#it's crazy to look back only months ago and feel like a whole new human being | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sandyca5tle · 5 months ago

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Slime HRT Story - New Beginnings

“Dragon HRT?” I mumbled aloud to myself as I scrolled, stopping on the post, the title intriguing me. I looked through it and mostly found myself in disbelief - HRT that could turn you into another species, let alone a mythical one like a dragon, seemed like something someone had made up for clicks.

I would’ve just disregarded it as exactly that, however, the post did cause some feelings that had been kind of simmering in the back of my mind to rise to the surface. I’d always liked the idea of being something more - no that’s not really fair - but something else than human. A few things had appealed to me over the years, although they’d only been more fleeting things back then, but recently I’d been feeling them more strongly. My guess is that, having sorted out my gender and some of the medical transitioning for that (nearly 3 years on feminising hrt), it allowed my brain to notice the other things that weren’t quite right.

Much like with the post, I had pushed them out of the way as an impossibility - people couldn’t just be animals, that sounded crazy… but then so had a boy being able to be a girl, and here I was now. And as much as I had tried to ignore it, I had noticed the occasional phantom limb, primarily a tail, but also wings, that made it a little harder to just push away.

I looked over the post again, nothing new jumping out at me, so I continued scrolling. But the post still sat with me, idling away in my mind as I laughed at some funny remark about my favourite show.

***

2 months after seeing that first post, I came across another from the same person and was surprised and excited with what I saw. They hadn’t been making stuff up for attention, they actually were becoming a dragon. They only had some scales on their hands, as well as the beginnings of horns and their eyes were changing colours, but the pictures seemed legit.

I was stunned. Was it actually possible for people to change their species? Could I change my species? What species would I even be?

I caught myself - I hadn’t expected the latter pair of questions to come out, let alone so easily. Was that something I wanted? To become another species? Just a couple months ago that had seemed like an insane idea, but now I was excited by the thought? The wagging phantom tail did not help the side of me that wanted to deny this. I decided I’d wait it out a little longer, after all, this must be a fairly new procedure, no reason to charge into it so soon, and i clearly need to sort out my thoughts on it anyway

***

So there’s puppy hrt now, and mouse hrt too, and the dragon hrt is coming along really well. I’d also spent some time and kinda figured out my feelings as well, had realised I didn't wanna be human if I didn't have to. Could I survive the rest of my life as a human? Sure. Would I be happy? Uncertain. Did the idea of not being human make me excited and happy, in such a familiar way to the idea of actually being a girl? Yes.

I’d also been thinking about what I want to be, if not human. Obviously dragon appealed, and matched up with the phantom limbs I had, but I only wanted certain parts of that, not quite the whole package, so that one wasn’t quite for me. I also found the idea of something more traditional, like a catgirl appealing, but that didn’t quite sit right with me, and again, I only wanted parts. I actually went through a whole bunch of options, and while bits and pieces of some appealed, while others seemed like they’d be fun to mess around with, but not as a permanent arrangement, I was struggling to find one thing I’d want to be. Honestly the whole process made me question if I was just making it all up in my head. However I couldn’t shake the desire to leave behind my humanity, so I continued to ponder on it.

All which kind of led me to realise that what I really wanted was to be able to change at will, mix and match whatever I want - I wanted to be a shapeshifter… I.. was a shapeshifter, just stuck in human form by some accident of the universe or something I guess.

From there I began to look up where I could actually get my hands on some of this new hrt, and I found that there seemed to be one main doctor who was approving/handing out this new animal/therian hrt. However, when I looked him up, I came across 3 major issues 1) He seemed to operate out of this place called ‘Hyper City’ which I’d never heard of before, and couldn’t seem to find anything on any maps 2) He seemed unfriendly and had a long list of shitty gatekeepy requirements before he’d let you take the medication (seriously, how am I supposed to live as a ‘shapeshifter’ for two years?), which reminded me of stuff I’d read about similar ‘requirements’ for trans hrt that similarly ticked me off and 3) It was expensive and as I was already paying a bunch for regular hrt, that would be a problem.

However, my solution to similar issues with ‘human hrt’ gave me an idea to start looking into for this new flavour of hrt. As I mentioned, a lot of the clinics I originally looked into for my trans hrt had similar gatekeepy requirements before they would even consider you for hormone treatment, so I looked elsewhere and found a company who offered an informed consent model of treatment. So I decided to do much the same with this hrt, scouring the internet for any trace of a similar setup until eventually I found it!

It seemed like it had been set up relatively recently, but then given how new this therian hrt was, it only made sense. I spent some time looking around their website, checking what kind of things they needed (blood tests etc.) and how much this was going to cost (since apparently being yourself has to be profitable, even for people trying to help out somewhat better). While it was still a lot of money, it was less than the only other available, legitimate, method of doing this, so it at least seemed better.

Since one of the things they did require, asides from blood tests, was an initial meeting to ask some questions and check they understood what I wanted out of the treatment, I figured I could use that to also ask some questions of my own. So I booked the soonest appointment I could (fortunately they did video calls) and waited

***

“Hello?”

A voice came through the computer as the video call lit up with the person on the other end, a youngish woman, late twenties to early thirties, dressed fairly casually, clearly sitting in some kind of home office. It seemed this would be the person talking to me to figure out what I needed. I was kinda happy to see that she had her pronouns (she/her) listed by her name (Anna) in the corner, but I would be lying if I wasn’t a little sad that she seemed to be human. I didn’t necessarily expect to talk to someone else like me immediately, but it would have been cool, and a part of me was holding out hope, but life’s not always so kind.

“Hello!” I replied cheerfully, smiling and giving a wave back through my own camera.

“Nice to meet you, Sandy, right? May I ask your pronouns?” Anna asked “Mine are she/her,” She added

“Oh, uh, yes, and uh, She/They,” I replied - I was always a little awkward whenever I had these kind of talks

“So… you want to start on humanity replacement therapy, that’s correct right?” She asked

I nodded, before quickly adding an assured “Yes!” in case the nod wasn’t clear enough on the stream “Good, right,” She said, glancing down to check her notes “And do you know what you would like to become instead?” She asked, making sure to look up at me as she asked this

“Shapeshifter!” I quickly blurted out, my excitement getting the better of me “I mean, uh, I’d like to be a shapeshifter,”

Anna smiled, “Shapeshifter?” She checked, looking back down at her papers “Well, I’m afraid to say we can’t do that,” I felt my heart drop, all my excitement rapidly turning to despair.

This had been a possibility, in the back of my mind, after all even compared to a dragon, a shapeshifter was pretty out there. Being a mythical creature is one thing, being able to be any creature, or even anything seemed like a bit of a stretch.

However, it seemed that my dismay was premature as Anna continued to speak “Yes, I’m afraid we can’t do that unless you go on a different form of hrt first,” She explained, flicking through some of the papers “If you still want to go ahead with your humanity removal therapy, you will need to complete at least two years of a different therapy regime to create a base for the shapeshifter therapy,” She looked up to gauge my reaction

My reaction, of course, was happiness, especially after that moment of dread. Ok, so it was going to be a little while until I properly got on shapeshifter hrt, but 2 years wasn’t that long - it flew past for me on feminising hrt, so it should be fine here, plus, just ‘cause i wanna be everything, doesn’t mean I can’t survive a little bit of time as something else, first step is to just not be human

“Uh, you mentioned that I’d need to complete a different regime first, do I get to choose which one, or is there a specific one I’d have to take?” I asked, a little worried about the answer

“Don’t worry, you do get to choose,” Anna assured me with a smile “However you’ll have to choose from a selection, not all species are as suited for shapeshifting as others, I’ll send the link to a document listing them all in the chat,”

The link appeared and I opened it in another tab “Uh, should I read this now, or is there any more talking you want to do first?” I asked, not wanting to be rude, but my eyes would not stop flicking to the tab, nor would my phantom tail stop wagging from excitement

“You can take a moment to read through,” Anna gestured a ‘go ahead’ towards the camera

I flipped over to the tab, and was presented with a document. It started with a spiel about how these species are known for being able to naturally alter their physical properties, either in the real world, or in the mythologies they’re from, and so form the best bases for further shapeshifting hrt. I scanned the list, I noticed a few that I’d already looked at before I decided on shapeshifter, like dragon and kitsune, a couple i’d never considered but made total sense to be there, like mimics and squids, and some that i wouldn’t have associated with shapeshifting at all, like cats and snakes.

However, despite all the many options that were available, there was one that really sang to me - slime. Seeing that there kind of seemed to slot the last piece I didn't know I was even missing into the puzzle - the idea of being a fluid being of goo just somehow seemed perfect to me, and I could actually feel myself getting a little emotional.

My emotions must have been obvious on my face as well, as I heard Anna chime in from the other tab “Is everything ok there?” She asked, although I could hear a slight smile in her voice, and I guessed I wasn’t the first one she’d seen through this

“Uh, yes, yes,” I replied, switching back over to the call tab “Just some, uh, unexpected emotions,” I told her honestly “But I think I’d like to be a slime,” I said, just getting the last words out around the lump of euphoria in my throat, and feeling a smile form on my face as I spoke the wish into being.

Anna nodded, and a part of me was a little relieved that she wasn’t trying to contest me on anything, just talking to me and guiding me through everything, it was quite nice from what my fears had hypothesised. Anna shuffled through few more papers on her desk before looking back up at the camera “Ok Miss Slime,” She began and I felt a wave of both gender and what i’m guessing was species euphoria ripple through my body “Next you’ve gotta choose which kind of slime you’ll be,” She explained, dropping another link in the chat

I nodded, and as before opened the tab and looked at the options. This list was… much more extensive than the shapeshifting one had been, and there were categories and subcategories within subcategories. I hadn’t ever realised how many different kinds of slimes there could be. I saw ‘blood slime’ and ‘magma slime’ neither of which were appealing to me, metal slime did interest me a little, but it didn’t quite seem to sit right with me. I kept looking through at all the options until I came across one that felt right

“Uh, what exactly is the sap slime?” I asked “Just want to make sure I know what I’m choosing,” I added

“It’s exactly what it sounds like, a slime made of tree sap,” Anna told me “You can also pick the species of tree if you want to do that, or we can give you a more generic one,” She offered

I thought for a second “Do you have anything like maple syrup-y? I know that’s made from sap, so is there like sap-syrup slime? Doesn’t have to be maple if that’s possible, honestly I’d probably prefer it wasn’t maple if I can have a choice, while I don’t dislike maple syrup, it has a weird flavour I’d rather not replicate..” I half-trailed off, suddenly realising I’d been rambling a little

“I’m sure we can find you something like that,” Anna replied with a wry smile, adding some notes onto the paper before “For now I’ll put you down for a sap slime then, with a preference for syrupy,” She said.

I smiled and nodded, confirming what she’d said.

“Well, that should be everything we need today, however I see you haven’t scheduled a physical examination,” Anna remarked

“Uh, yeah, I was going to do that after this, figured I’d see if I was even allowed before paying for the test,” I replied “But also a physical? I thought I just needed blood work?” I asked

“For simple human hormone replacement therapy, yes, however this is a little more extreme, and will completely change your biology, and so we need a more complete baseline to make sure your transition progresses nominally,” She explained

“That makes sense,” I replied “I doubt my GP will go along with this,” I added, knowing they hadn’t been ok with my gender transition, so they likely wouldn’t be with this either “So where will I take this physical?” I asked

“There's a clinic we work with that you can go to who will take the information we need and send it to us,” Anna told me, typing for a couple seconds before a link appeared in the chat “There’s the link you can use to setup an appointment for it,” She told me, as I copied the link for later “Do you know how to get to Hyper City? The clinic is there, so you will need to know how to get there,” She added

I shook my head “I’ve only see vague and weird sounding shtuff about it online, if it weren’t for the seemingly literal magic the treatment provides, I’d be inclined to believe that it was all made up,” I told her

“I can promise you it’s a very real place, I live there, and it’s where I’m talking to you from right now actually,” Anna replied, causing my eyes to widen a little “Since you don’t know how to get here, I’ll tell you, and it’s surprisingly simple,” She paused for a second before continuing “Simply head 20 minutes outside of wherever you live, any direction, any method of travel - so long as you control where you’re going, otherwise it might get a little complicated - you’ll find a road you’ve never seen before. Follow the road and it will take you to the city,” She explained “Depending on where exactly you live, you might be able to see the city from further away, and it might have some strange interactions with the natural surroundings, but that’s nothing to worry about,” She added “As for getting back, simply leave through the archway you enter through and you’ll find yourself back where you came in,”

I nodded, before my brain actually started to properly process what she had said “That sounds… unbelievable, but again, I am trying to turn myself into a slime, so unbelievable is the flavour of the day,” I replied “So just 20 minutes out of town and I’ll find it?” I checked, receiving a nod of confirmation from the other side of the screen “That’s going to be interesting around here…” I muttered

“Regardless, if you set up an appointment and get your physical done, you can then request a prescription for your medications. They can be delivered to your home, however, due to some difficulties sending things from Hyper City to other places, it can be somewhat more expensive, so it may be preferable for you to collect them yourself from our associated pharmacy in the city,” She explained. I nodded, frowning a little at the idea of extra costs, however it did prompt a question I had been meaning to ask during this meeting

“Will I still have to take my ‘human’ hrt alongside this? Y’know, for, uh, trans stuff,” As i had spoken i realised I hadn’t mentioned that I was trans before, and while I assumed people working with non-human hrt wouldn’t have a problem with it, it still felt a little awkward to bring up

Anna however, seemed nonplussed, and simply took a moment to think “I’m not one of the doctors who understands the science of this, however, I do believe that there is a point after which your biology will have changed sufficiently that human hormones, and so human hormone therapy, will no longer have a meaningful effect on your body,” She explained “If you want to know the specifics, you can use one of the contact forms on the website to find out, since those can be passed onto the doctors,” She explained

I nodded again, I couldn’t expect her to know all the details of the medicine, and it was nice to hear that I could get a better answer to my question. It also made me surprisingly happy to hear that human hormones would cease to have an effect on my body, despite all the work I'd done to get on them in the first place.

“One more thing I need to ask about: Have you told anyone about your desire to transition, to be a shapeshifter and a slime?” Anna asked

I was a little caught off by her question, but I should have expected it “My partner knows, and is supportive, but, uh, outside of that no, no one else really knows,” I told her

“Do you live with your partner?” She returned

I shook my head “No, uh, we just talk online and stuff,” I explained

“It is highly recommended that you have a support network, and while online support can be very helpful, I am required to specifically recommend some in person support as well,” She told me, once again typing in the chat “I’m sending a link to a support group that’s started up for people taking non-human hrt, and I would highly suggest attending,”

I took a moment to quickly copy the link to somewhere more permanent before replying “Thanks, I’ll, uh, try to make sure I go at some point,” I told her

“Good,” She responded “Well, I’ve asked all I need to know for this session, so we are finished if you have no more questions you want to ask?” Anna offered

“No, nothing I can think of right now,” I told her

“Well, then it was lovely to meet you Sandy, and I wish you good luck on your journey,”

“Thank you! It was nice to meet you too, goodbye!”

***

I glanced at my phone again 20 minutes out of town, that’s what she said I thought to myself as I looked along the road, which of course had no pavement, so I had spent plenty of time over my, albeit brief, trek out here half-throwing myself into hedges to avoid cars. Regardless, I was coming up on the 20 minute mark, and so looked around for any signs of the city.

And I definitely found them.

As I looked to my left, over where normally there were just fields, I could see skyscrapers and lights jutting out of the landscape where normally there’d be clear skies. It was… weird to say the least, but at least it told me I was doing things right.

I went a little further down the road, and eventually spotted a path that I was fairly certain hadn’t been there before, not to mention that it clearly led to the shining collection of buildings that seemed to have spawned in the fields. I figured by some sort of magical shenanigans that no-one else could see this as I suspected a city spontaneously appearing in the middle of a field would have drawn some kind of attention beyond my own, and yet no-one else seemed to pay it any heed.

As I crossed over and headed down the road, I couldn’t help but notice that the city seemed to intersect with a few of the hedges marking the field boundaries, however it seemed to pass through without either entity having issue, and honestly my mind was having an odd time trying to resolve exactly what was going on. I figured it was some kinda magic shenanigan and decided I could ask about it later if I really wanted to know about it.

Eventually I reached an archway, after which passing through I was greeted with a ‘Welcome to Hyper City’ sign just off the road next to me. I took a second to properly marvel at the city up close now, before pulling out my phone and opening the screenshotted directions to the clinic and beginning to follow them.

As I walked around, following the directions as best I could, I noticed a few shops that caught my eye, all advertising fantastical products and services that definitely seemed magical in nature. However, as intriguing as they seemed, I had an appointment to keep, and so took each turn my instructions told me.

As I got closer to my destination, I also began to notice another thing of note: there were people, but not simply human, I could see people with scales, furs, ears, tails, and horns, albeit all in various stages of development. It warmed my heart to see others out in the world who had taken the same path I was trying to start on, while at the same time also sparking some envy that they had already started, while I was still stuck in this human form. In an attempt to avoid staring too much, I focused my attention back onto my phone, settling for courteous glances at any other interesting people I saw along the way.

I did eventually, of course, find my way to the clinic, walking through the doors and giving my name over to the receptionist so she could find the information for my appointment

“You’ll be with Dr. Othek Inn, please wait in the waiting room to be called up,” She told me, and I promptly did as instructed

I continued to people watch in between scrolling on my phone, spying more people who were clearly also here for similar reasons as me amongst all the humans. It was sad to see that some of the people were looking at them with looks of disdain and displeasure, but I guessed even here there wouldn’t be escaping that kind of prejudice, which deflated me a little.

It wasn’t too long until I was called up to my appointment. I walked into the room I was directed towards and was met with Dr. Othek, a tall, darker skinned man with longer black hair pulled back into a professional looking ponytail

“You must be Sandy, correct?” He asked me, his voice deep but quite jovial as he looked up from the computer he had just been typing on and gestured to a nearby seat. I nodded. “And you’re here for the full physical in preparation for taking humanity replacement therapy correct?”

I nodded again “Uh, yes,” I told him

“So what kind of creature are you?” He asked, and I felt a euphoric burst at the acknowledgement of my inhumanity

“Shapeshifter,” I told him, my voice a little excited from the euphoria, which i quickly toned down before adding “Uh, but I have to become a slime first, since I guess the human body doesn’t respond well to the shapeshifter treatment or something,”

“Shapeshifter and a slime? Interesting, think you’re the first one with that particular combination that I’ve seen,” the doctor replied

“Couldn’t pick one form, so why not have any I want,” I said, a little jokingly with a shrug and a smile

“Most people would wait until they had a clearer decision before heading into something so life changing,” Dr. Othek pointed out, and while I didn’t particularly feel any judgement in his tone, the words still stung

“It’s not really ‘indecision’ though, it’s that I’d feel trapped in any one form - human, dragon, shark, tiger, even something like slime, although that would at least be somewhat bearable,” I explained “I need to be able to change, shift, flow, and alter myself at will and on a whim, become as tall as a building and as small as a mouse just because that’s what I feel like, and being stuck in one form feels like a jail made of bones and sinew,”

The man chuckled a little and smiled “Forgive me, you clearly have thought about this, and made a very clear decision,” He replied, and I blushed a little, suddenly realising I’d been rambling and gushing to what was essentially a random stranger, even if he was a seemingly supportive medical professional

“Sorry, I just have kinda strong feelings about it,” I told him sheepishly

“As you should, this is who you are, and it’s important to be assured of that,” He replied “And to that end, shall I proceed with the examination?” He asked

“Oh, uh, yes,” I replied

Over the next hourish I was poked, prodded, stabbed, and otherwise measured in all the various medical ways needed to ascertain my bodily health ahead of my transition. Fortunately I managed to avoid fainting when my blood was taken (as I am ever prone to do - nothing to do with the blood, I’m just kinda prone to fainting in certain conditions), only needing to lie down for a little while, so all of the tests we completed without issue.

We sat back down after the final examination, and Dr. Othek finished entering the last of my details into the system before turning back to me.

“Well, it looks like you’re fairly healthy, a little overweight, but nothing that infringes on your health, so, besides from getting the results of your blood test, I can safely give the greenlight for you to start your transition,” He told me

I beamed, feeling my phantom tail wagging behind me, a little grateful that the doctor couldn’t see it, even if my face likely showed it just as much “That’s awesome! Well, asides the overweight thing, but if that’s not a problem, I’ll focus on the positives,” I said

“Yes, well, you’ll have to wait a couple weeks for the blood tests to be finished, and once those results have come in, you can be allowed a prescription to actually begin your medical transition,” the doctor explained

I nodded “Gonna be a long couple of weeks,” I replied with a slightly pained smile

“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,”

I bid farewell shortly after that, and headed back out, ready to wait until the blood tests were done, and I could truly begin my foray into inhumanity. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, I decided to kinda rewrite the start of slime hrt, and this is the new 'start' of it. Technically the next thing will be the first diary entry type part, but i wanted to do this story form first.

Tag list under cut (lmk if ya wanna be added!)

@calliecwrites, @friedsputnik, @now-entering-the-goop-zone, @scrubbinn, @lilacinthefog

@mint-and-authoress, @losttodreams, @redroversendjayover, @ariathelamia, @kanithedemoncat

#slime hrt #slime girl #non-human hrt #species hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #humanity replacement therapy #transgender #my writing

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choclodox · 1 year ago

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Change is Who We Are

Chapter 2 - Insanity

Word Count: 3015

(previous chapter)(next chapter)

How long has she been tracking us? Oliver asked himself while cooking some fish and cutting up some fruit to dry in the sun. The fact that he and his squad mates were under constant surveillance without knowing it all along was eerie to think about. He didn’t even think much of it when he sensed her presence in the forest two months ago.

Spider was showing them how to break a fall using the broad leaves of other plants on the way down. Turns out it came with a brutal learning curve.

“Come on, losers!” Spider taunted from the ground below. The sound of a light smack followed soon after, most likely the Colonel swatting the back of the boy’s head.

“Punk ass kid,” Prager muttered under his breath. It was his turn to go again, and he was already sick and tired of messing up and getting laughed at. Oliver rolled his eyes under his shades and preoccupied himself by looking around while he waited for his own turn. And then he noticed it.

The scent came from downwind of him, so it was pretty faint but still there. It wasn’t a thanator or a viperwolf, thank Christ, but not knowing what it was made him feel just as uneasy. Almost like a Na’vi but also like that smell right before a rainstorm or the mist when he and the squad were flying through the mountains.

“You smell that?” he asked out loud, looking in the direction it came from.

“Smell what?” Prager said.

“Over there, next to—" Oliver said, but the scent was gone.

“Next to what?” Prager asked again in irritation.

Oliver gave the area one last scan, then turned back to his teammate.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Well, the past was in the past, and he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to focus on getting back to the RDA.

Navigating Pandora wasn’t easy without a map. It wasn’t like he could look for the big dipper to find the north star. This world had an entirely different star system than Earth with constellations Oliver couldn’t even pronounce. He had to limit his flights to the day because all he knew was that Bridgehead City was to the South, and if he kept the sun to his right, he’d get there eventually.

Oliver just wanted to get back to civilization as soon as possible. He was tired of sleeping with one eye open every night and foraging for every meal he ate. And while he was a man of few words, he knew he’d go crazy if he only had Tomahawk to talk to.

Then again, a banshee was better than a volleyball.

He wondered what Earth looked like right about now. It was already a shit hole when he was there last, but if humanity’s aim was to make Pandora their new home, it must’ve been really bad. He’d heard that because of inflation, pets became a luxury only the ultra-wealthy could afford. The air was so full of smoke that exo-packs were customizable as they’d become a part of everyday fashion. The icecaps were gone, Africa was just a desert, and most people were going their whole lives never seeing a blade of grass.

Oliver thought about his mom.

It was just the two of them growing up. She was a nurse at a hospital downtown, sometimes working double or triple shifts to keep the dingy apartment they called home. She’d always come home late, but it never took a toll on her parenting skills. Never once did she take out her frustrations on her son, never brought home an asshole boyfriend or threatened to abandon him at a bus stop. Nope. She was the best anyone could ask for.

Always letting Oliver have the last piece of whatever meal they had, letting him hog the blanket on the one bed they had to share, helping him with homework that she herself didn’t understand, and enduring his temper tantrums and their arguments during his teen years.

His dad was a good man. He was also a marine and liked grilling on their apartment’s rooftop. Of course, Oliver wouldn’t know from experience: his dad died in a motorcycle accident when he was 4. He was too young to remember much, but Oliver did have one memory of him that stuck: when they went for a ride on his dad’s Harley. They were outside the city on an old highway, wind blowing through their hair while the sun gave way to night in the distance.

But were they really his parents? Was any of that really his life? He was just the recombinant of Oliver Mansk, a soldier killed in action over 15 years ago.

It was all this thinking and reflecting that made Oliver completely forget about the fish until it was too late. While he scrambled to save his food from burning, a pair of watchful eyes stared at him from a distance.

Rini was hanging upside down from the trees, sleeping peacefully in the warm afternoon sun. Nikea was in her ikran’s arms, sleeping the day away alongside her until the Na’vi woman smelled something smoky. It wasn’t overpowering. In fact, once she got past the burning smell, it was rather decent. She gave two pats to Rini’s chest, and in response, her ikran slowly unfurled her wings so Nikea could see what was causing the commotion. She winced at the harsh light of the sun but persisted. On the sands, the man let out an exasperated sigh. Meanwhile, his ikran sat by, basking in the sun. How that man and his ikran had survived this long was beyond her.

She was tucking herself back in when her stomach growled. Nikea rolled her eyes knowing that her appetite wouldn’t let her go back to sleep until it had been satisfied. Hunger truly was the bane of every Night Na’vi’s existence.

Before she could tell Rini that it was time to start foraging for fruit, Nikea looked at the man on the beach one more time. He was standing there, looking at the sea, and his tail lashed behind him with his hands on his hips. Behind him, his ikran was gulping down that miserable attempt at a meal. It must’ve been the guilt kicking in. She didn’t have much time before her head would start hurting, so she’d have to be quick.

Well, if Eywa decided he should live this long, she might as well bring him with her to Awa’atlu for questioning.

Oliver let Tomahawk have his ruined lunch; it was better than letting it go to waste. At least he had the fruit still drying on the rock.

“Unless you want to spend the next several hours vomiting nonstop, I suggest you don’t eat that.”

He jumped out of his skin and looked up to see the Na’vi from last night.

“JESUS!” Oliver yelled. Tomahawk looked up and let out a startled squawk.

Her banshee was hanging upside down while she remained right side up. She used the saddle’s foot holds to stand on and the animal’s armored back scales to grab onto.

Now that it was light outside, he could see that her skin was a much deeper, darker shade of blue than a forest Na’vi. And even though her cloak and banshee rider leggings were hiding most of her skin, he could see that her stripes were more of a brindle pattern rather than like a tiger’s.

“See those red berries?” the woman asked, nodding her head to the vines covering the tree her banshee was hanging in. “Those are the ones you want. Also, that fish is meant to be eaten raw. In fact, the whole fish is edible, not just the flesh.”

Oliver screwed up his eyebrows and looked back at the fire. He’d been shooting himself in the foot the whole time.

“But I saw one of those monkey-things eating those fruit,” Oliver said. It was Spider that taught him that if you see an animal eating something, then it should be okay for you to eat it too.

The woman couldn’t believe the words the man had just said. It wasn’t even a full day and she’d already had to save him from aynantang, food poisoning, and starvation.

“Wiya,” she said under her breath. There was no way she was going to get any proper rest on this island with this helpless baby’s antics.

Rini stopped preening herself and turned her head to her rider. The eyeless ikran was growing impatient, and a low rumble emitted from deep within her chest. Nikea could feel the vibrations of Rini’s complaints.

“I will come back in the evening,” she sighed. “Try not to kill yourself until then.”

As the banshee dropped from the trees, the Na’vi woman remounted the saddle, and the two of them returned to the forest’s depths. Oliver and Tomahawk only looked at each other, both wondering how many more awkward exchanges they were going to have with that weird lady and her banshee.

The sun had disappeared behind Naranawm when Nikea had returned to the beach. She was a little surprised to see that the man was still alive.

“I see you’re not dead,” she called from the trees. Oliver’s hair stood up on end. He mumbled to himself and stood up from the rock he’d been sitting on.

“You sneak up on all your friends like this?” he asked, rubbing his arms to warm himself up.

“My friends? No,” she said. She came forward into the moonlight where he could see her better.

Oliver rolled his eyes and whistled for Tomahawk to come pick him up. Once he was on his saddle, he joined the Na’vi in the trees and jumped off again to stand on the tree limb with her.

“Okay, now what?” Oliver asked.

She looked over his shoulder to look at Tomahawk and walked around Oliver to get a better look at his saddle.

“Your ikran can’t make tight maneuvers because you keep that padding on his neck too tight,” she said, pointing at his banshee. “You also overfeed him.”

Oliver looked off to the side and mumbled something inaudible. The Na’vi woman’s unscarred ear twitched at that.

“I’m not trying to be ‘snobby.’ I’m trying to help you,” she said. His eyes widened. How did she hear him say that from over 10 feet away?

“Night People are good listeners,” she said as if she could read his mind. “Now come. I’m tired of you waking me up with your antics.”

“Night People?” he asked as they started climbing up the vines to higher ground. “They told us about you guys. The RDA I mean. It was only for like…10 seconds though.”

“Hm,” she said. “I’m surprised they had anything to tell you at all.”

In the dark, Oliver could see that her banshee wasn’t too far behind. It was crouched on a branch overhead, probably making sure he didn’t try any funny business while they were climbing up the tree. Based on his limited experience with mountain banshees, Oliver knew that they were loyal to their riders, but hers was more…attentive. Almost sentient, but not like a person. More like a dog, he guessed.

“Don’t worry about Rini,” the Na’vi woman said. “She’s just clingy.”

“Rini, huh? Is that her name?” he asked. He grunted as he jumped from the vines onto the branch she was now standing on. “Uh, what’s yours?”

She paused to think about it before she answered, “Nikea.”

“Just Nikea?” Oliver asked. He thought Na’vi names were longer than that.

“Yes,” she responded. Nikea stopped in front of a glowing mushroom-thing that was growing on the trunk of the tree. Nikea took out a knife from under her cloak, cut off a few chunks, and handed it to Oliver.

“Forest People call this atana hena,” she said while he put it in his pocket for safekeeping. “If you cut it off and soak it in fresh water every few days, you can use it as a light source. Once it stops glowing, you can have something to eat. It’s very filling.”

“Oh. We saw it all the time, but Spider never said anything,” Oliver said.

“Of course, he didn’t,” Nikea said, continuing their trek. “You’re the enemy.”

“Well, ‘the enemy’ is tougher and smarter than you think,” Oliver said, leaning back against the tree trunk. “I mean, you’re the ones trying to fight gunships and bombers with bows and arrows.”

“And you’re the ones responsible for your dying world,” Nikea said, cutting some more atana hena for herself. “Thinking that you’ll find salvation here by repeating the same mistakes you made there .”

“It’s the march of progress,” Oliver argued. She stopped cutting.

“It’s insanity.”

Her yellow eyes bore into him intensely. He also noticed that she didn’t have as many glowing freckles as most Na’vi he’d seen, even with the visor on.

“You didn’t have to wait until nightfall to give me a few pointers,” he said, looking away.

“We’re called ‘Night People’ for a reason,” she responded. She grunted after cutting through a particularly tough stalk. “Besides, I have to look for food anyways. Might as well show you how while I’m at it. Now eat.”

Oliver took one of the stalks in his pocket and took a few bites. It was like biting into stale cotton candy, and the taste was so sweet, it was almost too much. But she was telling the truth when she said it was filling: He was only three bites in, and he already felt like he’d eaten two hearty dinners. But his jaw hit the floor when he looked at Nikea.

While he had barely started the stalk he was eating, Nikea was already on her second . His eyes popped out of his head when she went for a third . She stopped eating when she finally noticed him staring at her.

“What?” Nikea said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. He was taught better than to question another’s eating habits.

She finished up, put her knife away, and walked further down their path.

“So, if you’re willing to teach me how to find food,” Oliver asked, almost stumbling on a patch of glow-in-the-dark moss. “Could you maybe show me how to get back home?”

“I could,” Nikea said, lifting a branch out of the way so they both could continue walking.

“Would you please show me how?” he asked in an annoyed tone.

“No,” she replied. “If I send you back, that’s just one more enemy we have to fight.”

“Then what the hell is this all for?” he asked, stopping in his tracks. “If I’m that much of a threat, you might as well kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Nikea said, pausing and turning to face him again. “Not while you have information that can be of use to Jake.”

“So he can kill me once he’s done?” Oliver asked in disbelief, turning back to his campsite. “I’ll just figure it out myself. It can’t be that hard—”

“If you go straight South, you’ll run out of islands to rest on and find yourself in the middle of the ocean,” Nikea pointed out, like an adult reprimanding a child. “The only way back is by flying along the mainland’s coastline; To get to the mainland, you’re going to have to pass through the villages you destroyed, and I doubt they’ll be happy to see you.”

Oliver stopped and looked back at Nikea.

“You have two options,” she said, holding up two of her three fingers. “You can go off on your own where you are guaranteed to die, or you can come with me where it is only highly likely you will die.”

He looked at the horizon, rubbed the back of his neck, and made his decision in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

After getting him properly fed, Nikea showed Oliver a much better place in the treetops to sleep for the rest of the night. The knothole in the tree was big enough for both Oliver and Tomahawk, but it seemed the ikran was happy to sleep outside to guard the entrance. He wasn’t the smartest ikran she’d ever seen, but Nikea had to acknowledge how much he seemed to care for his rider.

Oliver was fluffing the moss bed when he noticed that Nikea wasn’t making any preparations to sleep. She mentioned something about preferring to sleep with Rini.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back by the time you wake up,” she said while hopping back onto Rini’s back.

“Where are you going?” he asked as he approached Nikea, but Rini swerved her head right in front of him and furiously bristled her antennae. Oliver had figured out by now that that was her way of telling him to back off, and he didn’t dare challenge her.

“Rini’s getting hungry, and I am too to be honest,” Nikea said, patting Rini on the side of the neck to calm her down. She said something in Na’vi that he couldn’t understand. Well, he thought it was Na’vi, but it sounded different than what Spider taught them.

“How?”

Nikea paused and flicked her good ear.

“How are you still hungry?” Oliver asked in shock. “You ate three of those ‘aden hana’ things.”

“Atena Hena,” she corrected. “And there’s a lot of things you don’t know about Night People.”

After Nikea made a few clicking noises, Rini hauled herself into the open air and free fell halfway down to the forest floor. She opened her wings, and the two of them flew off into the night leaving no bioluminescence in their wake.

Oliver didn’t want to say anything about it earlier, but after watching her interact with Rini enough times, he confirmed something peculiar about Nikea and Rini’s flight style: not once had he seen Nikea actually queue up with her banshee to take flight. It was as if they didn’t need it.

Wiya = dammit Naranawm = Polyphemus Atana Hena = “carry-light” (mushroom-like organism I made up that can act as a portable light source if harvested and cared for properly) Atan = light

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar2 #nikea #alyara clan #night na’vi #na'vi mansk #private mansk #manskisalive #Oliver Mansk

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lilac-hecox · 1 year ago

Note

Oh buddy, I am excited for this prompt thing. Here’s my idea: Amanda/Anthony and Anthony is a werewolf (I know you did something like that recently but hear me out). They just started dating and she doesn’t know he’s a werewolf yet. She surprises him by going over to his place and is surprised to find him mid change. What happens, fluffy or smutty, is up to you. 😘

Anthony/Amanda - Full Moon

Amanda shuts Anthony’s front door behind her, the plastic bag from the drug store heavy in her hands, swinging around her thighs a little as she walks towards his living room.

“Anthony?” She calls out, her voice echoing around the quiet of her boyfriend’s house.

The two of them have only been dating a few months, but he’s already given her a key to his place, and they had made plans while at the office earlier to meet up at his house tonight to film some stuff for Instagram about Halloween. She was planning on doing his make up and they were going to try on a bunch of goofy costumes that Anthony had found online.

“Babe?” She tries again, mildly concerned that she can’t hear him moving around at all.

Then, she hears footsteps finally, but they sound too heavy or…just kind of off. Amanda feels nerves bubble in her stomach, and she nervously takes a step towards the noise, which seems like the worst idea in the world, but something inside of her is compelling her to check on the sound and make sure Anthony is alright.

As Amanda enters the hallway, she can hear heavy breathing coming from the direction of Anthony’s bedroom. A whole new fear enters her mind. What if he was with someone else? What if he was cheating on her right now?

Amanda’s heart races as she follows the panting noise she can hear, an anger growing inside of her. The closer she gets, the louder the sounds are. She hears a soft groan that sounds like Anthony and that anger and hurt wells up in her chest. Why even ask her to make things official a few months ago if he didn’t actually want to be in a relationship?

Amanda doesn’t hesitate to tug open his bedroom door, ready to lay into him for cheating on her, especially when he had invited her over for the evening and he knew she was coming! That spark of fury fizzles out inside of her when she sees what is actually going on in the room.

Anthony is on the floor of his bedroom, at least, she thinks it’s Anthony. He’s on his hands and knees, groaning, like he’s in pain. His shirt is off and he pants wildly, like he’s struggling to breathe.

“Anthony?” she asks carefully.

Anthony whips his head up to look at her and Amanda gasps. She drops the plastic bag she had still been carrying around with her, a compact spilling from the bag and rolling across Anthony’s carpeted floor.

His eyes are a bright gold, not his soft brown that she’s used to with dark slits that look animalistic. He’s got sharp fangs in his mouth and his hands that are splayed across the carpet are tipped with sharp claws instead of fingernails.

“W-What?” Amanda asks, her voice shaking.

Anthony stands smoothly. The rest of him looks human, but maybe…is he a little taller? More muscled? He approaches her swiftly and when Amanda makes a scared noise and goes for the doorknob to wretch his door back open, Anthony is quicker than she is, his hand pressing the door shut again, pinning her between him and the wooden door in the process.

She’s aware of her own heavy breathing as she stares into his eyes. He stares her down like he is observing her, his gaze cooler than she is used to.

“What happened to you?” Amanda asks, her hand coming out to touch his jaw.

He doesn’t move away from her touch and instead he leans into it, then makes a deep grumbling noise in his throat.

“Forgot…full moon…” Anthony says in a voice much deeper than his usual.

“Are you a fucking werewolf?”

Anthony nods, he leans in to her again and nuzzles into her neck, she can feel his warm breath against her skin. Amanda shivers despite herself, despite how crazy all this is right now.

“And you never thought to tell me? Does Ian know? I swear to God if everyone at the office knows but me, I’m- “

Anthony leans in and kisses her, silencing her words. His strong hands find her hips and press her back against the door more firmly. Amanda would love to say this has no effect on her, but that would be a lie. Heat opens in her stomach, her head swims, as she feels him carefully lick into her mouth, his sharp teeth gentle as they kiss.

Anthony breathes in deeply and then lets out a shuddery growl. His hands slide down to her waist, one curling around her hip and the other going for her right thigh. In an instant, Anthony is hefting her up and pressing her back against the door. Amanda wraps her legs around his waist as he kisses her again.

Fuck. He was strong. Strong enough to hold her up when they were nearly the same height. She feels dizzy with her attraction to him like this, half-way between the man she knows and this werewolf that she doesn’t. Would he keep changing? Was this just the beginning? Was she in danger? It was hard to imagine that Anthony would ever purposefully hurt her, but then again, this wasn’t Anthony.

Anthony uses his body to keep her pressed to the door so his hands were free to undo the button of her jeans, tugging down the zipper before he pulls at the denim, all done with more finesse than she would have given him credit for with the claws.

As fast as her jeans were gone, her underwear is next, and then he is shucking his own jeans down to his feet, leaving him bare, strong, an animalistic aura radiating off of him.

“Fuck,” Amanda whimpers.

Again, Anthony presses his face to her neck, and then she feels the hardness of his dick sliding against her opening. Amanda shivers, holds on to his muscled back. Anthony thrusts into her in one motion, bottoming out immediately. He is bigger, his dick is bigger, and Amanda’s breath is punched out of her as he fills her in one go.

“Oh my God,” She breathes, tipping her head back against the door.

Anthony licks a damp line up her throat, causing Amanda to shiver again.

“Tastes…good,” Anthony growls.

He sets a quick pace, fucking her against his bedroom door, her body jolting with each thrust from him. He feels incredible, from his strong hands holding her up like she weighed nothing, to his nails barely biting into her hips and thighs, to all the deep and low, guttural sounds he makes as he fucks into her, hard and quick.

“Anthony,” Amanda groans, her legs squeezing at his hips, her hand sliding into the curls at the back of his head. They’ve never done this before, this quick, frantic fucking. Anthony likes to take his time, Amanda likes a lot of foreplay, and Anthony is happy to indulge in that. There’s something animalistic about this wolf form of Anthony’s needing her so badly he couldn’t wait, fucking her like it might be the last thing he ever does.

It is too soon when she can feel herself getting close, but the way he’s holding her drives his extra big cock into her pussy at the perfect angle, making sparks shoot through her veins.

“I’m gonna. Anthony, I’m right there…”

He growls and speeds up and Amanda digs her nails into his back as he fucks her straight into her orgasm. She clings to him, moaning out his name as Anthony keeps going, blisteringly fast, growling, as she feels him twitch and jerk inside of her, and she knows he must be close.

“Please, come,” She breathes, “Anthony, please.”

Anthony moans, but it almost sounds like a howl, and he’s there, pinning her with his body against the wood of the door, his dick jerking inside of her as he comes, shooting thick ropes into her body, as she kisses him, carefully running her teeth along his fangs.

They stay like that for a long while, both catching their breath. When Anthony can move again, he doesn’t let Amanda down, instead, he carries her to his bed before depositing her gently in the middle. He’s over her again, nuzzling and licking her neck.

“Do I need to be worried about this?” she asks belatedly, cupping his face.

Anthony shakes his head, “Never hurt you.”

She smiles at him, brushes his thick curls from his face.

“Alright, well, this is much more interesting than shooting content.”

#polysmosh #smoshships #anthony/amanda #amanda/anthony #amanthony #prompts #spicy #werewolf!anthony #not fair you know i am weak for supernatural anthony

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cevansbrat0007 · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 437 times in 2022

That's 428 more posts than 2021!

320 posts created (73%)

117 posts reblogged (27%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cevansbrat0007

@maroonsunrise83

@angrythingstarlight

@geminixevans-stan

@celestielcrybaby

I tagged 322 of my posts in 2022

Only 26% of my posts had no tags

#cevansbrat0007 asks - 165 posts

#chris evans - 95 posts

#chris evans imagines - 82 posts

#chris evans smut - 64 posts

#andy barber - 60 posts

#andy barber imagines - 56 posts

#chris evans woc!reader - 51 posts

#andy barber smut - 40 posts

#cevansbrat0007 fics - 39 posts

#chris evans fanfiction - 38 posts

Longest Tag: 36 characters

#not sure who else needs to read this

My Top Posts in 2022:

Cevansbrat0007′s Masterlist

Masterlists within updated with NEW stories as of 11/18/22!

Thanks for stopping by! My official Masterlist(s) can be found below. Likes, reblogs, comments, and suggestions are always welcome and appreciated! Special thanks to my friend, @birdie-girl for helping me organize my life. Happy reading, friends!

Stories marked with (**) indicate smut or implied smut. Minors DNI.

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1,046 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

Waddle Woes

Summary: At seven months pregnant, you've perfected the art of the waddle. Your emotions are a little out of wack. Plus you may or may not enjoy pickle and peanut butter sandwiches. And your sweet, handsome husband likes to test your delicate patience. Andy Barber x Black Reader

*Warnings: Fluff, Emotional Pregnant Reader, Weird Cravings, Waddles, Threats of Violence (Towards Andy Barber) Minors DNI

A/N: Part of this idea came from the lovely mind of @writer84. Let me know what you think! Part of my Growing Pains Series. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

You waddle into the kitchen when you hear Andy enter the house. Yes, at seven months pregnant, you waddled. With gusto. And you hated it. You felt like a damned penguin. Your husband thought it was adorable, but that man was also lucky that you hadn’t smothered him with a pillow in his sleep.

You weren’t necessarily proud of it, but yes, the thought had been there. You had always been a stomach sleeper, but now you had to sleep on your side. Or your back. But when you slept on your back you tended to snore. Andy didn’t seem to mind, not that he had a say in it. But you did when you managed to wake yourself up with sounds coming out of your clogged nose and open mouth. It made you feel so pretty.

You felt overly large and unattractive, kind of like a human freight train. Or a bowling ball. And you hadn’t seen your feet in a while. You had always snickered when you’d heard other pregnant women joke about that. But now you realized that it was a thing, like a legit thing! And you missed them.

Now, did that keep Andy from touching you? Oh absolutely not. He wanted you all of the time. He couldn’t stop touching you. One day about a month ago you’d used your phone to look down at your own delicate flower and had belatedly realized that your lady parts had been in serious need of deforestation.

And had Andy ever said anything about your situation? Nope. And when you had confronted him about it and told him that the two of you wouldn’t be having sex again until after the baby was born so that you could properly groom yourself again, he’d looked at you like were crazy.

Andy had tried to explain that he didn’t care about the jungle down below, your words not his, because it was still the same pussy that he loved. He’d said that no matter the look, you’d still had that same sweet taste that he’d grown addicted to.

And then when you’d denied him once more, he’d set up a whole spread in your bedroom and had then, uh, shaved you himself. Now that had been quite the experience.

Oh god, and not to mention the fact that he was always kissing your belly and talking to your baby girl. Of course you talked to her too, but with him…

Sometimes you’d wake up in the morning, and in your sleepy haze you’d hear him tell her all about how he couldn’t wait to meet her and how he would always protect her. Or what he had going on for the day. Sometimes he would talk about you as her Mama. You never interrupted them, but this morning you had caught him talking to your belly about your particular love of Strawberry Ice Cream.

Yeah, you loved him. Your sexy menace.

But now you were hungry again. You’d had a peanut butter and pickle sandwich a couple of hours ago, but now you and your baby were famished. Andy hated those sandwiches. He usually gagged and had to leave the room. Mostly because you teased him by getting real close and trying to offer him a bite. Haters gonna hate.

You also enjoyed tortilla chips with cottage cheese and tabasco sauce. He didn’t get that one either. But at least it didn’t make him gag.

However, back to the task at hand, you and your baby were hungry. You hoped he had brought home something good.

“Hi honey.” You call out as you meet him in what had since become your favorite room of the house. “How was your day and what food did you bring me?”

Andy smiles at you, his eyes warming at the sight of you and your very round belly. He also notes that you’re wearing two different slippers, but since he was a smart man, he decided not to say anything.

“It was good, my sweet little love. How are my babies?”

“We exist..” You grouse. “And we’re hungry. And I love you, but I feel icky and grouchy.” Your hand goes to massage your lower back.

“Okaaay.” He murmurs. “Well, I brought home Chinese. I’ve got some Cashewed Chicken, without the cashews.” Andy made sure to make that note, because the last time he’d brought that dish home you’d cried. Because you wanted the meat and veggies and the sauce, but without the cashews. And you had told him that beforehand, but he had thought that was a weird request and had subsequently forgotten. A bewildered and confused Andy was cute.

“I also got Bourbon Chicken, as well as Beef with Broccoli, with Mushrooms. Along with two Pork Egg Rolls and some Wonton Soup.” Your stomach growled and your baby girl kicked. Hell fucking yes.

“I love you. So much.” You tell him. “But what did you get for you?”

He blinks at you, unsure of how to respond. “I mean, I thought we could share. But I suppose I could make myself a sandwich…”

“I’m only joking, big man. Thanks for the food. You can have the soup.”

He nods his head as if to say “oh, okay.”

“Still kidding, Andy.” He could never really tell these days. Either you were super affectionate, or part demon.

“Can I have a kiss, baby?” He purrs. “I’ve missed you all day. And I’ve been dreaming about getting my hands on your sexy little body and that luscious mouth.”

“Sure, I guess. But fair warning, I had my favorite sandwich a few hours ago. And if you gag while you kiss me, I’m going to get deeply, deeply offended. You know I’m temperamental these days.” You respond with what you hope is a loving smile and not an unstable grin.

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1,217 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

Just A Bite

Summary: Your toddler notices a bruise on your bottom and informs her Daddy. Little does she know that he was the one that put it there in the first place... Andy Barber x Black!Reader

*Warnings: Fluff, Daddy Kink, Andy Barber Being a Menace. Cursing, Ass Slapping, Fingering, Concerned Toddler, Pet Names, Minors DNI

A/N: This is part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. As always, I’d love your feedback, so please let me know what you think. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

------

“Daddy home!” Your three-year-old squeals as Andy walks through the door. “Hi, daddy!” Bianca yells as he picks her up..

“Well, hello baby girl. How was your day?” He smothers her face with kisses. “I missed you.”

“Miss you too, daddy!” She responds, making you laugh. She always gets so excited.

“How was your day, Bianca? What’d you do?” Her brow furrows as she thinks hard. Your baby was smart and she was articulate. Sometimes she just needed a moment. And you both had all of the patience for her.

She looks at you, and you nod. “Tell Daddy what we did, baby.”

“Umm, mama and I went to dah store.”

“Oh, oh okay. And what did you get?” She looks at him as she thinks about it. “C’mon, we got yours and Daddy’s favorite, didn’t we?” She nods again. “Tell Daddy, what we bought.”

“Cookies!” She exclaims.

“Aww, you bought Daddy cookies? Thank you, sweetheart. And then what did you do?”

“Uh, had icy cream wif mama.” Andy laughs at that. “What flavor did you have?”

“Starrsbury.” She tells him. You both knew she meant “strawberry”, but you loved the way she talked. “Mama had dah same.”

“Sounds yummy! Is there any left for Daddy?” She huffs. “Mama’s in der.” She points at the fridge.

“Okay, you two.” You grumble. “Hands off my ice cream, or there will be trouble. For both of you.” You tell them as you wag your finger in their faces. They shrink back just a little, knowing Mama didn’t play about her own starrsbury.

Just then, Bianca grabs Andy’s head and leans in close. “Dada, almost forget.” Oh no, she only ever called him that when she was being serious about something. “Dada.” She rests her head against his. “Need to fix mama.” She tells Andy, prompting your husband to give you a weird look. “Mama has a booboo on her tushy. She say it no hurt. But, Dada, I saw dah ouchie. So fix Mama. Pease.”

Your small hands come up to massage your temples. Yes, Bianca had seen the bite-shaped bruise on your left butt-cheek when you two were in a department store changing room at the mall earlier that day. Being the sweet baby she was, she had immediately become concerned. She’d even tried to kiss it better herself until you’d stopped her. You’d hoped that he had forgotten all about it, but apparently not.

Andy looks back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Bianca didn’t know this, but he was the one that left that fucking mark to begin with. Your baby was talking to the enemy.

“Thank you for telling me, baby.” He murmurs as he nuzzles her little face with kisses.”Dada will check on Mama, alright? I promise I’ll make it all better. Now how about you go watch some Mickey Mouse Club House and play with your toys?” And then she’s off.

“Hot dog dance!” She screeches.

Palms raised, you slowly walk backwards into the kitchen trying to create some distance between you and your fiend of a husband. The man just did not know when to quit, or maybe he didn’t care. “C’mere, Y/N.” He coos at you.

“Now, Andrew, stay back.” Your back bumps into one of the countertops. “I said stay back, you monster!” You reach for a weapon, but the only option available is one of your baby’s little spoons. “I’ll throw this at your head…it has sauce on it. It’ll stain your shirt.”

He just laughs at your warning. “Y/N, baby girl. We both know you can’t aim for shit unless your mouth is headed for my dick.” Asshole. You fling it anyway, barely missing his head. Which surprises the fuck out of him.

“Now, Y/N,” Andy tsks at you, arms going across his built chest. “Is that any way to treat the man who loves you more than anything? Is that any way to treat your husband who just wants to make sure you’re not hurt?” His voice is laced with mock sadness, so you don’t buy it for a minute. “After all, our little Bianca was so concerned.”

“Yeah, but only because she doesn’t know that it’s her Daddy who is responsible for her Mama’s ouchie.” You huff out as you try to reach behind your back for another weapon, only to come up empty handed. Shit.

“Looks like you’re out of ammo now, baby.” Oh, your husband was enjoying this way too much for your liking. “Ass in the dining room, now. Stop making me wait.” Damn, now he had that tone. The kind of tone that just oozed authority.

He strides over to you, even as you try to move away. “Daddy said march it, honey. I’m gonna need you to listen.” Andy spins you around to smack your butt twice, making you jump. And then he puts his hands on your shoulders and walks you into the room, out of sight of your daughter.

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1,373 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

Off Limits

Summary: You decide that it’s finally time to end your friends with benefits arrangement with Chris. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take the news as well as you’d hoped. Read the Sequel

Chris Evans x Famous Black!Reader

*Warnings: Jealous Chris Evans, Smut, Toxic Chris Evans, Friends with Benefits, Possessive Behavior, Cursing, Oral (f receiving), Manhandling, Unprotected Sex (implied), Minors DNI

A/N: ’d love your feedback, so please let me know what you think. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

_____________

4:00am

This was the last fucking time.

You cautiously crack open the door and peek around the corner. Technically, it was too early for anyone to be awake just yet, but it was better to be safe than sorry. After confirming that the coast is clear you stealthily make your way back to your own hotel room.

You press the keycard against the sensor before darting inside. The door swings shut behind you, and then you make the mistake of looking down at your feet, frowning at the sight of your bare toes.

Goddamnit, you’d forgotten to grab your fucking shoes!

Pissed at yourself, you fling your body onto the bed and proceed to stare at the ceiling until the sun comes up.

_____________

Later that Morning...

You’re the first one to arrive at this morning’s press junket. Checking your phone, you’re surprised to see that you’re actually early for once. Probably had something to do with the fact that you hadn’t slept much after sneaking out of a certain someone’s room at the crack of dawn.

After spending a few hours tossing and turning, you’d eventually thrown yourself out of bed and hit the gym, determined to work that man out of your system. And you hadn’t stopped moving since.

You take a quick sip of your too-hot caramel macchiato and hiss when it burns your tongue. Sigh. You know what, you were gonna blame him for that too. Yeah it was petty, but so what?

Now you had nothing to do but to wait for your fellow co-stars. According to the sheet, Mackie and Stan were slated to join you today. Along with Evans. Hopefully that meant you wouldn’t have to engage with him too much.

The moment you hear Chris walk into the room, you make a point of burying your face in your phone. You ignore the sound of his laughter as he cracks a joke with your first interviewer of the day. His deep, rough chuckle lets you know that he just woke up, reminding you that you’d missed out on early morning cuddles.

Just as the interviewer mumbles something about needing to review a few things with their supervisor before the segment, the subject of your ire begins to wander your way. Now the two of you were left alone. Great.

“Good morning, Y/N.” He greets you, his voice taking on a falsely cheery tone. “I noticed that you were up and gone awfully early this morning.” You grunt in response before taking another sip of your macchiato. “Any particular reason for that?”

“Nope.” Another sip. He takes a seat next to you, making a point of scooting his large body even closer.

“You know you left your shoes in my room.” He purposely keeps his voice low. “Thought about bringing them with me.” Okay, you know he wants you to look at him, but you won’t. At least not until it was absolutely necessary. “You planning to come get them tonight?” You shrug, unsure of exactly what you were going to do about that little problem. You did love those shoes.

“Hey,” he leans over, allowing you to catch a hint of his cologne. “What’s with the attitude?” You shrug again, trying to keep your face as blank as possible. “You know, Y/N, if anyone has the right to be pissed this morning, it’s me.” A shiver courses through you as his warm breath caresses the sensitive skin just behind your ear. That was one of your spots, and that jerk knew it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You snipe, before attempting to return your attention to whatever stupid article was on your phone. One of Chris�� large hands reaches over and covers the screen. “Eyes on me, baby.”

“Let go, Chris.” He tosses a quick look over his shoulder before leaning even farther into your space. “No. Now give me your eyes, please.” Resisting the urge to growl you do as he asks.

“What?” You snap.

“I woke up this morning and you were gone.” Chris’s voice is soft, but there is a definite edge to it. “Which means I didn’t get my taste.” He begins whispering soft kisses along your jawline, which makes you immediately pull away. “Stop it!” You hiss.

When he moves to do it again, you’re forced to use your free hand to push back against his broad chest. “Someone will see.”

Seeming to listen to reason, he leans back into his own chair with a sigh. “So much sass from you already and it’s not even noon.” He mumbles to no one in particular. The hand covering your phone begins to slowly stroke its way up your wrist. Squeezing lightly, he turns to face you again.

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2,293 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Distant

Summary: Your husband has been pretty neglectful lately. Late nights, cancelled plans, missing dinner. Is it possible that he doesn't want you anymore? Andy Barber x Black Reader

*Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Daddy Kink, Insecure Reader, Angry Reader, Remorseful Andy, Ass Slapping, Smut (implied), Rage Cooking, Minors DNI

A/N: This idea is courtesy of the genius mind of @writer84. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. As always, I’d love your feedback, so please let me know what you think. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

___

You blow out a frustrated breath as you end your call with Andy’s assistant, Samantha. Apparently your lunch plans had been canceled. Again. For the fourth freaking time in as many weeks.

And you were extra pissed because your husband of nearly a year hadn’t even had the decency to call you himself.

He’d been so distant lately and you couldn’t figure out why. So many late nights and missed dinners. Frankly, you were tired of eating alone. And he was always exhausted when got home. It had even been a little while since you’d made love. You’d tried to get something going with him the other night, and he’d turned you down.

He had turned you down. You’d had your hand down his pants, lightly stroking and squeezing his thick cock, and he’d actually removed it, kissed you on the forehead, and mumbled “not tonight, honey”. You had been shocked. Andy was a man with a voracious appetite. When he was in the mood, and he was almost always in the mood, he was like the goddamned Energizer Bunny.

The man just kept going, and going, and going…to the point where you had to occasionally beg him for a break. But not lately. It was almost as if he couldn’t be bothered.

You sniffle and head to the kitchen. When you felt like this there was only one thing that would help, short of smacking your husband in the face. Some people rage cleaned, but you? You rage cooked.

___

Several hours later…

When it was all said and done, you had a large pot of savory beef stew simmering on the stove and freshly baked biscuits cooling on the counter, along with a lemon pound cake in the oven, and a strawberry cheesecake settling in the fridge.

And you hoped Andy choked on all of it.

You were not the type of girl to be ignored. And yet that’s what he was doing. So if he was going to ignore you, then you’d ignore him too. You take a sip of the red wine you’d used for the stew, refusing to judge yourself for drinking it straight from the bottle. Your husband was the only man who had the ability to tie you up in knots like this.

Stupid man. You hoped he stepped in gum.

If he didn’t want you anymore, if he was done with you, then he would need to tell you to your face, because you did not do hints.

Gorgeous asshole. You hoped he got a papercut while reviewing legal briefs, and then used hand sanitizer.

You check on the stew, trying a piece of the beef to check on the tenderness. It falls apart on the fork. Perfect. And the flavor was divine. Ladling some of the broth into a mixing bowl, you go about whisking in some cornstarch before adding it back into the pot and stirring. When you feel like it has achieved its desired thickness, you go ahead and turn it off.

Now you just had to wait on the cake. And then you would shower. You take a look at the clock. The time read 6:51pm. Okay, so you’d shower and then you would eat. Alone. As per what had become the fucking usual.

You pull it out of the oven and test its doneness with a toothpick. Crap. It was still a little gooey. Alright, well back in the oven you go dude. You think to yourself, tearing off a sheet of foil to drape over the top of the cake so as to ensure that it didn’t burn. You’d let it go for another ten minutes.

In the meantime, you had a date with the remaining wine left in the bottle next to you.

___

Forty minutes later…

You step out of the shower feeling refreshed, courtesy of your Bath & Bodyworks collection. Thanks to them, you smelled like jasmine and vanilla. You rub the same scented body butter into your thirsty skin, wishing that you had a husband here that would do it for you. Andy would do that sometimes.

He took pleasure in applying lotions and butters all over your body. And it always ended up with you speaking in tongues. That man and those hands…they were dangerous. But he wasn’t here, so whatever.

Pulling on a pair of purple sleep shorts and a pink cami, you head back downstairs to enjoy your stew. As you’d been prepping the dish, you had belatedly realized that you didn’t have any potatoes. So your culinary creation included meat, mushrooms, carrots, and peas. To make up for the absence of carbs, you decided to boil some egg noodles. You’d gone that route before and sometimes, depending on your mood, you enjoyed that option a little bit more.

Spooning some noodles and a decent portion of hearty stew into a bowl, you head into the living room to watch television. And yes, you had another glass of wine in your hand as well.

Handsome buttface. You hoped Andy fell down a well so deep that even Lassie couldn’t find him.

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2,952 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false

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ohblackdiamond · 2 years ago

Text

life and life only (paul/victoria) (pg-13) (part 17 of ?)

Mermaid AU. Paul lives in isolation in a sunken ship with his sister, until a new mer comes by to see his ship, and he starts to reassess the human world, and vie for stardom within it.

In this chapter: Victoria finally confesses her past in the human world to Paul.

She brought him plants the next day, when they met for brunch. A ficus (he recognized it because Bill had one in his office), paperwhites, and a cutting of a small vined plant striped with purple and green.

“I don’t know what it is,” she admitted. “One of my friends gave me a cutting of it a couple months ago, though. It should root before you go to Hawaii. It grows like crazy, even when I forget to water it.”

He was hoping he could get her to come with him. He could imagine the look on Peter’s face when he met him by the gate with Victoria on his arm.

“Thanks.” He couldn’t help but touch the leaves of each plant, checking even the undersides of the leaves and the stems for signs of disease, disease he didn’t even know how to combat here. A garden on land would be so different to a garden in the ocean, he knew. But they all looked healthy and whole. He pointed to the purple cutting. “Will that one be okay if I leave it in the water for a week?”

“I’m not sure. You can try.” Victoria paused. “I’d put it in some potting soil as soon as it rooted if I were you, though, to stabilize it.”

He nodded.

“I haven’t got anything for you.”

“You got me brunch.”

“That’s nothing.�� He was only nibbling at the pancakes and scones on his plate. He had a sudden craving for smoked salmon-- not an offering at this restaurant-- and tried to settle for some bacon instead. It was a pretty lousy substitute. Six years here now and he still only really liked the fish and sweets of the human world.

Six years. How long had she been in the human world now? Had she landlocked? How long was it, really? Ace had made that wild claim years ago, about her being born human, but-- he couldn’t ask her to confirm. He didn’t have the words to.

“Would you like to come by my place? It’s not very far.”

“Paul--”

“It’s beautiful. It’s real beautiful, I think you’d like it.” His mouth crooked up slightly. “And if you hate it, I’ll tear it all down once I get my next advance.”

She didn’t hate his apartment. That was a relief, because he still felt like he had all those years ago, when he’d shown her his ship. The antiques looked worn, and the Tiffany lamp looked tawdry. It never felt good enough around anyone, and it certainly didn’t feel good enough for her.

The two of them put the plants she’d brought him by the kitchen windowsill. Everything was almost untouched in that area from when he’d last gotten it designed and redesigned. In fact, there was barely any food in the kitchen, apart from some Tabs, cereal, and an untouched six-pack of beer.

“I get everything delivered,” he had to admit. “I’m on the road so much, I’m barely ever here. I-in fact, I was… it hasn’t been all that long since I was still staying with the Eisens.”

“You stayed with them for years, and you still call them that.”

“That’s what they are.” He got a glass from the cabinet, filling it up with water from the tap as he spoke. Despite what she’d said, the purple and green cutting already looked wilted.

“They took care of you.”

“I rented a room from them,” he said shortly, watering each of the plants in turn. “I like Mrs. Eisen okay. She liked me. Her husband didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. I dunno that I’d like getting some teenager dumped on me, either. I dunno that he even likes pretending I’m his son. He ought to. I bought them a house last year.”

“Do you hear from Julia?”

“Not much.”

“You said she was going to have a baby.” Victoria had perched herself on the kitchen counter. If he squinted, he could almost see her back so many years ago, sitting with him on the Lord Stanley’s smokestack. “Did she?”

“Yeah. A little girl.”

“Do you see her?”

“I’ve only seen her once.” He didn’t know why Victoria was picking subjects like that. His cousin, his sister, his niece. He’d given her that rundown the night before. Maybe he was getting too used to being able to brush off difficult conversations, to steer them away like a nosy interviewer. “Julia doesn’t want to see me, okay? She only reached out to help her kid. Nothing really changed.”

Victoria looked like she was about to smile.

“Nothing, huh?”

“She doesn’t…” he trailed, suddenly hopeless. “People get funny, y’know? The roadies will do anything for you, the management, the hotel people… the fans, everything. They make you think you’re above it all. But when I saw her and Erica, I was right back down to being myself again.”

“That wasn’t such a bad self, Paul.”

“You don’t get it. I wasn’t some rockstar to her. I wasn’t somebody to be looked up to. I was just her deaf kid brother. That’s all I’d ever be to her. I’d just gotten a little money, that was all.”

Victoria pursed her lips, hoisting herself from the countertop back to the lacquered wood floor. She reached for his arm.

“You can’t change people’s perceptions. They have to do that for themselves.”

“I guess.” Funny how he could still talk to her like before. Be nakedly honest. Truth was at such a premium in his world now. He shrugged, trying to shake off his own thoughts, or at least, keep them from circling around the same sorry subject. “How’s your family, Victoria? You never really talk about anyone but Omar.”

“Oh, they’re all fine. It was my mom and stepfather’s anniversary two weeks ago.”

“I didn’t even know you had a stepfather.”

“My parents divorced when I was a kid,” she said shortly. “Come on now. You’re slacking on your grand tour, Paulie.”

And there it was. One single offhand comment. Just enough to send his heart into an offbeat rhythm, for all the wrong reasons. He looked over at her, unable, unwilling to stop himself.

“Mer don’t divorce, Victoria. They don’t even marry. They mate off. If something happens, the ’maid goes back with her kids to her parents’ ship. But they never divorce.”

“My parents landlocked. I told you.”

“When you were a kid? They couldn’t have done it when you were a kid. They couldn’t have taken you with them.” The words dropped like pebbles out of his throat. He had suspected for so long that something was wrong. Ever since seeing that photo. “VICKI, AGE 6, 1955” had burned in his brain for years before Ace had said a word. “You told me you weren’t from my part of the ocean. I always tried to believe you. But you didn’t grow up in the ocean at all, did you, Victoria?”

“Paul--”

“Why rail me over the interviews when you never even told me where you came from? Never told me about your parents, or you, or--”

“Paul, please, listen--”

“You said you never liked lying anymore than you had to. But you lied to me. You didn’t tell me.” Paul swallowed hard. “I always showed you my whole world, every lousy bit of it, and you couldn’t even–”

“Paul!”

Her face was waxy, blue eyes watering up.

“I’ll tell you. I’ve always owed you that.”

Her parents were raised off the Connecticut coast, on sunken ships whose names Paul didn’t recognize. Her father had set off for New York when he was seventeen. Her mother had done the same at eighteen, more than a decade later, just after the war.

At the time, there was a sort of enclave of a few hundred mer in the Manhattan area. How long it had been there, Victoria didn’t know. Some had intermarried with the humans-- generally, the immigrant humans, Jewish, Italian, and so on, who were less likely to question their lack of a history, their eccentricities. But often enough, one landlocked mer would marry another who’d recently come ashore. So it was with Victoria’s parents, who had never met in the sea. Her father had gotten her mother established with a job and apartment; in turn, her mother married him after a two year courtship. In another two years, Victoria was born, there in a proper hospital like any human.

Nothing was wrong. Nothing seemed wrong. Her parents worked on Broadway. Milton was a stage manager; Janet was an actress and a singer. At six they had maneuvered Victoria into her first performances.

“Mom was insistent on that. She wanted that opportunity for me.” Victoria wasn’t looking at Paul at all as she spoke. “It was fun. I was even on a record for a children’s choir.”

She would take her to model for catalogs, too. Her mother would roll her stick-straight hair into tight curls, bemoaning how the honey-blonde locks were slowly going light brown and ordinary. Victoria never cared for the bright lights and the stiff poses in the studio. But the stage was different, more intimate. Closer to what she really thought she wanted.

“Then, when I was eleven, I started getting sick. I was in bed for two weeks. I started having problems with my skin.” Victoria was saying it very slowly, very carefully. Only the glassiness in her eyes was betraying her now. “I’d always had a birthmark on my leg. I still do. That little red one I showed you.”

Paul nodded. He was feeling sick to his stomach already.

“It started to get bigger. I was getting this patching all over my legs. My parents took me to all these doctors, and they couldn’t figure it out. They thought it was an allergy, some kind of reaction, but that wasn’t it. They couldn’t help me.

“My parents figured it out before everything finished. Nobody they knew had ever had that happen before. Nobody. They were just scared, Paul. You can’t blame them.”

They took her to California on the advice of some of the other landlocked mer. By that point she was having trouble walking; the patches had spread significantly on her legs, and they were itchy and painful. The Pacific waters were supposed to be soothing.

“I walked into the ocean, but I couldn’t go back.”

“Couldn’t go back?”

“I couldn’t go… Paulie…”

She’d transformed. Reverted, really. It shouldn’t have been possible. Her mother blamed not having been landlocked when Victoria had been born, as if that wasn’t common. Her father had suspected that her birthmark was a sign of some congenital abnormality, but there wasn’t ever any consensus. It didn’t matter. The damage was done.

She didn’t walk again for a full year. Her parents pulled her out of school and bought a one-story house in California, with a tall fence and a pool. She had a wheelchair for getting around the house, and every weekend, her father would take her out in a motorboat off the coast and let her swim there for hours.

Her career was over, of course. No more singing, no more modeling. Her parents’ marriage was over. Her mother remarried a human and moved back to New York, had another little girl when Victoria was thirteen, a black-haired, blue-eyed baby without a blemish. By that point, Victoria had clawed her way into staying human for six, sometimes seven hours at a time. Pretty miraculous, Paul thought-- at that age, he’d never tried to stay human for more than two or three. She’d hoped to maintain the form long enough to go back to school. But there was something else. She was hoping her mother would look towards her again.

By fourteen she didn’t need the chair anymore. By fifteen she was back in school, generally only going mer late at night sometimes in the pool. She would take the boat out herself now on occasion, but she never went far enough out to find any other mer.

By sixteen she had begged her way back to New York to live with her mother. She’d stayed there for years, apart from a short shoot for The Virginian when she was visiting her father over the summer in California. She’d tried to piece things back together. Forge something. Push herself back onstage, back under the lights.

“It wasn’t just for my mother,” she protested. “It was partly for her, but partly for me, too. If I could be onstage again, without worrying, that would mean everything really was normal. I wanted that so badly.”

“Why did you come out to New York? To the mer, I mean. I would’ve thought…” he trailed, shrugging helplessly. “It ruined things for you. Why would you ever go looking for us?”

“Because I’d never done it before. And because I thought there might be something out there for me.” Victoria rubbed the side of her face. “I don’t mean I wanted to live out in one of the ships. But my parents never really told me much about the mer. They treated it like something I had to get over. It… it was a burden on them. It was like if they didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist past me.

“It was Omar that finally told me where the New York mer lived. He said they were very poor, and not to expect much. The day I met you was only the second time I’d really gone that far out into the sea. You know the rest, Paul.”

She was holding out on him. There were details she hadn’t given him, things she’d smoothed over. He was sure of it. He wondered. Maybe she’d liked him, at first, because his deformity was on the outside. Because he was as alone and despised as she had surely been. And yet he wished she’d had the guts to tell him. He thought he would have understood. It could have brought them closer together in those wild, scant days when they were courting.

Were they courting now?

Would they ever court again?

His eyes traveled back to that pink mark on her skin, so akin to the purple patches that never had disappeared from his own, and something deep within his spine shivered. She didn’t know. What Ace had said, about a mutation, about having trouble landlocking… she didn’t know at all.

“How long do you have, Victoria?”

“Until?”

“Until you landlock.”

“I don’t know. It’s ten years, right? So I must’ve done it already.” Her mouth lifted up, trembling only a little. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. Show me the rest of your apartment. Fill me in on everything.”

His mouth met hers on instinct, arms wrapping around her, and she clung to him as though he were driftwood in a storm.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #mermaid au #paul stanley

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annimator-ocblog · 3 months ago

Text

OC Story: The Present

(Liam brings Marcus to a place all too familiar to them. This is the second part to ‘The Past’)

[TW: Mentions of Death]

It’s 20XX and it’s already been 4 weeks into a new school year at Arcana Academy.

Arcana City has evolved from a small village to a bustling, futuristic metropolis thanks to the innovations in magic and technology. Non-human races now have the city’s full respect, and it’s been pretty peaceful ever since the war ended all those years ago.

And two certain Arcana Academy students have returned to their old place of study after decades in Limbo.

Luckily for them, same-sex and inter-species romance have also been accepted by society.

Marcus Ailes is an Avian, or a Cardinal hybrid if we’re being specific

Liam Ouranós is a Sky Mage, a Mage with a strong connection to elements like Air and Lightning, both of which have ties with the sky. (that rhymed lol)

After confessing back in the 1950s, they both tragically died months after. But, they were given the chance to be reincarnated together into an era where their relationship could be supported.

Things were rough during the first years after being reborn, but things got more better after they reunited, ultimately returning to Arcana Academy with the hopes of actually graduating and studying the entirety of the newly expanded academy curriculum.

And despite everything, their first confession always had a special place in both of their hearts.

———

Liam was currently with Lance & Aaron, retelling how Marcus originally confessed to him.

The Mage and the Avian decided that they shouldn’t tell anyone with the exception of their parents about their reincarnation, but despite that, Lance & Aaron managed to figure it out. So it didn’t seem wrong to tell this story.

“So yeah, he gifted me the green spear you two are forging for me to match with his own, and he basically confessed to me seconds after. We’ve technically been together ever since. The spear he gifted me went alongside the one he had. Only different was that some of the colours of our respective spears were different colours.” Liam was constantly smiling as he was telling about how he got together with his boyfriend. It was one of many memories involving Marcus that were kept close to his heart.

Lance was intrigued over his story, “What a lovely story! Personally, Aaron and I prefer to keep using our bow and rapier respectively, but the concept of matching spears with your significant other is splendid!”

Aaron chuckled as he was forging Liam’s spear, “Yeah, it’s still crazy that it’s been about a century since you first confessed to him. The weapons are almost done, by the way. But why recreate them now? Why not wait for your and Marcus’ birthday?”

Liam’s smile grew as he heard Aaron’s question, “Well, today’s really important for him and me too.”

———

In an inverse to that fateful day, Marcus’ being dragged by Liam to… well… somewhere. Marcus has a feeling as to where they might be heading, he’s still focused on how Liam’s gently guiding him by holding his hand.

He ultimately brings him to a certain secret room that’s all too familiar to the both of them.

The shelves are still filled with all the books they brought into it, the place looked as if nature took over it, but the bean bags & table looked as if they were recently brought into the room, and instead of lanterns, the place was enlightened by fairy lights.

“No way… you renovated to whole place for today? It looks amazing, lightning bolt!” Marcus was in full awe in the nostalgic place they were currently in

Liam smiled as he saw and heard Marcus’ utter joy in seeing their old place, “I’m glad you love it Marcus. You remember what happened on this day all those years ago?”

Marcus was a little confused over his boyfriend’s question, but answered nonetheless, “Why wouldn’t I? I basically confessed to you, and gifted you a spear to match with mine-“

Liam pulled out the spear Lance & Aaron forged for him the day prior, holding it as if he wanted Marcus to grab it. Marcus immediately stopped what he was saying as Liam brought it out, staring at it for a couple of seconds before starting a new sentence.

“You… got my spear reforged? …for today?” Marcus was appalled in both a happy and confused way as he looked at his old(new?) spear.

The Sky Mage was happy over Marcus’ reaction, “Why wouldn’t I for today? It’s basically like a second birthday for us if ya think about it. Lance & Aaron also reforged the spear you gifted me, so I was hoping we could head to the training grounds to-“

Marcus pulled Liam into a soft & tender kiss before he could finish his sentence, deepening it as he pulled Liam closer.

As they pulled away from the kiss, Marcus held the spear he was gifted in one hand, and part of Liam’s face in the other, “This was a lovely gift, lightning bolt, and testing out our new-old spears at the training grounds sounds like a fun activity.”

“Yeah, it sure does.”

#oc story

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years ago

Text

I’ve Told You Now - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where alpha!Bucky fucks you in front of the other avengers

Warnings: smut, a/b/o dynamics, public sex, oral (f), p in v, possessiveness

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: Thank you to my lovely @wakingbeauty for giving this a read for me! This is strictly the product of mine and @navybrat817‘s belief that public sex should be more common in A/B/O dynamics, so there you have it 😊 Also, I used a prompt the sweet @jbreenr gave me ages ago for a headcanon and I asked to save it for this story since it made such perfect sense! Hope you guys like it! I might write more public sex A/B/O smut in the very near future!

Bucky’s P.O.V.

Everyday was the same. I’d wake up and join the rest of the team for breakfast to find out that despite the fact that someone had saved me a seat, that same someone had thought of a new joke to make at my expense.

If I thought Tony’s nicknames were bad, this was a whole new level. It’s like she wanted to find all the little ways to annoy me, while still remaining mindful of my recovery process and triggers.

I’d never met an omega like that before. Back in my time, omegas were mostly prim and proper, almost shy around alphas, even if they were starting to show a little more skin and entertain the possibility of staying closer to us for longer periods of time.

I wasn’t used to someone who felt so comfortable with my intimidating aura, and the alpha in me definitely couldn’t grow used to seeing so much of her skin all the time. By now, I was sure she was doing it on purpose.

She knew how it affected me, she could smell it - every omega was able to identify when a nearby alpha was aroused. And I knew it turned her on in return. I was also biologically wired to sense that.

It was basically a game of who would break first. And I knew she thought she would win, but my resolve still wasn’t broken.

“Ah… What a lovely day. So full of possibilities… if you’re not a hundred years old,” she quickly added, throwing me a glance that had me rolling my eyes. “What do you say, grandpa? Feel like going out for a run?”

Who knows what I would have answered if she hadn’t decided to pull her hair up right at the second Wanda opened the window to look out into the field? The smile that had been on my face quickly dropped when I was hit with a heavy wave of her scent and my knees buckled as I tried to hold myself back from just jumping on top of her.

Unfortunately, because awareness was not something she seemed capable of having, she did not realize my struggle. “What’s wrong, old man? Can’t even keep up anymore?” The growl that escaped my chest at her joke was all the warning she needed to finally understand what was going on.

“I’ll show you what I can keep up.” I was on her in a second, my consciousness of our surroundings reduced to absolutely nothing. It was only her and me, and the way our lips moved as I guided her back to the couch, until we both fell on top of it.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” I asked as I tore her shirt with a simple flick of my wrist. “Is this how you wanted it to happen? For me to lose all control and just take you right here?” All that left her was a garbled sound, her hands clawing at my back as I easily got rid of her jeans until they were nothing but scraps on the floor and then exposed her pussy to the tower’s living room.

“Fuck yes,” I growled, immediately leaning down to get a taste of her. Sweet and wet and mine, all mine. I had no idea where that possessive instinct had come from, but I would be crazy to ignore it - especially since it felt like I’d kill and die for her at that very second.

Her hips jerked up, instinctively searching for my tongue, but a breeze of clarity seemed to brush over her and make her sit up on her elbows, looking down at me. I knew what was running through her mind before she said it, and I wasn’t having any of it.

“You better lay back down and let me savor my meal,” I warned, knowing the rest of the team had gathered around to watch the show. I didn’t have to take my eyes off her debauched state to know it, but her gaze was on them, even if the rest of her body was still spread open for anyone to see, uncaring of the fact that we were being watched.

“You poked the beast, now you’ll entertain it,” Steve warned, shaking his head as if to scold us, but when I met his eyes, I could see the glint of desire in them. He wanted to be in my position, he wanted to have his own tongue shoved deep inside my girl’s pussy, and it only made me eat her more hungrily.

“Eyes on me, ‘mega,” I called out to her once I saw her eyes linger on Steve. “Let them watch, that’ll keep them away from you.” She groaned at the possessiveness in my words, but it was the sounds of someone who was relishing in it. And I was relishing in her juices.

“Fuck!” She cursed when I buried my tongue as far as it could go in her, something deep inside of me desperate to be drowning in her scent. “Should have gotten you mad before.”

The thought was amusing to me. Did she really think this was only the result of pent-up anger, and not months of desire and lust that had finally spilled from my weakened resolve?

“Well…” I started, pushing two fingers inside of her to scissor her open for me, although my scent had already made her body as prepared for an Alpha an Omega could get.

I was a bit larger than usual Alphas, though - courtesy of the serum - so I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t go through any pain whatsoever. “You keep me mad all the fucking time, kitten.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“With desire or anger, it doesn’t really care,” he continued, like it was any ordinary day and we were chatting in the living room, our usual teasing banter taking over the conversation, instead of him eating me out on the couch in front of all of our teammates while I was spread out for their eyes to take in.

“You’re always a tease to me, in one way or another.” His huge hands massaged the inside of my thighs as he finally lowered himself to suck on my nub again, making me instinctively buck my hips up in search of his tongue.

“Stay…” he ordered in his Alpha tone, and the whine that broke free from my chest was more animal than human now. The way he used his mouth was nothing short of sinful, licking me from ass to clit with an eagerness I had never expected the former Winter Soldier to have.

But I guess today I was discovering all of my fantasies about Bucky had been a bit misplaced. For one, I never thought he’d be the type of Alpha to take me in such a public environment.

In every dirty dream I’d had, Bucky was far too possessive to allow anyone to explore what was his - even if it was only visually - but what I’d come to learn was that while he was definitely dominating, there was a hint of exhibitionism in his craving.

He liked to have people see him break me into a million pieces only to glue me back together with a lick of his tongue. He liked that they were seeing his talent - and I had to admit, by what I saw in his friend’s stare, that they were also admiring me too.

And he got off on that. I didn’t expect it would make me get off too.

“Delicious,” he hummed when he finally pulled away from my cunt, having brought me to my release and licked it off of me. Still, an overwhelming amount of wetness covered the lower part of his face, prompting me to raise myself to my elbows and lick my own juices off of his lips, the omega in me begging to scent him as mine.

“You’re a nasty little bitch, aren’t you?” He chuckled once the surprise faded away, easily manhandling me onto my stomach, the sound of a zipper being opened denouncing that he had undressed.

“Keep fucking me and you’ll find out.” I heard him spitting behind me, a shiver running up my spine as I realized he was playing with himself while looking at me presenting for him.

“Oh, I’ll do much better than that.” That was all the warning I got before I felt the head of his member poking my entrance, slowly but surely sliding in until he had bottomed out.

My whines became intensified when he pulled me up by my hair, his free hand covering my breast to rub my nipple as he whispered, “I’m gonna claim you, sweetheart. You think you’re ready for that? Think you’ll be able to take it?”

I was quickly realizing I had severely underestimated the man inside of me, even if not to the extent he thought I had. I was not ready for that. I don’t think I ever would be, but fuck if I wasn’t gonna take it anyway.

Because it was so much better than I ever imagined it to be.

“No more playing hard-to-get,” Bucky continued, finally starting to move and immediately settling on a punishing pace. “No more teasing me with your short skirts and tempting scent. You’ll be mine now, ‘mega. Forever. How does that sound?”

God, I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to keep exercising this complete control over my body that he had so easily managed to take. His cock was stretching me in ways I’d never been stretched before, his inflated knot slamming against my opening with each thrust.

“Always mocking me… Am I too old for you now?” I shivered as he licked a stripe up my neck. I knew he wouldn’t actually bite me in front of everyone - a claiming ritual was a sacred ritual, even the most feral of Alphas respected the intimacy of that. But the way he was taunting me was all too arousing, I couldn’t deny it. “Tell me.”

His hand squeezed my hip, looking for an answer. I tried to open my mouth, but nothing came out. His palm slipped further down, finding my clit, and as two fingers rubbed my own juices, around it, I screamed.

“N-No!” Bucky chuckled against my neck, body continuing his onslaught against mine as he nuzzled my scent gland. “Y-you’re not too old for me. Take me, take me please.” His coos were too provoking, making me cry out loud at the mocking sound.

“Aw, kitten…” His warm mouth breathed the next words against my ear, “I already did.” He turned my face towards his with his fingers tangled in my hair, engulfing my mouth with his.

“Alright.” A familiar voice spoke from not too far, startling me for a second as I once again was reminded that we were still very much surrounded by our team. “You two might just be the sexiest mates I’ve ever seen fuck.”

A growl escaped Bucky’s chest at hearing someone refer to us as mates for the first time, and I panted in need, desperate to cum, desperate for him. “Seen a lot of mates fuck, Romanoff?” He nibbled at my ear, hands roaming over my body as if to make it very clear to every person watching that they could look all they wanted, I was still his.

“You have no idea.” Looking over a bit to the side from where she was seated, there rested Sam’s almost limp body, a hand curled over his boner as his eyes never wavered from the place I was connected to the man behind me.

“Well, I know what I’m gonna think about tonight.” Something between a laugh and a moan escaped me, making Bucky growl again, hands pushing me back down onto the couch as his hips picked up the pace with which they’d ruin me.

To say I was soaked was the understatement of the century. I could feel it, running down my thighs, drenching the couch underneath me. I don’t know how we’d be able to use it again, but that was the least of my concerns in the moment.

“I am begging you to let me lick her pussy after you guys are done,” came Tony’s voice, and I knew Bucky would growl in his direction just from the way his fingers pressed tightly on the flesh of my hips. “Not that type of Alpha, sorry, I got it.”

I heard his footsteps retreating quickly, probably scared of what Bucky would do to him once we were done, but in the Alpha’s defense, Tony seemed to disappear from his mind the second he left the room, all of his senses directed to me and his goal of making me cum around his cock.

“C’mon, kitten,” he whispered, fingers easily locating my clit to play with me as he pulled me up to rest against his chest one more. “Come for me, milk me dry.” That was all I needed to give him what he wanted, and although I was anticipating to moan loudly as I creamed his knot, his mouth covered mine to swallow all of my sounds in a deep kiss, hands protectively covering me while pawing at my breasts at the same time.

“Steve,” Bucky called after he managed to catch his breath, having fallen on top of me on the couch once his knot popped open. “I won’t be able to work out with you today.”

I looked up as best as I could to find Steve already staring at us, although red from head to toe. “That’s understandable,” he spoke in a thick, rough voice that I barely recognized as his. “You seem to have worked out enough already.”

Bucky stopped running his nose against my cheek at his friend’s attempt at teasing, a slow smirk taking over his face as he joined me and stared at his friend. “Oh, I’m not nearly done,” he warned. “You’re more than welcome to join us for some cardio, if you want to.”

The soft smile Steve sent our way told us everything we needed to know about his plans for the evening.

#my fics #alpha au #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes reader inserts #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot

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rommahh · 3 years ago

Text

Love On Tour…Actually

{Im sorry for how late this was. I went to the show Friday and honestly, it was the best day of my life. I had a little PCD which made me super unmotivated but I’m back. I love you all, R}

You woke up a little grumpy, you won’t lie. You didn’t like waking up alone especially on a show day. It made you uncomfortable to be left to your own devices without any structure or schedule. You understood that Harry was a busy man but it would’ve been nice to receive some text so you could plan your day accordingly.

Sitting on the couch in the lounge of your hotel room, you chowed down on leftover pasta while watching Netflix on your iPad. You had yet to receive a text from Harry even though you had texted him hours ago when you woke up. It was hard to tell if he was ignoring you out of anger or if he was simply just lost in track. Either way you felt dejected.

On the other hand, Harry hadn’t even noticed that he iced you. He was busy running around Nashville trying to get things ready for tonight’s show. He bought you a new dress and shoes, and got the ring fitted. It was hard to figure out your ring size but he end up measuring your finger when you were passed out asleep in bed last night. When you slept, you slept and he knew that would be the perfect time to measure your finger.

Harry was so busy that morning, that by the end of his errands he realized he didn’t even have time to go back to the hotel before rehearsals. He was sporting a small cough and his vocal chords felt overworked but that’s all apart of tour.

Pulling his phone out of his back pocket as he walked into the arena, he dialed your number quickly. He had people trying to talk to him but he paid them no mind.

“Oh? Would you look who’s here?” Harry’s head shot up to the sound of your voice. There you sat on his dressing room couch, arms crossed over one another as you glared at him. Your gaze burned through him and he could just tell he was in trouble.

“Hello lovie.” Harry rasped.

“Harry you sound like shit but here you are up and about running around. You should’ve slept in this morning.” Scolding as you stand up to walk in front of him. Harry could feel the anger radiate off of you but you hid it well. He melted into your hands that cupped his warm cheeks.

“I had a lot of errands to run and I didn’t want to wake you. Also it’s just a sore throat from singing and traveling- comes with being on tour.” He mumbles dropping his head into your neck. You caress the hairs on the back on his neck and massage the tense muscles.

“You’ve got to think about yourself more, Harry. You have a show to put on but you can’t put on your best show if you’re not at your best. I am not happy with you at all.” Even though your words were scolding him, you held him your arms in the most soothing way. That’s what Harry loved about you, you cared for him like no one else could (aside from his mom). You could tell him off with your harshest words but he’d always feel your love from miles away.

“You’re right love, sorry for not keeping in touch today.” You hum in acknowledgement. You both pulled away from each other when his driver walked in with Harry’s abundance of bags. “Thank you, sir.”

“What all did you buy?” You ask walking towards the bags. Harry’s arm shot out in front of you making you stop. You looked up at him in shock. “Fine be secretive.”

You huffed before making your way back to the couch. Harry rolled his eyes at you, making way to his shopping bags. Plucking the bag from Nordstrom he plopped it down on the table in front of you.

“I just didn’t want you snooping at some other stuff. I bought you this, for tonight.” He sat down beside you, thighs touching leaving no room between you two.

“Im not trying to be mean. Just a little peeved that you left this morning without telling me. You also have a cold and I wanna take care of you since you won’t do it.” A hand rubs his forehead luring his eyes shut.

“Sorry baby, I thank you for caring so much.” He whispers sleepily.

“Im always gonna care for my bubs.” Kissing him on the lips, your turn your attention to the bag. The small grey bag had light tissue paper covering the product within the bag. The tissue falls to the floor as you dig into the bag. A silky champagne dress, folded neatly to decrease wrinkles, sits in the bag. The dress was soft and you knew it was loose enough to give you the room to dance. Soft snores escaped the boy beside you- the exhaustion evident on his face.

You pull the dress out of the bag and walk over to where his outfit of the night hung. The dress was hung beside his to be steamed for later. Turning around, you smile at the sight of your curled up boyfriend. Your heart hurt knowing that in a few minutes he would have to go rehearse.

Harry sleepily went through rehearsals sitting in a chair the whole time. He knew his stage cues and performance, he only had one more thing to rehearse but it required for you to not be in the room. He gave one look to Jeff to signal him to get you out. Jeff made up some excuse saying that he needed help with some social media post for the show.

Before the show, there was a catered dinner from some local restaurant. Harry ate a light meal of fresh vegetables and a sweet iced tea which has grown on him having lived in the states for some years. You ate grilled chicken and fries enjoying the free food. The two of you ate alone in his dressing room- wanting a moment of piece before the crazy.

“How are you feeling?” You ask Harry. He shrugs, he was more nervous than anything but you wouldn’t understand why if he had told that to you. He felt floaty. Tonight would be a game changer, a step in a whole new direction. This is something he’s wanted to do for years now but it’s finally happening, and he’s scared.

"Im ok, a little tired but what else is new. I can't wait to sleep all night and cuddle with you." He grabs your hand from across the table. you squeeze it, frowning at his revelation.

"I don't like that you're so tired." You worry, his hand squeezes yours in reassurance.

“Im ok, it’s all apart if the job.” He looks down to your bare ring finger, thumb brushing over the empty spot. Your nails were done in your favorite way, some funky pattern you found from Pinterest all painted on short coffin nails.

“I love you Harry and I’m so proud of you. I know that these years put us both in a bad place mentally but I’m happy of where we are now.” Harry could almost tear up to your words. They settled into his mind, resonating. He was making the perfect decision and you solidified that ideal.

2014

Harry didn’t know how they did it. A show every night, a new state everyday, a new country every few months- he was burnt out. He was tired of shared tour buses and the lack of autonomy. Last nights LA show was amazing, the crowd was amazing, the energy was amazing- so why did he feel so horrid?

He walked around in The Grove, security guards walking in front and behind him. He wanted a peaceful day alone but here they were. Fans watched suspiciously trying to decipher if it was Harry or not. His hat and sunglasses were obviously not the disguise he thought they would be.

As the whispers got louder, his heart started to flurry more. Panic seeped into his veins as he looked for an escape. Bolting in the Barnes and Nobles- security guards close behind- Harry asked for the employees to close shop just for a moment. Harry only needed a moment to get a car near by to escape to. Feeling overwhelmed, Harry hid.

In between the historical fiction and romance aisle is where he sat. Head between his knees, trying to catch his breathe.

“Are you ok?” A voice asked from above him. His head whipped up in shock. Standing there was you, three books clutched between your arms. Adjusting your dress you dropped down to the floor in front of him.

“I-im fine, tired but fine.” He replied. He looked different than he did the night before, you thought. Last night, he was energetic and full of life and now, now you saw a boy whose exhaustion overpowered him.

“You here for any books?” You were just trying to change the subject, something you did with yourself when you had panic attacks.

“Oh no, I don’t-“ he stuttered shaking his head. You smiled at him before pulling a book from your stack. The fault In Our Stars, your new favorite.

“I love this book, one of my favorites. Heard a movie is coming out too so that’s fun.” You joke. Harry’s relaxed slightly, you nestled closer to him. Opening the book, you began reading, your gentle voice calming Harry.

At the start of chapter four, an interruption pulled you both away. Harry’s security guard told Harry that a car was waiting and the perimeter of the store was clear. Harry nodded telling the guard to give him five more minutes.

“I guess this is it.” You mumble closing your book. Harry nods but makes no move to leave. Something clicks in him as he looks at your face again.

“You were at the concert last night, meet and greet?” He muses.

“Yeah, One Direction is my favorite band. My friend bought our vip tickets for my birthday. Best night ever.” You say quietly, scared that he might think that you’re some obsessed fan.

“Oh, well I’m glad you enjoyed the show….so why didn’t you freak out today or- or expose where I was?”

“You’re a human being, just like me. You get nervous, frustrated, and sad just like me. You get panic attacks just like. Who am I to treat you differently?” Your words did so much for Harry. “Now don’t get me wrong, you’re my favorite in the band, but I don’t idolize you nor do I wish to be in your position cause I know it must be hard.”

“It is. Hard, I mean, really really hard. I love my job but I’m tired.” The silence you two shared burned a connection between you two. “This may be weird but could I have your number? I like talking to you and I wanna hear more of this book.”

Placing your hand made bookmark in the book, you closed in and gently placed it on Harry’s lap. “Have it. I have one at home and if you still want to talk about it- I’ll give you my number.”

Harry stills as the book sits in his lap. “I want to talk to you about the book.”

After exchanging numbers, Harry was urged by you to go. Walking side by side to the door, you were separated by his security.

“Harry, don’t let this keep hurting you. Find the joy and grasp on to it.”

You turned out to be his joy. Calls every night after shows and different books being read together, you both gravitated towards each other. Everyday was a new day to grow closer together. He invited you to more concerts, paying for every ticket because he just needed to be with you.

The show was going beautifully. Harry looked amazing in stage in all white and most fans were captivated by your outfit too. It worried you to see Harry so exhausted on stage but you knew he would stick it through like he always does. Proud was an understatement in your eyes. Harry made you more than proud.

You stood in the back of the watermelon pit at the end of the aisle where his stage stopped a few feet away. Jeff stood beside you like he normally did but he was acting suspicious. You two never stood on the side of Harry’s exit but this is where Jeff said you’d get the best view tonight.

Harry sang his final ‘we’ll be alright’ before doing his stage stroll and bows, but instead of finishing in the middle of the stage- he went down stage to the place he normally exits to at the end of the night. You watched in confusion, along with the crowd, as he walked down the steps to you. The crowd erupted in screams as the lights focused on where you were standing.

“What are you doing?” You asked with large eyes of shock. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The crowd getting louder by the moment. Harry walked closer to you, one hand digging into his pocket while his eyes focused on your face. You couldn’t place what was happening but you’re eyes welled with even more tears nonetheless. Jeff was to the side with a huge smile and his phone out to capture the moment.

“Y/N, my love, my light, the best thing that has happened to me,” he didn’t have his mic on so the crowd couldn’t hear him but you could hear him perfectly. As if you two were the only ones in the large arena, you could only see Harry. “From the moment I met you in the bookstore, I knew you were meant to be in my life. Somehow you took me from my darkest place and guided me to my lightest.

I know our lives have been hard but we’ve always found a way to be alright. I want that for the rest of my life. I want you to be by my side for the rest of my life, so will you please, my love, marry me?”

You gave him no time to answer as you yanked him up by his arm. You wept as you exclaimed loud yeses, yeses that could be heard by a few fans who screamed in excitement igniting the rest of the crowd to scream. Harry picked you up in his arms, throwing one arm out to wave at the crowd before bounding backstage.

“Oh my god Harry!” You exclaimed as he set you down. He only had a few minutes to talk so you kept it quick. You pulled his face down to your kissing his lips. This kiss pulled you both deeper into each other.

He pulled away making you whine. “I gotta go back but I promise you’ll get it all tonight. I can’t believe you said yes. I love you so much.”

Harry’s energy multiplied by 100 going back on stage. He even went as far as to explain what watermelon sugar was about. Remembering when the song was made, it made your legs clench together- a pulse overwhelming your lower regions.

Looking down at your hand, you could feel yourself tear up again at the ring he bought you. It fit perfectly in your hand, you remember him measuring your hand that night even though he thought you were asleep. The thought of your future made your heart swell. A future with new music, a wedding, a nice house, and babies made your heart swell. This was something you couldn’t wait for.

Harry found his joy in you but he never knew about the joy he was to your dark life.

#harry styles love on tour #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles love on tour nashville

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aquamarinescarlet · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t give up just yet

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.6k

Warnings: two curse word (I think), brief mentions of sex and cheating, angst (bare in mind these warnings don’t apply the way you think they do, you’ll have to read to understand)

Summary: The classic soulmate AU, sentences written on each other’s wrists, but with a twist.

Author’s note: This was basically an excuse for me to reinvent the soulmate AU with the wrist tattoos thing. It’s sorta angsty, but I just thought the ending was too funny. Just experimenting here, tell me what you think.

PSA: Dividers are the count down till the day: black is reader focused, red is wanda focused, gold/yellow is also reader focused, but I thought it deserved a little spark.

“You should call her, y’know.”

“Why would I do that? She made her point very clear.”

“It’s her wedding day, Y/N,” Mia reasoned, “and this fight was months ago, you have to get over it.”

You rolled your eyes at her insistence. This discussion has been happening every day for the past two weeks.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, why am I the one who should get over it?” You emphasized.

“He is her soulmate, and she is your sister, the least you could do is pretend.”

“Ugh,” you let out a guttural scream, “I can’t do this anymore Mia, I stand by what I said. That man is an asshole and this soulmate thing is stupid. I don’t trust him, no matter what the words on both their wrists say, and I’m not gonna watch her go down with this and not do anything about it.”

Mia didn’t respond, she knew she’d reached your last nerve. You watched as the woman left your office, sending a last sympathetic glance your way before walking into the hall.

Mia was right in some points, and you knew that. She was right about it being your sister’s wedding day and that you should be there to support her. She was wrong about you needing to be the one to apologize though. The way people manipulated their lives to fit this whole twisted Soulmate Theory made your blood boil.

The Soulmate Theory was quite simple: everyone was born with a sentence written on their wrists, popular belief is that those are the first words your soulmate will say to you. It was cute, and it worked most of the time, not for your sister though. Or at least you thought so.

Oli's soulmate was Isaac. They had met three years ago and eventually started dating. Oli was a firm believer of the Soulmate Theory and had never dated anyone before, so it was all new and exciting.

You started noticing the patterns roughly one year after they started dating. He was controlling her, discreetly, barely noticeable, but it was there.

First with clothes, Oli had made it a habit to always ask for his opinions on her clothing, and he would tell her he hated something, regardless of her telling him over and over again she had liked it. You made little comments here and there about his actions, mostly jokes but with some truth behind, she didn’t notice.

Second was friends, Isaac would always want to meet Oli’s friends, and if she went out with one he didn’t know he would make her feel guilty. You started giving more serious warnings, pointing out what he was doing more clearly, she didn’t care and called you crazy.

Third was her feelings, he had his mind set on what her role should be in his life. He praised Oli endlessly when she cooked or cleaned. Other than that, he didn’t care, didn’t pay attention to her stories, didn’t appreciate her paintings and drawings…

It got to the point where she wouldn’t want to paint anymore, when she was telling a story it would be without her usual excitement. Her smile no longer reached her eyes, she was constantly tired.

You confronted her about it, several times, but it was of no use. You’d point out the facts and she’d retort with ‘he is my soulmate, the universe bound us together, he wouldn’t do this to me!’

Three months ago was the last time you two talked. She told you he asked her hand. She knew you would be against it, she tried to ease you into the idea of her being with Isaac for the rest of her life. You weren’t having any of it.

After hours of screaming, arguing and loads of tears, she told you not to come to the wedding, and you said you wouldn’t.

It’s now four days from the date and you’re not going as long as he’s the one she’s marrying.

You stared at the words on your own wrist. ‘It’s you’. That sentence haunted you for years. What a stupid set of words for your soulmate to say.

As a kid you adored the Soulmate Theory, you paid meticulous attention to the first words you’d exchange with anyone, you made new friends nearly every day in hopes of hearing those words, but they never came.

Until they came. At first it was exhilarating, but the ones you said didn’t match the ones on the person’s wrist. You were extremely disappointed. And then you heard them again, and again, and again… It became almost routine. Every single person you met would say ‘it’s you’ or some variation of it.

You being who you are certainly didn’t help. During college you had started a tech company and now it had grown to be one of the biggest and most important in the field. The new inventions did win you several prizes and a lot of money. You were also stupid famous, being the young brilliant CEO and all.

Ever since, you gave up on looking for your soulmate. It seemed counter productive to get yourself all worked up just for it not to happen every single day. You made your peace with it, although a small part of you just wanted to meet said person.

The situation with Isaac and Oli helped. Seeing that it could end up hurting you made it easier to not fixate on finding your soulmate. Nonetheless, the desire was there; hidden, pushed to the back of your mind, but still there.

You just wished your sister could see it too, that the Soulmate Theory is not the solution to all her problems.

“Relax Steve, it’s all taken care of.”

“What about the flowers? Did you book the buffet? Did you check with the band? And the decorations? I saw some people didn’t RSVP yet, should I redo the seating charts?” Steve rambled on as Wanda just laughed.

“The flower problem is solved, the buffet confirmed, so did the band, the wedding planner is working on the decorations and redoing the whole seating chart seems… unnecessary, they still have three days to confirm their presence.” She reassured the man who was more stressed than her about the whole situation.

“Okay, sorry, I just want to make sure everything is perfect.” He huffed, taking a seat on the couch.

“It’s going to be perfect, don’t worry.” She couldn’t help the weirdness that surged upon uttering those words.

“How are you so calm?” Wanda just shrugged, not really sure how to answer.

Steve took a deep breath and gazed at the red head, offering her a smile.

“I’m going to sleep, all this wedding stuff has been stressing me all day.”

“Okay,” Steve made his way to his bedroom but she called him before he reached the hallway, “thanks for the help Rogers.”

“No worries.” He shot a last smile before disappearing.

Wanda found herself alone in the living room, the silence only making her thoughts scream louder.

She would be married in three days. It seemed unbelievable. After losing her parents, being experimented on at Hydra, fighting along Ultron, losing her brother and becoming an Avenger, she never thought she would have time to fall in love.

Yet, here she is. Although the feeling wasn’t quite what she thought it would be. It wasn’t exciting, or nerve racking. She felt no different than any other day of her life. Steve seemed like the one who was getting married, not her.

Vision is sweet and caring, she feels so happy around him. Then what is causing all these doubts to haunt her?

She knows what it is, she just doesn’t want to admit it.

Those words. Those stupid words painted forever on her wrist. ‘Don’t do this’. Ever since joining the Avengers she started using several bracelets to hide them, but they still burned on her skin every single day.

She’d heard of the Soulmate Theory at a very young age. Her parents had explained how those were the first words she’d hear from the love of her life. She would spend hours daydreaming all sorts of scenarios in which someone would say those words to her and they’d fall in love.

After her parent’s death, that stopped being her priority. At the Hydra base she’d only see her brother and a couple dozen different Hydra soldiers, too old and mean for a soulmate.

Gaining powers was a game changer. She was older then. Stronger. They finally allowed her and Pietro to leave the base and create chaos in Hydra’s name. “Do good” in Hydra’s name. She believed she was doing the right thing. She truly did.

Hearing her first ‘Don’t do this’ made her question everything. It came from a little kid nonetheless. A scared little kid. It must’ve been a mistake, she thought at the time. But that mistake happened, again, and again, and again…

When she joined the Avengers her eyes were opened to all the pain and terror she had caused. All the people she hurt. Then it dawned on her, what if one of those ‘Don’t do this’ came from her soulmate? What if she had hurt them, or worse, killed them?

The idea terrified her. So she hid those words on her wrist. A reminder of the evil she’s done and the love she’ll never have. She promised herself to never look for her soulmate, she already caused them enough pain, they didn’t deserve to get tangled in the mess that was her life.

And then Vision was created. Him and Wanda got along greatly. He made her happy. They fell in love, or at least that’s what Wanda told herself, that she fell in love with him. It was possible, there’s no rule on the Soulmate Theory that says you can only fall in love with your soulmate. Plus, Vision is not human, so he doesn’t have words written on his wrist, he doesn’t have a predestined soulmate, technically he doesn’t even have an actual soul for this sort of thing. They could be each other’s soulmate. A loophole on this stupid theory.

Why didn’t it feel like that though? Why was she questioning it so much? And why now? Three days before her wedding?

She took off the bracelets and stared at the ink, brushing her fingers lightly over it. She loved Vision, she affirmed to herself. She wants to marry him. This is what she wants. And she believes in these words, for a while. Long enough for her to fall asleep, turning off her brain from overthinking the situation too much.

Work has had you occupied all week. With back to back meetings and loads of paperwork to fill out, you’ve barely had time to think of anything else.

But now it seems like everything is done and you have more free time than you’d like.

You left the office early, not having much to do there anymore, and, instead of spending all afternoon home alone, you decided to go out for some coffee.

You were sitting on your usual table in the small coffee shop close to your place. It was calm, quiet and homely, a nice contrast between the places you frequent. The warm cup on your hands did nothing to distract you though.

The book you’d brought was long forgotten on the table as you glanced at your phone every few seconds. It’s two days till the wedding and, even though you tried not to think about it, you hoped your sister would text you saying she broke it off. It was unlikely, but wishing she could get some sense knocked into her wouldn’t kill.

You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn’t notice a woman glancing at you until you caught her trying to call your attention.

“It’s you!” She said, astonished, pointing to the cover of a magazine showing a picture of you.

Recognizing that issue as being a rather old one, you just nodded and offered the woman a friendly smile. She took that as an opportunity to approach you.

“Hi. Sorry,” she sounded excited and also nervous for bothering you, “I just wanted to say what an inspiration you are to women all around, to me especially. I’ve been opening my own business and seeing what you do has been such an encouragement to me. So, thank you!”

You were surprised by how nice she was. You’d expected her to ask you to invest in her business or something, like everyone who approaches you does, but she didn’t and it was a nice change of pace for once.

“What kind of business are you opening?” You asked. Listen to her talk would be a good distraction, plus, you could use the company.

“Oh, no, that’s ok,” she said, “I don’t want to bother you any further.”

“Please,” you urged, “I have the rest of my day off and I could use someone to talk to. Unless you’re busy, then I wouldn’t want to be a burden to you.” You laughed to ease the woman’s nerves.

“Sure?” You nodded and gestured to the empty seat across from you.

She accepted it and you spent at least an hour talking before she had to leave. It was a pleasant conversation, she praised your work but didn’t refrain from giving some interesting criticism on your business. The topic of an investment or a partnership never even came up.

It got your sister out of your mind for a while, although it didn’t last long.

Laying on your bed, your eyes fought to stay open, your mind swirling with all possible scenarios regarding Oli. She would be miserable if she went through with this, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

You love your sister, you care so much about her, but she refuses to listen to your warnings. You could swallow your pride and go to the wedding. You could try and support her. But that would just make an accomplice to her stupidity and you’re not going to just stand there and pretend that that’s ok.

You thought about texting her, way too many times. But your relationship is already rocky as it is, the least you could do is hope she gets some clarity on her own.

One day till the wedding. She’s 24 hours away from the happiest day of her life. Why is it, then, that Wanda doesn’t feel as happy as she should be.

She didn’t have to fake a smile, she was happy, but that smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

None of the others seemed to notice it. They just thought it was the nervousness of having everything set so the day could run smoothly. Vision even brought up the possibility of her having cold feet about it, but she denied it thoroughly, assuring him she wanted this.

And she does. She wants to get married, have kids and build up a family of her own. She wants it all.

It still seemed weird though. Like something was off.

“Steve just called,” Nat interrupted her thoughts, walking back into the room, “everything is set, prepped and organized for tomorrow.”

“Let’s try on the dress then.” Carol urged the girl to put on the piece of clothing for the millionth time.

It did her justice. Slim at the top and flowy at the bottom, accentuating all her curves perfectly. It wasn’t big and puffy but light and delicate. She smiled at her own reflection as the other women crammed around her to take a look.

“You look beautiful.” Pepper said in awe.

“She does, doesn’t she.” Laura agreed, even though she’s the one that helped her choose it.

Wanda didn’t say anything, just smiling and appreciating her own image, excitement growing on her chest from wearing it in front of everyone the next day.

The girls spent hours planning how they would do her hair and makeup. There were so many ideas, disagreements and arguments that Wanda was completely drained by the end of the day. She was happy though, to see her friends being there for her, eager to help and make sure everything was perfect.

It was nice to have people around since she lost so much throughout the years.

After the women were gone and she found herself alone, Wanda’s thoughts from the beginning of the day came back, hitting her like a train.

Was she really more excited about wearing a dress than about getting married? Was this a sign of her actually getting cold feet?

She shrugged them away, affirming to herself these are just stupid uncertanties people always get before their wedding day. At least that’s what happens in movies, so nothing to worry about... right?

Thankfully your work slump had subsided as now a gigantic pile of papers sat on your table. Some contracts had to be restructured and a set of stores had to be chosen to distribute your newest technology.

You thrived in that scenario, with countless reports and 2D drawings of the prototypes scattered about the room. Your mind was going a thousand miles a minute, seemingly unaware of the events that would take place later that day.

That peace, however, was short lived. Your brain short circuited for a second when you checked what had caused your phone to buzz.

Two voicemails.

From none other than Isaac.

It was right then that it dawned on you: Oli was marrying that asshole today. In only a couple of hours actually.

Before listening to the messages you started to record your phone screen, maybe he would try to threaten you or something and you could use that to convince Oli to break things off with him. It wouldn’t kill to be precautious.

The first one was sweet, although it almost made you gag, it was sent with good intentions. Isaac was asking you to go easy on Oli, regardless of your feelings towards him, you should be supportive of her and her decisions. Too pretentious for your liking, but sent with good intentions nonetheless.

The second one started awfully weird. Some muffled sounds, things you couldn’t quite make out. Until you heard a loud moan, your eyes going wide as you pushed your phone away from your face. Isn’t it technically ‘bad luck’ to see the bride on the wedding day? You didn’t have time to dwell on those thoughts as the voice on the phone started to moan each other’s names. The woman didn’t sound anything like Oli, because it wasn’t Oli. Isaac was cheating on your sister? And on their wedding day!?

Oh you weren’t about to just let that go. You stopped the recording, thanking your intuition, and quickly ringed Oli.

It rang once… twice… three times… and then voicemail. You tried at least four more times until you figured she just didn’t want to talk to you.

“Marie can you come in here please?” You called your secretary.

A few seconds later she popped her head inside your office.

“How can I help?”

“Can I use your phone!?” You sounded more exasperated than you wished.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to call your sister today?” Damn, that woman knows you too well. You sighed loudly.

“Please… I just…” You trailed off, sounding desperate this time around.

Thankfully Marie gave in and lent you her phone. You typed Oli’s number and rang it, several times, she didn’t pick up once. You were starting to get truly desperate now.

“Do you have the address?” You handed Marie her phone back.

“Here.” She handed you a piece of paper from her pocket.

It was on the other side of the city, at least a one hour drive. You quickly grabbed your coat, purse and phone, rushing out of the office, only being stopped by a hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” You gave her a reassuring smile and a quick nod before making your way to your car. Marie has been working with you since the beginning, she always knew when you were up to nothing good. She also knew that when you set your mind to something, there was no stopping you.

The drive was excruciating. You kept making stupid mistakes and taking wrong turns. Everything seemed to work against you, being it: accidents, red lights, slow drivers, pedestrians. Even the birds chirping around were pissing you off.

You finally reached the venue and stopped the car messily in the front entrance. You quickly ran up the stairs, and almost tripped and fell when you heard the officiant was already performing the ceremony.

You reached the doors and yanked them open, hopefully interrupting the wedding before it was too late.

“Don’t do this!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, nearly breathless.

The guests all turned towards you, surprised. So did the couple on the podium.

Except those people weren’t Oli and Isaac. You recognized them, Vision and Scarlet Witch, or at least that’s the names they went for on television. You’ve seen them before, doing business with Stark had its perks, but had never been introduced.

You could’ve felt bad, but your stomach was a turmoil of faith and nausea. You were either really early or really late to stop Oli.

“Sorry,” you said, trying to catch your breath, “wrong wedding, carry on.” You turned around to leave, but not before noticing the bride glancing at her own wrist.

You didn’t get the chance to take a single step out the door before her voice filled the silence that had settled.

“It’s you.” You stopped dead on your tracks. Your wrist burning slightly, not the kind of pain to cause discomfort, just enough to be noticeable.

Those words.

Her looking at her wrist.

Your’s burning now.

You turned back around, earning all kinds of confused glances from the guests. Your eyes fell on the woman, a smirk plastered on your lips.

“Seems like this isn’t the wrong wedding after all.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mcu #marvel #reader insert #wanda maximoff imagine #soulmate au

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missgeniality · 4 years ago

Text

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this! This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy!

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods.

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning.

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold.

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity.

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully.

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.”

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?”

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation.

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?”

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious.

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well.

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight?

BTS is on your flight?

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography.

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger.

BTS who?

Biggest boyband who?

You only listen to Frank Sinatra.

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally.

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours.

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help.

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved.

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could.

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back.

Aw, you are in trouble.

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face.

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true.

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth.

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you.

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you.

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to.

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all.

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile.

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously.

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean.

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.”

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..”

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in.

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb.

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.”

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told.

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep.

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began.

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you.

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you.

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you.

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family.

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen.

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request.

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement.

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.”

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck.

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart.

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him.

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon.

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.”

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence.

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car.

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you.

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that.

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of.

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far.

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode.

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma.

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this.

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong.

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do.

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall.

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!"

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!”

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor.

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so.

But you’re not anyone else.

He isn’t just anyone.

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two.

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours.

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century.

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind.

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours.

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation.

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end.

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark.

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.”

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible.

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken.

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him.

The elevator door opens, and people walk out.

But that’s not where your attention is.

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm.

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad.

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present.

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.”

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile.

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too.

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space.

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!”

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed.

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again.

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.”

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”.

The punctuation was not vocalized.

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself.

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there?

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna.

So far, no sign of him.

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far.

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode.

And then you hear it.

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but.

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck.

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight.

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight.

“Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?��

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement.

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is.

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart.

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.”

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first.

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own.

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes. “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.”

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter.

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?”

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight.

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger.

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware.

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer.

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue.

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch.

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates.

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?”

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air.

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative.

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?”

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress.

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured.

“On your knees.” he commands.

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.”

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on.

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm.

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head.

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise.

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly.

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him.

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.”

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over.

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench.

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod.

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum.

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you.

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him.

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss.

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair.

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt.

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room.

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom.

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you.

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention.

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought.

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret.

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch.

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth.

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way.

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face.

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs.

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem.

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-”

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him.

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason.

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard.

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him.

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making.

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls.

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat.

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it.

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response.

“Go on baby, ride me.”

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better.

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!”

“That’s fucking right, only me.”

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away.

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve.

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full.

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high.

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face.

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!”

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.”

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way.

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole.

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs.

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core.

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours.

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.”

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon.

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart.

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness.

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy.

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance.

He finds none.

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go.

You inch closer.

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his.

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win.

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words.

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst.

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it.

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows. You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him.

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far.

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up.

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement.

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

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royalwilmon · 3 years ago

Note

Behind the scenes of Rosh, Ayub, and Simon suspecting the Wille Simon is texting is Prince Wilhelm?? Those conversations in ch10 got me wondering about how their first convo about it went down.

- Kai💜 purplehoodiesimon

idk why this was impossible to write but several days later, here it is, lmao. simon really came to believe wille=wilhelm veryyy gradually, so this is just the initial "lol what if" to rosh&ayub

an angel ain't what i need (call me up late irl #10)

this is part of a series of drabbles that give a closer look at what is going on behind the screens of call me up late. i want to do a bunch of these over time so please let me know which parts of cmul you want to see more from!!

(8:23) I really wish it were that simple

(8:24) Why isn’t it??

(8:26) Let’s drop this, Simon

All day long, Simon thought about the conversation he had with Wille during his morning bus ride. Wille was so private and clearly had some secrets about his personal life that he was trying to keep under wraps. Of course Simon wanted to respect his privacy, but he was only human. His curiosity was bound to get the better of him sooner or later.

Simon spent the middle portion of his day training with the rowing team in the gym. Every now and then he’d catch a glance of August. Ever since August had approached Sara about her medication, his presence has put Simon on edge. Now that things were complicated further by August owing Simon a sizable amount of money, he was even more uncomfortable during their interactions at school.

Simon still felt guilty about letting the stress he felt with the whole August situation bleed into his interactions with Wille. He had no good reason to take it out on him, especially when Wille had been so patient and understanding with his sudden distance and change of mood. Simon was grateful for the way Wille had allowed for him to be able to rant a little bit about his situation. Wille had been right - bottling it up wasn’t doing him any good.

Still, Simon wondered about Wille’s reaction when Simon had started to air his grievances about the way Hillerska’s upper crust treated him. Wille was vague and quiet in a way that at this point felt uncharacteristic of him. What little he did say could possibly be interpreted as defensive, which might have had something to do with the fact that Wille himself seemed to belong to a similar social class as those Simon was complaining about. At this point, though, this was all assumptions and guesswork on Simon’s part.

As he caught a glimpse of August through the mirror, focused intently on keeping pace on the rowing machine, Simon remembered how he had brought up August’s connections to Crown Prince Erik to Wille yesterday. And then, something in the back of his mind caused Simon to remember about Erik’s younger brother.

In truth, Simon didn’t know very much about Prince Wilhelm. He had a potentially outdated mental picture of what he looked like: straight brown hair parted down the middle and a facial expression that always looked a bit lost. Simon knew he was a couple years younger than Erik, and he also vaguely recalled him being in the tabloids a month or so ago, but at the time, he hadn’t cared enough to figure out what for.

Wille could be short for Wilhelm, Simon thought slowly, and the rest of the puzzle pieces continued to fall into place in his head.

Simon let the thought simmer in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, until Ayub and Rosh joined him on the bus ride back home after school. The two of them were very aware of Simon’s new mysterious texting friend, and had spent the past few weeks offering their own thoughts and theories. After greeting his friends, Simon resolved to get right down to business.

“I’m going to say something and you guys are going to think I’m crazy.”

Rosh and Ayub exchanged a look that Simon understood immediately to mean that they already thought Simon was crazy. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go over very well.

“That’s a given,” Rosh said with a nod. Simon rolled his eyes.

“Remember the guy I’ve been texting? Wille?”

“Simme, you talk about him every day,” Ayub laughed. “What do you mean ‘remember’?”

Simon swallowed and closed his eyes, not wanting to see his friends’ reactions to what he was about to say.

“I’m wondering if maybe he might be Prince Wilhelm.”

Rosh let out a bark of laughter. “You’re not texting the prince, Simon. Come on.”

“Is the prince even allowed to have a phone?” Ayub asked. Rosh rolled her eyes.

“Of course, dumbass. It’s not the middle ages.”

Ayub shrugged. “I didn’t know if it was a security thing.”

“What makes you think you’re texting Prince Wilhelm?”

Simon shifted in his seat, glancing down at his phone, which he currently had opened to his text conversation with Wille.

“I mean, Wille could easily be short for Wilhelm. And he comes from money and has a brother that went to Hillerska.”

“A lot of rich people have brothers that went to Hillerska,” Rosh replied, unconvinced.

“Right, but a lot of sixteen-year-olds with names that start with W?”

“Probably, yes.”

“Also, you have no way to know the guy you’re texting is telling the truth,” Ayub supplied. “He could be dropping hints to make you think that he’s rich and royal just to fuck with you.”

“I guess,” Simon replied with a shrug.

“There is absolutely no way you’re texting Prince Wilhelm.” Rosh was firm with this statement, almost making Simon feel embarrassed for even having considered the possibility.

“I mean, it’d be fucking huge if you were. I mean, can you imagine?” Ayub’s voice was softer, calming Simon’s nerves. “Plus, like, Sweden having a gay prince?”

Rosh laughed loudly. “I’m sure the stuffy old traditionalist royals would have a fucking field day with that one.”

Ayub shrugged. Simon’s head continued spinning.

“Nah, I’m shutting this one down quick,” Rosh said. “I was more inclined to believe your mafia theory.”

“See, I told you you guys would think I’m crazy,” Simon admitted, giving up. “It’s probably just some guy. My imagination is just getting the better of me.”

Ayub gave Simon a friendly slap on the back before changing the subject and launching into conversation with Rosh about the game the three of them were currently playing together. Simon tried to listen, but his mind was still lingering on the previous topic.

Simon knew that the odds of him actually texting the prince were less than slim. Still, he couldn’t shake the memory of the prince with his soft hair and sad eyes. Simon felt something swell in his chest as he worked to push the idea from his mind.

He couldn’t forget the eyes.

He continued to picture them every time his phone buzzed with a new message from Wille. Even when his friends would continue to try to convince him Wille was anyone else, it was always Wilhelm’s eyes.

#call me up late #cmul irl #ally writes #oof #yes im posting this at 5am dont ask me why #i'll reread this when my brain is more awake incase this is just nonsense idk

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lenissa · 3 years ago

Text

You always meet twice (Wanda Maximoff x Romanoff!Reader)

(not my GIF)

Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Pietro Maximoff x Reader (Past), Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Siblings)

Warnings: cursing, i think that‘s it?

Summary: When your sister Natasha asked you to be her representative at the Avengers, you immediately agreed. But then you meet Wanda Maximoff again and it seems like your shared past comes up as well as the then developed feelings.

Word Count: 3.1K

In bold are flashbacks.

A/N: This story is based on my POV i started some months ago, but the plot varies most of the time. Keep in mind that this is my first story and please be nice hahaha

Good reading!

——————————————————————————

You are walking through the halls of the Avenger‘s compound. Although your sister always talks about them, “her new family“, you have never met them before. At least not all of them. Some agents throw judgy glances at you, but you decide to ignore them - you are (Y/N) Romanoff, you’re not in need of being popular, being friendly, you’re a damn skilled agent, always ready to kick asses. That’s also why it didn‘t bother you when Natasha, your older sister, called and asked you for a favour - rather, you have always been curious what it is like to be an Avenger, so you didn‘t even think twice about accepting her offer of being her stand-in for some months.

Are you confident? Yes. Well... you try to be? Maybe- no definitely: it became a coping mechanism. But nobody could blame you… being Natasha Romanoff‘s sister sucks. Don‘t get it wrong, you love your sister with your whole heart, she is your one and only, your tower of strength. But constantly being overshadowed by her? Once people hear about your famous relative you were only seen as her sister, your own persona and personality weren‘t interesting anymore. As a result, you were working for S.H.I.E.L.D in an outpost in Europe, distant enough to start your own life, own career and only hearing about one Romanoff, (Y/N) Romanoff.

You stand before the door of the meeting room, aware of as soon as you go in there, there‘ll be no going back. Surprisingly calm you take one final breath before you knock and get invited in. There they are. The Avengers. Some of them you already know: Clint aka Hawkeye, your sister‘s best friend, Steve aka Captain America, your sister‘s ex-lover, Tony Stark aka Iron Man, sarcasm in person, and… the Maximoff Twins? Seeing them, seeing her, it literally took your breath away. You freeze, not able to breathe, to react nor to say anything.

„(Y/N),my god, have you grown?!“, Clint breaks the silence while coming near to hug you. In his arms you finally release the breath you unconsciously were holding in, and when you pull back you take a closer look at him.

„You‘re becoming grey, Legolas, are the kids that bad?“, you tease, matching his tone and patting his arm lightly.

„Oh dear, it just makes me nervous to see you again“, he jokes as he motions you to sit down.

„Speaking about that, it‘s nice to see you again, (Y/N).“ Steve nods at you and you force a smile - you think Steve is a nice guy, you really do, but you don‘t know the exact circumstances of his break-up with Nat, so you decide to keep distance in a friendly manner.

The remaining time of the meeting nothing special happens, though every time you look around the table you can‘t help but rest your eyes on a certain brunette. And it seems like she notices your gaze, meeting your eyes on and off. You try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that sets in your stomach whenever her green eyes meet yours, and obviously you are not able to hold the eye contact, so you always look at the floor quickly.

After the meeting the heroes all pop off, only you stay to put away the new equipment and gear you got. But then suddenly a well-known voice speaks up and you startle.

„Already forgot me, (Y/N)?“ You turn around, your heart racing.

„How could I forget the Wanda Maximoff?“, you nervously chuckle.

„I must say I‘m disappointed, I at least expected a greeting.“

„Wanda I-„

„(Y/N)! How long has it been? I…“, Pietro speeds in the room and rubs his neck tense, „I missed you.“

Wanda wheezes and rolls her eyes. „I‘m gonna leave you lovebirds alone“. She walks out of the room before you can say anything more.

„Well that was… weird.“ you say as you turn completely to Pietro.

„She‘s going through a hard time, she will be gentler soon.“

„You think so?“, you laugh, „define soon.“

Pietro chuckles and doesn‘t answer, not even he sees through Wanda‘s feelings, especially when it‘s about you. „Come on, I will introduce you to the others.“

——————————————————————————

Pietro took you to the living room and you have to say, you never thought the Avengers, the world‘s mightiest heroes, would be so endearing. You can finally understand why Nat sees them as her family, even after only spending some hours with them you start to let them in your heart immediately. Until Bucky decided to bring up a sensitive topic.

„From where do you know the twins, (Y/N)?“

You choke on the soda you are drinking, completely caught off-guard with that question. But after clearing your throat your coping mechanism once again appears. „They didn‘t tell you, huh? Well, we had a past.“, you chuckle.

Tony rolls his eyes, annoyed by the childish behaviour, but it makes you smile even bigger. Pietro blushes at the sudden mention of him and tries to distract. „(Y/n), why don‘t you tell them about your powers?“.

„Ok, ok… I'm pretty good at Teleportation, mind manipulation and shape shifting objects.“

Bruce, who you learnt was the human version of the Hulk, was stunned. „Wow, that sounds like a nice substitute for Natasha.“ You smile at him appreciating.

„So Romanoff, since the only other mind stuffy person in this house seems to be pissed, you’ll start training with Rogers.“ Tony announced bugged.

„Can‘t wait.“ You and Steve get up to go to the gym and the rest starts talking about their new member.

„She seems like a faithful person. A true Romanoff.“, Bucky states.

„Ironically, she‘s really good at betrayal and hurting people.“, Wanda says snippy as she walks in to get a snack.

Pietro sighs, „Wanda, what the hell?“

„She‘s not as perfect as you think, Romeo.“

Tony claps to get their attention, „Concentration, guys! You better clear up, Wanda, I just got Information from Fury, you and y/n will be a team in tomorrow‘s mission.“ Wanda rolls her eyes in annoyance, but she knows that it‘s unnecessary to protest.

——————————————————————————

During training, all you thought of was Wanda. Then you tried to read, sleep, watch tv, but nothing could distract you from thinking about the Sokovian. It felt like all the feelings you tried to suppress this past year flood you now at the same time. You barely perceived that you got up, your feet carrying you to the kitchen. Standing in front of the kitchen door you finally wake up from your trance. Your hands are sweaty and shaky, your heart pounding. “What the hell am I doing here?“ You think and just before you turn around the door opens, hitting your shoulder lightly.

„Oh my god, I didn't see you, are you ok?“

„Don‘t worry, I‘m fine. I- I was about to leave anyway.“

„But you haven’t even been in there yet, (Y/N).“ The way she says your name releases a cluster of butterflies in your stomach, green eyes watching you amused. „I‘m sorry.“

„Really, it‘s fine. Wanda, list-“

„Don‘t, (Y/N). We don‘t have to do this.“, Wanda sighs.

You take a deep breath and continue, „No, I have to. I am sorry. For everything. I-...I miss you.“

„(Y/N), please, sto-“, she says almost whispering.

„As a friend. I miss my best friend.“

You notice slightly tears forming in her eyes. „You did this to me-“

„(Y/n)! We need you to show us your powers!“ Bucky shouts excitedly as he approaches you both.

„Bucky, now is really not the time to-“

„We need it. For the plan. You know, tomorrow‘s mission?“

You clench your fists and sigh, you know the private moment you just had was ruined. With one apologetic look to Wanda you follow Bucky to the meeting room.

This job will be your end.

——————————————————————————

You weren‘t wrong about this job being your end. Well at least the circumstances. Last night’s events were just... crazy.

After showing the team your powers you went straight to bed, exhausted from all the physical training and psychological stress. When you heard the knocking on the door, you‘re surprised to see Pietro standing there after opening it.

„(Y/N), I think we should talk.“

„Pietro, i-...“, you sigh, „today‘s really not my day. Can we wait until tomorrow?“

„I can‘t wait. Please. I need to get this out.“

„Oookay, go on then, i guess.“, you say, kinda annoyed by the pushiness of the Sokovian.

„I‘m glad that you are here and ok.“

„So am I...“ you laugh humorlessly, „it certainly feels nice to know someone here that doesn‘t completely hate me“ Pietro looks you in the eyes and slowly comes closer. Your breath hitches and you gulp hard when he takes your hand.

„Pietro, what are you doi-“ Before you can finish the sentence, lips are pressed on yours. You are shocked by the action, and you hesitate to kiss back. Yet you can’t resist the familiar feeling of his lips caressing your own, so you kiss back.

„(Y/N), we need to...“, Wanda says approaching your floor but when she sees you both, she immediately freezes„...talk.“

The second you hear her talking you pull back and step away from Pietro. The brunette looks at you incredulously and then walks away.

„Wanda. Wanda!“ you shout while running after her. „Wanda, would you please stop eloping!“ She stops and turns around, eyes burning red. She‘s furious, dangerous, not in control of herself.

„Wanda, use your words. Calm do-“

———————————————��——————————

She did not calm down. In fact, she threw you against the closest wall. Even though you don’t have any serious injuries, you are mad. If you were trying to find the courage to talk to her, she could use her words too, right? The morning was quiet, too quiet if you are honest. Each time the door to the gym opened you startled, expecting to get yelled at. But it never happened. Once the twins walked in, they ignored you. Both of them, though Pietro occasionally glanced confused at you. After debating whether you should talk to her or not, you decided to walk up to her and confront her. „What the hell was that yesterday, Wanda?!“

She just huffs and continues to hit the punching bag, but you are determined to talk about it before going on a mission with her, you couldn‘t risk being distracted.

„You‘re acting like a bitch, I don‘t even recognize you anymore“, you say incredulously.

She aggressively turns around. „I am the bitch? You‘re the one that throws herself at anyone, not being here for even a whole day!“

„He“, you point at Pietro, „ he fucking kissed me! I never wanted it to happen. He caught me off-guard!“

„Oh and of course you couldn‘t defend yourself, poor (Y/N).“ Wanda ironically retorts, pushing you against your shoulder.

„Guys-“

„You literally came in one second after he kissed me-“

„GUYS!“ Pietro shouts and both of you turn to him, not noticing that he’s still in the same room. „What the hell is going on with you two?“

„You know what? What the hell Pietro, too! You can‘t just kiss me after not seeing me for a year! What if I don‘t like you anymore?“

„You don‘t like me anymore?“

„You don‘t like him anymore?“

You sigh. „Yes. No. I mean…. I don't like you anymore like that. I- I like you as a friend, Pietro. After you flew from Hydra-“

„-alone-“, Wanda interjects.

„After you flew from Hydra alone, it broke my heart! You freaking left us there!“

Wanda scowls. „And then you did the same to me some time later.“

„Wanda I-... You think it was easy for me to just leave you behind? Fuck, Wanda, do you really think that low of me? When Nat rescued me I tried to convince her to take you with us but she… we… you...“

„Say it, (Y/N). I was the enemy. You were the poor agent, kidnapped by Hydra and experimented on and I was the maniac that volunteered for a dangerous organization.“

„I tried to come back and get you!“

„Don't lie to me, (Y/N).“

„Oh my god“, you huff, „believe me for once!“

„Why should i?!“

„Because I love you!“

O oh.

You both tense, green eyes filled with rage, jealousy, confusion, probably every emotion there is, staring wide at you. You all stand there in silence, all shocked by your outburst, and the only thing that can be heard is your shaky breathing. „Shit. I- I need to go“, you mumble as you storm out of the room embarrassed.

——————————————————————————

This was not going well. Your relationship with Wanda was already complicated enough and your dumb, unplanned love confession didn’t really help. However, you needed to suck it up, ignore all the overthinking in your mind. You are here for a reason. A job. Not a witch.

You are here for the missions. For Nat.

That’s what you tell yourself all the time. But your brain and your heart don‘t really agree, especially while being on a mission with Wanda. You have never been more thankful for your powers that were blocking her out from reading your mind, you were sure your thoughts were literally screaming at her. And gee, you know her too well, she was trying to read your mind - Wanda always has that certain concentrated cute gaze and slight wrinkles between her eyebrows when she does it. Studying her so precisely was a mistake, it made the whole thing even more uncomfortable.

She didn’t react to what you said earlier (not that you gave her that much chance), she acted like you never said anything important like that. But when she caught you staring at her she raised her eyebrows challengingly and broke the silence.

“Are you nervous?”

“Hmm? Oh well, no. I- I guess we had more difficult missions.”, you give her a shy smile and start playing with your fingers nervously.

“Sure.. That’s why you’re currently doing one of your habits when you’re nervous.`` Wanda teases.

You blushed, your cheeks turning faint red. “Let’s just do this'', you say, stepping out of the jet and putting in the comm - earpiece.

Your task wasn’t hard. Go in, kill the enemies, destroy the data, walk out. It was going well until you saw Wanda getting attacked from behind. But before the agent could point his gun at her and hurt her you shut your eyes close and focused on turning his gun into a flower.

“Romantic!”

“You’re welcome”, you playfully roll your eyes. You curse yourself for having no other - less with love connected - idea to use. You scream just before a grenade goes up next to you, throwing you through a glass door. You can’t use your teleportation in time and the impact is pretty hard, causing you to pass out.

Wanda turns after hearing your scream. “Shit, shit, shit Romanoff!”, she activates her comms, “Guys, pick us up, (Y/N) is down!” She stands protectively next to your unconscious body, defending you from getting attacked or worse.

— — —

You wake up in the medical wing of the Avengers. The first thing you notice is that you’re still wearing your suit, so the injury couldn‘t be that bad. At least you thought. Only seconds later you feel the banging in your head, ringing sounds in your ears. You bury your face in the pillow, frustrated of being new and your first mission already gone wrong. You could hear them teasing you for being the “weaker” Romanoff and start rethinking the choice to even get on this team.

And then Wanda walks in and all thoughts are gone. No more noises, no hammering - all senses preoccupied with her. She seems tired, still wearing her suit as well, and exhausted.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” You look at her curious. “You look tired.”

She chuckles lightly. “You pass out and the first thing you comment is how I look? Wow.”

“What can I say, you really make me concentrate on other things than my condition.” She looks confused at your statement, though an amused smile on her lips. “Because you’re a known face- family- and that reminds me of my sister and gives me comfort.”, you stutter complete nonsense.

Did i really just say that?!

You wished she wasn’t standing there, then you would have been able to facepalm yourself as hard as you could.

“Oh, eh, sure. I’m tired, you were right. You were unconscious the whole night. I stayed, I thought it would be nice for you to not wake up alone.” She tries to overplay your weird comment.

“The whole night? Holy shit. I was unconscious for that long i-”, you feel your whole body tingling as you just now realize her purpose, “that’s very nice of you. Thank you.”

“No, no (Y/N). I owed you that. You saved me...thank you.”

“Wanda Maximoff, you do have manners after all.“ She playfully rolls her eyes on your comment and glances at the floor in embarrassment. „You’re welcome. You would have done the same - I hope?”

She giggles and you can’t help but smile like an idiot at that adorable sound. Then you just stare at each other, both too shy to break the comfortable silence. But then Wanda speaks up again.

“You know I’m-”, she starts fidgeting with her rings, “I’m sorry. For being such a bitch. I.. appreciate what you said… earlier. I guess I was just hurt and frustrated.“

“I know Wanda. Don’t be sorry. You have every right to be mad. It was wrong to expect that we could pretend like nothing happened back there in Sokovia.”

After a short silence Wanda asks, almost in a whisper: “Do- do you regret it?”

“What?! No! Loving you is the best thing that has ever happened to me. As a friend. But also more.”, you shake your head as if to underline your sentence and the last part of the sentence coming out almost inaudible, but she still hears it.

Wanda says nothing, she just nodds. But then she slowly moves her hand to your own and takes it. Ignoring the butterflies spreading all over your body, you squeeze her hand, happy you both stopped fighting. You shuffle to the edge of the sickbed and pat to the free place next to you. The Sokovian hesitantly moves next to you, but as soon as she feels your warm body next to her, she gives in and relaxes. You both lie there, just enjoying each other’s presence, until Wanda’s eyes start to get heavier and heavier and she eventually drives off to sleep. And seeing her, the girl you love, in this peaceful state relaxes you as well and you can’t fight falling asleep with the calming sound of her steady breathing next to you.

——————————————————————————

Part 2

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x you #elizabeth olsen x you #wanda #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fic

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you.

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^)

enjoy loves <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them.

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them.

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets.

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised.

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months.

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too.

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future.

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to.

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm.

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out—

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound.

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic.

And you shudder at how good it feels.

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting.

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths.

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him.

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so.

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers.

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher.

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone.

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door.

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own.

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it. But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly.

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up.

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes.

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch.

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away.

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence.

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached.

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes.

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all.

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all.

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry.

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk—

And you must’ve felt awful.

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles.

And the heat of you flares.

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve.

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless.

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own.

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands.

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting.

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by.

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily.

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being.

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours.

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice.

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need.

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead.

The world feels dimmer with the thought.

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps.

But, you slept separately.

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck.

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.)

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice.

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived.

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes.

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning.

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs.

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has.

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

That night, things begin to shift.

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a—

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest.

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists.

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide.

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer.

“... We’re safe, right?”

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion.

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors. Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still.

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest.

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before.

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have.

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same.

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens.

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights.

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it.

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation.

It’s a process, he reminds himself.

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck.

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him.

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat.

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest.

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving.

The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest.

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious.

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind.

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs.

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy.

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease.

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night.

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more.

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck.

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time.

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications.

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words.

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.

It’s progress, even in something so small.

...

But progress isn’t linear.

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating.

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately.

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it.

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments.

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning.

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat.

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots.

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw.

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again.

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little.

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave.

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person.

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open.

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

Two...

This was a terrible idea.

Three—

It was four—

Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain.

You wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think.

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up.

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk.

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time.

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind.

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.)

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier.

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested.

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear.

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang.

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips.

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing.

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched.

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes.

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows.

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks.

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends.

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand.

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet.

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.”

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it.

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever.

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession.

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get.

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow.

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up.

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours.

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals.

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

...

He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes.

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other.

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!”

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest.

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him.

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.”

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers.

“I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one—

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter.

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow.

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town.

It’s still too much.

...

You, on the other hand?

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body.

You panic.

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it.

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left.

Is he okay?

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning.

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear.

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed?

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter.

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk.

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out.

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—)

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find.

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist.

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten.

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest.

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result.

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground.

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot.

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best.

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower.

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home.

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later.

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit.

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him.

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit.

As he nears, his stomach drops.

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings.

You must be cold.

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?”

You twitch, curling over your body harder.

Something is very wrong—

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit. It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care.

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets.

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization.

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms.

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little.

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest.

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning.

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is.

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good.

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.)

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates.

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.”

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious.

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking.

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway.

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves.

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawk x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #anyways ouch <3 #kiss it better keigo #enjoy this big boy heheh #kith kith :'^)

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