beg?”

His eyes shot open, pupils blown wide. Her tone was playful, as were her eyes, and mirth dripped from her smile. He knew if he said he didn’t like it, she’d stop right away. Except, with her on top of him, he found he was ready to do whatever she wanted.

“Lena.”

“Hmm?”

“Fuck, Lena. Please.” If she wanted him to beg, he’d beg.

“Please what?” she asked innocently, lowering her mouth over his nipple. He twitched against her as her tongue circled the small peak before flicking over the top of it.

His breath practically huffed out of his lungs.

“I want your mouth,” he groaned. “Please.”

“You do have very good manners,” she complimented, pushing herself up again.

They were going to go out the window if she didn't do something soon. “Please.”

If he didn’t know her sliding further down his body likely meant he would feel her mouth soon, he would have whined at the loss of stimulation.

Once she found herself over his legs, Lena leaned down to kiss that trail of dark hair that wound its way down the center of his abs and dipped into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Can I take these off?” she asked as her fingers tucked under the elastic.

“Please,” bracing on his heels, he thrust his hips up so she could remove them, breathing a sigh of relief when his cock sprung free of the confining material.

“How do you like it?” she asked, hands caressing up his thighs.

He gulped. “I —”

“Or do you just want me to start, and you can tell me if you don’t like something?”

He nodded vigorously. The thing he wanted most was for her to just put her mouth on him. He’d dreamed of it so many times, and now, here she was, leaning over him.

The guttural groan that tore from his chest as Lena wrapped her lips around the head of his cock surprised them both. Her eyes shot up to look at his face, making sure he wasn’t in pain. His eyes were glued to her, wide with adoration and lust. The sight of her with her lips around him — he could die a happy man.

“You feel so good,” he groaned.

She loved that when he got worked up, his accent thickened.

One of her hands was braced on his thigh, while the other swept up to cradle his balls, stroking the sensitive skin with her thumb.

The only thing Nico could do was chant her name. Every time he tried to say something else, she did something new, hollowing her cheeks, or sensuously licking the tip, or moving her mouth to the underside of his cock so her open lips traced the vein there, the tip of her tongue whispering between them.

When her lips wrapped around him again, he was gone. “Gonna –-” he only managed to get that one word out before he was exploding into her hot, heavenly mouth.

She squeaked in surprise but relished sucking his release off and feeling it slide down her throat.

She lay beside him, watching Nico gasping in breaths, contented to have brought out this side of him.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“It was good?” she asked, repeating his earlier question and trying not to giggle.

Turning his head, he glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

Before either of them could respond, her stomach grumbled loudly.

Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to cover it, “Sorry, I’ve usually eaten by this time.”

“You don't need to apologize,” he said, laughing.

“Why aren’t you all grumbly?” she asked.

“I…ate a protein bar while you were getting changed,” he admitted.

“You – what? And you didn't even think to share?” she demanded, playfully shoving away from him. “Some boyfriend you are.”

He smiled at being called her boyfriend, even through the insult.

“Sharing your food is like boyfriend 101.”

“I did order breakfast,” he offered.

“When?”

“Last night. It should be here in,” he glanced at the clock on his nightstand, “fifteen minutes. I kind of forgot how early you wake up.”

“Nico Hischier,” she said, voice full of teasing admonition as she crawled over him, “did you plan to seduce me this morning?”

He grinned, and she laughed as he pulled her down. She bounced on his chest. “Maybe I did. Aren't you glad I at least planned ahead?”

Pulling back to look into his face, her smile was soft and full of love. “Yes,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, I am.”

While waiting for breakfast to arrive, they made out, slowly and passionately, hands tracing each others bodies with a reverent tenderness Lena had always dreamed of.

He was starting to stiffen up against her thigh again. It seemed impossible he could be nearly ready to go so soon after coming. He really did have the body of a God.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he pulled away reluctantly.

“That’s breakfast,” he said.

“Guess we should go get it,” she said, though she didn’t make any moves to get off of him.

“I’ll go,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her pouty, over-kissed mouth, “you stay here.”

She watched as he threw on a new pair of boxers, some joggers, and a t-shirt before strolling out of the apartment.

“Have you seen my underwear?” she asked when he came back through the door, a bag from her favorite bagel shop in one hand, and two coffees in a carrier in the other.

“Hu?” he asked, slipping the coffees onto the table.

“My underwear,” she said. “I couldn’t find them in your room.”

“Weird,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the hot flush of his cheeks.

“Do you have them?” she asked. When all he responded with was a non-committal grunt, she surmised, “they’re in your pocket, aren’t they?”

He couldn’t keep the little smile off of his face.

She rolled her eyes and took the iced coffee. “It’s a good thing I love you.”

His smile grew brighter, and he handed her her sandwich.

“No one’s ever made me feel like you do, Nico.”

He’d just been telling her he felt like he won the lottery, and she wanted to assure him she felt the same.

“Like no ones made you come?” he asked, licking ketchup off his thumb.

“No. Well, I mean, yes. You’re better because you listen —”

A smug smile took over his face.

“I mean that you accept me. Like all of me. That hadn’t really happened in my life before you.”

His brows shot up.

“I don’t think my family really knew what to do with me,” she said, picking up the other half of her ham and egg sandwich.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re all sporty, you know, and I’m…not. I’ve always been this creative free spirit, and I think my parents were at a bit of a loss when I was so bad at skating and said I wanted to take drawing lessons instead.”

“They love your art, though.” Nico had met her parents, and both of them seemed extremely proud of her.

“They’re better now, but when I was in primary school, and even up to the point that you came in, it always felt a bit like they resented that I had these talents.”

“Resented?” he asked.

“Yeah, like they wished I was more like the rest of the family.”

His brows drew together.

“And don’t get me started on the boys on the team.”

“Everyone really liked you. I think every guy on the team had a crush on you.” All the more reason to feel contented he had her now.

“Listen, you don’t get it.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. You were always good at sport and popular, right?”

He made a non-commital noise. Popularity in North America was very different from how he grew up. There was much more comparison than he ever experienced.

“I was always the artsy girl in a place that worships sports.”

“But you came to sports?”

“Yeah,” one of her shoulders shrugged up, “I came to support my friends, but they hardly ever came to things to support me. I remember Robbie told me once, ‘I don’t have enough culture for that,’ when I invited him to an art show I had some pieces in.”

Robbie had been their goalie, who had brought Lena into the friend group. He and Jessica were now married and had several children.

Nico’s heart broke a little.

“And then you came in and not only did you not treat me like the only thing I was good for was being looked at, you knew some things about art, and you actually talked to me about it.”

In fact, She still vividly remembered her first encounter with Nico.

She’d been sitting on the refreshments counter at the rink, drawing in her ever-present sketchbook while Jessica puttered around the tiny kitchen. He’d walked up to her, asked if he could see, and said, “that’s very good,” when she showed him.

She’d blushed and thanked him, and he asked where she learned to draw.

Jessica had interjected then, bragging about Lena’s painting skills, and telling him he should come see them at the school the next time he was there.

He’d then given Lena his trademark dimpled smile and said he would.

She was used to this. Boys said this all the time, but then would never actually show.

Lo and behold, three days later, she was shocked to find Nico outside the art classroom after school, studying one of her paintings Mr. Jacobsen had hung in the hallway.

“Hey Nico.”

He startled a little, “hi, Lena. You did this, right?”

She nodded.

“It’s very good. I like the shape,” he said, then frowned, shaking his head slightly, “not the shape. The,” he gestured with his hands as if dividing the three sections of the painting, the sky, forrest and field. “What’s the word for this?” he asked, repeating the gesture.

“The composition?” she guessed.

“Yes, the composition,” he said, relieved that she understood what he was trying to say. “I like that the sky is bigger. It feels like that here.”

“Thank you.” It was exactly what she’d been aiming for.

“You’re very talented,” he said, turning to look at her. He met her eyes and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said again, wishing she had some other way to respond to his compliments. She didn’t have much experience with the nice, cute boy in school talking to her about art and pulling out words like composition and knowing how to use them properly in a sentence.

It had started their friendship. It was amazing how that simple interaction of him following through made her feel. Not only seen in so many ways, but also that it kicked the budding crush she had on him into hyperdrive. She’d never met another man like him.

Pink splotches rose high on his cheeks, and he gave her a chagrined smile.

“What?” she asked, laughing.

“I didn’t know much about art,” he said. “I went home and looked it up so I could talk to you about it.”

His confession made her heart burst, “really?”

He nodded, “you were passionate about it, and I wanted to know you, so I had to learn so we could talk.”

“Nico, I can’t believe you did that for me.”

He blushed and smiled some more.

“How are you even real?” she asked, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair.

It called up memories of not that long ago when she had her fingers tangled in his hair for a different reason. “Real?” he asked.

“You’re like a dream,” she said, hand slipping to cup his jaw. “Kind and thoughtful and dedicated, and handsome to boot. It’s like you’re too perfect to be real.”

He laughed, loud and open. He couldn’t think of anyone further from perfect than himself.

After their meal and brushing their teeth, Nico spent some more time between her legs, eating a second and third breakfast, using his beautiful hands to aid in bringing her to a crest twice more.

“Fuck,” she breathed as he lay next to her, “how did you get so good at that?”

He laughed, wiping his face with his hand. “I don’t know. I listen.”

“You listen?” she repeated.

“Yeah, you make this little ‘uh,’” he imitated a high pitched grunt, “noise when you feel good, so I do whatever I just did again when you make it.”

Rolling onto her side, she looked at him, “I do?”

He nodded.

“When did you notice that?”

“Last week. You told me what to do and then made that noise when I did it. So I tired it again,” he said with a shrug and a secret little smile.

She knew Nico was used to noticing things other people didn’t. It’s what made him a good hockey player. He noticed and noted things about players and teams and used them to put together his best game possible. He even noticed things about her - like the fact that she liked pistachio flavored things, and liked to paint on the right side of the living room and that she liked a margarita. She couldn't remember ever telling him these things, but he had pistachio creamer in his fridge, moved the living room furniture around, and brought her a margarita whenever they went out together.

“You’re something else, Nico Hischier,” Lena said, bringing her hand up to the side of his face.

He smiled, nuzzling his cheek into her palm.

“What do you want?” he asked. He wanted her, but if she wanted more foreplay, he would give it to her. He just wanted her to be happy.

Scooting closer, she slung a leg over his hip. She held eye contact as she said, “I want you to make love to me, Nico.”

His hand slid onto her thigh, up to her hip, and over the curve of her waist in a reverent exploration. “How do you want it? Like, what position?” he asked.

“Missionary,” she said, her fingers tracing over his collar bone and onto his chest. “I want to see you.”

It struck him as a tender thing for her to request, and he was glad for it. He wanted to see her, too. They could try more intense positions later. For now, that was how it needed to be.

“Where are you going?” she asked when he rolled away from her.

He glanced back at her with a cheeky smile. “Eager,” he teased with a lingering scan of her body as he reached into the drawer of his bedside table.

She snorted.

“I’m getting a condom,” he said, holding up the foil wrapped package once he’d dug one out.

“Oh,” she said. “I have an IUD if you don’t want to.”

His next breath came shallow.

“I mean, unless you’re not clean. I haven’t had unprotected sex since I was last tested.”

He didn’t like to think of her having any sex at all unless it was with him. “We get tested at the start of every season,” he said. “All clear. I haven’t had sex since then.”

“Then,” she reached forward to pluck the condom from his fingers, relieved she hadn’t been the only celibate one for the last three months, “I don’t think we need to use one.” She tossed it behind him. It landed on the nightstand, skidded across the surface, and fell somewhere they could find later. “I don’t want anything between us.”

Her eyes were dark with desire, and he felt it through his whole body.

“You’re incredible,” he said reverently, bringing his body next to hers again.

She reached between them to stroke his erection and his eyes fluttered closed. Feeling her hand reminded him how quickly he’d come in her mouth. “I’m scared I won’t last,” he admitted.

He’d dreamed of being inside her for so long, gotten himself off to the thought of it so many times, he might just explode the second it became real. Reality shortening his fuze to next to nothing.

“Nico.”

He met her gaze.

“I don’t care how long you last.” Lena was struck once again with how handsome he was. Those big, brown doe eyes and pouty mouth. How was this her life?

He scoffed.

“I’m serious,” she said, giving him a look that told the truth. “I just want to feel you.”

He looked almost as if he might cry.

“And I know if you do come too fast, you’ll make it up to me. You’ve already given me four orgasms and it’s not even ten in the morning.”

He chuckled, glad for her reassurance and humor.

“Is this helping?” she asked, continuing at the same, gentle pace, “or no?”

He nodded. It probably was helping - getting him used to the feel of her.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

He shook his head, finally getting up the strength to pull her hand away. They’d waited long enough.

Lena rolled onto her back, and he followed, bracing himself on his forearms above her.

As he reached down go guide himself, Nico pulled in a deep breath. Slow. They were going to take this slow, and everything was going to be fine.

Even nestling his tip against her entrance sent sparks pinging through his system.

He tore his eyes from where their bodies would soon be joined and looked into her face, “this is okay?”

She nodded.

“You’ll tell me if —”

She leaned up to cut him off with a kiss. “Make love to me, Nico,” she whispered as she settled back against the pillows.

And so, he eased forward.

Her hips tipped to his, a pleasured sigh escaping her lips. There was a stretch, but he’d prepped her so well, there was no pain.

She met his gaze as his hips settled against hers. He was looking at her with all this love and adoration. No one had ever looked at her like that but him. Reaching up, she swept some of his hair out of his eyes, only to have it fall right back.

A laugh chuffed out of him as if to agree that was a losing battle.

“You can move,” she said after a few more moments of his trembling stillness.

He swallowed and shifted his hips back.

She took in a sharp breath. “Oh.”

“Feels good?” his voice was tight with restraint.

The fullness of him was good, but feeling him move inside her was better. “Yes,” she moaned.

A thousand little dreams came true.

The sight of her beneath him was a replay of so many fantasies, his resolve was unraveling too fast. He knew she meant what she said about him coming too soon, but he wanted to be good for her, and, dammit, he wanted to feel her fall apart around him. He slammed his eyes closed.

“How does it,” she gasped as he withdrew to the tip, “feel?”

“You feel so good, Lena,” he panted. “You’re so tight.”

“Or you’re so thick,” she countered, back arching as he thrust back onto her, a little harder.

That’s when she heard it, that little grunt. It was something her body seemed to do naturally. She would never have noticed it if Nico hadn’t pointed it out. And he’d picked up on it almost immediately, filing the information in his beautiful brain to help bring her pleasure. What had she ever done to deserve this man?

Nico risked looking at her. She was beautiful every time he saw her, but this took the cake.

“What do you need? What will make you come?”

Of course Nico was mature enough to communicate and know he needed her help to get her there.

“Keep going,” she panted as her hand slipped between them in search of her clit. Nico felt so good. So incredible inside her, but she'd never been able to get off by penetration alone.

His jaw dropped as her walls fluttered around him. “Fuck can't do that,” he groaned.

“Need it,” she whispered, pressing purposeful circles over the sensitive bundle.

He moaned her name and buried his face in her neck. She felt so much better than he'd even fantasized.

She made a noise that made his hair stand on end. God, how was he going to get through this without embarrassing himself when she sounded like that? Like more than all of his dreams combined?

“Nico,” she moaned his name the same way, and he felt his resolve crumble a little bit more.

Pulling from every self discipline lesson he'd learned in hockey and beyond, he stilled, reminding his body his mind was more powerful.

Once he had some semblance of control back, his competitive determination snapped into place, and his desire to please her took the drivers seat. He needed to see her come beneath him.

“Can you…” she trailed off before demanding, “Nico, harder.”

He braced lifted himself higher and drove his cock into her with more ferocity, grunting with each show of strength.

“Oh my god. Nico, yes!” Feeling his strong hips drive into her over and over again made her back bow.

Sweat broke out along his hairline just as much from exertion as the restraint he was clinging to.

“I’m almost there.”

“Let go,” he growled.

Her mouth dropped open. She never expected to hear Nico order her around at all, but hearing the gruff command in SwissGerman sent her body into a frenzy. She had no idea what he said, but it was the hottest fucking thing she'd ever heard.

Her hips rose to meet his, and he could still feel her fingers between them, working for her own high.

He watched pleasure roll across her face and continued on. “Lena,” his resolve was slipping, and he heard desperation creep into his voice. “Come.”

That one word order — she knew it had to be — tipped her over the precipice, and her body seized.

Feeling her walls clench around him pulled a shout from his gut. Fuck, she felt so good. As he continued, the rapid pulsating began.

“Lena,” it came out a desperate moan.

This was…she was… “Lena.”

Careening over the edge with a shouted, “Fuck!” he flooded her in a haze of bliss.

Afterglow turned his limbs to jelly, and he collapsed atop her.

Walking to his locker the next morning, Nico tried his best to be as inconspicuous as possible. If he didn’t draw attention to the hickeys on his neck and chest, no one would notice. He’d just change with his chest facing the stall.

“Ooh!” Dawson called out as soon as he’d stripped off his shirt, “Cap finally got laid!”

He went rigid. The memory of Lena’s nails raking over his back as she unraveled beneath him for the fourth - or maybe it was the fifth - time flew into his mind.

He'd nearly howled like a wolf when she'd done it. The pain, together with the pleasure of her walls constricting around him – not to mention the very reality that he was the one making her come so hard – made him see stars.

“Whose the lucky lady?” Jack asked, sauntering over, “was it that blonde from the bar? I bet it was the blonde.”

He felt himself snort. “No,” he said, voice louder than he expected. Of course it wasn’t the blonde from the bar. Some girl he’d just met could never compare.

“Who was it then? We all know it wasn’t Lena.”

Nico couldn’t help the smug little smile that spread over his lips.

Jonas picked up on it right away. “it was Lena wasn’t it?” he asked, eyes going wide.

Feeling himself blush, Nico tried and failed to keep the grin off his face.

“It was!” Jack exclaimed. “You finally got the balls!” he clapped a hand on Nicos shoulder and spun him around, taking in the marks on his chest and neck. “Looks like she enjoyed herself at least!” he said with a laugh.

“Aw man,” Dawson moaned, sinking onto the bench at his stall. “Why are all the hot girls taken?”

“You didn’t seriously think you had a chance with Lena, did you?” Curtis chirped, one sarcastic eyebrow raised.

Dawson shrugged, feeling his face and neck get hot.

“Didn’t you see the way she and Nico have been eye fucking each other the past four months? Neeks was practically on his knees at Halloween.”

“I was not,” Nico defended.

“No,” Jack broke in, “you were. You were practically drooling, to be honest.”

Coming home after practice, the apartment smelled heavenly. Like spicy sausage and something creamy. Lena was cooking.

He followed his nose to the kitchen and found her at the stove in a pair of running shorts and a gray Devils t-shirt, stirring whatever she had in the sauce pot.

As he watched, she brought the spoon to her mouth, tipped her head to the side as she tasted, then reached for the salt. She shook some in before stirring and repeating the process.

She must have deemed it done because she set the spoon down and flipped off the burner. She grabbed some hot pads and lifted the pot off the stove.

A yelp escaped her mouth when Lena turned to find Nico in the doorway, looking at her. She nearly dropped the whole pot of sauce.

“Oh my God! Why do you do that?” she demanded, managing to set the pot back on the stove.

An amused smile lifted his mouth, dimpling one cheek more than the other. “Do what?”

“You keep just showing up in the kitchen without any warning!” she said, flapping a hot pad in his direction, “and it scares the hell out of me when I turn around.”

“I just get too distracted to say hello,” he admitted.

“Distracted?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re…” he paused, gesturing to her as he tried to find the right words. “You’re so pretty it steals my thoughts sometimes.”

She blushed.

“That time I came in when you had that pink underwear on, I thought I might faint.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious, Lena,” he said, finally stepping in so he could put his hands on her waist. The fact that he could touch her like this now was still banging pots and pans around his brain each time he did it.

“You thought you might faint?” she repeated. “that seems a little dramatic, Nico.”

He shrugged, “it was like this stolen moment.”

“What?”

He paused, working his thumbs under the shirt hanging loose on her petite frame. He loved that she’d started wearing his shirts.

“I loved you for so long, and it was like this little, secret gift.” His thumbs drew circles on her skin as he thought through the words, “it was like I was seeing you like I might if we were together, and I just couldn’t…I couldn’t bear to say anything because it would break it.”

“I thought you were shocked at my thighs,” she blurted, effectively running the moment. What he was saying was so incredibly sweet, but him bringing up that moment brought her straight back.

He laughed quietly. “I was shocked at your thighs. I don’t think I’d ever seen you in your underwear.”

“I mean…I thought you didn’t like them,” she said quietly, hoping he didn’t think she was fishing for compliments. The way he’d tenderly kissed her there the night before told her she’d been wrong.

His gaze grew soft, “you’re so beautiful, Lena. How could you think that?”

One of her shoulders shrugged up. “I’ve never really liked them.”

His hand slid down over her hip to tenderly grip the flesh, “I love them,” he said, leaning in closer to nuzzle his nose against hers. “I especially like what’s between them.”

“You’re insatiable,” she teased, even as her heart fluttered. It was a strange thing to have her insecurities turned inside out so easily.

“Can you blame me?” he asked, lips whispering over hers, “when I’ve wanted you for so long, and now,” he slid his other hand to her other thigh, and tightened his fingers, nudging her to jump. She did, and he moved to cup her rear to hold her up as her ankles hooked around his waist. “Now I have you?” The truth in his statement, along with the feel of her body pressed against his, made him a little breathless.

The steps they’d taken to get here were clear, and she followed them again and again in her mind, but in moments like this, it still felt like a dream. Instead of answering, she kissed him.

They’d kissed a lot now, but it still felt so new that each time she initiated, each time she caught his mouth, and especially each time her tongue brushed against his, his knees went a little weak.

Stumbling just slightly, he backed up and ran into the fridge. The bottles in the door clinked and rattled in protest.

The sauce and baked potatoes were long forgotten as he carried her to the bedroom.

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pedrostylez · 1 year ago

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Something Else- pt. 3

pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

chapter summary: Anna is checking up on you and you don’t know how to move past your history with her. Frankie wants to get to know you more.

rating: 18+ (no minors please) Explicit

word count: 3.3k

warnings etc: Frankie w/o a daughter, triple frontier movie plot has happened but is not mentioned as of yet, Fingering, dirty talk, breast play, eating, mentions of missing meals, jealousy, friendship dynamics, fluff, pet names, friendships, jealousy, competition, drinking, 2nd person pov, no use of y/n

A/N: Another Frankie Friday, another part of Something Else. I've gone ahead and bumped up to explicit! Please remember that not every chapter will be as such, but the majority will be from this point. Frankie is just….so giving. Please support by commenting, sending me thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you who reads this!

Taglist: @meveispunk, @jitterbugs927, @sullyosully @3sriracha @alltheseperfectimperfections @nandan11 @jake-g-lockley, @theanothersherlockian, @anoverwhelmingdin, @guelyury, @harriedandharassed, @wintersquirrel

You take a deep breath and then wait just a moment, unlocking the door and opening it to Anna standing there with a plate of cookies. Of course, she brought cookies. “Uh, hi.”

“Hey!” She says sweetly, looking around your shoulder as best as she can before looking back at you. “I wanted to check on you.”

You shuffle over to block your door more, listening to see if Frankie is staying quiet-you didn’t tell him he had to be but… “I’m okay. Just…a few more minutes before my shift starts.”

Your lying ability must have improved because Anna looks down at your clothes and assumes that you are dressed for your shift. “I brought your favorite cookies. I thought we could eat some, maybe pour some wine and watch a movie! But if you really have to go to work–”

“I do.” You say quickly, leaning against the doorway and then sighing. You feel bad now, watching her face fall. “I’m sorry, Anna. We can hang out this week, I promise. I’ve just picked up a few extra shifts.” You move out of the way for her to set the cookies on your counter, letting her in for just a minute won’t hurt.

“It’s okay. I understand.” She sighs, smiling at you. “Are you and Frankie doing okay? I asked him about you the other day, but he didn’t really say anything.”

You’re frozen for a minute, looking past her just enough to see his shoes next to your coffee table, his hat sitting on the couch haphazardly. “I’ve not really talked to him since I picked up those shifts.”

“Not even texted?” She questions, shaking her head. “Babe! You gotta get back out there, and he’s so sweet, he’s perfect for you!”

You nod, clenching your jaw to hold back the “please get out” that wants to bubble over your lips. “We just haven’t had a chance to talk.” You amend, nodding at her briefly as she mulls it over in her brain.

Frankie thinks about listening to you try to get Anna to go away, but his discipline is weak as he sees your bed is unmade, and the papers you have covering your desk are too enticing. He steps towards your desk, glancing over what looks to be notes, picking up the textbook in question to read the front.

“Preface to Lyrical Ballads.” He says quietly, shrugging to himself before turning back to the page you had it open to. He read to himself “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” before furrowing his brow and setting the textbook back down. Glancing at all of the papers, they were drafts of your own poetry, chicken scratch and highlighted and crossed out.

He sits gingerly on your bed, but shoots back up when he hears “Is he fucking here?” screeched out by what he assumes is Anna. He whips his head around, finding not many hiding spaces. Your bedframe is low to the ground, with stuff under the bed, and he looks to the bi-fold door, unsure of whether or not he should hide in your closet.

“No! It’s just his stuff–” He hears you try to cover, footsteps stepping around each other, a quick laugh and mumbling excitedly before he hears a bang on the door.

He thought he was caught when he heard, “Wait Anna please, my bedroom is a mess. You know I get in those moods–”

“Have you been eating?” Anna asks hushed, clear through the door as Frankie slinks over to the closet and squeezes his shoulders past the bifold doors. He gets past your jacket and shuts the door a bit more, breathing as slowly as he can.

“Yes! I’ve had a bunch of snacks.” You groan out. Frankie can hear your frustration, can hear you crossing your arms defensively.

“What, like popcorn and candy?” Anna snarks, a dull thud can be heard. Frankie doesn’t know if it's you leaning against the wall or Anna.

“Well…maybe but–”

“Frankie!” Anna yells, making him freeze. “Frankie! You need to order takeout! I won’t leave until you respond!”

“Anna, he’s not there–”

“So if I open this door he won’t be there?” Anna says, slamming open the door and pausing, looking around the room. Frankie can see her from the slats in the single closed door of the closet, hoping that Anna doesn’t think to look through his hiding spot.

You’re looking around too–wide eyed and embarrassed before glancing at the closet. He swears you’ve made eye contact with him through the slats, but you quickly redirect the conversation. “Anna, really. I have to go to work.” You sigh, grabbing her shoulder. “Will you walk with me to my car?”

Anna rubs her lips together before turning around and stomping out of the room. “Can we at least hang out in a couple days? I want you to tell me if I should leave Santi or not for him!”

That’s when Frankie sees it.

How your face gets beet red, eyes immediately glassy. It’s like you’ve forgotten that Frankie is hiding in your closet and he wants to step out to see if you’re okay but you whip around and follow after her. You slam the bedroom door behind you, leaving him in silence as he waits for any other indication that Anna is still there.

He creeps out of the closet, hearing your front door shut and a vibration in his pocket.

Give me 10 minutes.

He steps out, moving into the kitchen and standing there awkwardly looking at the plate of cookies Anna has left. “I don’t date much so it’s not like she can interfere…” swirls in his head, wondering if that is related to your reaction and what Anna said.

You’re livid.

Of course the minute that Anna is sure Frankie isn’t there, she has to say that. Frankie probably thought it was a joke, but you knew better. How do you broach that subject with your best friend? Hey, I don’t like it when you say things like wanting to leave your boyfriend for someone you think I’m seeing. Why? Oh, maybe because of that one time that you literally did? Or the other time…

You know she’s not joking when she says something like that. And it makes your blood boil.

Driving around the block to pretend you were going to work was your only way to calm down your thoughts when it came to this; you had never told Anna to stop making those types of comments. You told her it was fine when she slept with Brad, and that was your fault.

You haven’t told her otherwise. You can’t.

Driving back into your parking spot, you sat there for a moment before climbing out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than you needed to. You didn’t even grab your purse to fake go to work, and you started to wonder if Anna even believed you–

Stepping into your apartment, Frankie is getting off his own phone, turning to you with a smile. “Hey, I ordered some Indian food. I saw the menu and figured you liked it?” He questions, holding up the takeout menu and stepping towards you before leaning against your counter.

You nod, blush creeping back up your cheeks. “You didn’t have to.”

Frankie gives you a small smile, leaning his hands back. “Anna sounded adamant about making sure you eat.” He pauses, giving you a chance to breathe before continuing. “Have you had a whole meal this weekend?”

Your silence is answer enough, kicking off your shoes and noticing his own have been moved to be beside the door. “You can pick the next movie if you’re sticking around.” You mumble, going to step around him. His hand reaches out, grabbing for your wrist again and pulling you to a stop.

Frankie turns to you, smile still on his face. “Can I kiss you again?” He asks quietly, brushing his fingers over your wrist in small circles before dragging them up your arms. “We were interrupted before.”

Frankie’s ability to distract you from you own thoughts is a talent you wonder if he is conscious of. By the time you’re nodding, Frankie’s hand has climbed up your arm and anchored on the back of your head, guiding you forward to press his lips to yours. He’s caught you off guard and completely relaxed you in a matter of minutes, focusing your thoughts on one thing only, and it has you confused. But, you’re unable to pull away when your eyelashes flutter closed when he sighs against your mouth.

Frankie let’s out a groan before pulling away, half lidded and looking down at you. “Let’s not get too carried away before food shows up?” He asks, kissing your cheek when you nod back at him.

“Thank you, for ordering food.” You say quietly, pulling away from him and going back over to the couch.

Frankie looks hesitant for a moment, stepping toward your living room but remains standing. “Is that normal for you?”

You know he’s referring to you skipping meals, shaking your head quickly.” No, no I just…sometimes I kinda get in this slump.” You reach for one of the blankets to cover your legs so that you don’t have to look at him. “And so it just happens that I am watching TV for too long, or too focused and I forget. So I eat lots of junk food. Not really good for me.”

Frankie’s only response is a hum, watching you from the corner of his eye rearrange the blanket over and over until you’re satisfied. There’s a knock on your door that he immediately goes for, grabbing food and giving the delivery guy a tip before shutting it behind him with his foot. “Well I got chicken tikka masala, naan and rice.” He mumbles, sitting down next to you and pulling out each container; a clear separation of food that was meant to feed the two of you. He turns to you with his eyebrows lowered. “Is this okay?”

You let out a chuckle, reaching forward and taking one of the to-go boxes. “Pick the movie, Frankie.”

Frankie waits for you to finish your food before he finishes his, watching you carefully from his peripheral. He picked out a different movie, The Equalizer, which he knew you weren’t interested in. He wasn’t interested in it either.

He hoped to either get you talking, or to get you back under him, moaning his name and whining for him.

He cleared his throat when he set his fork down. “Do you..want to talk about Anna earlier?”

He sees you squint your eyes, breathing lightly out of your nose before turning to him. “What about her?”

His arms are spread wide over the back of your couch, your legs draped across his lap at some point after you finished your food and before he finished his. Your arms are crossing over your stomach, head on the arm rest and your hair fallen out of your face. He takes a deep breath before saying, “She upset you earlier, and I…I want to know what to do about it.”

You sigh heavily, rolling your head back towards the screen. “We’re best friends.” You pause, thinking over what exactly to say to him. “We’ve been through a lot together and I don’t want to lose her.” He nods, waiting for more. He feels like he could wait all day, all night until you tell him what you want from him. “She always gets what she wants.”

He attempts to wait again, but when it’s clear you’ve finished your sentence, he brings his hand down to your knee and gives you a gentle squeeze. “And what do you not like about that, sweetheart?” It feels weird in the pit of his stomach to say it that way, but he doesn’t know how else to. If you’re convinced Anna always gets her way, then who is he to tell you otherwise?

He sees your eyes get glassy, his hands subconsciously squeezing tighter on your leg before rubbing back and forth. “If she decides she wants what I have, then she will take it.” You say just above a whisper, reaching up to wipe at your eyes.

If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t understand what you mean. His hands continue to rub above your knee, squeezing affectionately as he watches you with a furrowed brow. “What do you have that she wants?”

He doesn’t expect you to laugh, but when you do it's sad, teary. “Nothing at the moment.” You concede, turning back to face him. You sigh again and shake your head. “Just, forget it. I’ll get over it.” You move your legs off his lap, wiping at your eyes and heading towards your hallway to the bathroom.

He doesn’t like you brushing it off like that, his eyebrows lifting up to his hairline and back down. Without much thought he follows you, wanting to bring the attention away from you being sad. He wants to distract you.

He’s suddenly behind you, wrapping his hand around your shoulder to spin you around, giving you a slight push against the wall. Frankie is quick to wrap his hand up in your hair, holding your head steady as he connects his lips with yours.

Frankie knows he doesn’t have to understand. But his intention to make you feel good-feel better, still stands. He’s quick to ask permission with his tongue, feeling you breathe out and relax against him, your hands reaching up into his hair and giving it a tug.

He’s quick to pull away, kissing the crook of your jaw and down your neck, pushing your shirt up again like he had before Anna arrived. “Stay still for me.” He says, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. You smile as you struggle to get your hands out of the sleeves, tossing it to the side when he finally has it off of you. “Can I touch you?” He grits, holding himself away from you, one hand leaning against the wall behind you, the other running his thumb under your eyes and over your cheekbones.

You nod quickly, holding on to his forearm like you need support. He lifts his hand and runs his knuckles down your neck, letting you lift your head to allow him more access. He brushes them over the swell of your breast, dipping to the valley between them and to your belly button. He watches you break out in a shiver, leaning into his hand that is still holding your face.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?” He says huskily, brushing his thumb back up to your bra and moving the straps down your arms. The cups fall slightly, letting him see more of you. His eyes glance up to yours, blown out and wild with need. He’s gentle as he releases his hold on your cheek, slipping it behind you to undo your bra, kissing at your collarbone. He nips at the skin, bending down to wrap his lips around one pert nipple and hears you inhale in shock.

Your fingers wrap around the curls of his hair, holding him close to you. “Please, Frankie.” You whine, pushing your hips towards him.

He groans around you, releasing you with a pop before moving over to the other. “What do you want, baby?” He moans, flicking his tongue over your other breast. Your breath hitches, and his eyes meet yours again just as you’re biting at your lip, red and swollen.

“More.” Is all you can get out, clutching on to him tighter. Frankie lets his fingers trail down to your jeans, lowering the zipper and undoing the button before standing up straight again.

Your head thumps against the wall as he doesn’t wait to pull your pants off, only pushing his fingers into your underwear and pressing the pad of his middle finger against your slit. “So wet.” He breathes, sliding his finger up and down from your entrance to your clit before giving light circles around you. “So perfect like this.”

Your jaw goes slack at the sensation, eyes closing and holding on to his shoulder like your life depends on it. He leans forward and kisses at the corner of your mouth, licking at your bottom lip with a small smile. “Think you can come like this for me?”

You’re quick to nod, frantically clutching at his shirt. “Yes, yes, please–Frankie–”

He shushes you, moving his finger faster over your clit before dipping down to your entrance and pushing in slowly. “You’re okay baby, just enjoy it. Want you to feel good.” He mumbles out, speeding up his movements, curling his finger while pushed inside you. He feels the slight shake of your legs when he does this, licking a stripe up your neck to whisper in your ear. “So fucking hot like this, aren’t you? Do you want to come?”

You whine out a small “yes”, curling forward to press your forehead against his shoulder. He feels you shudder, moaning out his name like a chant as your walls clench around his finger, tightening and squeezing around him.

When you finish, breathing heavily and leaning away from him, he is quick to cover your mouth with his, biting at your lip and slowly removing his hand from your pants. He pulls away, breathing just as heavily as you. “Did that feel good?”

You don’t answer immediately, hands unsure where to go until they settle at the button of his pants. He meets your grip, holding you tight to communicate that it isn’t needed. “What about you?” You ask quietly, looking down to see the clear strain in his pants pressing against his zipper.

He shakes his head, pulling your hands away. “Go out with me.” He states, watching your eyes flick back up to his.

You furrow your brow, a small smile creeping up your face. “What? Frankie–”

“Just you and me.” He says, leaning heavily against you, his forehead resting on yours. “You tell me when.”

You laugh, resting a hand against his chest before looking down at yourself. “Can I wear a shirt?”

Frankie feels the blood rush up to his head, a blush on his cheeks as he laughs with you. “If you insist, hermosa.”

When Frankie leaves, hat in his hands and boots untied, he is adamant about you telling him when he can take you out. He wants no pressure from the guys or from Anna, to just “get to know each other” and it makes you swoon at the thought of spending time with him again, like you had today.

You’re shoving a cookie that Anna had left for you to eat into his hand, telling him its partial payment for him buying the takeout to feed you. He scoffs, taking a bite before pulling you towards him and pecking your mouth with his. “Text me, cariño.”

“Okay.” You say quietly, waiting to shut the door before he is out of sight down the sidewalk to his truck.

Shutting it behind you, you take a deep breath, wondering what exactly happened today. Picking your phone up off the counter, you read the text messages you missed.

Anna: Let me know what time this week we can hang :)

Anna: Santi told me that Will and Benny were out drinking with Frankie, if you wanted to let him know where his stuff was ;)

You scoff, rolling your eyes setting your phone back down, and grabbing one of the cookies. As you take another bite, you look up to your coffee table to see Frankie’s shirt still sitting there, rolled up like he was going to take it with him but forgot it. Your phone vibrates again.

Frankie: What about Friday night?

You smile to yourself, typing out a message back.

You: Sounds like a date :)

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dinosaurcharcuterie · 8 months ago

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At the risk of yelling at clouds, here's one thing you need to know when you become an exchange student that no one will tell you.

You need to listen to your host parents. And I'm not saying that in the "kids these days have no respect" kinda way. Yeah, every year, regardless of your location, there will be a few students who don't respect or listen to their host parents. They're not popular with anyone, and might exclude their home country from being considered for exchanges with their host country in the future. Some organizations offer second chances. Some put you on the next flight home. You'll be warned about that bit. They're not exaggerating.

The second reason, and the one I learned before I ever knew I'd do an exchange of my own, is because There's A Reason They're Telling You That. And, yes, that sounds condescending as all get-out, so here's the story of how I learned that through observation.

Now, just as a preface: this is not an exceptional exchange student story. There's gonna be several people in every exchange program, long or short, who have a story like this. Some more spectacular than others. One fellow student in my year had no one to learn from before her. Her backpack got yeeted off Preikestolen and she spent 6 weeks without personal documents or bank cards. My baby guest sister, the most respectful and meek girl you've ever seen, accidentally committed sacrilege on several levels during Sunday Mass at a Catholic church.

It was the perfect May in Western Europe. Temperatures were in the low to mid twenties, clouds were fluffy, and a local high school my brother went to had organized a two week exchange with a high school in California. The Euros had come back and readjusted, so they imported the baby Muricans and prepared a nicely culture heavy itinerary for the 17-18-yos.

The Californians realized within 6 hours that they could legally get wine and beer. Bars, cafés, supermarkets,... Some had it for breakfast. So, logically, they wanted as much space as possible in their luggage and day packs for souvenirs and... Well, they could get a 12 pack each on their lunch break without anyone batting an eye. As long as the teachers didn't notice you were tipsy, all was well.

They did not understand why their host parents (and local student counterparts) were baffled and alarmed at them going absolutely nuts for it. Ours came home on the verge of alcohol poisoning on the fourth day. I have not heard my mother so angry before or since. She wasn't speaking English, but the gist of it didn't need much translation. It wasn't until I went to university that I saw someone vomit that much. It is still the only time I've seen someone cut back from mindless binge drinking to "nah, three's enough for me, bro" in under 12 hours.

These were not unintelligent kids. They followed their itinerary, they had sourced and packed everything on their supply lists, they checked the weather forecast (even if they didn't understand the commentary) and dressed as well as they could for the weather. Which, as I said before, was perfect T-shirt and shorts weather for the entire two weeks.

The second day we had our adopted West Coast Drought Bunny with us, my parents scraped together their English vocabulary to advise the teens pack a rain coat for their city trip of the day. Not an umbrella, a rain coat. They did the parental thing and repeated themselves several times. My brother demonstrated he had packed his lightweight, wind proof, foldable rain coat and his American counterpart just smiled and assured them he'd be okay.

He came back soaked, having broken one overpriced pocket umbrella sold at tourist traps, switched to one of those thin plastic rain ponchos and ripped that too. He'd also made the genius decision to wear heavy denim jeans and canvas sneakers instead of quick dry cargo shorts and sandals. He had had two hours of sitting in his wet clothes on the bus to consider why he was in this predicament. You can guess what happened next.

Next day, lather, rinse, repeat. Minus the umbrella and jeans, at least. He still was starting to get a full-body rash from being in wet clothes so much.

Fourth day, pre-beer incident, my parents wised up enough to make this optimist with his undying faith in the sunny forecast symbol get out and show his raincoat, and then pack it in front of them, before they would take them to the bus.

This stylish, very expensive, brand name, survival grade rain coat did not have a hood. It was water proof, it fit well, but it assumed weather was a thing that moved straight down at all times, so it is always more versatile to just use a hat or umbrella.

That is not true in spring, or even summer, in Western Europe. Every weather deity has seen the BS that area of the planet has pulled, historically, and is not done punishing them for it. Rain can and does come out of nowhere, most likely with wind, at any angle it damn well pleases, and doesn't leave until it's ruined at least one outfit via the neck or shoulder seam. Maybe it lasts 10 minutes, could be all day. You want a garment that covers your head and core like the least flattering 19th century condom imaginable. Something that won't tear when slip and fall while you run for cover.

He got sent out with my dad's backup coat (approximately 20 years out fashion, five sizes too big and smelling as all emergency clothing does) and came home relatively dry. Progress.

The following afternoon, after a very, very quiet brunch, my mother calmly announced she was taking the boys into town, and our exchange student was going to buy a proper rain coat, because she raised a sensible child who would happily translate for his mother and the store employees, and our guest student had been deemed responsible enough act in his own best interests before he came over. She did not want to call this boy's parents to say he ended up in the ER. Certainly not for pneumonia.

Side fact: if something is commonplace in your host country, there's probably a decent version of it that's affordable in a nearby store. The Californian rain jacket had cost a sum that made my parents question his parents' good judgement. The tiny little "reverts into a silly little pillow you can strap around your waist" thing that actually kept him dry for the next week cost about 90% less.

He didn't complain about it, and my parents didn't report that night of drinking to any teacher. The kids were in 12th grade. My parents knew, from personal experience, that all teens will eventually do unspeakably stupid stuff, and getting tyrannical about it only makes them scared to call home when they really fuck up. They did, however, call all the other parents in class to tell them to check their students' rain coats, and that stores X, Y and Z had a deal on in case they were unpleasantly surprised.

Mysteriously, the teachers reported less "whining" during the second week. Less negative feedback from bus drivers about sopping wet seats. Less blue lips and fingers, because 21°C is way colder when you're soaked than when you're dry. Less vacation pictures with wet hair, too.

So listen to your host parents. About stuff that seems obvious, like maybe not starting your morning with a heavy ale, and about stuff that makes zero sense, like packing a rain coat on the sunniest day imaginable.

#exchange student #learn from my mistakes #mind the gap #culture shock #old man yells at cloud #life tips #European weather is a heartless bitch

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hectorisagoodboy · 5 months ago

Note

Hey I saw that you were curious about Hazbin so I wanted to give you a pitch from someone who likes the show and is in the fandom, taking some common complaints into account (with no spoilers!)

The premise is that Charlie Morningstar, princess of Hell, is running a hotel slash rehab center meant to get citizens of Hell redeemed and into Heaven (because Hell is majority overpopulated), alongside her girlfriend and a handful of friends and some allies who are definitely not friends.

The pacing is a little fast and occasionally inconsistent, but it's not narrative-breaking. There are roughly 2 songs (it's a musical!) per episode and many of them do a lot of narrative heavy lifting, which is a strength of the musical format that I'm glad the crew took advantage of. If the premise sounds interesting, look up "Happy Day in Hell" and give it a watch to see if you like it! It's a song from the first episode and it's a great introduction to characters and world. (Unfortunately Sir Pentious isn't in this one, but you won't have to wait long for him! His song is one of my favorites.)

A lot of people complain that the show's humor is just "sex, swearing, and violence." I wouldn't say that's NOT true, because it definitely earns its 18+ age rating and can take a little getting used to, but it does it better than a lot of shows in the same genre. Some adult shows read like they took a clean script and just added as many curse words as possible, but the swearing in Hazbin feels a lot more natural and the amount of swearing varies from character to character, which is a fun mode of characterization that a lot of shows can't do. There's violence, but I wouldn't describe it as gory. (If Invincible is a 10 on the gore scale, Hazbin is maybe a 5.) One episode (prefaced with an extra warning) deals with physical and sexual abuse, but the violence is never pointless, it's handled respectfully and in-character, and that episode has gotten lots of praise from real people who have survived those situations.

On the fandom side: internet communities surrounding Hazbin largely consist of two groups: the fandom and the "Vivziepop must die" crowd, which is a vocal minority. "Issues" tend to be stuff that's petty, quickly debunked, was always wrong, or is actually very normal in the animation industry but people just blame Vivzie for it despite it being much bigger than her. You can do your own research if you'd like, but take everything with a grain of salt. The general fandom is actually pretty chill, if slightly feral. Lots of theorizing, lots of art and fics, every shipping combination you can imagine, very few flame wars. Fandom hostility tends to come from outsiders rather than insiders.

I hope this helps you decide whether or not to give Hazbin a try!

Hola! 😁

Thank you very much! I'll definitely be checking out the series next week!

At the conventions I attended recently it was everywhere so I'm definitely curious. I don't have too many problems with violent or sexual content, as I've been a "Game of Thrones" fan for a long time! 🤣

I've already heard some of the songs and yes... They're very catchy!

But returning to the "comics and games" and conventions I recently attended here in Italy and the "weird fandom" subject, I must say that I found myself a little alarmed by the large number of fans of the series who were under the age of 18 (some of them were actually children)... 😐

Yep... That's weird! 😶

#thank you!#curiosity

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drabbles-mc · 2 years ago

Text

Won't Leave You Behind

Summary: When an op goes wrong and Steve gets left behind, the rest of his troop is left to call on the only team that is capable of getting him out in one piece. (military/no powers AU)

Warnings: 18+, angst (with a happy/hopeful ending), language, war/violence, hospitals, blood/injury

For the Alternate June-iverse Event Prompt: search & recsue

For @whumpril Day 26: short on time / explosion / "I won't leave you"

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Not me going into this fic telling myself that I wasn't going to get carried away and then getting extremely carried away. 😂 But I really did have so much fun creating this universe. It also gave me a change to include some of my other MCU faves so that was fun! I feel like I should preface this with the fact that I took every creative freedom known to man with the military aspects of this. It's fanfic we're just here to have a good time haha. Hope you enjoy! Also, shout-out to @buckybarnesevents for hosting this event! xo

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The medics area was controlled chaos. It’d gone from relatively quiet to anything but that when Sam’s team came back from their last mission out. Well, when what was left of Sam’s team had come back. No one had gotten any clear-cut answers yet as to what had happened, but the doctors who were running around tending to everyone’s wounds could take a pretty good guess.

Sam was lying on the table, trying his best to be a good patient as the doctor pulled a piece of shrapnel out of his side. A few centimeters in a different direction, and Sam knew that he wouldn’t have made it back to base. He would’ve been left behind just like—

“Everyone make it back?” Clint asked as he strode up to where Sam was laying, effectively cutting his train of thought short.

Sam’s grip on the bed beneath him tightened as he tried not to move and flinch from the pain of having his wounds tended to. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head as he forced out, “N-not everyone.”

Clint’s brows knit as he looked out over the medical bay. He tried to do a quick headcount, but with all of the moving bodies he knew it wasn’t going to happen. “Who?”

He shut his eyes tightly, partially from the pain, partially from just not wanting to say it. “Rogers.”

Clint’s lips immediately dropped to a frown as Sam’s answer hit him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Was he alive when you left?”

“Wasn’t gonna be for long.”

He hated how callous it sounded, but he knew that he couldn’t compromise the safety of the rest of his men any more than he already had because there was a slight chance that Steve was going to rally and be able to make it back with them. They’d hardly been able to get themselves out of the hot-zone—there was no chance he was risking going back into it. Not even for Steve.

There were going to be a thousand and one questions that Sam was going to have to answer. Those questions were going to be coming from people that were higher up in the chain of command than either Sam or Clint were. That’s how it always went with ops—if it went wrong, upper command got to come in and give the third degree and ream everyone out, but if it went right, upper command got to reap all the credit for it. It was a flawed system but it was the only one that they all had. None of them were doing this for the credit, anyway.

Sam finally pried his eyes open and looked over at Clint. The pain was still there but there was something else in his expression too as he said, “I didn’t wanna leave him there, Barton, but…”

Clint shook his head. “I know.”

“If I was good enough, or any of my guys, to go back and try to get him out, we would’ve. But you see this,” he gestured with one arm at the rest of the medical bay, “It would’ve been a suicide mission.”

“Think someone else would be able to get him out?” Clint asked.

Sam looked at him, curiosity almost outweighing the pain he was in. Almost. It was like he could almost actually see the cartoon lightbulb appear above Clint’s head. “Maybe. Why?”

“Barnes and his team might be able to get him back.”

Sam’s confusion only intensified. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Barnes?”

Clint nodded. “Sergeant Barnes and his team are almost exclusively search and rescue now. Best extraction team we’ve got. They’re dedicated almost solely to getting back soldiers that have been taken or left behind.”

“Success rate?”

“They’re still around, aren’t they?”

Sam couldn’t argue with that logic. He gave Clint a nod, and before he could even give him any kind of direction or next step, Clint was off and searching for the people who would, hopefully, be the solution to their problem.

The doctor who had been tending to him stepped away only a few moments after Clint had left. Sam tried to take advantage of the few seconds where no one was talking to him, prodding at him or stitching him up. He knew that it was the last few seconds of peace that he was going to get for a while now.

A few minutes later, Sam heard a few different sets of footsteps getting closer. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked to see who it was. His eyes widened slightly at the small team of soldiers heading in his direction. He had to assume that the man leading the pack was the Sergeant that Clint had told him about. He certainly carried himself like someone of importance.

Sam looked him over as he approached, unable to miss the metal arm and hand that was at his side. There was a story there, he knew that for sure. And even though Sam didn’t know what the story was, there was something about it that had him thinking that this man was cut out to survive just about anything.

He strode right up next to the bed that Sam was laying on, the rest of the team except for the woman right next to him falling back. Whoever they were, Sam could tell that they ran like a well-oiled machine. They all did—it was the nature of the job, but sometimes they came across people who just had an extra level to them that not everyone else did. Sam had the feeling that even though Barnes had a small team, each member of it had that extra level.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Sam said it like a question as he held his hand out for him to shake.

He nodded, reaching with his right hand and giving Sam’s a firm shake. “Wilson?”

“Yea.”

Bucky clasped his hands in front of him as he spoke. “Heard a man got left behind.”

Sam felt himself get defensive at the phrasing. There was no malice in Bucky’s tone, or even in his expression, but the wounds were still fresh enough for it to feel like a dig. Sam tried not to act on his emotions as he answered. “Yea, Rogers. It,” he shook his head, “it was a fucking mess out there. It all went sideways so fast. It was either risk everyone, or—”

“I get it,” Bucky cut him off with a nod. “Triage.”

Sam nodded, feeling a little less tense. “Triage.”

Bucky nodded towards the exit of the medic area, “Barton said you thought there was a chance someone could get him out?”

Sam took a deep breath, slowly situating himself so that he was sitting fully upright. “I mean, maybe. It was messy getting out. Explosions, I thought the whole damn thing was going to come down.” He paused, looking at Bucky, then at the rest of his team. “I don’t want to send you guys into something you won’t come out of, but I also can’t sit here and tell you that I don’t want to get my last man back.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll talk to your captain. Get the coordinates.” He shook Sam’s hand again. “We’ll bring him home.”

There was something about the way that Bucky moved and spoke that had Sam believing him when he wouldn’t have had the same faith in most other people. “Thank you.”

When Bucky walked away, Sam assumed that the rest of his team was going to be short to follow. And most of them were, except for the woman who was still standing by his bedside. She had yet to say anything to him, but Sam knew that she had been studying him the entire time.

Not knowing what else to do, he extended his hand out to her. “Wilson.”

She nodded as she shook his hand, the action brief as she introduced herself. “Romanoff.”

That was a name he recognized. He couldn’t hide it on his face, either. He never knew what circumstances would arise that would ever put the two of them in each other’s paths, but he certainly never thought it would be something like this. He’d heard enough about her, the damage she was capable of inflicting. She was one of the army’s most lethal assets, so Sam couldn’t help but to wonder how she ended up on a team that was dedicated to search and rescue. From the things he’d heard, she should’ve been scorching earth somewhere.

“Didn’t think you did extraction,” he finally said.

She shrugged. “Times change. Got too difficult to sleep—figured I would try to balance the scales a little bit.”

He nodded to where Bucky was standing talking to the commanding officers. “That why he pulled this team together?”

She shook her head. “No. Couple years back, Barnes was the one who got left behind. Cost him his arm, almost cost him his life.” She took a deep breath as she watched Bucky looking through the files he was being handed. “No one came for him—he got himself out. No one in their right mind thought that he was going to try and come back after what he’d been through, but he did. This team was his idea, and he was convincing enough that nobody was telling him no.”

“That how he got you to say yes?” he asked. “Or did you go to him?”

A tiny smirk curled her lips. “Depends who you ask.” She paused, looking back to Sam after looking at Bucky. “I went to him.” She gripped the edges of the tac-vest strapped across her chest. “We get a forty-eight hour window to go in and do what we get sent in to do before we’re declared missing or killed in action. Hasn’t come to that yet, though. We keep it simple—recovery only, no extra frills.”

Sam had a million more questions that he wanted to ask her, but he didn’t get the chance as Bucky called over, “Romanoff. Let’s go.”

Looking back over at Bucky, she nodded to let him know that she’d heard him before turning her attention back to Sam. “We’ll get him back.”

Sam nodded. “I believe you.”

Bucky was behind the wheel as they made their way towards the coordinates that they had been given. Natasha rode shotgun while the rest of their team rode in the back of the covered truck. They went over the run-down of the plan, the alternatives for if and when things inevitably hit the fan. The specifics changed with each mission, but the general layout was always the same. Their designated roles had worked well so far. If it’s not broke, no need to try and fix it.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Natasha spoke up as she watched Bucky staring intently at the land surrounding the road they were on.

He shook his head, not looking over at her as he said, “Just focused.”

She frowned, not believing him but not looking to cause an argument when they were approaching such a precarious point. She conceded with a simple, “Okay,” and decided that if she was going to press him about it, she’d do it later.

Sam and his team hadn’t been lying about the carnage. Sam’s team might’ve been the ones that had to retreat, but it looked like whoever they had run up against had lost their fair share of men in the mess of it all anyway. There were buildings on their last legs, and Bucky had the pervasive feeling that they were going to have to go into one of them to find who they were looking for. It wouldn’t be the worst setting they found themselves in, but the inherent lack of structural stability put a whole other layer of danger on top of whoever they might find themselves up against.

The deeper they went into the zone, the more Bucky couldn’t help but to think that Sam’s team was lucky that everyone else had made it out alive. The injuries it all caused were going to be quite the thing to contend with, but judging by the debris, it was a miracle that only one man got left behind. More than that, it was something else entirely that he might still be alive.

Once they reached the site, Bucky found himself following the footprints left behind until he came across the blood. The longer that he followed that trail, with each hallway and stairwell he came across, the more unlikely it became that when he found Steve that he was going to be alive. He didn’t give up hope, though—he knew better than that. Plus, no matter what the outcome was, Bucky knew that he wasn’t going back to the base empty-handed. Everyone deserved answers, closure, no matter how the situation ended up playing out.

Natasha and Bucky were paired up as usual, always the ones to go deepest into the mess, only calling for the next pair in the stagger if things got too volatile for just the two of them to handle alone. They moved quickly but cautiously, trying to make their footfalls as silent as possible as they traversed the rocks and rubble left behind by everything that had happened earlier.

They both froze when they heard the sound of footsteps, other voices not terribly close by, but still too close for comfort. They were a few hallways away. Bucky and Natasha stood and waited, hoping that they would pass, recede far enough to the point where they wouldn’t be a tangible threat to them anymore, just a looming one. After a few more moments, they both came to the conclusion at the same time that while whoever it was, wasn’t getting closer, they also weren’t retreating either.

“Go,” Natasha whispered with a nod. “I’ll backtrack and post up in case they get too close.”

“We don’t split up,” he argued quietly.

She shook her head. “I won’t be far. Besides, judging by the blood,” she nodded towards the red streaks on the ground, “we aren’t far from him.”

“If things go wrong—”

“You’ll hear it,” she finished the sentence for him, although it wasn’t what he was actually going to say. “Go. We’re all short on time, but Rogers especially.”

Bucky knew that she was right, that there was no time to argue. He was just going to have to trust that if things really did start going south, she would handle it or he would be able to get back to her in time to help her handle it. They’d always figured it out so far.

He followed the trail to the end of the hallway until he came to a closed door. He lowered his gun for a moment, holding it with just one hand as he used the other to reach for the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, but when he tried to push the door open, he was met with resistance. Something was behind it—Steve was attempting to block anyone from getting it. It would’ve been a smart move if Bucky had been someone who wasn’t there to rescue him.

The impulse to barge clean through the door was there. It would’ve been easy to do, but it also would’ve stripped away any anonymity that their team still had. So, instead, he slowly tried to force the door open. There was resistance, but he was able to get it part of the way open. He almost had it opened enough to get in when he heard someone moving on the other side, and then felt someone pushing back against him.

He froze for a moment, trying to think of what the next best move would be. He pushed against the door again, listening intently to try and catch any other sounds coming from the other side. When he gave another small push, he heard someone let out a grunt of pain. It was reassuring in a strange way, because it meant that it was most likely the injured man he was looking for, not someone else who was looking to harm everyone present.

“Rogers?” Bucky spoke quietly as he pressed his shoulder into the door again. He paused and waited for a response he assumed wasn’t going to come. “Wilson sent me.” Another small push. Another lack of response from the person on the other side of the door. “My name is Sergeant Barnes. I’m here to get you home.”

It was silent for a few more seconds, and it crossed Bucky’s mind that he might just have to push his way in and hope for the best. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone fought back against being rescued out of fear. He couldn’t blame them, these people who were left to their own devices and taught that when in doubt, assume everyone is a threat, were just doing what they had been trained to do. He was asking them to go against all those months of training, against the rewiring of their instincts. It wasn’t easy—he knew that firsthand.

“I’m gonna push the door open,” he said honestly, “so you should probably move.”

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he could hear shuffling behind the door. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that that meant he wasn’t going to be met with any kind of resistance when he entered, but it was a win for now. Taking a deep breath, he gave another push, enough to make the doorway wide enough for him to slip through with ease.

Once he was inside, he brought his other hand back to his gun. He didn’t raise it, didn’t want to put that energy out there, but he also needed to be ready for the worst-case scenario. Looking around, he didn’t immediately see the man he’d been sent to rescue. Bucky assumed that he was crouched behind something, ducking and waiting to be on the defensive. That’s what Bucky would’ve done if the roles were reversed.

“Rogers?” he said, voice still quiet. He took a couple slow, calculated steps deeper into the room. “We don’t have a lot of time. You know that better than anyone, right?” Another step. “So, let’s get you out of here.”

Bucky could hear Steve’s breathing now, labored and shallow. He stepped around an overturned cabinet and came face-to-face with the whole reason anyone came back at all. Steve was sitting on the ground, back against the wall, gun pointed directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky held his hands up in surrender for a moment before slowly moving to holster his gun, telling Steve exactly what he was doing as he was doing it. Neither of them took their eyes off the other. Bucky had skimmed over Steve’s file. What he’d read didn’t sync up with the man shuddering in front of him, and that’s how he knew how dire the situation really was. While Steve’s eyes didn’t waver from Bucky’s face, Bucky couldn’t help but to notice the fact that there was blood coming from Steve’s side, and from his thigh. At first glance, he couldn’t tell if it was shrapnel or if they were bullet wounds—there was too much blood. That was for the medics to figure out anyway.

“We’re just here to help, Rogers.”

Steve’s hands were shaking around his gun, from nerves or blood loss was anyone’s guess. “Sam sent you?” he asked, finally speaking even though his voice came out strained.

Bucky nodded, relief showing in every facet of his body and facial expression. “He did.”

The trembling in Steve’s hands intensified for a moment and then he finally lowered his gun. His muscles went slack, and suddenly he looked even smaller than he had before, which was an impressive feat for a man who wasn’t small at all.

Neither of them said anything as Bucky crouched down to help get Steve back on his feet. Bucky draped Steve’s arm over his shoulders, slipping his own arm across Steve’s back to brace him. The metal of his hand was harsh against the bruised and scraped skin of Steve’s back, but they both knew that the little bit of extra strength and power was going to be what allowed Bucky to keep Steve upright, what would give them the ability to get out fast enough so that they didn’t lose their window.

Steve was gripping onto the fabric that covered Bucky’s shoulder, balling it in his fist like it was an anchor. Every limped step forward towards the door felt like a herculean effort. It crossed his mind that he had done all this work to get so far away from it all, trying to get out of harm’s way, and now he was going to have to double-back and go through it all over again. He didn’t know if he was going to have the strength for that. He didn’t know if he was going to make it, if the blood loss was finally going to get to him.

“You with me?” Bucky asked, almost like he could hear Steve’s thoughts.

“Sarge, I don’t know if—”

“Bucky,” he cut Steve’s thought short.

“What?”

Bucky grunted as he pulled the door open a little wider to allow them both to slip through without causing Steve to slam any of his injuries against the doorframe in the process. “Call me Bucky. Everyone on my team calls me Bucky, and you’re on my team now.”

Steve nodded, trying as best he could to help them both get through the door and down the hall in the most coordinated fashion that they could manage. “Bucky, I don’t know if I’m going to make it back.”

“You will,” he said with all the certainty in the world.

“But—”

“I’ve never lost a member of my team, Rogers. Everyone always makes it home.” The one way or another was implied, but Bucky never left anyone behind. That was the whole point of it, after all.

Steve tried to take a deep breath, tried not to think about how unsteady it was, the way that it stuttered in his throat on the way down. He knew better than to waste energy on arguing with the man who was carrying him, especially when he didn’t have any energy to spare, and also when it seemed like Bucky wasn’t the type of man to lose an argument.

They were just about to reach the end of the hallway when the muffled quiet of the building was broken by the sounds of gunfire. Both Bucky and Steve hesitated at the same time. They looked at each other, each trying to figure out what the best plan of action was going to be.

“Could use a hand out here, Bucky!” Natasha’s voice rose above all the rest of it.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed under his breath. He looked at Steve, determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw as he said, “We’re gonna keep going.”

“You can’t risk that,” Steve argued, not that it mattered much because Bucky was still continuing to get them both down the hallway. “It’s not,” he sucked in a breath, “it’s not worth it. You need to get your team out of here.”

“You’re my team too.”

Steve admired the attempt Bucky was making to try and give him something extra to cling onto, but in Steve’s mind it wasn’t the time for that. “Your real team.”

Bucky shook his head as he reached with his free hand to unholster his gun. “We don’t leave anyone behind.”

The gunfire got louder the closer they got to it. Steve hadn’t ever felt so useless. He reached for his weapon as well, knowing full-well that if push came to shove it wasn’t going to do him much good. Still, he couldn’t go into a firefight empty-handed.

Natasha spared a split-second glance over her shoulder when she heard the footsteps behind her, just long enough to confirm that it was someone who was on her side. “Good,” she said, eyes already back facing front as she quickly reloaded her gun, “you found him.”

“Yea,” Bucky waited until he saw a flash of someone trying to dart from one room to the other, pulling the trigger and being rewarded with the sight of them collapsing to the floor. “He tried to tell me to leave him.”

She shook her head, still leading their little trio and firing as she went. “We don’t do that.”

They were almost to the stairwell, almost to a few precious moments of safety, when there was a gunshot that was followed by the sound of Steve letting out a grunt of pain. He slumped even heavier against Bucky, nearly causing them both to go down. Bucky managed to brace himself, knowing that he needed to figure out what just happened but he wasn’t going to be doing triage in the middle of a gunfight.

“Nat,” he said.

That was all she needed. “Got it,” she responded with a nod as she maneuvered so that she was standing behind them, covering their backs while Bucky got them to the door that put them in the stairwell. It felt like it took longer to cover the last few feet of the hall than everything else leading up to that moment combined.

The door clanged shut behind the three of them and it was only then that Bucky let out the breath he’d been holding. He slowly lowered Steve to the ground so he could try and get a better look at his injuries.

“Where?” Bucky asked as he looked Steve over.

Steve winced through the pain as he brought his hand to his thigh, the same one that was already injured. Sure enough, Bucky could see the fresh blood that was coming out of it. His mind was going at a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what to do, trying to come up with something that he could tie it off with.

“Here.” Natasha tossed him the rope she carried in the pack that was strapped to her. Every member of the team carried some version of an escape tool along with their weapons. It was just good logistics. “Cut a piece of that and tie his leg off.”

Bucky was grabbing his knife to do it before she even finished the direction. Steve watched him, shaking his head. All the effort they were putting in and he still had the feeling that he wasn’t going to make it anyway.

“You two should go,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt Bucky starting to tie the rope off around his leg. “Get yourselves back while you can.”

“That’s not how it works,” Bucky said as he tightened the rope just a little more, causing Steve to squirm.

“Bucky—”

Bucky pried his eyes away from Steve’s bleeding leg to look into his eyes. The resoluteness in them was enough to silence him before Bucky even said anything. “If one of us makes it back,” he put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, “we both do. If one of us stays behind,” his grip tightened just slightly, “we both do. I told you—I don’t leave anyone behind. I won’t leave without you.”

Steve wanted to argue it. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but there was something about the tone of Bucky’s voice and the look in his eyes that kept him silent. Steve could tell that everything that Bucky was saying to him, he really meant it. It wasn’t just lip-service.

“We’re in this together until we both make it home. ‘Til the end of the line, alright?”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to muster up what little strength he still had. “Alright,” he let Bucky get him back to his feet, “’Til the end of the line.”

Getting down the stairs and out of the building wasn’t easy. The only saving grace was that by the time they hit the ground floor of the building they were in, the next two members of Bucky’s team were there and ready to tag in, help cover them with enough fire to make sure that they all got out alive. It freed Natasha up to help Bucky all but carry Steve out of the building and to their truck. Both of them could feel the way that Steve was supporting himself less and less as the seconds passed, but neither of them commented on it. There was nothing helpful to say about it, so they said nothing at all.

One of Bucky’s men was already behind the wheel, keys in the ignition and engine on in preparation for a quick take-off. That was always the way they operated. Bucky drove them all in, and someone else always drove them all out. A well-oiled machine.

The back tires of their truck kicked up all manner of dust and rocks as they sped off. They could hear the pinging of bullets off the enforced sides of their covered truck as they got away. It only lasted for a short time, the people who were shooting at weren’t that determined to get them. The entire team was considering themselves lucky for that.

Once the bullets stopped, it was silent except for the thrum of the truck’s engine and the tires gripping up the dirt on the road beneath them. No one said anything, which wasn’t unusual. There wasn’t always much to say after a mission. And in this case, like many of them, the mission wasn’t over. There was a lot hanging in the balance on the ride between where they were now and the base that they needed to get to.

They had Steve lying across the seats on one side of the truck, trying to keep him as level and steady as possible. Bucky was watching the wounds in his leg carefully. The rope did a decent enough job of slowing the blood for not being a real tourniquet.

Bucky could see the way that the color was continuing to drain from Steve’s face. He gently shook his shoulder, trying to keep him from slipping into total unconsciousness. “Rogers, come on, stay with me.”

He coughed, eyes still closed. “Steve.”

“What?”

“My name is Steve. My friends call me Steve.”

“Alright, Steve,” Bucky corrected himself, nodding even though Steve’s eyes weren’t open, “stay with me.”

All the begging and bargaining in the world wasn’t going to change how things were going to play out, so Bucky didn’t bother. Instead, he did what he could. He tried to keep Steve awake, tried to ask him questions that he could give one-word answers to in order to keep him talking. He was partially successful, Steve faded in and out a couple times but he kept coming back.

When the truck rolled to a stop back on base, it’d hardly been put in park before medics were ripping the back door of it open. They fired off questions as they carried him inside, questions that Bucky answered with the most precision he could offer.

Within seconds, they’d whisked Steve off to take care of him. Out of sight, certainly not out of mind. Bucky could’ve waited, paced just on the side of the medical bay where he was allowed. Instead, he wove his way back through until he found Sam again still lying on his bed but in much better condition than when Bucky had seen him hours beforehand.

Sam heard Bucky’s footsteps before he saw him, and for a moment he didn’t want to turn and face him, afraid of what the news was going to be. He knew that he couldn’t avoid it forever, though. So he slowly turned, unable to say anything, unable to breathe, counting on Bucky to say something first.

“We got him back,” Bucky said with a nod.

Sam’s body went lax with relief against the mattress. He got himself sitting upright, reaching out and clutching Bucky’s hand in his own, pulling him into a brief embrace. “Thank you.”

Bucky nodded as he took a step back. “It’s what we all do.”

Sam noticed the way that Bucky was looking around, looking towards the door. “You should stay,” he said, “should be here when he wakes up.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment. So often it was one thing and then right off onto the next. There was always more to do, more people to save. But he could spare a few hours, he supposed, before heading off again. If he had to leave, then he would, but for the moment he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t try to linger and wait.

“Okay.”

Sam gave a nod. “Okay.”

It wasn’t nearly as long as Bucky thought it was going to be. Before he knew it, Steve was stirring in the bed beside the chair that Bucky found himself sitting in. He was nose-deep in a personnel file, Steve’s to be exact.

Steve blinked slowly a few times, eyes adjusting to the light, brain adjusting to consciousness. “Bucky?”

He lifted his eyes from the folder in his hands, letting it drop to his lap as he looked over at Steve. “Told you we’d make it back.”

Steve chuckled, nodding as he slowly shifted himself so that he was sitting somewhat upright. “You did say that, yea.” He cleared his throat, wincing slightly as he did. “Thank you, for saving me.”

Bucky never really knew how to handle the thank-you’s. It wasn’t what he did it for, but he knew that they always came. “Every man in, every man out.”

“Every time?” Steve asked.

He nodded. “Every time.”

Steve let his head rest back against the wall, letting his eyes shut for a moment. “Your team is lucky.”

Bucky let out a small chuckle. Lucky wasn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe his team, not with some of the asks that he put on them, not with the circumstances he dropped in their laps on a regular basis. “Don’t know if they’d say the same thing.”

“They would,” Steve replied, a certainty in his voice that Bucky hadn’t had the opportunity to head when he was knocking on death’s door.

“I told you, Steve, you’re part of that team now too.”

Steve nodded, still not opening his eyes, still not turning to look directly at Bucky. “Guess that means I’m also lucky.”

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday26 #explosion #short on time #i won't leave you #connect4au #across the juneiverse #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes x steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #stevebucky #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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pwblogarchive · 4 months ago

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March 2004

March 2, 2004

"And the oldest movie I ever saw was the one we wrote together..." So I know I wrote about it already. But the dvd is turning out brilliantly. I guess there was a reason to film all of that footage early on (we can laugh now). It makes me so happy to see these kids in my band and how I don't think I could share a stage with anyone else (we'll make you fall in love too). The artwork looks insane too, it is comprised of valentines form the 1930s its so sad yet romantic (aren't we all). Anyway. Getting ready for europe. Want me to sneak you in my bag?

- petey

March 13, 2004

lovers.

england is amazing. its so strange to hear our words coming out of mouths across an ocean. we have been able to hang out with some bands over here that we have not crossed paths with in the states and have talked about doing tours with them, the fight and senses fail (i can drop hearts as easy as you drop names). we've been writing a bunch of new stuff since we have been over here, i hope you get to hear it soon. the chocolate here is sex everything else is not quite as sex. we are sharing a bus with the god awfuls- they are loud and funny. new morrissey record is gonna be hot.

you are the quarry.

Me being sleepy in England

right off the bus looking for cherry cokes and the internet, lazy bones.

i can't wait to kiss you on the mouth.

- petey

March 17, 2004

here is the soundtrack to us falling in love:

the academy- ep- dont sleep they are gonna be huge

joy division- she's lost control

electronic- the old one

kent- velvet

bane- "can we start again?"

the weakerthans

carcass- only post heartwork

june- sick and underrated chicago band

i know you might roll your eyes at this but i'm so glad that you exist.

dear america, see you in a couple of days.

- petey

March 18, 2004

7:18 pm.

“all the failures die starryeyed”

it`s funny by the time you realize who your real friends are you don`t have any. i`m sorry. please call me.

March 22, 2004

“young hearts be free tonight, time is on your side”

back from europe. we took it over. we leave for atlanta tonight. more about that later. they sold our cd at the heathrow london airport. i am so into rod stewart right now except for real. the best love songs- some guys have all the luck.

March 22, 2004

“love is blind but not deaf”

Its funny howmuch you run your mouth when I am out of town. Your stories have gotten so much better than you ever were. I'm sick of the phonecalls asking me about the shit you say. You are a flash in the coffin. The hits feel like the joke, watching your teeth fall out is the punchline. Those that live in glasshearts shouldn't throw stones (and I bet you never thought I knew). I'm not your friend anymore.

If you think this is about you. It is.

March 23, 2004

Let me start this by saying people who need prefaces are those unsure, halfway there- arguments can't stand on there own (neither can we). In writing rules exist but are never followed. That is my preface. What you are going to read won't make sense but this preemptive paragraph makes that okay (because I know it). I'm not the kind of kid who believes in god or luck. But I somehow always find myself dropping prayers on takeoffs on airplanes and dodging cracks in the sidewalk. I'm not the kind of kid who believes in much of anything anymore. Just in feeding this paper and phonereciever lies (its always hungry for more). Yes, this is my subtle way of saying I'm sorry or I don't care anymore. To me love can be figured out like card counting, you always take cards on 11s (the house always wins). I wouldn't have anything to write if I wasn't dealt such bad hands. This keyboard covers the stuttering well. Break a name, drop a heart. Its all the same.

Don't believe a word. Iin my moind me and you are so far away all the time.

Don't get me wrong.

I am honestly having the time of my life.

I just want to sink to the bottom with you.

- petey

March 24, 2004

whenever i think of your arms

i forget what street to turn on.

March 27, 2004

"this is love, this is murderous"

Florida has been amazing. Its great to be back. Its like summer here all year. Our label took us out to universal studios. Brilliant. The faces here feel like home. We got to hang out with our good friends in bleeding through and see them play. They smoke. More later.

Ps the only two movies worth a shit right now are amelie and dawn of the dead. Its tough times for dreamers.

Peter cottontail

Iwanttosinktothebottomwithyou.

March 31, 2004

You can live with me in this house I built with writers blocks. I finished writing the clandestine story. I think its okay, now my friend tim beidron has to finish drawing it. Florida was amazing. Saw lots of old faces. Do you ever think sometimes you can't wait to be years away from now and content and succesful and done with all the turbulence?

I do.

Goodbless repeat play on my stereo.

- petey

#fall out boy #pete wentz #livejournal #pete wentz livejournal

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bitbybitwrites · 6 months ago

Note

Am I late for the writing game?

5, 18, 44 and pick one you really, really want to answer and no one's asked yet :)

It's never too late! 😉

5. How much writing do you get done on an average day?

Oh this is embarassing - not very much, to be honest. Its not that I wouldn't want to. But after dealing with work, then family, then chores/ housework, I'm exhausted . . and its late at night when I finally have time to just myself. By that time I'm almost always fighting sleep, so I can get very little done. So most of my writing is done in tiny spurts here and there. Like I can sometimes squeeze in 10-15 minutes in the morning before I run to work . . . maybe I can write something before I pass out for the night. If I'm lucky to take the train into the city or I'm stuck in like a waiting room for awhile, I can get nice big chunks of writing done. I always carry a journal with me to jot things down in, then I transfer it onto my computer when I get a chance. So whenever I preface with "I'm a slow writer", its not only because sometimes it takes forever for me to get the words right. It's literally because I'm so swamped with other things I have little time to focus on writing.

18. If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?

I'll be honest - I''m not sure collaboration is in my future - I think I'd frustrate the hell out of another writer if they were waiting for me to hand in my portion ( see question above) and I am a little anal retentive when it goes to editing and stuff and wanting writing styles to mesh so it would seem like a seamless transition from one person's work to another, I'm sure that would drive them crazy as well 😂😂😂 But all that aside . . . if none of that mattered . . I don't know. if we're talking published authors - I think Neil Gaiman and Casey McQuiston would be fun to write with. I also love Amy Tan and Kevin Kwan's writing I love too . . also Bill Bryson ( though he's a non fiction writer, not fiction). If we are talking fan fic - god . . too many to count. You all are so damn good I really can't pick one. Though I have to say if we ever wrote anything together, I can imagine the amount of angst ( esp blangst) that would be coming out of those pages. It might drive readers insane 😂

44. How much research do you do?

It really depends on the story - though I can be prone to going down research rabbit holes if I find something interesting 😂. But that was the part I loved about school - the research, the learning of new things.

. . .and pick one you really, really want to answer and no one's asked yet :). this was hard to choose, so I'll go with this one:

40. Share some backstory for one of your characters

I'll share some tidbits about an OC I created for If I Can Make Your Heart My Home that I've noticed a many of my readers like: Lillian Anderson ( Blaine's English grandmother)

Lillian is a talented musician herself (piano and violin).

She met her husband while auditioning for the London Symphony Orchestra. He was concertmaster at the time. She auditioned for 2nd violin chair.

After they married, he became a conductor and they traveled a bit relocating to whatever orchestra her husband worked with at the time, before settling in New York for a bit - where they had their son and raised him.

They returned to England for the most part after their son (Bradford) finished college, and they began a good deal of philanthropic work ( mostly arts based) until their grand children were born. Then they would travel back and forth, so they could spend as much time as they could with Cooper and Blaine.

Fun fact: Blaine's middle name (Devon) was a nod to Lillian's paternal roots - her own family hailing from Devon, England. During the summers Lillian would whisk the grandkids back off to Devon to bond, especially after her husband passed.

Her moody tortoiseshell cat, Schumann is named after composer Robert Schumann

***

Thanks so much for the asks, @heartsmadeofbooks! 💖💖💖💖

Click here to play

#ask game #bitbybitwrites

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e1ectrostatic · 6 months ago

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30 Day Fictionkind Challenge Day 18

Q: Does fictionkinity connect to neurodivergence for you?

A: Again, not inherently, but to me, yes.

Just to preface: I'll be talking not only about neurodivergence, but I'll also take the chance to talk a bit about mental illness and the psychological aspects of my fictionkinity in general.

And obligatory disclaimer: Again, treat this more like a diary entry rather than an encyclopedia entry. It's just me rambling about my own experiences and thoughts.

First of all, I'm neurodivergent in this life (obviously SHFJHVSDJA otherwise I would've answered no), and my fictotypes all exhibit many traits and behaviors that this society would classify as evidence of neurodivergence. I think having "unorthodox", sometimes debilitating and sometimes advantageous ways of looking at things, accomplishing tasks, and interacting with others is just a part of me. This way of cognitive function labelled as "neurodivergence" (being purposefully broad for privacy reasons) has followed me time and time again to the point I believe it's here to stay. Despite my troubles, I'm glad for it.

Beyond that though, I do think there's some psychological basis for my fictionkinity. I honestly think I just came with alterhumanity factory installed in this life lmao, thanks to the way my brain is wired. My connection to fiction and my interests in general were always "different" from neurotypical peers. I'm happy to embrace it.

So, using my past experiences as a reference, I wouldn't be surprised if my being fictionkin was just another one of many things affected by my neurodivergence. I mean, my brain is the main organ that allows me to experience this world, so I believe it influences every aspect of my life, at least somewhat.

For one, I've always liked to take an "immersive" approach to fiction. Sometimes it was out of escapism, sometimes it helps analysis, sometimes it's just for fun. I often "insert" myself into fictional worlds when picking them apart, especially when I really like the media. This way of thinking helps me discover (or disprove) kintypes, noemata, and memories. It also makes me feel more in tune with my already-confirmed kintypes.

For two, obsessive research and introspection are my best friends. All I want is knowledge. If I'm interested in something, I'll study it. I'll study random things for fun. If something gets me thinking or questioning, I'll dwell on it for months if not years. It feels really nice in particular to know more about myself and how I work. This way of thinking has also helped me realize I'm fictionkin as well as learn & discover more about my fictotypes.

Not that I'm saying neurotypical people don't have these experiences, nor am I saying if you engage with fiction and/or your interests in this way, you're automatically neurodivergent. It's just that I already know I'm neurodivergent, so I know these traits of mine (and others I haven't mentioned) are a product of it.

But, if I can get off topic, even though I feel my fictionkinity has some psychological basis, I still tire of the narrative that genuinely identifying as a fictional character or entity is inherently harmful and/or borne from mental illness. It's not psychological for everyone. In my specific case, I don't believe my fictionkinity is a product of mental illness. Perhaps it may influence it in some ways, but that's nothing new; mental illness influences many if not most aspects of my life. Either way, I'm not hurting myself or anyone else, I'm literally just existing. In fact, accepting myself and expressing myself has enriched my life and noticeably improved my mental health, so what's the issue?

And frankly, people really need to be more accepting of those who do consider their fictionkinity/alterhumanity to be borne from or influenced by mental illness. Just because you think the way someone functions is "weird" doesn't automatically mean it's harmful or warrants your "help". Be respectful and treat them how they wish to be treated. Know their boundaries and follow them. Like you do with literally anyone else.

Alright, that's the end of my getting off topic.

But yeah, to sum it up, my fictionkinity is not caused (at least not completely) by neurodivergence or psychological factors in general. Like I said in response to yesterday's prompt, there are metaphysical factors at play too, plus I like to think of myself as something outside of the dichotomy entirely. I don't even know where the psychological explanations end and the metaphysical explanations begin, or if it's all just one big melting pot.

I do know though that at the very least, my neurodivergence was likely a big help in the process of discovering I'm fictionkin, and goes hand in hand with my alterhumanity in general. How my brain is wired has also equipped me with unique ways to engage with fiction and identity as a whole. That's enough for me to feel like there's at least some connection between my fictionkinity and my neurodivergence.

This was a nice prompt. The psychological and metaphysical aspects of alterhumanity are interesting to me in general, so I enjoyed taking some time to think about my experience. I'm filing away some extra thoughts to elaborate on in future writings if I so choose.

#fictionkin #30 day fictionkind challenge #kin stuff #alterhuman psychology

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dweetwise · 2 years ago

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[Riconti] Good at pretending

Chapter 18: Morning after

Word count: 1.3k [previous] [next]

The next morning had Felix waking up with Ace still in his arms.

But unlike every other morning, he was in no rush to leave the bed. Felix merely reached over to silence the phone alarm before settling right back against his half-asleep companion and wrapping an arm around him.

The movement made Ace start stirring, yawning and blinking awake against Felix’s chest, Felix relishing in the way Ace's body pressed closer to his own while the man stretched and arched his back like a cat.

And when Ace finally looked up at him with a sleepy, satisfied smile and morning-tousled hair, Felix decided this was how he wanted to start every day from now on.

“Morning," Ace murmured.

Felix wondered if Ace could feel the way his heart was doing somersaults in his chest. “Good morning," he simply said.

They continued to gaze into each other's eyes in the soft morning light. Any lingering reservations Felix may have had about Ace coming to regret this – especially once the effects of the alcohol wore off – were silenced by the look of unfiltered adoration in Ace's eyes.

"Did last night really happen?" Ace asked. His voice was quiet, like saying it out loud would break the spell between them.

Felix exhaled a sigh of relief. "God, I hope so.”

He was aware that he sounded a little desperate, but he really didn’t care; especially not once Ace's hesitant smile grew into a grin upon hearing the words.

"You sure it wasn't just a really good dream?" Ace asked. "Maybe a shared hallucination – the desserts could've had a little extra something, you never know!"

Felix blinked and tried to get his brain to boot up properly, having trouble following Ace's nonsensical rambling this early in the morning.

"– But, geez, I should not be allowed to talk about feelings when I've been drinking," Ace kept going. "That's apparently how you end up confessing your undying love to someone you've only kissed for the first time that same day. That's not moving too fast, that's moving lightyears ahead and, honestly, probably some kind of clinginess world record –"

"I don't recall you talking this much in the mornings," Felix grumbled.

That finally gave Ace pause. Felix smiled down at him to hopefully make it clear that he wasn't upset in any way.

"Well, to be fair," Ace continued, a confident grin back in place. "The other mornings weren't prefaced by making out with and drunk-confessing to the guy you've been pining over for years."

Years. Ace had been wanting this for years and hadn't said anything, and Felix –

"Ähm." Felix cleared his throat. "I don't think anything you said was nearly as embarrassing as me freaking out over a simple joke and almost ruining everything.”

"Oh, pssht." Ace waved his hand. "That was also completely, one-hundred-and-ten-percent my fault."

Felix frowned at the incorrect mathematics but decided to let it go. "And I am one hundred percent sure that you did nothing wrong."

"Well – hm," Ace considered. Then, he tilted his head with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I guess I should've realized that the King of Awkwardness might have a pretty high tolerance for bumbling fake-boyfriends making a fool out of themselves."

Felix chuckled, playing along. "If I was the king of awkwardness, I would definitely pardon you."

Ace grinned and bowed his head. "Thank you, your majesty."

"I mean it.” Felix brought their foreheads together. “You never have to apologize for sharing your feelings."

"Well, you still haven't run for the hills, so…" Ace said, bumping his nose against Felix's. "Maybe I'll agree with that."

Their eyes closed and they basked silently in the closeness of the early morning. Felix struggled to find the words he wanted to say; he cared for Ace so much, but he wondered if Ace was upset with him for not being able to say those three words back just yet.

But Ace was merely nuzzling closer, seeming more than content with the situation.

"And based on the thoroughly exhaustive hold you have around me, I'm not going anywhere, either." Ace's breath brushed over Felix's face, his tone teasing.

And Felix realized that he had – maybe unconsciously – tightened his arms around Ace and lifted his leg over Ace's calves to envelop him even further.

"Sorry," Felix apologized. He moved to extract himself from the embrace, but Ace merely tugged him closer by his sleep shirt.

"I didn't say that was a bad thing," Ace murmured, his voice rough with something that made Felix's stomach do an excited leap. "Just that maybe all this morning cuddling could use a little morning kissing."

Felix didn't need to be told twice.

They both leaned in and as soon as their lips met, Felix's entire body tingled with the realization that they got to just kiss whenever they wanted now.

Unfortunately, Ace pulled away much faster than Felix would have liked and he made a quiet sound of protest.

"Sorry," Ace apologized. "Morning breath."

"I don't care," Felix said.

Ace smiled and pulled Felix back in to kiss him again – properly this time. Felix's lips moved firmly over Ace's and he could hear as much as feel Ace's soft, satisfied hum against his lips and vibrating through Ace's body.

Felix felt so good. Everything was quiet and warm and soft, the rustling of the sheets and Ace's beard rubbing against Felix's morning stubble the only sounds in the stillness of the room.

Of course, that was exactly when an ear-splitting scream echoed through the hallway and they flinched and parted.

"Ah, looks like our dearest bride-to-be is awake," Ace joked.

"We should start getting ready," Felix reluctantly noted.

"Normally I'd protest, but I really don't wanna piss her off right now."

They got themselves ready while Felix tried to reorient himself to the harsh reality of the rest of the world. After the warm comfort of hiding under the covers with the man he adored, attending his cousin’s wedding was the very last thing he wanted to be doing. He had half a mind to fake being sick so he and Ace could stay in their room all day.

Felix pushed the childish idea from his head. They had come this far in the week already, and avoiding the main event would only bring more questions and scrutiny from his relatives. It was a miracle that they’d survived the week without any larger incidents –

“You okay?” Ace asked.

He was looking at Felix knowingly, and Felix knew that if he asked, Ace would go along with his plan – no questions asked.

Felix smiled. “Just busy trying to talk myself out of skipping the wedding entirely.”

“Ha!” Ace laughed. “Do you think it’s too late to sneak out? We could tie a rope from the sheets and escape through the window.”

Felix chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to have to explain to Agnes why we tore her favorite vintage bedding. I’m sorry, I know we have to go, it’s just –”

“Hey,” Ace said, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “It’s okay; I’ll be right there with you.”

Warmth seeped into Felix’s skin from the contact and he brought up his hand to gently squeeze Ace’s wrist.

“I know.” Felix managed a hesitant smile. “And that’s all I could ask.”

“You’ve got this – we’ve got this,” Ace stressed. “It’s just one more day, and then we’re free as birds and never have to listen to a single boring wedding toast from your drunk uncles ever again.”

The reminder that this was the last day should have made Felix feel relieved, but instead a strange melancholy twisted deep in his gut. “Just one more day,” Felix agreed.

Ace grinned. “Then let’s get this show on the road!”

With that, they finished getting ready while Felix tried his best to ignore the occasional German cursing and screaming echoing through the mansion. Before heading out, Felix took one last, steadying breath and steeled himself for the exhausting ceremony he knew was in store for them.

This was going to be a long day.

#riconti #felix richter #ace visconti #felix x ace #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight

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jincherie · 5 years ago

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kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

Taehyung’s face is a question mark and Jimin squints, confused and still huffy about nearly losing his fingers and his triple-shot iced caramel latte that he may or may not have charmed the barista into gifting him for free. He wants to know what is going on and he wants to know NOW, damn it!

“What are you on about?” he asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes his drink into hand to prevent any future risk of spillage. “Why do you look like that time you ran the half-marathon on a dare?”

Jungkook glares at him, but it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a puppy. “Be quiet and sip your drink,” he says boldly, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Jimin considers throwing a retort back but ultimately decides against, it, shrugging and doing just that. He doesn’t want it getting warm, after all.

“Uh, yeah,” Taehyung says, sounding like he is a split second away from tacking on ‘duh’ at the end. “You asked me for a cheerleading uniform? I thought you knew some chick that needed a spare, I didn’t know you wanted one to wear.”

At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression, Taehyung takes the liberty of continuing. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it? You look surprisingly hot in a skirt, your ass looks fine as hell. But you seem kind of angry so IN MY DEFENSE, how was I supposed to know? That you wanted a male uniform? You never specified so—”

While each word that came out of Taehyung’s mouth just seemed to rile him up more, a different look passes over Jungkook’s features at that comment. “Wait, my ass looks good?” He straightens, attempting to peer over his own shoulder to catch a glimpse. “I wonder if she… No!”

He shakes his head suddenly to clear those thoughts and get back on track, whipping that same accusing finger in Taehyung’s face once more and levelling him with a renewed glare.

“Because of you, I just had the most humiliating experience of my life, and it was all in front of you-know-who!” His voice starts strong, but as he continues it shrinks to more of an angry whisper, his brows scrunched in a clear display of his displeasure. “I literally am about to commit seppuku.”

“Weeb,” Jimin utters at the same time as Taehyung asks, “y/n?” Jimin’s head whips up at the keyword.

Jungkook’s fight has all but left him at this point, and he pulls out one of the metal chairs to slump in it, defeatedly. His ears are turning crimson again as he recalls the events that had traumatised him so, and he slams his head to the table with a groan, muttering to himself in a voice that sounds dangerously like a sob.

“—stupid, was so stupid of me. I never should have asked Seokjin-hyung for advice. For actually listening I deserve nothing short of death. I’m so embarrassed I’m gonna throw myself into the lake.”

“Don’t throw yourself in there, think of the fishes—” Taehyung says at the same time as Jimin squawks, “WHAT?! You got advice from Seokjin?! He knows who your crush is? Oh my god, you’re more stupid than I thought…”

It’s all Jungkook can do to simply rest his head on the grubby-feeling table, eyes unfocused as he stares into the distance and regrets almost every single decision he has made in his waking life.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“My roommate,” Seokjin says, in between gratuitous sips of his monstrously sugary drink. “I think I’m almost about to get him to crack.”

“I feel bad for him,” you say, not looking up from your laptop despite the urge to gorge on your own drink. You made a goal not to look like a goblin when you woke up this morning and sipping your drink at a reasonable pace is a good start. “Being stuck in close quarters with you all the time. No doubt he needs therapy by now.”

As expected, Seokjin ignores you. You wonder if this is how he has managed not to get usurped as leader of the Contemporary Poetry Performance Club.

(To condense a very long story— he didn’t take being kicked out of the Drama Club very well. That’s on him though, he probably shouldn’t have called the Club Leader a tasteless fool for ordering a salad with his Happy Meal instead of nuggets. But, you digress.)

“I think I’m getting close these days,” the male muses, not-so-subtly making a reach for the McDonalds apple pie you have resting on the table next to your laptop. You smack his hand away without so much as a blink, more than used to having to defend any and all food from his wandering hands by this point. He continues, unaffected by the rebuttal, “Like, really close. It’s not long before my unrelenting bastardous antics wear him down and he finally breaks, spilling all his deepest secrets and confessing his long-time crush on me, thus allowing me to bring this act of friends-to-lovers pining to a close and get to the steamy stuff. “

At his spiel, you finally look at him, sporting a concerned and confused expression, if not somewhat intrigued. “… Are you talking about Jungkook?”

Seokjin chokes on the long sip he’d begun to drag up the straw, indignance making his voice rise. “NO, dumbass, I’m talking about Namjoon! Although…” He pauses only to bring a finger to stroke his chin, like a villain straight from an episode of Lazy Town, “You know, I never thought I’d be one for that harem shit, but now I think about it…”

“Gross,” you groan, wrinkling your nose. Seokjin releases a villainous cackle and you have no choice but to raise your fist in promise. He gets the message and quietens down immediately.

“No, but speaking of that little twerp,” Seokjin quickly starts up again, placing his drink down on the table. You feel an ounce of regret, knowing that means he’s about to talk for a longer time than you’re ready for. “I’m close to breaking him too.”

“He told you who his crush is?” you ask, brows raising in shock. Seokjin lets out a great sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making you snort.

“No,” he grumbles, before brightening straight after. “But! I’m getting close. He came to me for advice this morning.”

At his words, you’ve now completely abandoned whatever you were doing on your laptop and are looking at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am not!” Seokjin denies, huffy. “He did! He wanted help making his crush fall in love with him, and so of course he came to me, Kim Seokjin, master of the heart and modern-day cupid.”

You pin him with a deadpan look. “Namjoon was out, wasn’t he.”

Seokjin’s glare is all the answer you need. He continues like you hadn’t even spoken in the first place.

“And since he so wisely came to me, of all people, and put his love life in my wise, gentle hands, I gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get.” The way his chest has swelled with pride and he’s looking all-too-pleased with himself doesn’t fill you with a good feeling. “I told him to play it smart, and use his assets.”

At first, you’re confused. “What, like… his cuteness? His endearing personality?”

“NO, dumbass, his assets! His ass! His thighs! His itty-bitty waist!” You think you hear him muttering something like ‘that lucky bitch’ under his breath, but can’t be sure. “Also, don’t think I missed you calling him cute, y/n. I’m filing that shit away for later.”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him, but the threat has long since lost its impact. He rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, we both already know exactly how 'peggable’ you think he is.” He takes a haughty sip of his drink like he knows he’s right, and you hate that he is. “It’s not the most incriminating thing I have on you.”

You make the strategic decision not to say anything and dig your hole deeper, and Seokjin seems pleased at your silent admit of defeat.

“Anyway,” he says again, smacking the cream on top of his drink down into the liquid with a spoon. There is some fallout, but that’s never stopped him before. “Kid’s dumb as shit but pure of heart. I’m interested to see whether he will actually take my advice.”

“He won’t for sure,” you scoff, returning to your laptop at last. “Anyone who takes your advice is guaranteed to have an empty head and quarter of a brain cell to their name. Jungkook is smarter than that.”

As expected, Seokjin squawks in outrage, and it harmonises with the ambience of dead silence in your corner of the library. He doesn’t let the topic rest for the remainder of the day.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK FIVE

You think that the day Jungkook first rocked up to cheer practice at the gym a week ago at the same time you were coaching the women’s basketball team, is one firmly burned into your memory for the rest of your life. And, honest to god, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because the boy, in all his slim-waisted, sculpted-ass-and-thighs glory, had rocked up in a cheerleading crop top and skirt.

You have absolutely no idea why he decided to wear that to his first session after joining, but you do know that while the sight of him usually makes you drool, the sight of him in that made your brain cease all higher functioning and you, in essence, became a dog. You almost barked when you saw him, for real.

Even from across the room though, you’d quickly been able to gather that he hadn’t worn it on purpose (somehow), as his face flushed bright crimson and he quickly began to look like he wanted to neck himself in the middle of the gym. Yoongi, another bastard friend of yours who through a series of unfortunate events and regrettable decisions (for him) had become the cheer captain, had been insulted that Jungkook had shown up like that and “hadn’t taken cheer seriously”, and so had given him a punishment. Yoongi said that if he wanted to rock up in a skirt so badly, then for every coming practice he had to wear a skirt again.

Had you not been busy drooling you probably would have felt bad for Jungkook, as you did later when Yoongi filled you in. As it were, in the moment you’d nearly copped a basketball to the face for being so distracted. Regrettably, you’d had to turn away from Jungkook and back to your actual duties: coaching.

Although with Yoongi being out for your blood, you have had plenty of opportunities in the past week to ogle to your heart’s desire. A real shameful amount, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Bora!” you call, watching the girl in question halt across the gym. “Fix your footwork or I’m gonna smack you!”

The girl rolls her eyes and turns away, flicking a ponytail of dark hair over her shoulder as she does so, but listens to what you say. The familiar squeak of rubber on gym flooring fills the air as she starts the drill anew. She has a tendency to get lazy and sloppy in her movements if you don’t ride her ass, and she knows it as much as you do.

“How did you even managed to get the coaching position?” Seulgi asks from next to you, her response almost cut off by a loud racket from the cheer side of the gym. It takes all of your willpower not to fall into the trap and look over. “I feel like people like you shouldn’t be in positions of power.”

You don’t even bother arguing with her since she’s technically right and you agree. “Sheer dumb luck,” you tell her, risking a glance to the side if only to give Yoongi the stink eye. “Actually, if you really wanna know, I only went for it because Yoongi wanted it and he did something that really soured my yoghurt and pissed me off. So I applied out of spite. I probably shouldn’t have gotten the job though.”

“Huh,” Seulgi voices, eyes unfocused. “Well you’re not too bad for a fake. The team has actually been improving since you took over.”

“That’s probably because you guys went through coaches so fast for a while that for like, six months you didn’t really have one.”

“Touché.”

The only reason the girl is on the sidelines in the first place is because she’d looked over at the wrong time and caught it just as Jungkook started one of the tumbling routines, getting it almost perfect on the first go and in the process flashing his pert ass to the air and any sorry beholders. He might have been wearing bike shorts under the punishment skirt he was modelling, and he might have traded the crop top for a singlet of reasonable length, but it was still a dangerous, nay lethal sight. You’d looked over at the same time so you knew why and how Seulgi managed to tumble and trip so terribly mid-drill. She rolled her ankle so bad that as she sits next to you right now with ice on it, it looks like there’s an entire boiled egg beneath the surface of her skin. It’s kind of gross but also kind of hard to look away from.

Back to the topic at hand, there is just something about the sheer athleticism and heaven-blessed ease with which Jungkook backflips and cartwheels across the mat that turns you into a brainless slab of goo. You’re unsurprised that Seulgi got distracted and ended up hurting herself as a result of it.

The afternoon flies by and before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’ve finished riding the collective women’s basketball team’s ass for the day. As they disperse and leave the gym at a leisurely pace, you collect Seulgi and help her towards the gym locker room to get some fresh ice for her ankle before she journeys to visit the university nurse.

The cheer squad has just about finished up their own practice, and one by one they begin to filter out of the gym. Yoongi waddles over to where you stand by the door, eyeing Seulgi with a knowing look.

“Got distracted at the wrong time, huh?” He asks, very much already knowing the answer. You give him a dirty look while Seulgi goes bright pink.

Yoongi adjusts the collar of his university sports jacket, puffing his chest out. “That’s our golden boy for ya,” he brags, sounding very much like one of the aunties and old women you find gossiping on the street near the markets. “He was born for cheer. It’s like he’s been tumbling since the day he was born. Probably even came out doing a backflip.”

You want to tell him to stop pulling shit out of his ass, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything when you agree so wholeheartedly. You’re saved from having to summon a response when in the next second, Yoongi gets the urge to turn and catches Jungkook red-handed on his way out of the gym. He seems in a hurry, moving almost like he’s trying to sneak out unnoticed, but halts at the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s holler when it breaches the air.

“Ah there he is— Jungkook-ah!” Even while calling out, Yoongi somehow still has an indolent, lazy drawl. “Good job today! Also, proud of you for committing to your punishment. Keep it up!”

The poor raven-haired boy had already looked somewhat mortified at being singled out amongst the students exiting the gym, but now as Yoongi finishes speaking and his big doe eyes flick to the side and take in you and Seulgi listening in, his face very suddenly and violently erupts into a blush.

“Th-thanks,” he squeaks, nodding, the tips of his ears darkening to match his face. His eyes are flicking from you to Yoongi in such a way he almost reminds you of a scared rodent. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and flees in the direction of the locker room. For his sake, you don’t ogle him as he goes. There’s a time and a place, and he seems so embarrassed that you’d feel bad for checking him out right now.

“… He’s so cute,” Yoongi remarks a few seconds after Jungkook disappears out the door, gaze still trained in the direction he’d left. “No wonder I always look over and see you drooling, y/n.”

You agree with the first part, but honestly… you could have done without that second comment. You give him the stink eye to let him know just that, before tapping Seulgi and readjusting your grip in preparation to walk once more.

“If you’re immune, Min, you’re not human,” Seulgi says, cheeky glint in her eye. Your heart warms—you can always count on her to defend you in the face of life’s meanies.

SATURDAY, WEEK 5

It’s not often you find yourself making the long, arduous trek down the street to the apartment building where Seokjin et al. live, but it does happen on the occasion. If possible, you like to make the journey in the morning or the afternoon, because there is little to no cover on the path that takes you there and the only thing you like less than being in the sun when you don’t have to is sweating.

Still, you make the trek today, even though it’s technically past the point in the morning where you would refuse. The heat starts to come anywhere from 8 to 9 o’clock, even earlier on the stinkier days. Call you lazy, but you stick by your own rules because they work and reduce your suffering considerably.

Namjoon is one of your project partners in a random elective the two of you chose, and he was meant to give you a part of the assignment he’d been working on yesterday but, of course, forgot it. And then again today, when he was meant to drop it off on his way to work, he forgot it once more. So here you are, walking to his stupid apartment and preparing to break in because it’s due next week and you need his part to finish yours, damn it.

Thankfully, air conditioning greets you the second you step inside the building and cools down whatever heat has managed to cling to your form from outside. Luck is on your side—no sweat today, babey! In a slightly better mood now that you’re out of the sun, you follow the path your legs have committed to memory to Namjoon’s apartment.

Normally you’d rely on someone being home to let you in so you can ransack Namjoon’s room, but in his apologetic text he’d informed you that everyone is out and so with a great, big sigh you’d resigned yourself and dug the lockpicking set you received one Christmas out from under your bed. It’s heavy in your back pocket now as you walk down the hallway of the floor their apartment is on, already feeling like you’ve committed a crime. Before you can even throw yourself into thoughts of which tool would work best on their front door, you catch sight of something you most definitely weren’t expecting.

There’s someone else in front of the apartment door, jiggling the doorknob and attempting to work it. You don’t know if they realise its locked and are trying their luck anyway, or whether they’ve yet to figure it out, but while their back is turned to you they have provided you with an excellent view.

Broad shoulders with tan skin peaking out from below a muscle singlet and glistening with sweat where their body catches the light. Dark curls are plastered to the back of their neck, arms out and a tattoo sleeve on one leading your gaze down its length. He’s very athletic, you gather of the stranger immediately, and you’re almost drooling at the way his bicep shifts and tenses as he tries the doorknob once more. Your gaze finally frees itself and scans over the rest of him; defined back, tiny waist, nice butt, thick thighs—

Wait. You know that waist. The sight of it bared by a skimpy cheerleading outfit is one you’ve committed to memory.

“Jungkook?” you say, feeling your stomach dip in excitement. Does it always do that when you see him? You can’t remember.

At the sound of your voice and how close it is, the male jumps in fright and lets out a noise eerily close to a squeak. He spins, slamming his back against the door and smacking a hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes closing and head falling back against the door with a thud. The sight is borderline sinful when combined with his damp hair and sweaty form, and your thoughts threaten to take a dangerous route before you reign them in. You smack your libido back in place— down, girl! “y/n, you scared the living shit out of me.”

A moment passes before his eyes snap open and the breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he’s looking at you like a cornered rabbit, cheeks already warming in his fluster. “W-wait, y/n? What… What are you doing here?”

Cute. If you could, you think you’d pack him up and put him in your pocket.

You ignore his question only for the sake of asking him your own—much less incriminating as a choice. “Are you trying to break into your own apartment, Mister Jungkook?”

Instantly, as you’d almost come to expect at this point, his cheeks flush cutely.

“Wh- I, uh…” he swallows and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “No! Kind of? I went for a jog earlier and Namjoon-hyung kind of… uh… he locked me out.”

As he speaks, you’re reminded of how much you actually like his voice. It’s smooth, melodious; even when its shaking slightly from nerves. Why is he nervous? The longer you stand in his presence the more curious you become. You kind of want to tease him a little.

You hum, a smile curling the corners of your lips and one of your brows raising. “Ah, so he’s scorned both of us, I see. But fear not, little gumdrop!”

He’s staring at you in something akin to flustered bewilderment as you reach behind you and pull out your lockpicking kit, brandishing it like a trophy. “I have the solution!”

“…” He’s stunned into silence, it seems, but you don’t mind. The look on his face right now is super cute—you kind of want to pinch his cheeks. Okay, damn it, you can’t help it—you pinch his cheek and make a short cooing noise as you step past, preparing to help him break into his apartment. At least this way it feels less like a crime and more like a service.

(You sneak a sly look back at Jungkook as you pass him, and your heart squeezes at the sight of his cheeks flushing pink from your teasing action, eyes wide as they follow your form. This boy is gonna kill you one day.)

Usually you have a bit of trouble picking locks (you don’t do it often) but you crack this one surprisingly fast, and before you know it the door is swinging open and you’re letting out a noise of glee.

“Excellent!” you announce, before darting right in to search for what you came for. Namjoon left it conveniently on the dining table, so you dash over and grab the folder and USB before turning around to be on your merry way.

When you return to the door, Jungkook is still standing there, tattooed hand pressed to the cheek you’d pinched – which are bright red, by the way— and his eyes somewhat dazed.

“See you at practice later, Jungkook!” you say, waving the folder to accentuate the farewell. “Don’t forget the punishment skirt! You look too good in it, it would be a crime to forget it.”

Once you’re done speaking, you turn back the way you’re walking, missing the facial expression that accompanies his flustered sputtering of a goodbye. Your stomach still flips in excitement as you retreat, a skip in your step, and you can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you ended up seeing more of Jungkook outside of practice.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK 6

You’re sitting in the campus sushi place, escaping the midday heat and grabbing something to eat, minding your own business. It is, though, a nice day and you don’t mind sitting back and just admiring it. This changes when a figure suddenly comes bolting towards you from a distance and nearly bowls you and the contents of your sushi container over.

“SEOKJIN!” you exclaim, barely having saved your food from a sudden and unfortunate meet & greet with the floor. You give him a glare strong enough to kill. “What the hell! My karaage chicken!!! Dude you KNOW they only make a certain amount of these per day, you almost made me drop it and I hadn’t even taken a bit yet! Honestly! You—”

“Shut! Shut up!” Seokjin grips you by the shoulders, giving you a shake; it makes your eyes lock-on to his flushed face, his breath coming in pants from his exertion. “Shut up I have something to say and it’s important!”

“Stop shaking me!” you cry, wriggling out of his grip and leaning as far back into your chair as you can to get away from this nutcase. “And what?! You finally slipped up and Namjoon found all the secret letters you write for him when you’re horny?!”

“No, better!” Seokjin makes like he’s going to grab your shoulders again and you smack his hands away. He continues, eyes alight with something akin to glee that makes him look just a little bit crazy. “I finally did it! I found out who that twerp’s crush is! You won’t beli—”

“What?!” you sputter, your gut churning for some reason. Is the sushi you ate off? “He told you? No way he would be stupid enough to tell you—”

“Hey!” the male cries, indignant. “I resent that! Also no, he didn’t technically tell me, but I have people on the inside…”

It takes a moment for you to scan through people in your head before it clicks. You gasp. “You bullied it out of his friends?! Seokjin! Taehyung and Jimin don’t deserve that!”

“I didn’t bully them! They told me of their own accord!” He points a finger at you in retribution. “Albeit, it was by accident, but I digress.”

You’re shaking your head, returning to your sushi and ignoring the odd sensations in your gut. “This is blood information, man. I don’t know if I can sit and be accomplice to—”

“It’s you!” Seokjin blurts, sticking his pink-haired head right in your face. “The twerp has a crush on you! Finally, at least one of my shipping dreams is coming true!”

You’re so shocked by the information literally thrown in your face that you honest to god almost drop your sushi, again. You stare at the male, mouth open, as you flounder to get some order back in your thoughts.

The first thing you think to say is—“What? No way. Your info is dodgy, man.”

“Look, I know you’re sensitive so I try not to say this often, but are you dumb, y/n?” Seokjin stands back now, hand on his hip. The look he’s giving you isn’t impressed. “It makes so much sense! Why else would he sign up to cheerleading in a skirt to use his assets if it wasn’t on at the same time as whatever his crush does? Honestly, I should have seen it sooner—the way he goes bright pink every time he sees you and his eyes sparkle like an anime girl every time we mention you. I just thought he was scared of girls or had pinkeye or somethin’.”

You kind of want to smack him, but the rest of you is busy attempting to process all the information unloaded on you. Your stomach gives a giddy flip, and you decide it can only mean one thing in the wake of finding out that Jungkook’s mysterious crush is you.

Maybe, just maybe, you like him too.

…

You’re gonna pursue him.

THURSDAY, WEEK 7

It seems that Jungkook has heard that his crush on you has been leaked, because you’ve been trying to track him down and confirm it ever since last week and he’s been avoiding you like the plague. You think you see him kicking up dust as he retreats as fast as his legs will take him around hallway corners when he sees you at the other end, you catch glimpses of him across courtyards as he spins and flees in the opposite directions. A part of you wonders whether its because he does indeed have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you know, of whether it’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you might think he does.

Well, you can’t know until you talk to him and it seems like you won’t be able to talk to him unless you ambush him in the men’s toilets or something. Which, by the way, isn’t something you’re going to do because even though your friends might be crazy, you’re most definitely not.

It was even to the point that Jungkook missed the first two practices after you found out, and you have no doubt that he would have avoided you by missing even more had Yoongi not threatened him with adding a crop top to his punishment attire should he miss another practice. He’d showed up for the next one but every time he came within five metres of you he blushed and kept his eyes to the ground, fleeing as soon as he can.

It’s a little bit frustrating, and he’s still cute when he acts all shy, but you really wish you could track him down just so you know whether its true or not.

Perhaps, with time, he’ll grow a little less skittish and let you get close enough to start a conversation. You just have to hold out hope that a moment will come that will allow you to start bridging things back together with the two of you.

FRIDAY, WEEK 7

That moment comes sooner than you expect when, just the next day, you round a corner alongside Seulgi, having just come from the women’s locker rooms, and walk straight into someone. It’s like walking into a brick wall and kind of hurts. You stumble and let out a sound in pained surprise, but manage to stay on your feet for the most part— the joy at that moment of success passes quickly when you become aware of the cool feeling seeping down your thigh and stomach.

Before even looking to see who you walked into, your gaze is directed down to see what was spilt on you— it’s light pink, and the sugary sweet scent that brushes your nose and sticky sensation that begins to make itself known on your skin are something you recognise instantly.

Strawberry milk.

You look up in something akin to horror, but the expression all but falls from your face when you see who the culprit is.

Jungkook stands there looking very much like a deer caught in headlights, drink carton crumpled and empty in his hand now that its contents are all over your front. As you gaze at him you watch the tip of his ears turn bright red, eyes wide and so unguarded you swear you can see the thoughts whipping through his mind beyond them. You also see the instant regret and mortification that washes over his boyish features as he realises what has just happened and who he has spilt his drink on.

“y-y/n—” he stutters, voice caught in his throat. Whatever he was planning on saying is quickly overpowered by an obnoxious voice from his side.

You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi was walking alongside Jungkook until you hear him speak, “Wow, you know what you were coming around that corner so hard and fast that this is on you, y/n.”

When Yoongi first started talking, Jungkook had seemed relieved, but now a sense of panic has taken over his features.

“N-no! I am so sorry! This was my fault, I shouldn’t have had it open when I couldn’t even drink it yet. I just really like strawberry milk, and…” He’s so endearingly remorseful as he speaks, big puppy eyes looking apologetically into your own like he’s searching for any hint of forgiveness there to spare.

For a moment you’re absolutely blindsided by the way he just made your heart squeeze in your chest with how damn cute he is, but you recover just in time to catch it as the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face melds into something devious and fitting for his bastardly title.

“Right, he’s right, totally our bad,” Yoongi says, doing a complete 180 and bewildering both you and Seulgi beside you. “Wow, look at your pants, totally soaked through man. Here, come with me— it’s only fair we help grab you something to change into.”

“What—” you don’t get to finish before the cat-faced bastard grabs you by the arm and begins dragging you down the hall in the direction you came from. Seulgi and Jungkook remain in place, stunned by the turn in events.

“Jungkook, head to practice and get them started! I want some pyramid practice, and then some tumbling from you and the others. Chop chop!” — is all Yoongi throws over his shoulder in dismissal, dragging you where you now realise is one of the other locker rooms. You gape at him as he walks straight up to the one that has been locked for months and opens it with a key.

Catching your expression, he shrugs. “Sometimes you just need a place of your own to hoard things.”

You don’t understand what he’s talking about until you step in and see a table in the corner near the doorway piled high with first aid supplies, twiggy sticks and energy drinks. Your bewildered subsequent scan of the room for more treasured objects is cut short when a lump of clothing smacks you in the face.

You just barely manage to fumble it into your grasp, unable to swallow your groan when you see what it is from the pattern alone.

“It’s the only thing spare,” Yoongi says, radiating true goblin energy. You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him right now but you don’t know where to look to disprove him. “Try not to get my cheerleaders too worked up.”

You have an inkling as to why he’s done this from his words, but can’t confirm it right now. You huff, moving off to one of the stalls.

“If people get flashed, that’s on you.”

Ten minutes later sees you back in the open gymnasium with cool air brushing your legs that usually only get to see the light of day through rips in your jeans. You set your team to their tasks and drills already, so now you’re left alone with your thoughts. You know for sure now why Yoongi made you change into the cheerleading skirt.

Because ever since you walked out in it and nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock, Jungkook hasn’t been able to keep the blush off his cheeks or his eyes away from you for more than a few minutes at a time. You feel slightly empowered, contrary to how you thought the dangerously short piece of clothing was going to make you feel.

You have a nice body, you’re comfortable admitting it, and the way that your unplanned flaunting of it seems to be affecting Jungkook… well it’s a nice stroke of the ego, you won’t lie, but it also makes your stomach flip giddily. God, you want him. You’ve always thought he was cute but ever since he joined cheer and rocked up in that skirt like a sweet, hot fool, it was over for you. He’s so… ugh.

Trucking through the practice of your team is, for once, a struggle. It’s so hard not to look over every few seconds to catch Jungkook when you can feel his gaze on you, and you know that once you give in you won’t be able to help being distracted afterwards. It’s a miracle you get through to the end of it while remaining sane.

As your practice wraps up for the day, you allow yourself a glimpse to the side at last. What you see is a sweaty, panting Jungkook, the muscles of his arms straining as he holds up a brunette you vaguely recall as Tzuyu above his head. Wow, you’re actually a little startled at how much arousal just washed through you— is this normal? Maybe you’re more whipped than you thought. You don’t know.

What you do know, however, is that you want that boy, and right now especially you want to mess with him. Call it a con of being around such bastardous friends all the time, but you’re really feeling the urge. You barely manage to hold yourself back, marvelling at the animal he seems to reduce you to with just a flex of his bicep.

The practice for your basketball team finishes before cheerleading; Yoongi is a ruthless coach and relentless when it comes to formations and perfecting routines. More often than not their practices end long after yours. As your girls begin to filter out of the gymnasium, the cheer squad are still going. You make to follow after, but your name is called from the other side of the gym by a voice you recognise but know instantly shouldn’t be here.

“y/n! Come here! Don’t ignore me!” Seokjin is the fiend in question, hollering at such an unmistakable frequency that you couldn’t ignore it if you tried. It’s like he’s followed in the footsteps of cats and has pinpointed the exact frequency that a baby’s cry is at, and is now using it to his advantage. You turn, wary, and see him waving like a dumbass. “Come here! Don’t make me pspspsps!”

Now annoyed, you stomp over if only so you can get within beating range. As soon as you reach a few feet away he ducks behind Yoongi though, so you don’t get to follow through on your caveman instincts to beat him over the head with a rock.

“What?” you ask, giving him a stinky look. “Are you like, stalking me or something? Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You can tell he wants to laugh, but his instinct to rile you up overpowers the humour of what you said. “You think you’re worth stalking? I don’t need to stalk you to know that your day consists almost entirely of eating, shitting, and staring at a certain ass.”

Well, he has you there. You shrug, “I’m a simple girl.”

Seokjin is momentarily bewildered that you didn’t rise to his bait and Yoongi chokes on his laughter beside you, the sound coming out squeaky. You’re glad someone is laughing, it makes your dick hard when people find you funny. Again, you’re a simple girl.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Seokjin says. Apparently it doesn’t take him long to recover, and he’s already shifted topics.

Yoongi, who had broken away to guide his team for a moment, chimes back in at the taller male’s comment. “It’s all apart of the keikaku, man. Everything is going perfectly. My golden boy is almost too fun to torment. I’ve tasted power and now I don’t know how to stop.”

“Who?” Seokjin asks, more out of habit than anything, before looking over to Yoongi’s minions and letting out a sound of realisation. “Ahh… Mister Jungkook.”

You swear you see the male in question, who is waiting his turn to begin the tumbling routine Yoongi has changed them onto, stiffen. You’re not sure whether it is a trick of the light or not, though, because in the next second he’s shuffling forward to second in line, juggling his weight from foot to foot with restless energy. His eyes are trained on his teammates flipping across the matts.

“So you know too? y/n, you big-mouthed whore!” Seokjin exclaims, pinning you with an exaggerated look of scandal. Jungkook trips slightly in his step as he moves to the front of the line, barely a few metres away.

You don’t bother defending yourself, since Yoongi speaks before you can anyway. “That y/n likes Jungkook and has wanted to peg his cute ass since forever? Yeah, I know.”

The timing of Yoongi’s response is truly unfortunate. As he started speaking, Jungkook began his run up— and it seems that whatever snippet he heard as he started were enough to throw him off completely. He goes into the front flip kind of wonky, and you have a feeling of dread creep up as you watch him.

He doesn’t do the mid-air turns he is meant to, and instead goes to land after just one flip— the timing is off, though, and your breath hisses through your teeth and you physically cringe as you watch his ankle roll upon landing.

“Ah SHIT!” he yelps, quickly dropping to the mat and removing pressure from his foot. You feel frozen as you watch, a large number of his teammates running over and asking him if he’s okay.

“Oh feck,” Yoongi says, checking his watch as he mutters to himself. “Shit. Okay we need to practice and only have the gym for another forty-five minutes, but he needs that looked at asap. Who…”

Barely a split-second passes before he’s looking right at you imploringly, with an inappropriately devious glint in the back of his eyes.

“y/n, you’re free and you have first aid training right? Can you take him to get that wrapped and iced up?” He’s not even done asking you before he’s pushing you in the direction of the male currently curled on the floor. “That room should still be open— I forgot to lock it earlier.”

“Wait, I actually have—” you’re about to let him know about the mountain of schoolwork you have to catch up on, but of course he’s not having any of it. He’s already barking at his squad.

“Okay, everyone, back off and back to tumbling! y/n here will take care of our golden boy, we have the gym for the next forty-five minutes and we’re gonna make the most of it, damn it!”

Yoongi abandons you at Jungkook’s side, and at his command the rest of the cheerleader begrudgingly disperse— you think you catch a few of the female ones giving you the stink eye at their lost opportunity, and you know it shouldn’t stroke your ego but still it does.

“I guess this is how the Kookie crumbled, huh,” you say, embarrassed that he could have heard all of what Yoongi said and attempting to cope using the classic— humour.

Jungkook, who had turned his wide eyes and red face to you the second you started talking, now seems to be blushing harder. Evidently, for a number of reasons, he is mortified. It’s like he’s trying to hide behind the long curls that have fallen into his face. Needless to say, it’s not successful, and now both of you are embarrassed. One of you needs to take the lead.

But right now neither of you are wearing the pants.

“Alright, let’s get that looked at,” you say, wincing as you look at his ankle already beginning to swell. “Arms up.”

He obeys instantly and without question, and you’re torn between the primal powers within you wanting to both cuddle him and to drop your panties then and there.

Getting Jungkook to a standing position while he can only use one leg is harder than you could have imagined, but you know that there’s no way you would have been able to lift him had he not helped you carry his weight. Once he’s upright and his arm is around your shoulder (still panting slightly and glistening with sweat, as you’re trying not to think about) you begin the arduous journey to the locker room Yoongi showed you earlier.

Jungkook doesn’t really say anything during the trip there, and neither do you— except he has an excuse, considering he’s probably in a fair bit of pain right now. You don’t have an excuse, except that you’re trying desperately not to think about how you can feel each hard line of his body against you right now. It’s a whole-brain engaging kind of activity.

Thankfully, the room is unlocked as Yoongi said, and you grab a towel to lay across one of the cleaner looking benches on the far side of the room— just because its cleaner than the others doesn’t mean it’s clean, per se. You smile when you see Jungkook’s thankful expression.

“Right,” you say, staying in front of where he’s sitting for a moment as you shake your arms out; the boy really is just all muscle, honestly. “Pop your ankle up on the bench, and I’ll grab some ice and stuff to wrap it.”

Jungkook nods, obeying wordlessly. His cheeks still are tainted the slightest pink, and he’s making a point to avoid meeting your gaze. Fighting a smile, you move to Yoongi’s stash and grab what you need, spotting some high-end painkillers and immediately adding them to the pile in your arms.

When you return to his side, you seat yourself on the bench beside his leg— thankfully, they’re wide enough that neither your butt nor Jungkook’s leg has to be sacrificed for the fit. You go through the motions with him, poking and prodding and bending to assess the damage; it’s just a bad sprain, but damn if each watery look he gets at the pain doesn’t make you want to coddle him to death.

Surprisingly, he’s still silent as you go about icing and wrapping his ankle. You contemplated filling the silence but you’re not good at chit chat or small talk, so refrain and settle for humming softly instead. Considering the rollercoaster of feelings he’s spun you through today, you’re almost disappointed that a wrap on his ankle is all that’s going to come of this.

Which is stupid, of course. You know. You digress.

You’re still somewhat disappointed as you finish up, popping the excess bandage back in its container. “Okay! You’ll need to…”

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and for once he doesn’t shy away from it— there’s something about them, the endless chocolate depths and the doe-eyed look, that completely disarms you for a moment. Blinking, it takes all your might to stop yourself from studying as you continue. “Ahem, uh… you’ll need to keep it elevated, when possible. Compressing it is ideal. Also, for swelling, ice it for 20-30 minutes every 2-3 hours for the first day or so…”

He blinks up at you, and you smile. “Any questions?”

Something intriguing crosses his gaze and he bites his lip, flushing slightly. Oh, he is doing a number on your willpower. You need to get out of here.

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, continuing straight away. You watch even more colour rush to his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “About earlier… when I stacked it… Was what Yoongi said true?”

Well. You were not… expecting that. For a moment you’re stunned into silence, self control hanging by a thread. “What… Yoongi said?”

Jungkook gives you a look like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “That you, um…”

Humiliated but deciding to face it head on, you ask him with your own cheeks heating, “Are you asking about the pegging or the, uh… the liking you part?”

To your surprise, Jungkook chokes and stiffens in place, eyes shooting wide and face and ears going beet red. “I, um… I only heard the liking part…”

OH. Well. You kind of want to die, but… at least now he knows?

…You’re gonna throw yourself off a bridge.

He must mistake the cause of your silence for something else, because he seems to panic. “B-because, um, I know you know how I feel, and it’s okay if you don’t um— I was just wondering—”

In the midst of his spiel, you take a seat on the bench, closer to him than you were last time. It only makes him grow more flustered before you press a finger to his lips to shush him. He gets the message and falls silent instantly, making your heart skip a beat at his ready obedience. God, are you an animal?! Really?!

“I was trying to track you down to confirm it, you know,” you say, shoving your embarrassment into a box in the far reaches of your mind. Time to swallow your pride. “But you kept avoiding me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide. “Oh… sorry.”

You smile at his soft, uttered apology. Testingly, tentatively, you shift your hand and rest it on his hip. His whole body stiffens once more, but its more in surprise than discomfort. “What would you do if it was true, hm?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s momentarily speechless. When your thumb rubs against the hard line of his hip bone, drawing a shudder, he jerks back into motion.

“Oh my god, you—” he’s dazed before he narrows his eyes at you, voice dropping to a whisper that’s somewhat tinged with hurt. “Are you teasing me?”

You manage to hold back the laugh but can’t help the smile that rises at his words. “I always get the urge to tease you, Jungkook, but it’s not to be cruel.” You lean forward, holding his gaze. “I probably never grew out of that kindergarten stage.”

It takes a second for what you said to sink in. The way that hope enters his eyes is so cute that you’re humiliated at the urge to squeal that rises. “So, you…”

It’s embarrassing to say the words out loud, especially considering the filth running through your mind right now, and you can’t quite bring yourself to. Teasingly, you bring your other hand to his thigh, brushing the edge of the skirt with your thumb and enjoying the way he shivers. “It’s embarrassing to say out loud, so if you want to hear it, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

The soft, excited gasp he lets out emboldens you to carry out your next action— you move the hand on his hip, brushing your fingertips up the side of his slim waist before bringing them back down to rest over his crotch.

To your complete and utter surprise, there is already some firmness there that greets you. At your curious gaze, he flushes pink.

“It’s the skirt,” he confesses, averting his gaze to your lap for the briefest second. “You look really good in it…”

Not that your ego needs more stroking, but you’re happy to let it happen anyway. You hum, beginning to move your hand— he stifles a gasp.

“I know,” you say, grinning. It’s ridiculous how your stomach flips, arousal beginning to trickle into your abdomen and ache in the apex of your thighs. “I could feel you looking at me. I caught you a few times, too.”

He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but the current situation doesn’t leave much room for dignity as it is anyway. Still, you can’t help but tease him some more, voice soft as you rub over his growing bulge and lean closer. “Do you always look at me, Jungkook?”

He squirms, a gasp slipping out before he attempts to send you a glare. “This is embarrassing,” he whines. You raise a brow, increasing the pressure of your hand, and he is quick to amend his response in a whisper, “…Yes.”

“And what do you imagine, when you look at me?” you ask, unable to deny the thrill running through your veins and lighting heat in your abdomen. You pause your ministrations only to move your hand to the top of his skirt and slip beneath the material. This time a moan slips out before he can stop it. “Is it things like this?”

He lets his head fall back against the wall, looking at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “Yes,” he admits, and for how readily he supplied the answer you reward him by slipping your hand beneath the rest of the layers over his hips and wrapping your fingers around his hardening length.

He whines— actually whines— and rolls his hips into your hand, thick thigh tensing beneath the grip of your other hand. The resulting wash of arousal that floods over you is so sudden it almost makes you dizzy.

“Oh, you’re a good boy,” you mutter it without much thought, but surprise filters through you when you feel his length twitch and flush with heat in your hold at the words. Ah— he likes a bit of praise, does he? You slide your free hand up his thigh, working the waistband of his skirt and bike shorts down until they rest just past the beginning of his thighs. It’s like you’re looking at a work of art, you marvel slightly— the curls that begin to trail down a little below his belly button, the sculpted line of his hip bones and the hints of his abs that show as his body tenses. You’re just one woman.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, Jungkook?” you aimed to speak louder but it comes out sort of breathy. You trail your fingers down the tan skin of his abdomen before gripping the material of his bottoms and using the moment to free his length.

If you didn’t have such a firm grip on it, you know it would have sprung back against his stomach— you try not to let your surprise show, either, because you could feel that he was packing, but seeing it is another thing and your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. Jungkook’s chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you and hands bunching in the material of the punishment skirt. You stroke your hand along his length, pressing your thumb along the underside and relishing in the shudder it elicits.

“y/n,” he whines softly, face flushing as his cock twitches in your hold. Whether he’s forgotten you even asked a question or simply is too overwhelmed to answer right now, you don’t know.

As for how you’re doing— you’re so turned on right now that in all honesty you don’t know what to do with yourself. A solution comes to mind quickly and you don’t have the usual self control you do to stop yourself.

Mindful of his injured leg, you rise, keeping your grip on him as you do so. His lidded gaze follows you, soft gasps escaping him all the while.

“Give me your leg,” you instruct, relishing how quickly he listens. Presented with his thigh, you swing one of your legs over the other side of the bench and rest on it so that as little weight as possible is on his bad leg, your knees brushing his hips. As soon as you’re lowered, you can’t help but gasp and roll your hips— the only thing separating you and the smooth skin and hard muscle of his thigh is the thin layer of your damp panties, and the stimulation on your clit makes your entire core throb in arousal.

Apparently this is also one of the things he’s imagined, because Jungkook lets out a low, gasping moan and rolls his hips up into your hand— which, of course, makes his thigh muscles tense and shift, rubbing oh so nicely against your clit. You almost fall off from the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine, free hand shooting to grab his bicep, “Ah, Jungkook!”

He apparently has the sense of mind to support you by using the arm in your hold to reach and grip your hip. Generous amounts of precum have started to bead at his tip, and you drag your hand up his girth, collecting it on your thumb and smearing it down his length for lubrication. It elicits a whine, another roll of his hips, and like that you settle into a rhythm of sorts.

“y/n.” Each gasp and moan he lets out have to be specially designed to ruin you, you decide. He seeks your gaze with hazy, lust-ridden eyes. “Please kiss me.”

It’s a brazen request coming from him of all people, and you’re all too happy to oblige. You lean forward, the rock of your hips making you shudder, and connect his lips with your own— he’d sought your kiss as you did so, craning his neck forward and awaiting your lips. It’s a heated kiss from the beginning, given the situation— you don’t fight for dominance so much as assume it from the start. Each press of your tongue, graze of your teeth, has a new sound tumbling from his throat and into your mouth. It makes your heart race even harder than it already was.

It doesn’t take long for tension to begin to build in your abdomen, and you know if you’re already feeling it then he must be even closer. Not wanting this to end just yet, you force yourself to slow your hand down, breaking the kiss and shifting to press your mouth to his neck.

“Wh-what—” he gasps, shuddering as your thumb plays with his slit, rhythm slowed to a stop. Both of you are panting, almost, and you suckle a mark into the junction of his neck before pulling back with a grin.

“Surely that isn’t all you’ve imagined, Jungkook.” You lean forward, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth before pulling back— the way he chases your lips makes your heart squeeze. “What now? Be a good boy, tell me.”

Far from being embarrassed at this point and all but a slave to the haze of lust in the air, Jungkook’s breath hitches and he responds, somewhat tentative if anything, “… ride me.”

“Good boy,” you breathe, offering him a proud smile. He preens beneath your fond look.

You shift, and you think that he must have expected you to stand up fully and remove your clothes, or at least your bottoms, but to his surprise you simply shuffle up and reach beneath your skirt, slipping your panties aside and aligning his member with your entrance. You’re so turned on that you’ve soaked through your underwear, and you know you’ve smeared enough precum along his length that lubrication will be no problem. So you simply lower yourself down until his head parts your lips and begins to sink into you.

At the sheer size of him even as just the tip enters your cunt, you have to halt, gasping, “Fuck!”

If he wanted to respond, you don’t really give him time to; as soon as you get your bearings you continue sinking down onto him. There is a slight burn, of course, but you’re so turned on that it fades quicker than you can register. The sensation of him, the throb, his girth and the way he splits your walls, stretching you more and more as you seat yourself on him— it’s indescribable, and all you can offer is that it feels so good you swear tears are gonna prick at your eyes. From the look on his face, brows scrunched and mouth parted as a long, low groan slips out, you know it must feel just as good for him.

When the back of your thighs press against the top of his his and he’s fully sheathed in you, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind— this position has him so deep in your pussy that with each miniscule shift the tip of his cock presses against a spot that sends delicious jolts of pleasure up your spine. Honestly, if you weren’t so intent on seeing this through, you think you could cum from that sensation alone.

Even as you’re in a mess of pleasure and a haze of desire, you can’t help but tease him some more. You clench your insides, rolling your hips— the sharp, lilting moan he lets out makes your stomach flip. “What now, baby boy?”

You hold his hips down with your hand, feeling them twitch with the urge to rock up into you. A long, drawn groan escapes him. “Do you want to see me? More of me? Or do you want to feel me?”

You take his hand into your hold and guide it up to your chest, slipping it beneath your shirt and bra to cup your breast. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinks and attempts to clear the haze from his vision. You relish in the control you have over him until his thumb brushes your nipple and he pinches it, tweaking it instinctively. A moan tears from you, the shock of pleasure that results making you clench around him again; his free hand scrambles for purchase against your thigh, fingers digging in as pleasure washes over him in turn.

Your breath is coming a little faster now. Leaving his hand at your chest, you move it to drag up his neck before threading your fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck. Finding a firm grip, you tug his head back ever so lightly— it elicits a new moan that you haven’t heard yet, and you really begin to think this boy will be your undoing.

“What do you want?” you ask again, rolling your hips once more. It isn’t fair of you, you know, since you can hardly think yourself from the sensations. “You want me to move, baby boy?”

He nods, attempting to speak through the moan caught in his throat. “Please… fuck me, y/n.”

Well, who are you to say no to that?

Happy to oblige, you engage your thighs and begin to rise— the sensation of him dragging against your walls makes both of you gasp, and you almost falter in your movements from the feeling alone. Gathering your wits as best as you can, you continue your movements, successfully rising and then seating yourself once more. Unable to withhold much longer, you roll your hips and begin to set the two of you into a rhythm.

You stopped paying heed to the noises escaping you a while ago, but you don’t doubt that the sinful sounds tumbling from Jungkook’s mouth as you ride him are a large contributor to the way the tension in your abdomen quickly begins to knot and bundle once more.

Even with as heavenly as it feels, it’s hard to keep up momentum when your thighs begin to burn. Thankfully, Jungkook has more than enough stamina in his thigh muscles for the both of you, and when he senses your fatigue, he brings his grip to your hips to hold them in place before rocking his own up and beginning to fuck up into you.

Needless to say, the pace he sets is much faster and much harder than the one you had. Swears tumble softly from your mouth at the change in intensity of pleasure as it shoots through you, orgasm already approaching much faster than anticipated. Your hands come to grip his on your hips with a cry of his name, knees turning to jelly.

Movement against your hand surprises you, but not as much as the sensation of Jungkook’s hand shifting to thread his fingers with yours. You honestly feel your heart burst, and as he fucks up into you that bit harder you can’t help the way you clutch his hand like a lifeline, the sweet moment quick to pass but most definitely not forgotten.

“G-gonna cum,” you gasp, eyes closing and allowing the slap of skin and Jungkook’s gasping moans to overtake your senses. You don’t forget to indulge him in some praise. “Such a g-good boy, making me feel so g-good.”

He whines at your words, and right as your pleasure approaches its peak you feel his hips stutter and slam up into yours harder than all the times before. The stimulation of that spot deep inside of you is all that’s needed to push you into the throes of your orgasm, and it washes over you more intensely than you’ve ever felt before as you clench and tense with a cry of his name.

Distantly, you feel his own grip on you tighten, and his hips still as they’re pressed against yours. Warmth floods your core, cock throbbing as he empties inside you, and you swear you hear the softest of confessions uttered to the air as he joins you in your high.

He comes down before you do, although you’re not far behind him, and for a moment you sit in place, panting and attempting to come back to your senses. He’s softened inside you slightly, but when you shift and clench on instinct as you do so, feeling cum slide down your thighs, he twitches and throbs inside you.

Taken aback, your gaze whips to him and now that his shame has returned to him, he has the decency to blush. Well, apparently Jeon Jungkook’s stamina really is no joke. Maybe he really was born to be an athlete.

“Greedy. You want more?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and a thrilling mix of fear and excitement dances in his eyes.

“y/n—” he rasps, desperate. You slide off of him, making both of you groan, but return to your previous position on his thigh. He moans as he feels his own cum leak out of you and onto his skin. When your hand comes to wrap around his slick member, he jolts and whines.

“You wanna tell me what you said just before?” you ask, beginning to twist your wrist and stroke his cock ever so slowly. He shakes his head, whether at your question or the overstimulation, you’re not sure— you know it’s probably a bit of both though, considering he twitches in your hold.

“‘S embarrassing,” he murmurs, back arching as you increase your pace just a little. “Ah, y/n!”

“I see. You know, I think I can get you to cum again,” you say, changing tactics.

Jungkook shakes his head, strands of his raven hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. “I can’t—”

“You should tell me,” you say, teasing lilt to your tone. He whines, rocking his hips into and then away from the sensations.

When he shakes his head again, letting it fall back against the wall and baring the column of his throat to you, you jump on his acceptance of the situation. You pick up speed, rolling your wrist and moving in tune with the shifting of his body. It doesn’t take very long before his oversensitivity throws him into another orgasm, stronger than the last but dryer. The few beads of cum that escape seem ever so tantalising as they roll down his length, drawing your gaze.

“You gonna tell me now?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Jungkook slumps against the wall, breathing heavy and sweat glistening on his golden skin. He looks at you through heavily lidded eyes.

“It’s still embarrassing,” he whines, breathy in his exertion.

Right, well. You know what he said, but you want to hear him say it with his own mouth once more and you’ll stay here all night to make that happen if you need to.

Of course, it’s not until a while and another heated moment or two later that Jungkook realises this and gives in.

His confession is so much sweeter on your ears the second time, and of course, as promised, you reward him with your own. It’s worth it for the way it makes his eyes shine, you think.

Jeon Jungkook really has you well and truly whipped.

a/n: thank u for reading and i hope u liked it! im super excited to have completed my first commission and would really appreciate it if u let me know what u think by sending me an ask and liking & rbing this with ur thoughts!! i read & appreciate everything!! thank u !! love u !! peace out !! :D

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years ago

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 1

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.

If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures

Read on AO3

I felt it before I heard it.

A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.

Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.

I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.

Something had crashed outside.

Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.

There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.

Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.

That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.

This is your cue Alexys.

I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.

At least he’s breathing.

“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.

Not great, but it was enough for now.

I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.

Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.

Kriff, this is not ideal.

I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.

He was certainly going to need them.

Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited.

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

There was no response.

I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”

Still nothing.

Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.

In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.

How the hell am I going to do this?

With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.

Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.

Oh no no no.

With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.

Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.

As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.

Collapsed lung.

Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.

I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.

One crisis averted.

But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.

I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.

After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.

Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.

His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.

I need to get some blood into him before moving this.

I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.

If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.

Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.

Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.

I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.

With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.

Finally.

My relief was short lived.

It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.

Oh maker no.

Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.

You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.

The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.

He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.

It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.

Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.

Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.

But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.

In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.

Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.

Hurry, he’s dying.

I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.

Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.

You’re taking too long.

The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.

Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.

I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.

My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.

You did it.

The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.

A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.

Then, there was only darkness.

Next Chapter

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