#it's very useful for telling little brown birds apart from one another :)

[k66-official]

Oh? Dororo, you have a phone?

I think our phones are connected to the Kero Ball, or something like that? I've not looked into it much, to be honest.

[stereodaydreams]

Safe & Sound

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader, 2.3k (18+, smut, oral(f!reciving), pnv sex, established relationships, use of baby/baby girl, no y/n, smidge of angst)

Notes: I write for another fandom in a different blog and couldn’t help but jump on the Miguel train. 💛✨

-

18+

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Nueva York’s metro moves like a metal bullet tearing into a lavender and yellow sunrise. Birds break out into the skies, traveling from one tree to the next. Steam rises from vents as those waking rush to heat their homes, covering the streets and taxis in a man made fog. The thick mist drifts past cafes where open signs have just flipped and welcome bells ring. But high up on the 76th floor of a condominium, two bodies intertwine beneath warm sheets, too far to be awoken by the commotion.

Miguel’s legs drape over the edge of a bed, bare feet caught in strips of golden sunlight. It’s a king sized bed and somehow he manages to spill out of it, especially when he bullies his way over into your side, broad shoulders blotting out the sun and keeping you in the shadows where your sleep remains undisturbed.

There’s a wide gap from where his side of the bed should be. No matter how many times you tease him about a hostile takeover of what little domain you have of the king sized mattress, Miguel finds a way to fit himself around you. Your bare skin is warm and soft against his. You smell like a blend of your body wash, the pile of bed sheets, and a little like him and it drives him fucking wild. He’ll take whatever time he can have pressed up against you because... well.

Being Spider-Man is more demanding than a full time job. Try as hard as he might, there are nights where his superhero duties don’t end in a timely fashion and you sleep alone with a hand on his pillow. He tells you it’s because no one else can do what he does and… well, it’s half of the truth.

“I’m the one and only Spider-Man,” he laments to you. “The city needs me.”

“You have to come back in one piece. Promise?” you ask as worry etches itself on your face and on your body.

Large fingers wrap around your chin and Miguel pulls you in for a chaste but sweet kiss. Brown eyes blink slowly and his cheeks wrinkle in a smile.

“Always,” Miguel answers.

While you know his big superhero secret identity, there’s another secret that’s he’s been keeping from you— a little white lie. Miguel O’Hara is the only Spider-Man of Earth-928 but he’s not the only Spider-Man. He’s seen alternate realities, other universes where he’s an ordinary man working at a lab while a teenager gets bit and becomes Spider-Man or one where he’s a bodybuilder turned movie star. The multiverse is vast and entertaining to pick apart until Miguel gets a peek of realities that make his stomach twist and drop.

The fortunate events which link you two together often leads to roads where one of you is doomed to an early grave. So he decides he doesn’t want to leave your lives up to chance. Everyday, he whittles at his algorithms, tinkers with new wrist tech, all in the hopes of containing the status quo of his reality.

Miguel’s confident. Statistically, there has to be a reality where it all ends well for you both and it very well may be this one.

He watches your chest rise and fall as you doze and slowly moves his arm from your waist to your wrist. His fingers idly trace a band of metal on your ring finger and he smiles to himself, turning his gaze to a matching gold band on his hand.

You’re his, as he is yours and you are here, alive and safe and—

Miguel buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Your back tenses as you wake, lungs inflating from a quick and deep inhale. With one eye open, you find the time on a wall clock and wince at the numbers you see.

“Mig…” you protest. It’s early, but not unreasonably so and you wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t your day off together. No superhero business, no work calls, just the two of you and a lazy morning. “Five more minutes. No… wait, half an hour.”

“Baby,” he purrs back in your ear.

You make a noise while burying your face into the pillow, your body twisting away from his grasp. Miguel laughs and exhales a warm breath that tickles the nape of your neck.

“Are you still tired?” he asks, voice low and laced with desire.

You know that tone and if his wandering hands slipping from your waist to your backside are any kind of indicator, Miguel won’t be letting you slumber for much longer. You can’t help it. Your back arches to his touch, lips parting in a half moan.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, your face digging into cotton as you nod. “Can’t wake up m’too sleepy.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back. You’re lucky he finds you cute. Miguel’s palm grips your butt and gives it a small squeeze before the weight behind you dips as he shuffles his large body further down the bed. His hands engulf your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them apart. You’ve no choice but to reorient yourself onto your back, following his movement down your thighs.

“Mig, what are you up to?” You eye him warily with a lazy smile tugging at your lips. Your vision blurs as your eyelids threaten to shut.

He lays a kiss on your inner thigh. Bright red tints the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill over and replace the soft brown.

“Do you need help waking up?” At your nod, he continues, “That’s what I’m up to.”

He smirks, fangs catching the light of the morning sun and it’s gone once his face dips lower. His tongue drags along the seam of your sex, dipping between your folds for a quick taste. Miguel lets out a rumbling sound, pushing his face in deeper to breathe you in. Your fingers work their way into his hair but your grip is loose, a sleepy sort of pawing at his head. Still half awake, your thighs are slack, tensing only as his tongue rises and reaches a hard nub of nerves.

“Mig…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s my baby. Come here.”

A hand wraps around your back and lifts your hips up for him while thick fingers prod at your cunt. Miguel wraps his lips around your clit, licking flat, broad strokes as amber eyes watch you writhe and jolt beneath him.

“You don’t look so sleepy anymore,” he goads. You shake your head and he chuckles. “No?”

“Nuh uh-h. Oh god—”

He eases two fingers in knuckle deep, groaning at how wet they get. Pumping them in slowly, Miguel curls them around sensitive nerves, feeling you clench down on his hand. It’s easy to lose yourself to the feel of your husband’s mouth on you and the stretch of his fingers pounding into you, but you eventually notice something’s off.

You can feel him grinning while he licks and swirls his tongue around your swollen nub, hands beginning to slow to a halt. His fingers pull almost all the way out you, causing your eyes to finally open and a noise of protest leaves your lips.

“Mig—” you begin, swallowing down a hiccupy moan. “Miguel, please.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Wicked as ever, his tongue moves at unrelenting speeds. Heat flares from your abdomen, thighs twitching out of your control. Between you and him, there’s a damp mess between your legs as Miguel bullies your clit. Your hips try to chase his fingers as they leave you for good, desperate to clench around something, anything. You let out a sob when he stops to press a kiss to your clit.

“Babe!” you cry out, pulling harshly at his hair.

His face rises just enough for you to spot how drenched his chin is. A pink tongue darts around his lips and he smirks.

“You want it, baby girl?” His voice takes on a rougher quality as he challenges you. Large fingers push at your cunt, almost in but not quite. “Work for it.”

Your limbs are still heavy from sleep but the need to feel Miguel makes you roll your hips until you feel yourself push down and squeeze around his fingers. He doesn’t move though, grins wider while he watches you fuck yourself on his hand.

“Isn’t that better?” Miguel asks like he doesn’t know the answer. The hand on your back slips away, flattening onto the bed as he rises above you. You’re too busy trying to follow his other hand to realize he’s right by your head, wide shoulders blotting out the morning sun.

Breath hot and heavy, he snarls in your ear, “Does it feel good when you listen?”

“Mhmm!”

You cling to him, clumsily grabbing his arms as an anchor. Between gasps and moans, his name is a chant on your lips, drawing him closer.

Miguel’s an odd entity. Without the mask, he’s soft with you, cracks smiles throughout the day and fills your ears with loving whispers of devotion. He’s not demanding of you in the way that he is with his team of superheroes at his beck and call. You’ve overheard him being prickly and impatient when things don’t go to his plans, seen him bare his teeth in anger. But never at you.

In here, where the sheets are silken, the atmosphere a little lighter, a little slower… Miguel’s a different man.

“You’re so close… I can feel it,” he growls out. He places a hand on your hip to still your twisting form and it’s infuriating how little effort he uses to hold you like a limp doll. With slick sounds, his fingers slide in and out of you, dragging across taut nerves. “Not yet, baby girl. Not yet.”

“Mig, please. I need you. I need…”

“Hmm?” He lays a kiss on your cheek, lips lifting in a smirk. Miguel wanders down, repeating his hummed reply, kissing your jaw and nipping at your neck. “Say it again.”

You whine and rake your nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders, drawing red lines on sun-kissed skin. “Need you in me, Miguel.”

Your words seep through his skin and into his bones. Every fiber of him aches for you. He’s the king of edging himself, of self control as he fights to ignore the throbbing twitch of his cock. You call to him once more, needy and desperate for him, and Miguel’s done. His hips rut forward, seeking your soaked cunt and he finds it, the fat head of him nudging at your entrance.

He groans out your name, head hung forward and his hands splaying around your face. The sheets strain from his claws retracting and returning and all you see in his eyes are red. Miguel’s shoulders push into the backs of your knees as he hinges forward, forcing your thighs further open for him. There’s mumbled Spanish flowing past his lips as he claims you slowly, your husband taking his sweet time filling you up.

“Fuck, sweet girl. My wife. So fucking tight for me,” he groans.

The pace he sets is fast and devastatingly deep. Miguel reaches spots that makes you incoherent, makes your head toss back as you spew whatever your fucked out mind can give him. It’s messy, rough and he fucks you like you’d never break. And you never do. You always give him what he needs and knowing that brings him to his knees.

Red eyes find you in the waves of passion and Miguel’s looking at you as though this moment is finite. He’s never going to tell you about the other you’s— can’t let you know the statistics which haunt him daily.

Instead, Miguel devours your every moan, lips crushing yours so he can taste you as you tremble. You’re impossibly tight around him, muscles clamping down on him and skin slick with sweat. Your nails mark his back and shoulders, smaller fingers winding into his curls and tugging hard. He can feel you falling off the edge and leans into it, all too happy to chase the end with you.

His hand works its way between you, firm thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. There’s no reprieve from the cascade of sensations he’s building. Miguel chases your climax until you come around him with a cry of his name.

“Yes, baby girl. Fuck. Fuck,” he moans.

Hips rutting faster, cock pushing you towards hypersensitivity, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you in close. His back muscles seize beneath your hands as he comes with a groan. Miguel’s muttering your name in a breathy chant, hips slowing to a roll as more of his thick spend fills you.

His nose bumps yours, eyes brimming with warmth and fondness. It should feel dirty and hot with how wet it sounds between your legs but you don’t hear it when Miguel murmurs in your ear.

“Still sleepy?” he coos.

You grab at his cheeks and squeeze, receiving an eye roll on his part. He’s handsome but stubborn, your husband.

“Mig…” you laugh. “Can’t feel my bones after that.”

He nuzzles your cheek and hums an acknowledgment. You’re warm, still clinging to him in more than one way. Outside, the sky’s turned blue as the sun finds its way through the windows, shining brightly on your skin. Beads of sweat caught on your neck and chest glitter in the light. He’s never seen anything as beautiful as you.

“Breakfast?” he offers.

“Shower,” you insist and twist your hips to remind him of the stickiness which coats both your bodies.

“Mmm. But I like you like this,” Miguel teases. He rolls his hips, cock still hard and buried deep, eliciting a moan from your lips. “So full of me, baby.”

“I like it, too,” you answer and squeeze his cheek again.

Miguel smiles as if he’s a man unburdened. Here in Spiderman 2099’s universe, you’re safe and sound.

[captainswaglord500]

Desert Banshee

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Class/Clade: Reptilia (Sauropsida)

Clade: Diapsida

Clade: Archosauria

Clade: Dinosauria

Clade: Saurischia

Clade: Eusaurischia

Clade: Theropoda

Clade: Neotheropoda

Superfamily: Coelophysoidea

Family: Coelophysidae

Subfamily: Allophysinae

Genus: Aravadromeus

Species: A. kakophonia (”dissonant runner of the Arava Desert”)

Ancestral species: Coelophysis bauri

Temporal range: late Pliocene to recent (3 mya - present)

Information:

While this creature superficially resembles an odd cross between a proceratosaurid and an ornithomimid, its origins actually lie far closer to the base of the theropod family tree: this odd creature is, in fact, a highly-derived coelophysid. Outside of its appearance, however, it has one notable difference: at some point within the last 30 million or so years, its lineage has made the switch from carnivory to herbivory. While the desert banshee feeds primarily on desert shrubs, fruits, leaves, and grasses, facultative carnivory has been observed: they are known to occasionally hunt and eat small birds, reptiles, and mammals, and females may do this leading up to when they lay their eggs. (But that’s a story for a little latter). As with many animals inhabiting the Arava Desert (though it also inhabits the grasslands and dry forests much further north in smaller densities and parts of the jungle to the east, though the latter may actually be a distinct but closely-related species), it is quite hardy, able to go long periods without food or water by storing fat in its tail.

In addition to their dietary switch, they have also developed unique behaviors to accommodate such changes: as the desert banshee is rather small, only around 8-9 feet in length, 3-4 feet at the hip, and around 70-80 lbs, it is a prime target for many desert predators, including the many species of carnivorous theropods and synapsids (including humans) who inhabit the region. As such, this animal is built for speed, being able to run up to 40 miles per hour in short bursts and preferring to flee from predators. However, if cornered or injured, it will not hesitate to put up a fight, making use of its two large ankle spurs to slash at its attackers. Additionally, it is nocturnal, preferring to travel at night to both avoid the scorching desert sun and to find new feeding grounds. While the obvious assumption would be that these animals would additionally flock together for protection, desert banshees deeply detest sharing space with congeners, and territorial confrontations can get bloody very quickly. However, it frequently travels with large flocks of ornithomimids for protection. The relationship this creature has with its larger distant cousins may be described as a form of commensalism: in exchange for protection, the desert banshee acts as a watchman of sorts to the ornithomimids, alerting the flock when predators are near with the deafeningly shrill, shrieking call that gave it its name. (Among its repertoire of other sounds are clucks and “drums” to communicate with its ornithomimid protectors long-distance and hissing when threatened or otherwise angered). In a rare example of non-primate social grooming, this creature will readily allow the ornithomimids it lives around to groom its feathers and remove parasites.

Just about the only time when these creatures will tolerate one another is when they are ready to mate: while these animals mate year-round, most mating occurs in late spring to early summer. With only slight sexual dimorphism, the males and females are not always easy to tell apart. Both have the same coloring: a white crest with black stripes, a white beak with black spots, creamy blue skin, dark blue spots on the wattle, grey feathers with black bands, and brown-to-black eyes. However, the female being able to distinguish herself by her warbling call which signals she is sexually receptive. Flashing his bright wattle, the male will flick his head up and down as part of a mating dance to get the female’s attention. If she accepts his display, the pair will walk side-by-side in synchronized movement, warbling and cooing while bobbing their heads up and down. After this display is over, the pair will mate and go separate ways. In the few weeks leading up to laying her clutch, the female may become facultatively carnivorous in order to obtain the calcium needed to produce her eggs. She will lay a clutch of 3-5 eggs in due time, and after a few weeks, they will hatch. However, she can retain the eggs inside her for an extended period of time until conditions are favorable or to synchronize the birth of her chicks with those of the ornithomimid flocks she follows. For the first 1.5 years of their life, the young are dependent on their mother as they reach near-adult age, at which point they are chased away and must find their own herd to follow. By 2.5 years, they will have reached sexual maturity and will be ready to mate, and if they can successfully avoid predators, they can expect to live 12-14 years in the wild and, if born in captivity, 20-30 years.

This species’ relationship with humans is one which is both riddled with mutualism and marred by tragedy: the desert banshee’s naturally social nature makes it exceptionally tame when raised in captivity, and some nomadic Lowland Xenogaean tribes keep them as their equivalent to sheepdogs. They are also known to be quite affectionate with their caretakers. Their ability to run fast in short bursts has also made them quite common as race animals which betters will gamble on. This species is also a frequent pest in the desert city of Tairokôna, where its habit of eating local crops and decorative plants have put it at odds with the city’s denizens. In addition to being used as a shepherd animal by Lowland Xenogaeans, they have also long been a source of food, with cut marks on fossil bones dated to around 50,000 years ago indicating that ancient humans in the area butchered and ate these animals. At one point, wild desert banshee numbers were driven so low due to pressures put on them by human hunters, that these animals experienced a bottleneck where smaller animals went on to breed and pass on their genes, meaning the modern population may be as much as 15% smaller than the Plio-Pleistocene variant of this species. Thankfully, its numbers have rebounded significantly in modern times, albeit they are still proportionally small and at risk of extinction in the wild, with only around 30,000 wild specimens across their entire range. At one point, this animal was also one of most trafficked and poached animals in the entire region, being hunted specifically for its bony crest in addition to its meat. Though its numbers rebounded significantly, there are a number of zoos and private collections across the world which still have illegally-bought desert banshees and their goods, particularly in the United Arab Emirates and Qatar. Even amongst Xenogaean aristocracy (Xenogaea being the larger of 1 of 2 nations inhabiting the archipelago), this animal is frequently seen as an exotic pet, and the King of Xenogaea, Tlahula I, has an entire stable of captive-bred desert banshees which have been selectively bred for several generations. Nowadays, most desert banshees killed for human consumption are captive-bred, with some debate over whether or not they may be undergoing domestication and if the captive-bred populations should be counted as a distinct species or subspecies from the wild one. However, the lack of morphological differences would seem to suggest that the captive-bred population are merely just that: captive-bred specimens of a wild species. Fossils of this species go back to at least the late Pliocene around 3 million years ago, though similar species are known from fossils in what is now the western grasslands as far back as the Eocene some 34 million years ago. Genetic divergence suggests it diverged from its closest living relatives over 150 million years ago, predating the split of most modern mammal lineages. 

[lobsterenthusiastt]

i already posted this on the lackacord but fuck it you people deranged maniacs (affectionate) are getting it as well

*("Oh, one more thing!")* a WIP lackadaisy x columbo fanfic

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI. 1927

A new day was beginning in St. Louis. For the sun, that was its signal to rise up into the sky. For the birds, the rising of the sun was their signal to begin their lovely choir. For one Mary 'Mitzi' Ellen, the ringing of nature's alarm clock was her signal to get out of bed, fix herself up a little, and go open that pathetic excuse of a speakeasy, to get the money that she desperately needed to keep it afloat from it's 5-6 regular patrons.

*How did it get this bad?*

That was the only thing she could think about everytime she descended those apartment stairs in the cold midwestern, or southern, depending on who you asked, morning air. Things hadn't been the same since her husband was killed. It took Atlas 6 years to build up a massive underground empire, and just over a year for it to crumble. And that rumor going around about her having killed him, and Marigold outplaying Lackadaisy at every turn, and those damned pig farmers scaring away rich potential investors, and living with the constant sense of guilt of having destroyed her husband's legacy due to her own incompetence-

It was all so tiring.

But as the stairs ended, so did the thoughts, and Mitzi went to open up the Little Daisy Cafè. However, she noticed someone waiting in front of the door. This wasn't anything unusual, it was common occurrence that some poor vagabonds would come in there early in the morning, have a quick drink, and be on their merry way, after either paying in full or causing a huge ruckus that would wake up Zib and his other band buddies and subsequently start a bar brawl.

But this guy was different.

Mitzi stopped dead in her tracks to better analyze this unknown stranger.

He had curly black hair, was wearing a cream colored coat, beige pants and brown shoes. He was smoking a cigar while leaning with his back to the door of the speakeasy.

*That's gotta be one of Wick's friends! And he decided to give us another chance!*

So she went to the door, as relieved as she was excited to have met a potential investor.

"Good morning sir, what can i do for you?

The man turned to face her, and as he did he threw away his cigar and put it out with his foot.

"Oh, good mornin' ma'am!"

Mitzi could now see his face clearly. He had a 5 o' clock shadow, thick and bushy eyebrows, and just below one of them she could notice a glass eye.

He wasn't a local. Odd. She could tell by both his accent and the fact that she had never seen him before. That was a very particular face and she would have know if she had seen it before. Maybe Wick had to outsource a managing position and called him in? Whatever. As long as she could get a check by him, either by stealing it or by making him drink his mind away, she'd be happy, as it would mean the speakeasy, the last tangible belonging of Atlas, would survive for a little longer.

And then he'd say something that would blow all her previous considerations apart, in just a few words.

||"Detective Columbo, LAPD." he said, as he reached his hand out for a handshake.||

*Oh no, no no no no!*

Mitzi realized that she was staring at her speakeasy's doom. How did the treasury department find out about the speakeasy? Had she done such a bad job of hiding it? If only she had-

"Ma'am? Everythin' ok there?"

Mitzi seemingly bolted awake. She'd trailed off into not so pleasant thoughts.

"O-oh uh.. yes, detective, everything is in order!"

The curly individual just smiled back at her.

"Didn't mean to startle you, ma'am. Is it ok if we talk a little inside?"

Mitzi poured the man his drink of choice, black coffe with 2 tablespoons of sugar, and then observed him, studied him while he drank.

"So, detective, what brings you here to cold and damp St. Louis from sunny Cali?"

She was delaying the inevitable, and she knew it.

The cream-coat wearing man finished his coffee, put down his cup, and got ready to speak.

*This is it.*

"I'm investigating a murder."

Despite the fact it had been only him drinking up to that point, and that her mouth was as dry as politicians claimed St. Louis to be, Mitzi still felt an almost natural reflex to spit out some liquid from her mouth.

"Murder?"

*What a relief.*

"Unfortunately, I can't share all the case files with the first bartender I see... but let's just say there's some things that don't square."

Mitzi felt as relieved that the detective wouldn't shut down her speakeasy as she felt annoyed that he referred to her as a lowly barista. But nonetheless, she pressed the detective on the subject, hoping to be enough of a nuisance to make him never want to go back to the Little Daisy Cafè.

"So, a matter of contrasting evidence, then?"

"You could say that."

There was a prolonged period of silence, as Mitzi was desperately trying to think of something to keep the conversation murder-related. All of a sudden, the detective looked up and met her stare.

||"By any chance, are you familiar with one Carroll McMurray?"||

[osakesstuff]

The First Time Having Sex with Baxter (step4)

our life: beginnings & always

Tags:Baxter Ward/Reader; Step 4 (Our Life: Beginnings & Always); Vaginal Sex; Vaginal Fingering; French Kissing; Sex in a Car; First Time; Car Sex

Fandom:Our Life: Beginnings & Always (Visual Novel)

【Summary:

"Let's have car sex." You looked at him and said it, word by word.

"..." He made a rare non-response, which would normally seem very unseemly and impolite to him.

Even though it was very dark, you were sure you're catching a little shiver in his breath.

Ten seconds later, he nodded 'Yes'.】

Although it took him very five years to walk from the other end of the stream to your end along the broken tree trunk, it would only take two weeks for him to reunite with you from the far two sides of California.

That's right. Baxter Ward--your boyfriend finally came to you on his vacation.

He purposely didn't tell you the exact time of his arrival, 'as a surprise', he said. Though somehow you knew which was also some of his occupational habit, to always wait for whatever was coming with grace and ease, instead of showing obvious nervousness about anything, whether good or bad.

It was Friday. You've been busy all day in the marine protection enterprise which you co-owned with Cove. So even if you knew Baxter was coming today, it's still a nice surprise to come downstairs and see him leaning against his car door.

Deliberately dyed black hair, the white and black, decent without the wrinkles of the suit, fair skin in the sunset showing a little pink. It's him!

You rushed toward him, and he turned his head at the sound of footsteps, naturally opening his arms to hold you tight.

"It's nice to see you at work."Baxter combed a stray strand of your hair with his hand,"Your tired look is also very attractive." His natural, pleasant-sounding, sincere praise, which you adored very much.

After Baxter saying hello to Cove, you set up the GPS, drove his car, and headed back to your apartment. In fact, you've only just moved back, from where you used to share a flat with Cove, to another floor in the same neighborhood, as this many years of you living in another same neighborhood, the Sunset Bird.

So while entering your apartment, he was in front of your suitcases and closets all opening their big mouths,looking a little helpless and funny. Just like the same day you were attending Jude and Scott's wedding, except this time it's not the morning but the evening, and your clothes were completely on.

"I've made up my mind," you explained apologetically, "I've booked a hotel room for you today, so you can have a good rest. And if you don't mind, you can stay at my flat tomorrow."

"Thanks for your thoughtful arrangement." He said with a smile. His brown eyes glittering like waves in the orange sunset through the French windows.

"Do you need rest now? Or are you hungry? I can drive you wherever you go." You changed into your slippers and wanna quickly wash your face. Meanwhile, making eye contact with the cow-print slippers you prepared for him. Still black and white.

With a smile in his eyes, he picked up his slippers and studied them carefully for a moment. "Still, thank you for your very nice consideration."

You two decided to drive to the seaside hotel you have already booked. After a very nice dinner and refreshing shower, you pulled up to a slightly remote coastal road and started walking along the coast.

Your boyfriend was still wearing his shoes, and you were holding his hand with one hand and your strappy sandals with the other. Your skirt rose and fell with the sea wind, forming a gentle barrier of dark blue under the night, between him and the sea.

Baxter talked about what he had done in the two weeks before he came to see you, what interesting things he had seen on the drive, and you talked about what you had done in the office today, what delicious food would you like to try with him in the next few days. And everything else.

Finally, you raised your hand to do a watch action, a pretend-to-have-a-watch game.

"Wow, it's late." you said, pretending to be surprised.

"How time flies." he replied and chuckled, pretending to be surprised too.

"So, do you have any ideas?" you affectionately squeezed his hand, a deliberate hint.

"What about you, my dear?" He asked you back, but at the same time he was already pulling you back towards where your car was parked.

"Are you tired now? Just for sure." When you finally got to the car, you asked again.

"No, I've eaten and showered and walked with you, now I'm in My Best Night Mode." He smiled, his fair skin obvious in the dark air, with a typical cheshire cat smile.

"I've got some champagne for you," you whispered close to him.

"I guess you have some bold ideas. Please tell me." He began to be curious.

"You guess." You raised one eyebrow, the smile was more obvious.

"A drink, a dance hall, and a king size bed?" He watched you putting on your shoes and meanwhile beginning his brainstorm. But the options were so few that even as a "professional party planner", his speculation was limited.

"Let me ask you one more question. What level of shame can you do?" You finally began to throw out the answer.

"That's an odd question," he said, the cheshire cat's smile fading as he smoothed the nonexistent crease in his jacket collar, "well, that depends."

You put out your hand and made a sign for entering the car, as if he was a gentlelady and you were a gentleman.

Somewhat surprised, he cleared his throat, nodded, and took the passenger seat.

Ten minutes later, you drove to one place.

It was the deeper reaches of the coast, the boundary between the coast and the forest. The trees that should have been dark green by day were a little dark blue at the moment, but the coastline that was barely visible was a little bright blue against the sky. A great many stars twinkled overhead, but at eye level it was almost pitch black.

"I'm a little confused, I have to admit. Are we in the location of a horror movie or a romance movie?" He joked, but it was clear he didn't know what you were up to.

"Let's,have,car sex." You looked at him and said it, word by word.

"..." He made a rare non-response, which would normally seem very unseemly and impolite to him.

Even though it was very dark, you were sure you're catching a little shiver in his breath.

Ten seconds later, he nodded.

By the time Baxter finally began to regain his composure, you two were already in the back seat. You're watching him unbutton his suit jacket one by one. He unlocked a few, when looking up at you, smiled, and you had to admit it's actually a exquisite picture.

And you're wearing a beach dress, so you could watch him take off his suit, then took a few seconds to unzip your skirt and slided it into the driver's seat. And he, of course, carefully hung his jacket from the front window with a jacket hanger that had come out of nowhere to prevent wrinkles.

Now he was face to face with you in the backseat of the car, half-naked. He was unusually hesitant. He was at a loss to stroke the folds of his nonexistent shirt.

"So, here we are." He said.

"Would you like some champagne?" You asked, half thoughtfully and half mischievously.

You saw him as he was five years ago, frowning over the ice cream truck, thinking, the kind of long-lost contemplation.

"That's a life saver." he paused, his long-lost sincerity exaggerated by gratitude.

You picked up the champagne that had been prepared, poured a glass and handed it to him. The bottle was still cold, and the mist slid down it.

After pouring, you quickly tossed the bottle to the front seat. He looked up and drinked with a smile on his face as he watchesd you.

And as soon as he did so, you kissed the standard-Baxter-mole on his neck. You felt his Adam's apple paused as he rolled down the champagne.

Gave him a little peck on the mole, and then you stopped and watched as he gracefully emptied the champagne--not a small one--and putted the empty glass in the front seat.

When he finally started kissing you on your lower lips, it's not nearly as slow as when he putted his glass down. First a touch with a faint smell of champagne, then a nibble, then a suck.

At the same time your bra became redundant to him, you kissed and held his back, his hand had begun to touch your bra buckle. The truth was, you didn't normally wear a bra, but for fun or practical mischief, it's a rare occasion.

Baxter wouldn't lose his mind over a glass of champagne, you knew his self-discipline and control. His movements were entirely for other reasons -- you knew it very well.

Baxter confirmed your permission before proceeding with unbuttoning. After untying it, he said politely somehow you didn't know his object of praise, "That's just, flawless." though the polite words were out of place at the moment.

Few minutes later, your thighs were already in his laps, and your back was between you and the car door, against the pillow on his car(thanks for that). He methodically (you wondered if he rehearsed it in his head) kissed your lips, neck, collarbone, and breasts, while one hand caressed your thigh.

"You have nice legs," he said out of the blue, well, not so out of the blue, because he said that about you at the club ten years ago, still less today, you're NAKED now.

The man in front of you had almost regained his former grace and order. This was certainly not what you want to see right now.

So you grabbed his length and started stroking and sliding without rhythm. His breathing was finally getting more labored.

"Miss, I didn' t know you are wild like this." He said,with somewhat embarrassed and flustered.

You smirked a little wickedly, and suddenly gained strength, but after a few seconds you let go. You wanna see his eagerness.

He lived up to your expectations.

Next thing you knew, you're lying on the backseat of the car, your head resting on his cushions and pillows, his fingers on your clitoris and your nipples.

He then copied your action--he jerked to a halt.

That sparked a dissatisfied mutter of you, and he smiled triumphantly, as if cheshire cat had lifted his tail and rubbed it lovingly around you.

Then he blocked your breath with kisses and continued his action on your clitoris. His fingers slowly slided into your vagina as he heard the rising liquid noise. You could't help groaning a little. After a while, he putted in another finger, and then another, and you feel yourself filled with soreness and pleasure.

Then his fingers began to bend in the direction of your belly, at different angles and with different forces. And before long, he found your point.

He took his time pressing his fingers deep and shallow against it, while carefully watching your reaction, you could not help but straighten the waist each time. But you could feel the heat and love in his gaze. You could also hear him swallowing and breathing as you were being touched.

But instead of just letting him caress you gasping for breath, you 'stroke back'. You also deepened your kiss with him, and you held his length again with more force, though you were kind of unable to exert strength. Finally, you heared the liquid sound Baxter's body made.

That's when you whispered in his ear, using your sexiest tone (you must admit that you had practiced a few times for this moment, for his reaction) , "Baxter, FUCK me."

As you wish, he froze.

Or more, he only froze for 0.1 seconds, at the same time his breathing became loud, you did not know where the original condom was quickly putted on him.

The next second, inside your body was full of him. You couldn't help making a gasp with slight pain, he seemed to have just woken up and kissed you on the forehead apologetically. "May I go on? I can stop whenever you need, you know."

You got used to his coming in for a while, and then you let out a movie villain laugh, "I did THAT on purpose."

He was a little surprised, even though your bodies were still in very close contact, he stopped and asked, "Which part, if you mind?"

"The fuck me part." You're smiling again, this time smug and satisfied.

"Wow, that's absolutely impressive." He admired from the bottom of his heart, and then he went on his motion.

His movements gradually increaseed in strength, your upper bodies and lips pressed together, you were surrounded by his cologne, the sweat and breathing of both of you. The empty but ultimate pleasure in your mind and the smell made it harder to breathe, whether for the purpose of a prank of 'fight back' or thoughtfulness of your boyfriend, you heard the side-door window roll down as the sunroof was opened.

The brackish sea breeze rushed into the small space where you and Baxter were, washing away some of the white haze in your brain. Your breathing and his became clear.

In the gently rushing sea breeze, the twinkle of the stars fell through the sunroof. His eyes gazed at you with warmth and affection in the movement and amplitude. This physical closeness and the embrace and caress of the sea breeze made you feel as if you two were on a boat. Under your body in the waves was your hometown where you have lived for more than ten years. All the seas were like your hometown.

After a few orgasms, your hugs gradually became more intimate and tender from the initial irrepressible intensity. The rhythm of your bodies was more like an aftertaste, because neither of you wanted to leave the other. So you just held each other in silence, and the body movements and whispers in each other's ears made the night quieter and gentler.

This is the beach, the same but different from the other beach you're used to and love, Sunset Bird. The same thing is that your favorite friends are still with you; the different thing is that this is another beach right now, with strange stars overhead, strange forests and waves looking up, right now, in front of only him, you lost and find again in five years your friend, your boyfriend, who will also be your life-long love and partner.

Your boyfriend, Baxter Ward, his brown eyes flickering into you, his arms holding you, his scents embracing you, and though you're pretty sure there's no bonfires burning around you, maybe the stars flicker? The fire of stars was right reflected in his eyes.

[shatteredvioletnuzlocke]

Chapter 1: Late Bloomer (Patch)

It was a brisk morning in Cabo Poco, the sun slowly rose against the windowsill of the guestroom. The calm air swayed the palm tree side to side and the outward horizon was nothing other than a flat, blue sea. From the window side Patch could see two yellow Sqwackabillies flying together. Once one of the birds landed on a nearby branch, Patch was quick to pull out their sketchbook and jot it down. They had never seen vibrant Pokémon like this back in Unova, it was always dull gray Pidoves.

On a fresh, untouched page, Patch began circling a head with their pencil and then went straight to the beak. I wonder if I’ll catch one of these, they thought smearing some graphite on their face as they brushed their cheek. 

Nemona’s voice called out from downstairs, “Patch, breakfast!”

Patch sighed at their sketch, then looked back at the window to find that the Squawkabilly had flown off. The page would be forever haunted by a drawing that could never be finished. They flipped the sketchbook shut and tucked it away in the lavender backpack. Patch got up from their bed, plopping themselves onto the smooth hardwood floor. They then walked towards their reflection in a mirror hung on the faint, orange wall.

This is happening, they thought as they brushed their hair with their fingers. They licked their thumb to clear the graphite smudge, I’m going to be a trainer, for real this time! They tried to smile with pride even though their pastel purple eyes showed regret; they still felt uneasy. Patch couldn’t understand it, they’d been excited since they found out they got accepted into Uva. Why now? Why did their anxiety have to show up this late? 

“Patch, you good?!” Nemona hollered.

The soon-to-be trainer snapped out of their trance, “I’m coming!”

Patch reached back into their bag and pulled out their favorite beanie. It had been their comfort hat for years, and no one else had another one like it. It was lavender, with an embroidered design of an Elgyem at the center of the folded sleeve. Despite the well-known heat of Paldea, Patch just couldn’t live without it. They slid the beanie on top of their brown hair, grabbed their backpack, and went straight down to the kitchen. 

They felt exhausted as soon as they made it down the three flights of stairs, How does Nemona live like this? Patch panted as they walked a mud room, then a living room, then a dining room. How does anyone live like this? Finally, they made it to the kitchen following the tantalizing scent of fresh pancakes and maple syrup. There Nemona’s mother cooked at the stove, while her daughter sat at the table. The Torrezs had made Patch feel so at home since their arrival in Paldea. Moving to a new region was never easy. But the Torrezs treated the unovian with so much hospitality, that it was like they were already part of the family. 

Patch noticed that Nemona’s Lycanroc, Pierce, sat at her little table. It was furniture made for toddlers albeit a very ornate-looking set. There the maroon wolf chowed a bowl of Pokémon kibble with a pancake on top. Patch smiled, their dogs back in Unova would never be pampered like this. They gave Pierce a scratch above its white mane and were thanked in the form of delighted bark.

Patch sat down, where Mrs. Torrez set a plate down with a stack of pancakes and some rawst berries on the side. With a knife and fork, they took a good chunk out but they were met with a very crunchy texture.

Nemona turned to Patch smiling, “So how is it?”

“Dry…” Patch cleared their throat, “almost chalky.”

“That’s because Mami uses her secret ingredient,” Nemona happily explained, “right, Mami?” 

Patch turned to Mrs. Torrez, who was standing behind the countertop, and nodded while pouring spoons full of protein powder into her coffee. The two women were nearly identical in appearance, nature, and taste. Both were copper-toned in complexion with jet-black hair and bright tangerine eyes. You could only tell them apart by Mrs. Torrez’s plump figure and Nemona’s few strands of green hair coming out of her hairline.

“First day!” Nemona clapped her hands together, “how do you feel?”

“Honestly a little nervous,” Patch sheepishly admitted. 

“About becoming a trainer?” Nemona furrowed her brow. 

Patch lowered their chin, “I’m starting my trainer career ten years late. And most people have already caught a Pokémon by the time they were five!” 

The young adult was now twenty, they wanted Pokemon of their own for as long as they could remember but something always got in the way. It was always finishing grade school, their parents being too overprotective, or being too young to travel. Most of the kids in Patch’s town left once they caught their first Pokemon, while the wanna-be trainer stayed behind.

“Pfft,” Nemona rolled her lip, “better than to start at this point, younger trainers don’t even make it past their third gym.”

“Bzzzzzt Btzzzzzt!” A sudden ringing occurred, it came from Nemona’s Roto Phone which flew out of her pocket. The backside was flashing a blue light around its bezel. 

Nemona’s eyes dilated, “Ah! La Prisa! We should get going, the director is going to arrive any minute!” 

“Wait? Now like right now?!” 

Patch thought the director was coming in an hour, did they waste all that time drawing?

“Well…. you finish up,” Nemona stood up, “Pierce and I will be outside! Come on, Pierce!”

“Rooowf,” the Lycanroc called back to her. 

Pierce knocked over her chair and scurried off with her trainer toward the main entrance. While still at the table Patch coated their pancake in syrup, sugarcoating the powdery taste. They scarfed down as much as they could and got up to clear their plate. Once their plate was fully rinsed they crept to the fridge and retrieved a leftover sandwich they made for themselves yesterday. They left the kitchen with their backpack leaning on their shoulder and made their way towards the front door. Once again getting lost in an array of extra, unnecessary rooms.

Patch finally made it to the front door, recognizing the frame of green-tinted stained glass. They took a moment to admire a painting hung on the side of the wall; a liney, abstract painting of supposed blue Pokemon. They appreciated the Torrezs’s sophisticated taste in art and hoped someday they could achieve a similar artistic quality. Patch opened the door, the overwhelming gleam of the Paldean sun nearly obscuring their vision. The pathway of the front yard was paved in rich sedimentary stones. The grass was a lush emerald color. The palm trees grew past the rooftops and stalked out stems of ripe Acai berries.

Right off the front yard was a plastic paved court for Pokemon battles. There Nemona and Pierce were already engaged in a training session, with the wolf Pokémon gwawing at a green Pokemon doll. She held the toy in her jaws, swinging it back and forth, then threw it across the yard.

“Alright, Pierce! Stone edge!” Nemona commanded. 

Patch felt a light tremor by their feet, taking a safe step back. At that moment tall, jagged stones rose from the ground tearing the Pokémon doll by the foot. 

“Awoooooo,” Pierce howled with pride. 

Patch looked at Nemona with envy, Won the league at 15, became a teacher at 17, and now she’s 2 years older than me and she owns a mansion. Nemona Torrez was not only a well-accomplished trainer, but a champion-ranked trainer of Paldea honor that many could only dream of receiving. Patch was starstruck when they found out she would be their host family. She carried herself with such confidence and finesse. Nemona makes it look so easy.

They imagined themselves in an intense gym battle, spouting commands to their imaginary Sableye as they fought off a rampaging Bouffalant. As soon as the Bouffalant charged the Sableye would be dead because of Patch's incompetence. As they were lost in their mind, Patch draped their beanie over their eyes, maybe I should stick to just studying Pokémon.

“Ah, Nemona!” a man’s voice called out.

Patch shifted back to reality, where an old man dressed in purple entered Nemona’s yard.

He approached Nemona with a delightful tone, “It means so much that you would take in our new exchange student while we prepare their living arrangements. How are they finding Paldea?” 

“Oh, they’ve been loving it,” Nemona replied, “ I wanted to take them to the seven sights but I guess they’ll need to see it for themselves.”

“Well then?” The old man turned to the soon-to-be trainer. 

Upon a closer look, Patch recognized the old man’s snowy white hair and color-coordinated glasses. It was Clavell, director of Uva Academy! In a desire to appear professional, Patch anxiously straightened their necktie. 

“You must be, Mx. Callune,” the director smiled, “how wonderful it is to meet you in person finally!” 

“Uh likewise,” Patch responded, Gotta brush up on my formal words.

Clavell scratched his chin, “I assume you’re well-adjusted to our region’s climate. Though, might I ask why the hat?”

Fuck, he has a policy against hats! They began to panic but kept trying to keep their composure, “I never leave home without it. It’s not a problem for me to wear hats in school is it?”

Patch should’ve known this, Uva was the most prestigious trainer school in Paldea. Of course they would have a strict dress code! 

But Clavell only laughed, “Of course not, as long as you wear your uniform on school grounds you're free to accessorize!”

Patch sighed, their heart refusing to race. They were safe… for now. 

“Onto more important matters…” Clavell adjusted his glasses, “Mx. Callune, on your student application you checked off that you weren’t planning on catching any Pokémon before your arrival.”   

“Oh yes,” Patch replied, only because global transport is hella expensive.

“Since you’re a newcomer to our region, I want to accommodate you with one of three Pokemon that are suitable for a beginner trainer,” Clavell exclaimed.

Patch’s heartbeats heightened, but this time with intrigue. Accommodate me? 

 Their purple eyes widened, “Wait, are you-”

“Suprise!” Nemona bounced with glee.

Patch struggled to find their words, they thought they were just going to catch a wild Paldean Pokemon to start with. 

“Are you giving me a Pokémon?!” 

“Of course, it’s much safer to have a Pokémon beforehand as I always say!” Clavell reassured them.

Patch couldn’t hold it in, they began to flap their hands like a Herdier wags its tail. A Pokemon as a gift, just for them!

“Sweet Arceus! When do I get to meet them!?” They shouted.

Clavell took out three common Pokeballs from his pocket, “Right now!” 

He threw three Pokeballs toward the sky. Then one by one they admitted streaks of dim, blue light. The lights took strange shapes, one grew four legs while the other two stood on a single pair. Once the Pokemon materialized there stood a green cat with a fluffy tail, a white duck with a blue crest, and a tubby, red reptile with a white face. 

“You’ll find that the Pokémon selected for you have the same typing as the starter Pokémon offered in Unova,” Clavell said, placing his hand on Patch.

“Among them are…” Clavell began to announce, “Sprigatito, the grass cat Pokemon!”

“Spur-nya,” the cat mewed, clawing at a nearby leaf.

“Quaxly, the duckling Pokémon!” 

“Weh,” the duck whimpered, shielding its face with its wings.

“And Fuecoco, the fire croc Pokémon!”

“Cro-ko!” the reptile chirped while looking at the sun. 

Patch was so charmed by the three creatures, “Holy shit they’re so cu-”

Patch slapped their mouth, regretfully wishing they said something different. Their face became a new shade of red. Their fingers curved like claws as they pressed them against their cheek. They just swore in front of the director! 

“Eh!” Patch murmured, Nice going jackass! 

Clavell’s eyes widened with astonishment while Nemona couldn’t help but crack up. There was no way Patch could ever take that back.

The soon-to-be ex-student remorsefully stammered, “Mr. Director, sir! I didn't mean to I-I slipped my tongue!”

Patch was so stuck in their emotional mind, that they didn’t realize they were overstepping their vocal volume or physical space. 

Clavell took a step back and waved his hands, “Woah- it’s perfectly fine!” 

“I’m not in trouble?” Patch whimpered on the brink of tears. 

“Don’t worry, I’m cool like that! “Fresh” as you kids call it!” Clavell confidently flipped his hair.

Nemona was at a loss for words, all she could do was still laugh. Patch sighed with relief and wiped their tears. They brought their attention back to the three starters, all three of them were off on their own devices.  

Clavell stood next to Patch, “So, do you know which one you want?”

Right, I can only choose one, they reminded themselves.   

“Not yet.” 

“Of course, I understand this is a sudden choice. Take plenty of time!” the director nodded, “these three have been cooped up in their Pokéballs all morning. Why not take them for a stroll to get to know them better?” 

Along the Torrezs garden, mauve anemone flowers filled the air with a gentle sweet aroma. The Sprigatito leaped into the flower bed but was graceful enough to not step on a single stem. The Quaxly and Fuecoco followed Patch down the path as the brown-haired human kept thinking to themselves. The surprise was sweet and all, but I wish I didn’t have to deal with choosing a Pokémon. Especially my first Pokémon, what if I make the wrong choice? They looked back at the duck and crocodile, overwhelmed by their adorableness. 

Patch thought back to they’re childhood dreams, I always wanted a Snivy back home so maybe Sprigatito? 

They turned to the cat who was pressing a white feather against the ground with its claws, he noticed Patch and gave a hiss. Somehow it made them feel nervous. Then again cats are so much different than snakes…

Patch pondered the idea of choosing Quaxly, Many trainers recommend water types, after all, they are strong against so many other types. Plus, they help you get around oceans and lakes!

 The Quaxly’s fluffy white down ruffled as the human observed them. Maybe not.

Patch felt guilty, it seemed like they were passing down their surprise. But they also knew that the director wouldn’t set them up for failure, one of these Pokémon had to be a hidden match. Then there’s Fuecoco… The soon-to-be trainer looked around for the little crocodile; it was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck, I lost one of them!” Patch blurted aloud. Nice going Patch! 

They frantically shook, wanting to check the rest of the yard for the missing Pokemon. In an act of impulse, Patch attempted to carry the remaining starters. A big mistake, as the two Pokémon didn’t take kindly to being held. Out of their emotional distress, Patch left the two to their own devices and ran toward the aligned trees making up the border of the open yard. 

They scanned them until they found a spot of vermillion popping against the viridity of the grass. 

“Thank god,” Patch sighed. 

 While Patch was winding itself up, the Fuecoco lay on its belly bathing underneath the warmth of the sun.

“Fuecoco!” Patch called out to them.

 They approached the reptile with caution, under the assumption they could be just as stubborn as the other starters. 

“Coco?” the Fuecoco tilted its head.

“Don’t just run. off like that!” Patch exclaimed already out of breath, “let’s… stay close together.” 

The fuecoco got up with a yawn, its opened jaw revealing two extra fangs. As it hopped closer to Patch, they noticed the fire croc’s eyes were half open. The sun’s rays clearly made Fuecoco comfortable, unlike Patch who was melting with sweat. Patch took a moment to remove their beanie but accidentally dropped it. At that moment, Fuecoco curiously sniffed at the beanie, nudging it with its snout. I’m not getting that back, am I?

Patch carefully reached for the beanie, but couldn’t help but notice that the Fuecoco held it close to its chest, hugging it.  

“Fuey” the crocodile happily gargled. 

Patch recognized the Fuecoco's coziness, “You like the feel of my hat too huh?”

The Fuecoco’s relaxing vibe began to rub off on the human, and soon slowly they held out their hand towards it. Please don’t bite! To their surprise, its snout was pressed up against the Patch’s palm. Their scales were dry yet soft and a little bumpy. Being a fire type, they felt they were naturally warm. Patch admired the crocodile, yep you’re the one! 

Patch got up and lifted their soon-to-be Pokemon, the Fuecoco was a little heavier than the other starters but not too heavy to carry. They ran back to their director with, the other two starters in tow.  

“Director Clavell, Director Clavell,” they called to out until they properly reached him, “I’ve chosen, Fuecoco for my partner, sir!” 

“Splendid, Patch,” the director clapped his hands, “do you have a name in mind for him?”

Patch looked down at their new Pokémon, cozy with so many ideas and possibilities they could share. His name had to be perfect, but the bright tufts on his head made him look like… a fruit.

They held up the Fuecoco towards them, “What do you think of the name Tamarind?”

“Co,” the crocodile smiled, holding out one of his claws in approval.

Clavell handed Patch his Pokeball and Nemona approached them, she was just as excited as they were. They placed Tamarind down to mingle with Pierce. 

“Feeling nervous now?” Nemona playfully asked.

“Not really,” Patch replied. There’s a good chance I’ll feel it later though. 

They couldn’t help but notice that was looking Nemona away from them, she had her eye caught on the other two starter Pokemon. 

“Hey, Clive?” Nemona spoke, “I know that these Pokémon were meant for Patch. But since they’ve already made their choice, do you think I can take one?”

Clavell scratched his beard, “You, Ms. Torrez?”

“Plenty of my Pokémon are high level, I was thinking having a newbie level would help my battle strategy students with some hands-on lessons,” the Champion explained.

Patch knew that as a Champion, Nemona’s Pokemon were jacked. They wouldn’t dare challenge her, or any other trainer for that matter.

“That seems like a good reason,” Clavell remarked, “which one would you like?”

Nemona crouched, and held her handout to the Sprigatito, “I’ll take this little chiqui!” 

Patch placed their hand on the scratch mark, Nemona are you sure?

To their surprise, the ferocious kitten allowed Nemona to hold him. Patch was left confused, it was like his personality had shifted. As the Sprigatito purred in the champion’s arms, the novice trainer reached to pet him. Only for the cat to revert to aggressive as the pupils in his magenta eyes drew back into diamond shapes. Patch looked at Nemona, how? Clavell gave Nemona a Pokeball and retrieved the unchosen Quaxly. 

“Now that that's settled we should be on our way to campus,” Clavell stated.

Down by the stairs of the pathway, a fancy black car awaited them. Patch began to make their way but felt a heavy hand on their shoulder. 

 “Could you let me hold on to Patch just a little bit longer?” she asked, “I thought I could teach them the ropes of catching wild Pokémon.”

Patch’s purple eyes beamed like stars, they flapped their right hand with excitement. Oh please Clavell, say yes! 

He nodded back, “As long as Patch makes it back to the academy by sunset, that’s fine. Just be mindful of your time!”

<- Prologue - Chapter 2 ->

[sundaysundaes]

Started With A Kiss

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Actor AU, Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | 10K

Summary: Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

Warnings:  protected sex, oral sex, crude humor, swearing, literally 10k of sex with very little plot, a lot of playful banters between sassy!hyuck and equally sassy!Y/N

Wrote this for my love Kira @flopim​ who’s been having a tough time lately. I hope this will cheer you up bb! ❤️

“I want you to make love to me.”

Standing there, still dressed in your bright pink pajamas with your hair resembling a bird’s nest, you can only blink once, twice, and several times more because surely, your ears are playing tricks on you. There’s no way that your best friend, the cutely annoying and annoyingly cute, Lee Haechan—the one who’s been practically glued to your skin like a conjoined twin of yours for the last two years—is asking you to make love to him. 

Surely, this is not what you’d expected to see when you opened the door to your apartment, ready to bark at whoever it was who dared to disturb your beauty sleep (since it is seven in the morning on a Sunday), only to see him standing in his blue ripped jeans and black Michael Jackson shirt with his cheeks flushed, his bag hanging loosely on his shoulder, brown eyes desperately begging for your attention. 

And you’re most definitely sure that he’s not asking you to sleep with him when you still have drool on the corner of your mouth and a terrible morning breath (in your defense, you have brushed your teeth but that was, like, six hours ago).

But when seconds have passed and Haechan still looks like he badly needs to hear an answer, you have very little options but to ask, “You want me to do what to who now?”

Catching a sniff of your mighty dragon’s breath, he promptly takes a step back, scrunching his nose while frantically covering half of his face with the script he’s been holding. “Eew, God, what is that smell?” Ignoring your glare, he repeats his words, voice muffled by the papers. “I said, I want you to make love to me.”

“What—”

“Damn it, woman, just brush your teeth and let me in!”

When he’s stomping his feet while whining that loudly—loud enough for your fucking landlord to hear, along with everybody else in the building (including your cute neighbor, Jaehyun, oh dear God, no), he doesn’t give you any other choice but to invite him in, does he?

You step away from the door, flatly muttering, “Please, come in, why don’t you.” Haechan doesn’t waste any second waiting, making sure to run and stay as far away as possible from you so he won’t inhale the poisonous air that’s tainted with your breath again. 

You roll your eyes. Dramatic little shit. But just to be on the safe side, you make your way to the bathroom.

***

The scalding hot shower you just took was comforting but not enough to wash your entire drowsiness away. You’re in dire need of your caffeine intake. “Would you like some coffee, my king?” You ask between a yawn, hands finding their way to the coffee jar on your kitchen counter.

Haechan throws his bag to the floor, body sinking into the comfort of your couch. “With milk, please.”

"I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not.” He throws one of those cheeky grins that you adore—no, wait, you hate—as he settles his legs on your coffee table. “Less sugar but more milk. I’m still growing.”

“Growing what, your balls?” You pour him a cup of coffee as requested, yes, because to balance his demonic behavior, you have to act like the perfect angel that you are. “Since you don’t have any?”

“You mean, like your boyfriend?” Haechan retorts before he gasps dramatically, his palm going to his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You hover above him from behind the couch, bringing two mugs filled with sizzling hot coffee. “Want to repeat that?” You tip your mug just a little bit until it nearly spills on his forehead.

Haechan winces, attempting to grin. “I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t ruin my face. It’s the only thing that’s good about me.”

“It surely is.”

“Yah, what does that mean?”

“Take it as a compliment.” 

Sitting next to him, you sip your coffee and curse silently when the liquid burns your tongue. “Okay, so what about this ‘make love to me’ thing you said earlier? Please tell me it’s just a figure of speech or something.”

“I wish.” He drags his legs away from the table so he can lay his cup down because apparently, he means business. “Okay, I know you’re gonna kill me after you hear—”

“After? I’m about to kill you now, actually.” You scoff. “Don’t you remember what we’ve agreed on? You cannot bother me when I’m still too sleepy to smack you in the head, Haechannie.”

“When did we ever—” He stops. “Why are you going to smack me in the head?” 

“‘Cause you’ll say something stupid.”

“Who says I’m gonna say something stupid?”

“You always say something stupid. You’re saying something stupid now!”

“It’s not stupid.” He sighs exasperatedly but when your flat, degrading stare comes into view, it morphs into a groan. “Well, not that stupid. I’ve thought about this—really thought about it—and I can’t find anyone else to do this but you since you’re the only girl I’m friends with. I mean, I can pick random girls, I suppose—you know how popular I am. They just can’t stop talking about me. My hair, my eyes—”

“—your tiny dick.”

“But I don’t want to break any girl’s heart by doing something that’s gonna make them feel like I’m just using them to get a job, you know? I know I’m hot but these good looks aren’t meant to trample people’s hearts.”

“And you don’t care how I’m gonna feel?”

He has the decency to act like he’s thinking about it, but then, “No, not really.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I really need your help.” He takes it as further as holding your hand between his, puckering his pouty lips, and blinking his eyes in a way that’s cute enough to leave you in daze so you pretend like you’re about to vomit your insides to cover it up. 

Okay, so there’s one thing—one little thing that nobody knows—that you’re too ashamed to admit and that is the fact that you have a massive crush on this boy who sits in front of you with his socks unmatched. Well, no, not massive. It used to be massive during the first few weeks you knew him. How could you not? Haechan was so cute, you wanted to turn him into a doll so you could carry him around in your backpack and squish his cheeks whenever you feel like it. Sure, he’s not all jawlines and dimples like that neighbor of yours (Jung Jaehyun was probably sculpted by God himself ), but Haechan has his own charms. His devilish smirk, his loud, contagious laughter, his naughty eyebrow raise, and his lips—God, his beautiful plump lips, the way they look so pouty and soft. Honestly, you can write a whole essay about his attractive features (not that you haven’t already).

You knew you were crazy for him when the antics he did annoyed the hell out of his friends but to you, he was just plain adorable. And you realized you were pretty much fucked-up when Jeno said, “Fucking Lee Donghyuck said he forgot his wallet and robbed me this morning. Who the fuck orders a freakin’ wagyu steak for breakfast?!” and the only thing you could think of was how nice it was to go on a date with him and how your first kiss with him was going to be like (poor Jeno, though). 

It’s not that you love him or anything. It’s mostly physical, nothing more—at least for now anyway. It’s not your fault that he’s so fucking pretty that he ends up showing every now and then in your fantasy, doing indescribable naughty things that will definitely make Mark splash some holy water on your face if he knew what was going on in your head.

Fortunately, now that you’ve been friends with him for two years, that massive crush you had has turned into something normal, something you can easily hide. And can be forgotten even, whenever another cute guy—like Na Jaemin, for example—takes you out on a date or two. It’s easier to breathe these days.

“Hello? Are you there?” Haechan snaps his fingers, waking you up from your reverie. “What’s your answer? Do you want to make love to me or not?”

‘It’s easier to breathe these days?’ More like fucking kill me. 

“Can you stop saying that?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re giving me headaches.” Or a heart attack, more accurately. “Assume I said yes. Don’t you think it’s gonna get a little weird between us?”

“What is so weird about it?” He throws his hands in the air, exhausted and impatient. “It’s just gonna be two friends, pretending to be in love with each other, hugging, kissing, touching, and having sweet, tender sex.” Realization falls upon him and you resist the urge to exhale loudly. “Yeah, okay, so it is a little weird, but it should be fine, right? It’s just acting. It’s not like you have any feelings for me, do you?”

If by feelings you mean picturing you naked in my head with your mouth sucking on my neck, then yeah, I do have feelings for you. Plenty of that. But on the outside, you say, “Eew, God, no.”

Haechan squints his eyes at your response. “Can’t say I’m not hurt with the way you said it, but eew, God, no to you too. Well, if that’s the case then I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he says, sipping his coffee, and retracts his mouth as soon as the flavor hits his tongue. “What the hell is this?! Did you spit on my coffee or something?”

You didn’t but for your amusement, you throw him a sly grin. “A little.” It’s satisfying to see him looking like he’s about to pass out. “I’m still worried how it’s gonna affect our friendship later on though.”

He simply shrugs. “Meh. We’re not really that close to begin with anyway.” He takes another sip of his coffee by accident and nearly vomits for real. “Fucking hell—take this shit out of my face.”

“I'm still not sure about this, Haechannie.”

“Look, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you, we’re just going to pretend! Acting!” He exclaims as if that was the most normal thing a friend could ask another friend. “And you’re gonna be acting out a love scene with someone as hot as me. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Consider yourself dead.”

“Damn it, my audition is in two days and I really want to get this role!” He’s whining, tugging at your hand like a baby as he practically throws himself at your feet, graveling for your mercy. “You’re the only one who can help me with this. How can I act properly if I don’t have enough experience to perform a freaking bed scene?!”

“I don’t think actors who have to play dead have enough experience of, you know, being dead.”

“Excellent point.” Haechan stares at you blankly, unimpressed. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Do you?”

A few seconds passed by in silence with the two of you exchanging sinister glares until he finally surrenders with a prominent pout on his face. “Fine, if you don’t want to.” Haechan exhales dramatically, his shoulders sagging and when you don’t respond, he sighs again only louder this time. “I guess, I have to force Mark to make out with me. Again.” He sneaks a glance to see your reaction. “And have my face slapped with a Bible. Again.”

You wince at the thought. “How did you force him, exactly?”

“Just…” He timidly scratches his nose. “Kinda attacked him in his sleep.”

You nod in understanding even when it’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, maybe he would’ve been fine with it if you had taken him out for a nice dinner before that.”

Haechan smiles a little at your words, and even a little glimpse of it is contagious enough to make your own spread wider on your face. Small chuckles resonate through the air and he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours, his palm resting on your knuckles.

“On a more serious note,” Haechan says, “I know that asking you to rehearse a bed scene with me is too much and way out of line. But I swear, I’m not gonna touch you if you’re so uncomfortable with it. Won’t even hold your hand, I promise.” Then he notices he’s still holding your hand from earlier. He drops it immediately, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. His hand seems to fit yours in a way that nobody ever does but there’s no way you’re gonna tell him that. “So, we’re just gonna be practicing lines?”

“Exactly.” He rubs his nape, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well, I was hoping to at least kiss you—just to, you know, know how it’d feel like.”

“You’ve never kissed before?”

“I have, obviously.” He rolls his eyes, disgusted at your question. “I’m not a fucking virgin if that’s what you’re assuming.”

“Chill, don’t get your panties in a twist. Nah, I know you’re not a virgin from how many times you’ve had sex with yourself.”

“Hey!” 

“But then, why do you need to practice? Can’t you just go straight to your castmates, and kiss the bejeezus out of them?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his face. “It’s… I’ve never done it for a role,” he professes, faint blush blooming on his cheeks, “And the scene is supposed to be intimate and I’ve never… You know…”

You gesture at him to clarify more with your hands. “You’ve never…?”

“You know…” The color on his face turns brighter. “T-the thing.”

“What thing? Never made-out in public? Never had sex outdoor?” You act clueless just because you’re liking his reaction. “Never had a finger stuck in your ass? What? Please do enlighten me.”

“I’ve never been in love, you witch!” Haechan is adorable when he’s fuming. Nostrils blaring, eyebrows knitting together in an angry frown, scarlet cheeks all puffed out. He looks like a terribly pissed Pomeranian.

Man, if I could just take a picture. “Oh, okay. So have you had your finger stuck in your ass?”

“I swear to God—”

“Kidding. I know you have.” But even when Haechan is nearly ripping your cheeks apart from your face, your giggles are never-ending. “So, you’re nervous?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “You, the obnoxious, desperate-for-attention Lee Haechan, are nervous?”

“Will you help me out or not?!”

You pretend like you’re contemplating about it when truth is, every part of your body and mind is just screaming what the heck are you waiting for? He’s asking you to rehearse a bed scene—a. bed. scene! And he said he wanted to kiss you, for God’s sake! So, really, what else is there to say but “Okay.”

Haechan widens his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You try your best to appear nonchalant. “But you’ll owe me a favor. A huge one.”

“Anything,” he instantly agrees, “As long as I’m not dead, you have my words.”

You’re not yet sure what you’re planning to ask him but seeing his enthusiasm, you know it’s going to be good. “Great. So, umm, do you want to do it now or…?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Here?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Man, you’re giving me too much power. I should’ve agreed to this way sooner.” You can practically feel your face splitting in half from how wide you’re grinning. “My room, then? I mean, a bed scene requires… a bed, right?”

Haechan laughs and even after two years, it still sounds like your most favorite thing in the world. “No, it doesn’t necessarily require a bed but sure.” He jumps out from the couch, taking you by the hand, and only by that, you can already feel your heart thumping a tad faster. But the second he walks into your room, he makes a face. “Why does it smell like something died in here?”

“Because something did die. Your dignity.”

The tickling fight doesn’t occur very often between you and Lee Haechan but once it starts, it means war.

***

“Okay, so…” Haechan hands you the script, already opened to show you a page filled with dialogues and short narratives. He scoots closer on the bed, his knee a few inches away from grazing yours as they dangle from the edge. “Just from the top of the page, here.” He points with his finger and you do a quick scan, trying to get a picture of the intimate scene you’re going to do. “So, a quick summary. Your character, Aeri, has been in love with my character, Donghyun. In the earlier scene, you’ve confessed your love to me but I rejected you because we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But then, later on, some things happened and I ended up catching feelings for you and this is the part where I’m gonna be telling you how I really feel and then we start kissing and—”

“Then we have sex,” you utter in dismay, but butterflies are erupting from your stomach due to the anticipation.

“No,” Haechan corrects you, “We make love.”

“Is there any difference?”

“There are more feelings involved, not just out of sheer passion. It’s slower. Tender. Intimate.” And when he notices you raising a questioning brow at him, he sighs. “That thing you did with Jaemin? Fucking like bunnies? The opposite of that.”

You mock him by imitating his sigh exaggeratedly and receiving a flick on the nose in return. “Is it just me or is the script pretty lousy?”

He nods. “But they’ll pay you good money for this.”

“I thought the reason you became an actor was to create art not money.”

“When I’m rich, maybe. Right now, I gotta pay for my rent. And apparently, Jeno keeps chasing my ass, forcing me to pay him back. It was just a wagyu steak for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself, momentarily distracted. “Anyway,” he cracks his neck, “I’ve memorized my lines. Wanna give it a go?”

“Okay, let’s try. I guess I’ll be fine if it’s just kissing. Even if it’s with you.” When in reality you’re only agreeing to this because it’s with him.

Haechan’s eyes gleam brighter, ears practically perking up like an excited puppy. “Really?”

“You’re that excited at the thought of kissing me?” You play smug but you could practically hear your heartbeat blasting through your ears. “What else have you been thinking about me?”

“I’m not excited at the thought of kissing you, dumbass,” he spits back, the spark in his eyes vanishes in an instant. “I’m excited that finally I can practice kissing scenes with someone who’s actually willing to do it, and not, you know, like with the back of my hand or something.”

“You…” Failing to hold back a grin, you burst out laughing. “You made out with your hand?”

It’s funny that even when his skin is golden as if it was kissed by the sun, it still shows vividly on his face whenever he blushes. “I didn’t mean it literally—”

“I can’t believe you made out with your hand.”

“Would you just—” He nearly suffocates you with your pillow but you quickly retaliate by kicking him in the stomach.

Tears are prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Man, that mental image of yours making out with your hand will live in my mind rent-free for as long as I live.” When you still can’t stop laughing, Haechan is practically baring his teeth. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s get this going. If it gets too uncomfortable for me, I’ll stop.”

“Of course.” 

“At any time I want.”

“Your call.” He nods in agreement with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him do; it almost doesn’t seem like him. 

“Good,” you say. “Now, I’ve never acted once in my life so if you laugh at me, I will sneak into your room at night and pour hot coffee on your computer.”

There’s fear fleeting through his eyes but he gives another nod. “Deal.”

“All right…” You take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop hammering against your ribcages, and for once, focus more on the script instead of the shape of his pretty, pretty mouth. “What are you doing here?” You follow the script, voice a little bit shaky as you’re still embarrassed with everything you’re doing. Haechan closes his eyes and you’re about to throw a joke to tease him about actor Haechan coming alive but when he opens them and gazes at you, you sit still, frozen.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, voice so delicate, it startles you. He’s so serious about this that you don’t find the strength within you to tease him like how you usually do. Somehow, the little gestures he makes, the changes in his expression alter the air along with the tension in the room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re standing next to him under the spotlight, hundreds of pairs of eyes following your every movement. 

“It’s—” You swallow your breath, tongue lays heavy in your mouth. “It's pouring outside, why are you—”

“I love you,” he vocalizes, his eyes gentle and heartbroken. His voice suddenly sounds a pitch lower, reverberating through the air until it sends goosebumps to the tiny hairs on your nape. He waits for your reply and you have to blink twice to slap yourself back to reality.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize, but I do. I’m in love with you, hopelessly so.” He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Though he has pretty hands, his fingertips are not as soft as you had imagined them to be, but they feel better, feel real. His warmth is unfamiliar to your skin but it feels more pleasant than anything that ever touches you. “Maybe you’re unaware of this, but it kills me to know that I’ve hurt you because I simply couldn’t be brave enough to accept my feelings. The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.”

Haechan’s lines fit your situation so much that you wish he wasn’t acting. It’s amazing how he’s changing into an entirely different persona and yet, it feels so natural as if he has been that person all along. Your breathing gets heavier as you take a brief look at the script, searching for your lines. “This feels unreal…”

“Do you still love me?” Haechan lifts your face by the chin, his touch is paper-thin. 

You wet your lips, head swirling. “But Donghyun—”

“Do you still love me?” He repeats, emphasizing with his tone. His eyes are peering into yours and you wonder maybe the quote eyes deeper than the sea refers to his gaze. “Or is it too late for me?” His thumb drifts to your lip, caressing your bottom one, your lip balm sticking to his skin. 

“I do,” you reply. He’s so pretty. You’ve never taken a glance longer than a few seconds at his close-up face, but now that you’re in this close proximity, you can finally witness the two tiny moles on his cheek, the beautiful shape of his dark eyes, the delicate curve of his lips… “I do love you, Donghyuck.”

A few seconds of silence hangs in the air when Haechan stops, his eyebrows furrowing. “Umm—it’s Donghyun, actually.”

Fuck! “Right!” You nearly leap out of your bed, face aflame. “Donghyun! Of course! I don’t know why I said that. Donghyuck is your name, I know that—” Fuck, fuck, fuck, just fucking kill me. “Sorry, umm—nervous.”

Fortunately for you, Haechan buys your bluff. “Rookie mistake,” he chuckles and you exaggeratedly roll your eyes to play along. “Okay, let’s start over. Do you still love me?”

“I do,” you respond too rigidly, making him glance away so he won’t break into laughter. “I do love you, Donghyun. Dong-Hyun.”

“Good,” he improvises, as it’s not written in the script. He has a tiny smile on his face and you like to think that it’s just him doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement. But when he swats your bangs out of your eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he seems like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his whole life. The adoration in his eyes, his loving gaze—they are so vivid, they nearly consume you. “Because I don’t think I can resist this any longer…”

You’re lost in his eyes, lost in his touch, lost in his warmth. It’s until Haechan nudges his head slightly, indicating you to wake up, you’ve got a line to say, that you jolt, eyes hurriedly going down to the script, seeking your lines. “Umm—“ You flinch. You sound so jittery, it’s terrible. “R-resist what…?”

But Haechan doesn’t pay a mind that you just stuttered from saying two words. He doesn’t ask you to start over. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling in the air and you can taste the scent of sandalwood and summer. Combined with his soft breathing, you’re almost stuck in a haze, just reeling in the feeling of how this man is now closer to you than he has ever been in the past two years and it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined.

“Resist this,” he whispers and before you can look down to check whether you have more lines to say, Haechan dips his head, his lips brushing against yours, ever so faintly at first but when you gasp, he presses harder, framing your cheeks with both hands before he moves one down to your waist. Unlike his fingertips, his lips are soft—softer than silk or the cotton candy he once bought you. But it’s not the way they feel or the way he tastes that distract you the most. It’s the way he moves them, parting his lips slightly so he can blend with yours, your lower lip fits perfectly between his plump ones. It’s the way he sighs, so contentedly, as if kissing you was everything he ever wanted.

You close your eyes, hands reaching up to his collar, wanting to feel him more, wanting to touch him—

Haechan breaks away, placing both hands on your shoulders. “How was it?”

You’ve never had someone splash cold water on your face but you figure it might feel something like this. Your voice grows hoarse when you speak. “How was what?”

“The kiss!” Haechan’s eyes are filled with concern, analyzing your expression. “Was it romantic enough? Tender enough? Did it properly convey the desperation and longing my character feels for yours?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You fucking knew it. So, why are you still hurt when he acts like he feels exactly nothing by that kiss? This is just an acting lesson for him. You should have been prepared. 

“It’s good,” you answer, averting your gaze and hiding your eyes behind your bangs. Your heart is still running a thousand miles an hour but somehow, it doesn’t feel as pleasant as before. “So, next scene—”

“Wait, are you okay?” Haechan asks, bending slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. “Was it too much? Do you want to stop?”

Truth is, you’re conflicted. You’re going to catch feelings—you most likely already are. But Haechan only treats you as a friend and nothing more, and this is the only chance you have to be this close to him. The temptation of continuing the kiss, to just hold him close for one more time, stands stronger than anything else so you say, “No. I promised you I’d help.”

He’s still unsure, eyes glinting in concern. “It’s okay if you want to stop, I—”

“Let’s just do the damn scene, Donghyuck.”

Haechan freezes on his seat, eyes searching yours as you now have the bravery to look at his face. Knowing you came on too strong, you try to ease it off with a smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just my first time doing this—acting, I mean. Can we try again?”

He spends another few seconds trying to decipher the true meaning behind your smile but eventually nods his head at your command. He drags his finger back to the script. “Then, umm… Let’s start from here?”

You don’t even look at the page when you give affirmation. “Go.”

Haechan takes a moment to prepare himself and when your eyes meet each other again, he’s a different person once more. “The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.” His voice is so soothing, you almost forget that deep down you’re immensely upset knowing that the kiss didn’t have the same effects on him.

This time, when he frames your face with his palm, you lean into his touch, eyes never leaving his. “This feels unreal,” you say and for a second—just for a split second—you notice Haechan breaking out of character, surprised by the gentle expression on your face. Because you’re not acting out his script, you’re acting out on your feelings. It’s your only chance to be honest with him without forcing him to respond. So you pour all these feelings you have for him out in the open—ones that started from a mere physical attraction to something more as his presence grew bigger in your life, you’re acting out each and every one of them. 

“Do…” He inhales sharply, trying to focus. “Do you still love me?” He’s doing the same thing as before, placing his thumb and index finger on your chin but before he can say his lines, you see how his eyes fall on your lips.

And you kiss him. You kiss him with everything you have, hands going to his face, fingers slipping between his strands, and Haechan gasps against your mouth, his fingers curling around your wrist. You know he’s about to push you away so you quickly murmur, “I do,” against his lips, breath stuttering, “I do love you.”

When you take his bottom lip between yours, teeth grazing against his supple skin, Haechan lets out an involuntary moan at the back of his throat. The butterflies in your stomach come alive, pumping a rush of adrenaline through your veins and suddenly, you’re brave enough to glide your tongue across his lip. His hold tightens around your wrist but instead of pushing you away, he tugs you closer and you fall into his chest, hands breaking free from his grip to wind around his neck. Your fingertips are scraping against his nape before they move upward to yank at the roots of his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes out, almost inaudibly, as if he didn’t mean to let the word slip from his mouth and it makes your heart jumps straight out of your chest. The second he responds properly, Haechan kisses like fire, all passion and urgency, and you really don’t mind being consumed by his flames.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer and closer until you’re almost sitting on his lap before he jolts awake, pushing you away so abruptly, you almost fall from the bed.

“I’m—We—” he stammers, looking everywhere but your eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bruised and red from your kisses. “I think we should—I gotta go—“

He stands up from the bed like the sheets are catching on fire, picking his script from the floor and gathering all his belongings at once before he runs toward the door. He turns on his heels, wanting to say something to fix the goddamn situation, but when his eyes land on yours, his words vanish without a trace. 

“I—I’ll call you later,” he finally says and doesn’t wait for your response. The front door closes with a thud.

And then silence comes to answer.

What just happened? 

Your heart is thundering inside your chest, you’re starting to feel nauseous. What have I done? You keep asking over and over. You thought everything was going to be fine. He responded to your kiss earlier, didn’t he? You were sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing. But now he’s gone and you’re not sure whether he’s gonna come back as the same Haechan—the old, bratty but caring Lee Haechan. The one who snickers loudly when you fall face-first on the ground but always steals secret glances at you to make sure you're not hurt. The one who makes jokes about your love life but never forgets to show up at your apartment with a thoughtful gift right at the minute you turn a year older. 

Things are not just gonna get awkward, they’re ruined.

When nearly half an hour has passed by and you’re still left alone in your apartment with no signs of him coming back, you’re about to go insane. You can’t stay still, walking back and forth your living room with the tip of your thumb between your teeth.

Should I chase after him and explain that it was just me trying to improvise? You hesitate with your hand lingering on the doorknob. But with your knees nearly giving up under your weight, you decide to stay put. It will probably just gonna make it worse. He’ll see through my lies, he always does.

You’re straying away to the kitchen, hands placed on the counter. You can feel your head spinning, stomach somersaulting. Damn it, why did I have to do that?! Why couldn’t I just— 

The front door slams opened and Haechan barges in with his hair messy, ruffled by the wind, and his bangs sticking to his temple. Stunned, you stand still on your ground. Your heart is the only one that’s moving beyond control. His eyes scan your apartment until they land on yours and for an instant, everything seems to fade away.

“Fuck it,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground and making his way towards you in such a hurry, he nearly trips over his feet. “You’re not that good of an actor to be faking it.” Before you have the chance to even take a breath, Haechan’s lips are smashing against yours. 

“Hae—” Haechan’s kiss is insane. So forceful that you can barely keep up, taking every bit of air directly from your lungs. He has you backed against the kitchen counter, the marbled edge digging into your skin. His hands frame your face, sliding against your cheek until they cup the backsides of your neck, his thumbs resting against your ears. You curl your fingers around his wrist, gasping, “Wait—”

He pulls away, lifting your face so you can’t bring your gaze anywhere else. “You like me?” His eyes are just as intense, begging for answers. “Please tell me I’m not imagining this.”

But behind that passion, his confidence is wavering. You can tell by his quivering breath, the little tremble running through his fingertips, and at that, you’re drowning in relief. You don’t think he’s that good of an actor to be faking this too. 

“I do,” you admit, heart pounding so loudly that you can barely hear your own voice. “I like—”

His mouth is on yours again and it feels like he’s kissing you in a hundred different places at once. “Jesus Christ, why have you kept quiet about this for so long?” he says, tasting your breath and skin at the same time. “Two fucking years. We wasted two fucking years.”

The words this isn’t happening endlessly run through your head but all your senses scream that Haechan is really here, in your arms, his nails clawing against your shirt and there’s nothing left you want from this world.

When you reciprocate to him properly, your palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulder, until your arms circle his neck, Haechan sighs in content. His kisses grow slower—more relaxed—but deeper, his tongue peeking out shyly at first but not for long. He still tastes faintly like the coffee you made and something else entirely different. Something pleasant that’s just exactly how you’ve fantasized him to be, if not more.

He pulls away to catch his breath with his eyes still focusing on your lips, thumb rubbing your lower one. “Does this feel weird to you?” He whispers, his temple pressing against yours.

You’re intoxicated by his sweet scent though you’re not sure whether it’s the smell of his shampoo, his cologne, or just him altogether. “No,” and as soon as the word comes out, his lips are chasing after yours once more.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can stop.” He’s breathing heavily against your mouth as you are against his. With his fingers twisted in your hair, making a messy ponytail out of it, Haechan peppers open-mouthed kisses on your neck, tongue pressing against your pulsating vein and a whimper escapes your mouth.

Your dreams, your fantasies—they all fall pale in comparison to reality. When you vocalize his name, it almost sounds like a plead and Haechan slants his mouth back on yours again, giving you another taste as he is not satisfied with yours just yet. “Your lips taste amazing,” he breathes out and it’s so quiet, it seems like he’s intending to say the words in his head and not with his mouth. But as his words fall on your ears, they send tingles down your spine.

“So do yours,” you reply, attempting to make him blush in return but if he does, he doesn’t show much. “Never pegged you as a man who wears lip balm.”

You can feel his smirk directly with your skin. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You’re not?” You lightly giggle, swiping your tongue across his lower lip. “Then your lips do taste amazing.”

Haechan’s hand is slipping underneath your shirt, fingers hovering above your bra. “Guess there are still a lot of things you don’t know about me, huh?”

“I’ve got a hunch you’re about to teach me?”

“Only if you’re eager to learn.”

The kiss becomes heavier that you’re lost for words, entirely consumed by his passion, until he breaks away, muttering, “Off, off, off, off, off,” as he struggles to tear the fabric away from your body. You titter at his desperation, raising both hands to help him out of his misery. The second it’s off, he lifts you by the waist and places you down on the counter. 

“I’m amazed you could lift me,” you coo, admiring the sight of his lean stomach as he pulls his shirt over his head. His silver necklace hangs loosely around his neck and you hook a finger around it to yank him back to you.

He doesn’t seem to be able to detach his lips from yours for too long, especially when you keep sneaking glances at his. So when he speaks again, his every word is painted directly to your skin. “It wasn’t easy.” He settles between your thighs, mouth latching against your collarbone. “You weigh a ton.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he sucks bruises on your neck, the edge of his fingers trailing over the seam of your bra. “Then you must be so strong.”

“I am, haven’t you noticed?” Haechan pulls away just to showcase a mischievous grin. “I work out, you know.”

You blurt out laughing. It’s not solely because of the mental image of Lee Haechan—a full-time gamer, Lee Haechan—doing push-ups seems so funny to you. It’s more about the way he wiggles his eyebrow, trying to be sexy about it when you know he’s the weakest one in your group. Flustered at your reaction, he flicks your nose. “What is so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize though it doesn’t seem that much sincere with the way you’re still giggling at him. “It’s just that an hour ago we were two friends making fun of each other and now we’re here, in this position. I don’t know, it just feels surreal to me.”

An adorable pout blooms on his face. “I thought you said this didn’t feel weird.”

“No, it’s perfect. I want this.” You wrap the end of his necklace twice around your index finger. “I want you. It’s just… I’ve been imagining this to happen for such a long time and now that it’s happening, I’m feeling a lot of things at once.” You place a reassuring kiss on his temple. “I’m nervous.” This time landing one on his cheek. “I’m relieved.” When your lips hover above his, you notice him parting his own slightly in anticipation. “And it feels so good, I don’t ever want to stop. Even if that means we can’t go back to being friends.”

Haechan can’t form a response as you don’t let him, your mouth swallowing the tiny moans he emits. “We’ll talk about that later,” he hastily replies, “I still haven’t had enough of you yet.”

Without warning, he lifts you off the counter, making you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist for support. “Haechannie!” With you holding onto him, he takes a step forward, ignoring your call. “Where are you taking me—"

“Wait, no, back pain, back pain.” Both of you nearly tumble down to the ground from how he’s harshly placing you back to your feet, wincing at the ache erupting from the strained muscles in his spine. He’s groaning in pain, massaging his back with both hands. “Fuck, you’re really heavy!”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You throw your slipper at him, missing his head just a few inches, laughing all the way. “What exactly were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to move us to the couch.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I was trying to be sexy.” He juts out his lower lip, and it takes all control of your body to not squeeze his cheeks from how adorable he looks.

“Honey, you are sexy, believe me, but you’re also weak as fuck. Consider hitting the gym for real next time and then carry me.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, holding out a hand for you to take. “To the couch, please? And maybe a massage after this ‘cause my back is killing me.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and drag him over to the couch. He’s in the middle of asking, “Do you want me to be on top or—” when you push him down and straddle his lap without warning, legs tangling around his hips. “Oh, okay.”

You run a hand through his hair, pushing them back so you can witness the glow in his eyes. “You look sexier with your hair pushed back.” You love the way he stares at you, eyes half-lidded painted with lust and desire. And combined with your commentary, he now has his cheek tinted with red. “Do you have a problem with me being on top?”

His eyes quickly run down to the place where your denim shorts are riding up your thighs, your zipper pressing against his groin. With a noticeable gulp, he stutters out, “N-no.”

You smile, patting his cheek. “Good.”

The kiss starts slow as you focus more on moving your hands down his body. Haechan shivers a little when your palm is pressing against his bare chest, sliding down to his navel. When you pull back, raising a questioning brow at his reaction, he bashfully says, “Your hand’s cold,” looking like a nervous little boy who’s a stark contrast to how he usually behaves.

He’s so cute.

“Well, I know a way to warm you up.” You smirk, almost cringing when you hear your own words but Haechan seems to like it.

“Oooh,” he coos, grinning against your lips. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

“I don’t know.” You kiss your way down from his jawline to his chest, pushing yourself off his lap so you can kneel on the floor, your fingers unbuckling his belt. “What do you think I’m offering?”

Haechan’s eyes are glowing with anticipation. He curves his fingers around the edge of his seat, wetting his lip nervously when you pull his zipper down. You release him from his boxer, stroking him to life and he sinks his nails further into the couch. A train of expletives breaks free from his mouth but he’s so quiet, you can only hear his ragged breathing.

But by the time you run your thumb over his slit, your hot breath hitting his sensitive skin, Haechan melts into a whimpering mess. “Please don’t tease,” he begs.

“I haven’t even started, Haechannie.” And he looks like he’s about to say something but it only turns into a mewl when you press a kiss to his tip. “You’re so cute,” you comment, and he shivers when the vibration of your voice meets his skin. 

Haechan tries to act composed. “Of course I’m cute, it’s—” 

You cut his line short by darting out your tongue, giving kitten licks at the side, smiling satisfyingly when his eyes meet yours. As you give him a little suck around his tip, he throws his head back, his lower lip between his teeth. “I—I said don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing you.” But you are. How can you not? He looks so fucking cute. You’ve never really enjoyed giving head before, especially when your opponent gets rough and ends up pushing too deep until you gag. But with Haechan, you feel like you can do this for hours. He’s so nervous and shy, doesn’t even dare to place his hand on your hair, and his reaction to every bit of your action is honest even when his words aren’t. 

“Here.” You take one of his hands, moving it to your head. “You can use me as much as you want.”

“Use—” he crumbles at your choice of words. When you suddenly envelop him with your mouth, moving from the tip to the base in one quick motion, Haechan instinctively grabs a handful of your hair, flinching. “Goddamn, why are you so fucking hot?”

You giggle, sliding his cock out of your mouth with an obscene pop. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean your mouth. It’s so fucking warm.”

“So, you’re saying,” you dip your tongue into his slit, eyes seductively peering into his. “I’m not hot?”

“You’re—Fuck, fuck—” Haechan seethes, hips buckling when you bob your head down again, tongue pressing against his veins. Shivers run through his fingertips when he slips them between your locks, pushing your fringe back to have a good look at your face. You catch a glimpse of him, his lips unconsciously moving to form words that you can’t hear. So pretty, he seems to say, and the thought of it makes your stomach lurch in delight. Taking him completely in your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him. He tightens his hold around your hair, cheeks flushed and you expect him to hold you in place so he can thrust against your mouth but what he does is pull you away. “Stop, stop, stop, stop.”

Wiping a string of saliva away with the back of your hand, you ask with a frown. “Something’s wrong?”

Haechan hides his reddening face behind his fingers, quietly answering, “I was about to come.”

You hold back a grin. With a nonchalant hum, you dip your head down again, this time engulfing him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ.” His sanity is deteriorating, he can feel it.

“Don’t bring Lord’s name when I have your dick in my mouth, Haechannie. Mark would kill you if he knew.”

“Fuck Mark. Come here.” He rushes forward, forcibly pulling you up with both hands clamping your arms. When you follow his order, settling back down on top of his lap, he confesses with his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “I really won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

Despite your previous teasing and confidence, you squirm inside his arms, feeling warmth spreading from your chest to your cheek. “So I have these effects on you?”

He’s almost growling when he retorts, “You don’t even know.” Haechan pushes your bra strap until it falls off your shoulder, teeth marking your supple skin until you hiss in both pain and pleasure. He presses a softer kiss to soothe away the bruise. “Sorry, I… You’re gonna need to cover it up tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.” You stroke his cheek, tracing the tiny mole on his jawline. “Seems like you have a biting kink.”

He sheepishly chuckles, “I don’t know. But if you let me, I’d love to do that again.” 

Something about him saying it in the most sincere way possible, almost too formal even, makes you crave more for him and everything he does. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want with me, Lee Donghyuck.”

Haechan swallows hard, barely has the bravery to look at you in the face after hearing your words and his real name tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers are now on the hem of your shorts, trembling a little bit. “Umm—may I?”

Helping him further, you stand on your knees, unclasping your bra first to his surprise and pulling your denim shorts and panties down to your thighs. Haechan watches with his eyes wide open, mouth parted in awe as he commits every bit of your curve and movement into memory. It feels so thrilling to be this wanted, to be ravished by his eyes, until you begin to struggle to push your clothing away from your legs.

“Need some help?” He asks, lips pursing as he tries to hide a grin. 

You exhale loudly, detaching yourself from him. “Let me just—” You jump off his lap, standing back with your feet on the ground, and kicking the clothing away with annoyance—why in the world did you have to wear shorts this tight—and slap him in the chest when he’s chuckling at the sight. 

“Maybe you should stop trying to be sexy too,” Haechan snickers.

“Shut up.” You crawl back into his lap. “Go back to staring dumbly at me like before. I’m naked.”

“I wasn’t staring like tha—oh,” he inhales sharply as you grind your heat against his cock, amazed at how warm you are despite your cold palms. The sensation of skin meeting skin feels much more different. There’s really no going back this time. Somehow, it feels dangerous, as if you’re doing something forbidden and it makes your skin crawl with excitement.

And by the look on his face, seems like he feels the same way.

“Lost for words?” You taunt him with a smirk, hands on his chest. “That’s new.” His glare is menacing but it falters away the second you rub your arousal against his. 

His head falls to his shoulder, eyes tightly shut. “God, baby…”

There it is again. The funny feeling in your stomach. “Baby?” You simper though your heart is palpitating like crazy. “We’re moving on to giving each other pet names now?”

If he can blush any harder than this, he probably might but with the way you’re grinding shamelessly on his cock, letting him get a glimpse of how wet and warm you are, he’s all maxed-out. 

His earlobe lays between your teeth when you whisper, “Shall we put it in?”

Haechan’s nails are sinking into the skin of your hips, both to hold you in place so you’ll stop torturing him and to press you down harder on his crotch. “I…” He’s so distracted, he can’t even think. The way the side of his length is pressing against your folds is pushing every little bit of self-control he has to the back of his head.

“Haechannie?” You giggle, moving your hips. “I kinda asked you a question here.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, please.” Haechan tries his very best to not sound that desperate for your touch but he is that desperate. “Wait—aren’t we—shouldn’t I wear a condom first?”

You blink, halting your movement. “You brought a condom with you?”

He nods as he leans forward, fingers searching frantically at the pocket of his jeans that hang low on his knees. “Here.”

“Why do you have a condom with you?”

“‘Cause I bought it downstairs just now.”

Your jaw grows slack at the realization. “Is that the reason why your hair was so messy and you were sweating when you barged in here? ‘Cause you ran downstairs, trying to find a condom?”

“I’m sorry, are you really complaining about this now?”

At the feeling of his member twitching underneath you, you sigh. “You’re right. Let’s discuss that later.”

It feels a bit awkward when you stand on your knees, giving him some space and wait until he finishes wrapping the rubber around himself. The silence that hangs between you is almost deafening that by the time he’s done and you fall back to his lap, sitting on his thighs, it feels like you have to start over again.

You diffidently smile. “Hey.”

Haechan is equally as embarrassed, mirroring your gesture. “Hi.”

“I guess we’re gonna have sex.”

“Guess so.”

Another few seconds pass by where you can only meet each other’s eyes, feeling your heartbeat racing louder and louder. It feels like you’re about to burst, honestly, but fortunately for you, Haechan leans in, his fingers tentatively caressing your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” He questions.

You melt under his gaze, his gentle touch, his honey-like voice. “Yes, please.”

Your lips start the connection and the rest of your body follows, fitting every curve of his perfectly like you were made for him. The way Haechan sighs against your mouth sends sparks of electricity all the way down to your toes and you don’t waste any more time. With his mouth latching on your breast, tongue flicking against your nipple, you lower yourself on him.

Haechan’s hold your waist tighter, eyebrows adjoined in the middle at the sensation, his moans muffled. He presses his spine back against the couch, admiring the sight of his member disappearing inch by inch into you. His eyes begin to droop when he’s completely sheathed inside, his bruised lips parted. He cups your cheek, kissing you softly on the corner of your mouth, making you shiver at the sudden tenderness. “I guess we are having sex,” he murmurs with a bashful smile.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess so.” 

It starts slow, with you placing both hands on his chest and him swallowing his breath at the sight of you moving up and down his length. You hiss slightly at the friction, adjusting to his size. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. 

“A little.” You reassure him with a grin. “Relax, you’re not gonna break me.”

You expect him to send back a snarky remark but what he does is press his forehead against yours. “You’re so warm,” he whispers, tasting the skin that connects your shoulder to your neck. Something about his words, his sensual kiss and his tender touch makes you squeeze your walls around him and he clutches harder around you. He glides his hands lower to your hips, silently urging you to pick up the pace and you follow.

Breathing heavily, Haechan has his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You have such a pretty mouth,” he professes as if he was in a trance.

You seductively bite his thumb, still working your hips. “You’re saying that ‘cause I just sucked your dick.”

“Yes, that too, but really.” It’s as if he’s staring at a work of art, eyes twinkling with admiration. Sometimes, when you’re hitting the right spot and quiver around him, a small moan escapes his lips and you feel him twitching inside you. “It’s—ah—It probably doesn’t sound sincere when I’m saying this now, but I’ve always thought you had a pretty mouth. And lips. I’ve thought about your lips a lot.”

“Yeah?” You mouth against the sensitive skin below his ear, sinking harder on his length. “What else do you like about me?”

“Y-your voice—” You can actually feel him shivering. “You have such a—fuck—I just—I really love your moans.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s saying that because he’s so distracted with the way you’re breathing in his ear or he genuinely loves it. Either way, it’s a pleasure to know how much you’re affecting him with your actions. With a chuckle, you say, “You’re rambling, baby.”

“And your hair,” he adds, probably losing every bit of his self-control by this point. “I love your hair. Looks so soft.” Haechan cards his fingers through your strands. “Feels so soft.”

You hum in response, hoping that your flushed face doesn’t look as apparent as you think. “Anything else?”

“Your—” He shudders when you paint a mark under his collarbone. “Your ass.”

You stop, pulling away to give him a look and he whines at the loss. “My ass?”

“What—” The tips of his ears are turning red, steam practically coming out of them. “Why are you staring at me like that—you have a great ass!”

Teasing him is such a joy to you. “Then, let’s do it this way.” You part away from him, landing back on the carpeted floor so you can turn around, giving him the chance to ogle at your behind, before you ease yourself down onto his lap once more. 

“Fuck—” Haechan’s hisses, his hands going down to your hips again. The new position doesn’t allow you to meet his eyes but with the way he’s whimpering behind you, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass, the sensation increases.

“You okay back there?” You taunt smugly, chuckling a bit because Haechan sounds like he’s losing it. His nails are sinking into your skin and you just know that’s gonna leave a nasty bruise tomorrow. “You seem like you’re enjoying this way too—“ You’re interrupted by your own moans when he suddenly has one hand massaging your breast and another one sliding down your stomach to find your clit. “W-wait, Haechannie—”

“You’re such a tease,” he breathily whispers into your ear, his chest pressing against your spine as he leans forward, pulling you into his embrace. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job?”

His fingers are rubbing you in circles, making your thighs tremble. “You’re right.” You move your hips harder, going out of rhythm with how fast you’re going and Haechan sinks his teeth to your shoulder again.

At the sound of his name departing your lips in the most sinful moan he’s ever heard, Haechan curses. “Shit, you’re not gonna let me enjoy this longer, are you?”

“There’s always a second round, Haechannie.” You smirk, raising your hips all the way up in intention to slam it back down again but Haechan catches you and pushes you forward until you land on the coffee table, stomach pressing flat against the wooden surface. “What—"

“There’s always a second round, right?” His lips are brushing against your ear as he positions himself behind you. “Then I’m going all out.”

When he slams his hips in one swift motion, hard and deep, he knocks all the air out of your lungs. “Wait—” You choke out, can barely keep up with his pace. “Oh God—”

“Now, now,” he coos, his hand finding its way to your throat, fingers pressing against your veins. He raises your face, his chest completing the dip of your spine. “Don’t bring God’s name when I’m fucking you like this, baby.”

You can’t even find the strength to retort, eyes shutting tightly until you see stars behind your eyelids. It almost feels unreal how fast he can go from being awkward and tentative about all of this to raw and wild within a few minutes but Haechan has always been fast adapting to new situations and you have been teasing him way too much. It’s about time that he snaps. 

Haechan moves you down to the floor, forcing you to stand on all fours and you’re so glad you follow his lead. “Spread your knees. Bring your head down,” he instructs and you do as you’re told, extending your arms in front of you. Haechan has his hand on the dip of your shoulder blades, holding you still until you have no choice but to press your cheek against the carpeted floor, ass in the air. “Good girl,” he praises, kneeling behind you and rubbing his tip along your folds. “Ready, baby?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

With only a few minutes in, you know you’re getting close, you can feel it. He has switched from giving deep, hard thrusts to quick, shallow ones and it’s driving you insane. “H-Haechannie, I—” you whimper, “I’m close—”

And he knows it too, of course he does. He can tell by the way you’re clenching around him. But instead of going harder and driving you completely over the edge, Haechan suddenly laces his fingers with yours, his lips painting soft kisses from your nape down to your spine, his hips hitting another angle that feels just as amazing even when he slows down the pace. The intimacy surprises you as you don’t expect him to be this tender. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing this out of sheer passion. With his palm covering the back of your hand, fingers slipping between yours, somehow, everything feels more sentimental, stronger, crossing the lines.

With a moan of your name, Haechan flips you to your back, fingers framing your face, lips meeting lips as he thrusts back in, gasping against your mouth. “I want to see your face,” he says when he pulls away, his half-lidded eyes boring into yours, thumb slipping between your lips. “Not sure if I’ve told you this before but…” He snaps his hips, and you tangle your legs around them in response, fingernails digging into his upper arms. “You’re so beautiful.”

The knot in your stomach untangles without warning and your orgasm hits you so hard, you nearly sob at the sensation. With the way you’re quivering and squeezing around him, Haechan follows right after, his face sinking into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he rides out his own orgasm.

***

With his jeans back on and his used condom thrown away to the nearest trash bin, Haechan joins you back on the carpeted floor as you still haven’t found the strength to get up and get dressed after that. He shamelessly lays his body down on top of yours, his cheek pressing against the valley of your breasts. “I’m spent,” he mumbles, feeling drowsy.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.” But he doesn’t get up, only moving his head slightly to press a tiny kiss to your bare chest before he lies his head down over your heart again. You give up with a smile, wrapping your arms around him, fingertips stroking his hair. Haechan sighs contentedly under your touch. “Man, that was…”

“That was?”

“Amazing.” He props himself up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart jolts at the sincerity in his words but you cooly smile back. “I know.”

“And I’m amazing too, I’m sure?”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Could be a little better but I’ll let you practice on me for free.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, his strands tickling your nose. “I don’t even have the strength to join your banter. You know, I’ve always wondered since you’re pretty much shit at everything, there must be something you’re good at. But I never thought that something would turn out to be sex. I can’t even believe I’m saying this but you’re really, really amazing at it. I feel like I should give you a medal or something.”

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter. “Not sure if you’re praising me, though.”

“Oh, I am praising you, believe me. And you know me, I rarely praise.” 

“Stop it,” you use your robotic voice. “You’re making me feel so special, I’m about to cry.”

Haechan playfully nips at your nose, forcing you to break off your act and laugh directly into his mouth. “Seriously,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “If I were to pay you for sex, I would give you everything I own. Even the clothes I’m wearing. Hell, I’d even sell my grandma but don’t tell her that.”

Your laughter has reduced into small giggles. “That’s comforting.”

“So…” The way Haechan is caressing your hair is so soft, almost like a mother to her sleeping child. “What should we do about this?” When you raise an eyebrow, he tensely adds, “Do you, umm… I mean, do you want to, like—”

“You’re rambling.”

“I know, God, I’m so nervous! I may look like a naughty, sexy bad boy—”

“No one is saying that—“

“But I actually suck at this—as in, I don’t really know how to date a girl.”

“You don’t even know how to talk to a girl, based on the conversations we’ve had,” you comment and you know it’s not helping but it’s worth seeing his adorable pout. “Then don’t date me. If it’s hard for you to date, then let’s just keep being friends—"

“But I want to continue this!” He says it so fast and firmly that you don’t even have time to feel hurt about your offer. 

It’s not like you crave a relationship with him—you haven’t thought about it that far—even just holding him like this is enough for now, so the fact that he’s so excited to have this going makes your heart swells with joy. “Well then, we’ll be friends who have casual sex anytime we want,” you suggest.

He blinks twice, a bit amazed at your offer, but to your surprise, he seems rather… disappointed? “What happens if we start catching feelings?” He quietly asks.

“Then I guess we’ll start dating for real.”

“Then…” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “What happens if I already have feelings for you?”

He states it so quietly, it’s a miracle you can even hear him. “Do you want to date me, Haechannie?”

He looks away, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Do you want to date me?” He murmurs against your skin, unsure and flustered.

You heave the heaviest sigh you’ve ever done in your life. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll decide for us then. Starting now, we’re dating.”

He lifts his head, and if he were a puppy, he would’ve had his tail wagging behind him, even when his face doesn’t show much. “That easy?”

“That easy. What, you have something to complain about?”

“No.” He grins, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Ugh, get off me, you’re gross.”

But no matter how hard you push your palm against his face, Haechan only giggles and turns you around so this time, you’re lying on his chest. “So,” he pushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You like me, huh?”

“No, what makes you think that way?”

“Says the girl who just slept with me.”

“I slept with you ‘cause I was just curious about your dick. Jeno said you had a dick that was the size of his thumb.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Didn’t you see his InstaStory last night?” You reach up to gather your phone from the coffee table. “I took a screenshot of it actually. Man, you should’ve seen the comments. They’re hilarious.”

Snatching your phone away, Haechan runs his eyes along the words written on the screen. “That son of a bitch!”

Simpering, you sneak a peek under his boxer. “Well, he’s not wrong.” 

“Oh, it’s on,” he deadpans, throwing your phone away and pushes you back down on the floor. His eyes glinting mischievously. 

“What are you doing?” You’re still half-laughing when he brings your hands over your head, holding your wrists together with one hand as he settles between your thighs, his fingers hovering dangerously close.

“I’m gonna make you take your words back.” He wets his lip, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Time for the second round, baby.” 

***

[lily-drake]

Fantasy/Twin AU

Sorry for being late and not posting for a bit. Was a bit burnt out and had writer block. I will go back to write the other days soon though. Also, sorry, I suck at writing wing aus, this is my first time doing it.

Earth J-236, an earth full of mystical life.  An earth where everyone is born with wings.  Your wings represented who you are; well not really, but that’s what people believed.  If your wings were bright and colorful then you were obviously an amazing person, but if your wings were darker or had little color, then you have great evil in your soul.  Marinette was born seconds after her twin, Damian.  It takes a few years before your wings fully grow in, usually to about 6.  But with the accelerated growth serums used in their artificial wombs, it took them till they were three for their feathers to sprout.  Damian’s were black like their father’s with subtle hints of red like their mothers.  Marinette’s were pure black, devoid of any color, and her mother was so proud of that.  She was the League’s charm, for it’s believed that anyone with pure black wings was pure evil.  Her only purpose being to protect her brother, nothing else was more important than her brother’s safety.  She would die for him, because if he died she might as well have died as well as her only purpose for living would be gone.

Damian glared at his sister, his wings ruffling in annoyance.  She was hovering close to him again, and she never said anything to him ever unless she was completely sure they were alone.  He did not believe that his sister was or could ever be, “pure evil” just because of her wings.  In fact, her mannerisms are the exact opposite of what people believed.  She, in her own ways, is caring, sweet, and protective.  He had seen, and helped, her nurse a baby bird that had fallen from its nest back to health.  She would often place little things around the base for only him to find such as some extra baklava, a throwing knife, a drawing of someone, beads, or other random objects.  Grandfather had always been extra hard on her, making sure she wouldn’t betray them, she wouldn’t become “evil enough to lose herself”.  Sometimes she would sneak into his room at night, and it tore him apart to see silent tears run down his little sister's face as small black raven feathers fell onto the floor from her days worth of training.  He had been learning how to fly, her wings had been clipped every two or three months so she could not leave the base.  She had learned long ago to control her facial and wing expressions, but he could always see the droop in them and the sad shine in her eyes as she stood on the ground while he was in the air.

________

Marinette looked up and watched as the fiery Phoenix flew through the air setting Nada Parabat aflame.  She didn’t feel much as she watched her grandfather get blown up.  She only felt great anxiety and fear as she could not find her brother.  She loved her brother, and if her job was to cause chaos, she would make sure she could prevent it from hurting him.  Grandfather had told her about how cursed she was, it’s why they had to be extra tough on her, and she understood that.  They couldn’t have her hurting anyone they needed, only the people they wanted gone.  She was angry at grandfather yesterday for taking some of her feathers for failing a task, this must have been her fault.  She didn’t want to hurt her brother, her wings had only proven nothing but destruction.  She had to leave now, then she could go where no one else was, and she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.  So like a coward, like the disgrace she was, she ran.  She kept her wings tight against her back making sure that no one could grab them as she ran.  An arrow hit one of them, but she didn’t have time to think about the burning pain as she ran and ran and ran farther and farther and farther away.  Tears ran down her cheeks as she silently prayed that her brother would be okay.

She didn’t know how long she ran, but she knew it must have been a really long time as she had just collapsed from exhaustion in the woods.  She looked back at her wings and slowly and carefully spread them out and hissed in pain from where the arrow had pierced her left wing.  Drops of red slowly dripped down her feathers and dropped on the ground.  She quickly closed them and made sure they were as small and put away as possible.  She looked up at the trees made of brass with different colored jade leaves.  Pearl-like apples growing on a few.  She watched a baby griffon follow it’s mother in the distance, turtle ducks waddling to a pond somewhere nearby, deer nibbling on plants, she could hear the rustling of leaves and branches from unseen creatures and everything was getting more blurry and dark.  She was cold, it felt very cold.  She slowly unwound her wings from around herself and closed them tightly around her, but that didn’t stop the chill that went deep down to her bones.  She was a failure, a mistake, she would only cause harm.  Here she wouldn’t be able to do that, and if she died here, then no one would be hurt by her again, and wasn’t that such a nice thought.

________

Tom and Sabine had finally been able to hire some trusted employees and explore places in Tibet.  They had made lots of money over the years with their successful bakery, and they thought now was a better time than ever to go on a real honeymoon as they hadn’t been able to afford it before when the bakery had first started.  It was during one of these forest explorations when they saw a trail of little drops of blood and felt they needed to follow it.  What they discovered broke their hearts.  There lying on the cold forest floor was what appeared to be a child hugging their very black wings around them.  They knew of the rumors and myths of black winged people, but they did not care.  They believed that their wings were not what made them evil, but rather situations put into their lives.  Sabine quickly checked for a pulse, and though it was slow she sighed in relief when she felt it.  She quickly handed the small unconscious girl to Tom and they both quickly went to the nearest hospital.  How could someone leave such a small child all alone to die like that?  It looked as if she had been injured if the dried blood on the small fragile wings said anything.  And worst of all, upon closer examination, they had been clipped, recently too.

As soon as they arrived they carried the small girl to the front and demanded that they take her in.  They waited until the doctors were done and gave them permission to visit claiming to be the girl’s adopted parents.  It wasn’t technically a lie, they would be soon even if Sabine had to force it to happen.

When Marinette woke up she knew something was off.  She was under a blanket, she’s never been given a blanket before.  The sent of bleach and chemicals were everywhere and it hurt her nose.  There was a beeping noise next to her that was giving her a headache.  She didn’t know where she was, and that was bad.  She opened her eyes a small fraction so nobody could see she was awake and looked around as much as she could.  The entire room was white and there were bright lights.  There were two strange people waiting in chairs near where she was laying.  She wondered if they were the ones who brought her here.  Slowly she opened them up all the way and silently sat up.  It’s best to make no noise, then she wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“Oh sweety, I’m so glad you’re awake.”

The woman said in a cheery and relieved manner, but she just continued to watch and study them silently.  Her wings felt stiff against her back, though she made sure they didn’t move or give anything away.

“How are you feeling dear?”

Silence greeted them, and her face remained as impassive as ever.  They wanted something, why else would they save a freak like her?  What were they aiming for here?

“Did your parents hurt you?  If so, we can take you away from them.”

Marinette’s eyes widened only a fraction.  These were randoms, innocents if you will.  They obviously had no idea who she was, and they seemed unafraid of her and her wings.  Did they not know how dangerous she was, didn’t they know that black wings meant she was cursed?  The man and the woman looked at eachother and spread their wings.  Marinette was shocked, but she wouldn’t show it.

The large man had light brown eagle wings while the small woman had white and black woodpecker wings.  She wanted to reach out and touch the feathers, but then something bad would happen to them, so she held her hands together.

“We don’t care what your wing color is.  Your wings don’t define who you are, it’s what you do with your life that does.  Can we please help you?”

The woman said sincerely as she gripped the man’s hand in hers.  She felt a pull to them, something telling her to accept.  She didn’t want to hurt them though.  But maybe she could protect them?  Maybe she could find a way around her curse and make sure they don’t get hurt?  Slowly she nodded and they both looked so happy when she did.  She hoped that she wouldn’t hurt them, they didn’t deserve to be cursed.  Maybe if she didn’t touch them things would be ok.  If she didn’t let them touch her then it wouldn’t spread.  She could do this!

________

Apparently she couldn’t do it because this is a very affectionate family, and the first thing that happened before they let her sleep on their —super fluffy, pure Heaven— bed was give her a hug.  She had made sure that her wings were tucked under her clothes and tight against her back the entire time though.  So they didn’t touch her wings, so maybe that meant they wouldn’t be cursed.

It was strange, because the next morning they went to a courthouse, and she was adopted.  She hadn’t said anything throughout the entire event, she just watched and observed what people did.  They stayed in Tibet for another few days before they flew to Paris, France.  This was supposed to be her new home.  The city of light and love.  Maybe here, it would stop her curse.  It was so bright that it had to block out her darkness.  She still always carried one of her knives with her, she felt naked without one.  Tom and Sabine seemed to understand somehow, and said that it was her business and that was enough for them till she was ready to talk about it.  It was strange not to be interrogated for now wanting to tell someone something.

Marinette had lived with the Dupain-Chengs for about a year now.  It was strange really, they were honest business people and their joy was always sincere.  They didn’t question much of what she did even though it was probably weird to them.  They didn’t punish her for messing up like the league did, and they never went near her wings without permission.  They never plucked her feathers, and they would often ask if they could preen her wings.  She would refuse every time, but she would often wonder what it would be like to have someone else touch them.  Think of what it would be like if she weren’t cursed.  When it was time for school she would always wrap them around herself then tape them so no one would see or be able to touch them.  Things were finally going well, she couldn’t risk it now!

There was a blonde brat that liked to act like she was above her, and because her wings were always hidden with no explanation she made sure everyone knew that she was “wingless”.  She didn’t care though, being wingless was better than being evil winged.  She never really said anything in class or to other students, she never gave much reaction keeping her stoic face up.  The brat left her alone soon after for being a, “ridiculous!  Utterly ridiculous freak.”  And nobody was the wiser.

Being Lady Chaos was….the best thing that ever happened to her if she was being honest.  Even with pure black wings, people still thought she was a hero.  She never flew, she was scared she’d fall and die.  She was never allowed to fly before, and even if she technically can do so now, it’s not worth the risk.  Her partner though, Mr. Bug has gold, red, and black wings.  He can fly through the air with ease she wished she desperately had.  Sometimes after patrol she would go to the very top of the Eiffel Tower and just stretch her wings out as far out as she could.  She would close her eyes as the wind blew past her and ruffled her feathers and pretend that she was soaring through the air.

________

Year three of living with Tom and Sabine she was comfortable talking to them more, and with Plagg there to control her chaos she finally let them touch her wings.  It was strange really, she never took care of her wings, never cared enough to.  When she first felt the hands on her feathers she had to will herself not to draw them back for fear of them plucking or ripped out.  But Sabine’s hands were so gentle and smooth that they seemed to move on their own and go closer to her touch.  Sabine would smile and hum as she gently preened the dark raven feathers that were soft and smooth.  Maybe she could finally tell the class that she wasn’t wingless soon, and maybe they would be okay with it.

No, they would not as she learned from listening to her classmates talk to the new student, Lila Rossi.  To them Lady Chaos was the only good black winged person because she was chasing after Mr. Bug to earn his affections.  Lady Chaos was obviously evil before she met Mr. Bug and she would always be evil no matter what she did.  Marinette felt nauseous that she ever thought about telling them the truth.  She had never felt more betrayed than she felt now, because she had given them her trust, and they broke it without even knowing it.  After that day, she made extra sure that her wings were hidden and wore a bit thicker clothing just in case.  Tom and Sabine are a little worried about it, but she calmed them pretty quickly.  She was fine, it wasn’t like they were all great friends to begin with.  That’s probably why everyone sides with Lila and decides that she’s a terrible person.

She had tried leaving her past behind, pretending that she didn’t hurt and kill people.  Pretend that she wasn’t a weapon.  She tried to push it far away, but it wasn’t enough.  It was never enough.  She had abandoned her brother.  She betrayed the league.  She did unspeakable things to please someone who would never care about her, just her use.  The city of lights seems duller than usual, it was probably her fault Hawkmoth came to be in the first place, afterall she was cursed to bring ruin everywhere she went.

________

Lila and Chloe thought it would be a great idea to bring everybody to the Crime Capital of the World for their senior trip.  Probably to watch people flounder and worry when things go wrong, which they definitely would.  She had stopped Hawkmoth a month before the trip, but Mr. Bug took all the credit for it. The arrogant self centered bas*.  Adrien kept giving her side glances that always made her feel uncomfortable and slightly disgusted.  During school he would try to touch her with every chance he’d get.  He almost discovered her wings at one point.  She couldn’t do anything about it before because of the stupid your-rich-so-do-whatever-the-heck-you-want treatment.  Now that Adrien’s family fortune is gone, and people don’t trust him because of what his dad did, so he has to be more careful.  He now kept some distance, which she was extremely grateful for.

She would have broken his hand, she had imagined it plus other things more than once.  But then Tom and Sabine would get in trouble by Gabriel for her actions.  They didn’t deserve that, they had been nothing but good to her since they found her abandoned in that forest.

She would be fine though, as long as Lila had a grip on his arm and she was in the back, away from him.  She listened to their tour guide, Richard Grayson, talk about the history and importance of WE.  The architecture was brilliant really, and you couldn’t blame her for having to draw and sketch it.  She often thought of Damian when she sketched.  She used to leave drawings for him around the base, little things that expressed her adoration for him without getting too close.  She wondered if he was still with the league, had he escaped, did he die?  She hoped that wasn’t the case, she hoped that he would be alive and well.  Bright orange and white wings nearly slapped her in the face if she hadn’t stopped right before the movement had occurred.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry Marinette!  Sometimes my wings just spasm out of control like that!  I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Marinette just silently rolled her eyes and took a few steps backward and watched the class glare at her waiting for her to comfort the liar.  She would never lower herself to do that.  She was still an Al Ghul afterall, even if she did leave it behind when she fled.  She was thankful when lunch came, she waited far away from the line and watched silently from a dark corner to make sure no one would hurt her.  Then she felt it, a hand touching her back feeling for something.  She quickly and instinctively grabbed the arm and twisted it behind them pinning it behind their back at a painful angle.

“Ukhti, let go.”

Marinette knew that voice.  She remembered that name and she could feel her heart stop.  The lunchroom was silent as they watched the small bluenette silently and quickly release the “Ice Prince”. Everyone watched with bated breaths to see what would happen next.  The boy’s wings were ruffled in agitation and fear.

“Where are they?”

He demanded.  Marinette knew what he was talking about, she simply wrapped her arms around herself and turned her head away definitely.

“Why are you hiding them, Malak?  Please.”

Marinette could feel her wings moving in defiance to what her brain was saying.  They wanted to be shown, they wanted to be touched by her brother again.  She looked down and slowly uncrossed her arms from her body.  Damian gently took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

“Everything will be ok, Taw'ami.”

She slowly nodded and with shaky fingers reached under her hoodie and began to slowly unwrap the tape that kept her wings confined.  When all the tape was in her hands she hesitantly removed her hoodie and let her wings unfold from around herself and into the open.  She had made shirts that let her wings slip through slits in the back that were tailored to her wings specifically and were most comfortable.  Damian marveled at how big her raven wings had grown and how shiny they were.  He reached out a hand slowly and gently ran his fingers down the inky black that was her wings.

Shouts of fear and accusations were thrown at her, mostly from her class.  She didn’t listen though, she just observed.  The tour guide was coming over now, probably to kick her out.  He had such lovely wings though,  they were a deep navy blue that looked similar to black with dark red and light blue running through them.  They looked so well kept and soft.

“Damian, what’s happening?  Who is this?”

“Grayson, meet my twin sister, Marinette.”

“You have a twin?!”

Richard exclaimed loudly, drawing even more attention.  The insults and jeers stopped after that.  She looked over at the class and smirked when she saw their shock and confusion.

“Yes, keep up.”

Damian said brusquely.  They must know each other well then.

“Come, we must take her away from these imbeciles and take her to father.”

Damian grabbed her wrist and tugged, her quickly falling into line like she used to when he did this.

“Now tell me Ukhti, have you been taking care of yourself?”

She nodded as they came to an elevator and walked into it with Richard right behind them.  Marinette felt her feathers fluff up nervously.  She wasn’t in control of them right now, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Damian ran a hand gently down her right wing trying to smooth it down.

“Things will be fine Marinette.  Just watch, father will be glad to meet you.”

She looked him in the eyes and squeezed her hands together.

“No, I have not told him about you.  Things will be fine though.”

He seemed to understand her weird way of communicating, she still didn’t understand how he did.  Richard cleared his throat and both turned to look at him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but um…I’m Dick, I’m Damian’s, and yours I guess, oldest brother.  It’s nice to meet you.”

He spread his wings in a welcoming way that meant and showed safety and peace. Her wings involuntarily rose up as well to reciprocate his greeting.  When the door to the elevator opened again she quickly forced her wings to hide on her back trying desperately to keep them from sight.  Damian didn’t seem to like it, but he just grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a large office room.  The plaque on the door read “CEO Bruce Wayne”.  Their father was Bruce Wayne?!  She couldn’t go in there, she couldn’t curse him and ruin his life.  No, she had already messed up at the league, and she was just barely not messing up with Tom and Sabine, she would definitely ruin Bruce Wayne’s life, and she would not allow that to happen.  She tugged at his grip desperately trying to get away.

“Marinette, stop.  Your wings are not cursed, that was a lie.”

Marinette shook her head and kept trying to escape the iron-like grip.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

She froze at that and quickly shook her head.  Of course she trusted him, it was her that shouldn’t be trusted.

“Good, because we’re going in now.”

And that was that, because the door was now open and she was being dragged into the office room where their father and another boy with large bags under his eyes stared at them.  Damian puffed up his chest and feathers letting his strong, big, and brilliant wings rise into the air.

“Father, this is your daughter, my twin, Marinette Erebus Al Ghul-Wayne.”

They both stared at her in shock and Marinette slowly and cautiously raised her despicable black wings into the air.  Both stared at them in awe before looking back at her, but she didn’t meet their eyes.  She didn’t want to see the disgust and hatred in their eyes.

After a few moments she looked up and saw their wings greeting hers like Dick’s had.  Their father’s wings were a mix of black and dark grey alternating the color in each row of feathers.  The other boy’s were black at the top and slowly turned to red at the bottom.  But they were welcoming her openly, so that must mean something!  Well, it was time to get to know her father, she guessed.

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Of Constellations & Creeds

Chapter 21: Fire of Devotion 

Summary/Author’s Note: Din presents you with a gift that he has had for while. You start exploring what it means to work as a team and meet a fiery mechanic that takes a shine to you. 

There is a note at the end for what something looks like if you guys are having a hard time picturing it. I tried to do my best. Thank you for reading! 

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!reader (Alpha/Omega/soulmates AU) Word Count:  5k Warnings/Promises: Mature/18+ - language, sexual themes, weapons/shooting

[Previous Chapter] [Series Masterlist] [My Complete Masterlist]

--

This is what dreaming felt like. 

You were the perfect temperature of warm bodies and crisp blankets. Sprawled among the sheets, you lucidly stretched your body as your mind slowly woke up the rest of your limbs. You started by wiggling your toes while you listened to the birds chitter in the trees outside the barn, your ankles, your back, and lastly your arms. You quietly popped your fingers as you brought them up to rub gently at the back of your sore neck with a groan. 

"Shit."

You winced as you stretched your arms and suddenly remembered why your shoulder was so tender. Rotating the cuff much slower, you worked the stiffness out of the muscle until you could move it more freely. That was at least a little better. 

Before falling into bed last night, Din had ravished you against the wall, then again on the ground, neither one of you able to stop long enough to tear yourselves apart. The idea of moving into the comfort of your bed never came up, due to not wanting to wake the kid and once again...that required you to stop touching each other. Whatever discomfort you felt had absolutely been worth it. 

The morning sun was warm on your face and you opened your eyes to find the Mandalorian facing you...still helmetless. You had worried the moment you fell asleep everything would have ceased to have happened. You really wouldn't have seen his face. You really wouldn't have received his mark. But he had sleepily assured you that closing your eyes erased nothing and he promised to be here when you woke up. Everything you had done last night was no dream. It had been very, very real. 

“Din?” you whispered almost inaudible, as if to test him. 

His eyes were closed and his mouth open ever so slightly as he continued to sleep with his arm bent behind his head against his pillow. He looked younger in the sunlight. The gentle rays tinting his already light brown skin to a warm sienna, it did the same to his hair, finding the small strands of molten gold throughout the tousled dark curls. He was so handsome and you had yet to tell him, but something told you he wouldn't believe you even if you did. 

Did Mandalorians have a concept of beauty? When you spent your entire adolescence with a helmet on, you couldn’t imagine it mattered much what the person underneath looked like. It leveled the playing field so to speak. While society squabbled over such trivial attributes, you imagined Mandalore was more concerned with your ability to win a fight, to negotiate, to contribute to your clan.

It used to be easy to look at him with disdain. Then that disdain turned to something little more than convenient indifference. It was easy to blame him for the destruction of your home world, for the loss of your old life. Anger was always easier. And yet as you looked at him now, and fought the desperate urge to trace the bridge of his nose with the tip of your finger, you knew you felt something else towards him. Something that you hadn't felt in a very long time. Something that felt a lot like affection...a lot like love.

Yes, to you Din was beautiful. But then again when you loved someone, weren’t they always? There was that word again. It made you smile quietly to yourself as you mulled it over in your mind. 

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, a chaste kiss that caused a soft groan to come from somewhere deep in his chest as his arm slid around your middle. 

"Good morning," you whispered against his mouth and he grunted, not bothering to open his eyes. 

"Ten more minutes."

You smiled, kissing him again as he pulled you closer. You reached down and grabbed the blanket before pulling it up over the both of you more securely. For a man that never took a break, he loved sleep more than anyone you had ever met. 

"Alright, ten more minutes," you said quietly as you moved to kiss his cheek before tucking your head under his chin against his chest and closing your eyes. 

--

Saying goodbye to Omera and Sorgan was more painful than you imagined it would be. She was the first person who understood your struggle. If it weren't for her who knew how long it would take you and the Mandalorian to find one another. But no matter how you felt, you couldn't stay here and she couldn't come with you. It seemed everywhere you went there was something new to lose, a new heartache to experience, and as you hugged her tightly and held back your tears she was added to the long list of loss in your life.

"You'll always have a place here," she said quietly as you squeezed her tighter. It's as if she knew you were trying not to fall apart. She felt the soft cloth that you had used to bandage your shoulder and she leaned back to see your face and give you a knowing grin. “But you are now right where you’re supposed to be.”

"Thank you," you said, wiping your eyes as she fixed the shawl around your shoulders and gave your arms a pat. 

“Keep up with your meditations. They’ll help.”

“I know.”

"Take care of them," she nodded to the man behind you who was holding the child and waiting patiently for you by the cart. "But don't forget to take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The trip back through the woods to the Razor Crest was a somber one and you watched as the child stood at the back of the cart and waved its tiny three-fingered hand at the group of children who were waving in return. You leaned forward and rubbed the space between its massive ears gently. However you were feeling was probably nothing compared to the little guy. He didn't know what was going on, or that there were people hunting him, or why you couldn't stay in such a beautiful place where he had made so many friends. It was tough being a kid in such a big world. Maker, it was tough being an adult in such a big world. 

You looked back as you felt Din put his hand on the small of your back and lean his helmet against your temple for the briefest of moments. You lowered your walls ever so slightly and accepted the comfort that he sent your way. Maybe Omera had been right, maybe he had wanted to stay too. 

--

Being back on the Razor Crest came pretty naturally to the three of you and to say you were surprised was an understatement. Fresh supplies from Sorgan filled the storage bunker and with more variety to eat than prepackaged rations, your spirits were much higher than they had been previously. 

“Come on, kid,” you said, gently as you picked up the child and straightened his burlap cloak. “Nap time.” 

“Ba-to!” he squeaked, raising his arms up and giving you a two-toothed smile that warmed your heart. 

“Just for a little bit,” you assured him. “Then you can come up front and help pilot. Sound good?” 

“Ah-yo!”

“No, no, I promise,” you answered him like you were having a full conversation. “I’ll make him let you. You’re plenty old enough,” you scoffed with a laugh. “You just need a few phone books to sit on.”

He gave another happy squeak as you sat him in the hammock hanging above Din’s bed and tucked him in. You dug out the small stuffed frog that Winta had made for him back on Sorgan, with it’s bright blue felt skin and lopsided eyes, and helped him nestle it under his chin. You gave him a soft pat on the head and waited for him to close his eyes before pressing the button on the panel that closed the door with a quiet hiss. 

You heard your name being said from above you and you went to the ladder that led to the cockpit, looking up to see the Mandalorian looking down. He had brought the ship out of hyperdrive for the time being as you researched a plan of action. Without coordinates, it was pointless to travel in circles and waste precious fuel.

“Can you come up here for a second?” he asked and you nodded. 

Taking one rung at a time, you hauled yourself up into the main hull and gratefully accepted his help in order to plop your butt on the floor with a smile. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling back. 

There had been precious little time for him to take off his helmet once you were back on the ship. Somehow the ship was less private than the bed you had shared in the barn. Although you were disappointed not to be able to look over and see his face whenever you wanted, you understood. This was a new experience for him in a way you would never understand, a type of vulnerability that you would never know, but how you longed to kiss him properly again. You wanted to feel his lips on the back of your neck as he curled himself behind you for sleep. All selfish reasons, of course, but that didn’t diminish them in any capacity. 

“What’s up?” you asked as you leaned back on your hands and looked at him where he stooped beside the captain’s chair. 

“I got you something.”

“Me?” You leaned up with widening eyes as you put a hand to your chest in question. 

“Is there someone else I’m traveling with?” he asked and you glared at him before realizing it was his poor attempt at dry humor. “Yes, you.”

He moved under the chair and dragged a medium sized trunk out from the alcove created by the dashboard and the control panel. You recognized it as the trunk he had received from the armorer back on Nevarro. It was a dark slate colored material and he popped the latches before 

beckoning you closer.

“I hope you like them.”

“Whatever it is,” you encouraged him. “I’m sure I will.”

“You don’t have to use any of it if you don’t want to--”

“Din, just show me.”

“Alright, okay,” he let out a heavy breath and lifted the lid before spinning the entire thing slowly around to show you.  

“You didn’t have to get me anyth--oh, goddess,” you said softly in amazement. 

Inside, carefully protected by a velvet type of lining, were crafted pieces of a silver metal. You hesitated, reaching out to touch one of them and thinking better of it before looking at him as if you needed permission. With a careful nod of his helmet, you picked up one of the cylindrical pieces and brought it closer for inspection. 

“Is it--?”

“Beskar,” he nodded. “It’s yours.”

“Din, I--”

He held up a gloved hand to stop any argument you may have had and helped you take the pieces out one by one. Two bracers that fit perfectly over your wrists and protected your forearms about two inches from your elbows. He took them gently and slipped them over your tender skin before locking them into place and letting you get used to the feeling. You made a fist with both of your hands a few times, opening and squeezing, testing how they felt.

“They lock like this,” he said after completing the motion. “They’ll deflect anything. Blaster-proof. Just hold your arm like you would defensively,” he instructed, pulling your arm up to protect your face and tapping it once with his finger. “Ping. Right off the beskar. We can practice.”

“Handy,” you nodded and he dove back into the box for the next piece. 

“This,” he offered the single pauldron to you, moving around your body slightly to fit it to your non-dominant shoulder. “Protects your dominant side by sitting opposite it.”

“Because I turn my body away from the blow?”

“Exactly.” He put it over your shoulder and clamped it down around your bicep. Hooking it securely across your torso. “Plus, the added weight on your dominant arm would slow you down if you’re using your staff.”

“Makes sense.”

“Move your arm,” he said and when you did, he adjusted it slightly. “How’s that?”

“It’s extremely generous and useful but--”

“No buts.”

“I--”

“You’re my Omega,” he interrupted you gently. “You have the right to wear it. And it’ll help keep you safe--and if you’re safe, I’m focused.” His hand came down to rest gently over your shoulder blade, covering the still tender skin of where he had marked you. 

He had a point but it still made your ears burn with embarrassment. You knew he didn’t mean it as an insult to your abilities. You had more than proven you could handle your own when you first met, but the knowledge that your safety proved a distraction to him still made you feel guilty. You felt the sudden need to apologize but you knew Din wouldn’t want to hear it, let alone entertain such an idea.

“There’s one more piece,” he said gently. He held it out gently and when you looked at him in confusion he offered his hands forward. “Can I?”

You nodded and sat still with your hands in your lap as he made sure any stray pieces of your hair were out of the way. Even with the gloves and his armor, he was always so gentle, so careful. When he was satisfied he held out the silver circlet and slipped it around the front of your forehead and over your temples. The blocky beskar came to a strong point between your brows and the edges came down in front of your ears to frame the sides of your face. Each subtle point that mirrored the larger one turned what would have been an ordinary face guard into something much more symbolic. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you said softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also having a hard time wrapping your head around the idea that such a piece of finery was really necessary. 

“You look breathtaking,” he argued and it made you smile. “You’re an Omega, an Ursa at that--people deserve to know.” He swallowed hard and nodded to the box. “If we find more beskar I can have a proper helmet made instead of--”

“A tiara?” you asked with a bite of wit and he chuckled. 

“It has more purpose than that, I promise.” He touched the sides that came down almost level with your jaw line. “These protect your peripherals--keeps light from obscuring your view for long range weapons.”

“Smart.”

“And this,” he touched higher, closer to your ear and a soft static hum came before you heard his next words twice, almost overlapping one another. “Has a direct com line to me.”

“That,” you put your hand over his and spoke into the mic as if to test it the other way. “Is incredibly useful.”

He gave a nod to signal that it had worked and he dropped his hand from your face to rest comfortably on your thigh. You put your hand over his and held in gently. It was beautifully crafted and you were having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that he had spent any of the rarest metal in the world on something for you. But that wasn’t the only issue, no, there was something else. An issue of the timeline. 

“When did you have this made?” you asked, tracing the metal etching that lined the outside of the bracer. 

“When we got the bounty on the kid--I had it made along with mine.”

“But that was before I agreed to be your Omega,” you said carefully, watching his body for any sign of tension. There wasn’t any. 

“I know.”

You bit your lip and looked down. With a shake of your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking. “What if I would have left? What if I never agreed to this? You--”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have,” you argued. “And then all of this would have been for nothing. You--”

“I had a feeling.”

You looked at him in awe and realized how much he had staked on you making the right decision. He would have sooner sold his beskar than taken away your freedom, the freedom to choose what you wanted. He had hoped against all hope that you would eventually want him, but there was no guarantee. To Din it was all left up to faith. Faith in his creed, faith in his people, faith in you. It was hard not to feel undeserving of such things, but it only confirmed that perhaps it was time that you had a little faith in him. 

Going up on your knees, you moved the metal storage box out of the way and grabbed him by the front of his chestplate. He said your name softly as you slid into his lap and his hands came around to rest on the swell of your hips. You tilted his helmet back just enough to kiss his lips, drawing a soft sound from them as he tasted you. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly and you were glad you could see his mouth move up in a genuine smile. 

“You’re very welcome.”

The more moments like this that you had, the easier it became to realize just how ‘all in’ you were when it came to the bounty hunter. When he had stepped off of his ship and chased you through the woods now flight like a lifetime ago and in a way it was. That was a different life completely. And you were okay with that. The world seemed a lot less scary now that you were on the same team. 

You leaned in to kiss him again but there was a loud bang and whoosh of energy as something dropped out of hyperspace and the Razor Crest rocked slowly. Din lowered his helmet and the two of you looked around before you slowly climbed out of his lap and to your feet. 

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” 

He moved to the pilot’s chair and leaned over the control board, inspecting the map and waiting for the radar to ping something back. Nearly the exact moment a blip showed up on the neon green screen, a blast screamed passed your vessel and struck the ship, rocking it back and forth. 

“Buckle in,” he barked and the two of you moved to your respective places. 

You fell into the co-pilot bucket seat to the right of the Mandalorian and placed your feet up on the footrest to brace yourself. As soon as you clicked your seat belt, your fingers instinctively wrapped around the control stick in front of you and reached up to flip the buttons on your side of the dash. Your side of the ship whirred to life as you shared control of the panel with Din, making it easier for him to focus on flying. Like you had told him before, if he handled the fancy maneuvering, you could squeeze a trigger.

Another wave of fire lit up the dark atmosphere around you and Din turned the ship to try and find the culprit behind the attack. 

“If the kid sleeps through this, I’ll be impressed,” Din said as he swiveled his own chair around and jammed the buttons for the back up thrusters. 

“I’m pretty sure he could sleep through anything,” you agreed.

“Pa-too!” 

The two of you both whipped around to see the small, green thing standing in the doorway with its arms in the air and a wide smile. 

“You were saying?” the bounty hunter chuckled and the child stumbled its way to you as the ship took a nosedive. You barely had time to grab him by the tiny cloak and haul him into your lap. 

“Got ya!” you said and he squealed with laughter. At least someone found your current predicament funny. You tucked him on your lap securely as a series of blaster fire whizzed passed the sides of the ship.  

“Hand over the Child, Mando.” A deep voice said through the com-system and when the child in question squealed again you clapped your hand over his mouth. Another round of shots pinged around you and the crest gave a jolt as one of the engines took a hit. “I might let you live.”

“Guild?” you asked and Mando nodded before grabbing a large lever to his right and yanking it down quickly. 

“You got both hands on the blaster cannons?” he asked. When you nodded, he continued. “When I say fire, let ‘em have it.”

Another hit rocked the ship as the engine on the left started to sputter and burst into flames before it powered down. Din cursed quietly under his helmet and pulled another lever to quickly power down both engines. “Hold on!” he yelled over the roar of the enemy ship as he rolled the crest out of the way of another round of fire. Stars streaked passed the windows as you both stared upwards and the other ship came directly into view. 

“I can bring you in warm,” the enemy bounty hunter said flatly, “...or I can bring you in cold.”

“That's my line,” Din said in a deadly tone before he hit the thrusters and pointed at you and the kid. “Fire!”

You squeezed the trigger on the gun leavers and shots fired from the front of the razor crest, exploding the smaller ship into a wave of orange fire and metal debris. You flinched away from the bright light and the child clapped its tiny hands as Din gave you an approving nod. 

“Oh-ah!”

“Not bad, little one,” you laughed softly, kissing the top of his green head between his ears. “Not bad.” Din clicked on a few of the switches above his head and the dashboard lit up in a series of red and orange lights. You watched him carefully and waited until he stopped before you spoke. “How bad is it?” 

“We’re losing fuel,” he said, pulling up the map and thumbing through a few different screens. He thumbed through a few of the nearby planets before double tapping the screen and bringing up one of the larger orbs. “Mos Eisley is the closest place where we could dock and get some repairs.”

“Will we make it?”

“Of course.” He pulled another leaver and the ship gave a lurch forward before it evened out. “We have enough in the power reserves to get us there--don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried,” you said, biting your lip to keep a soft smile from gracing your features. The truth was, with Din, you were never worried. 

--

Mos Eisley was the largest spaceport on the planet of Tatooine. Din explained that what it lacked in a centralized docking bay, they made up for in the fact that they had hundreds of hangars that were each maintained by individual workers and mechanics. It sounded impressive but to you it looked like little more than a patch of dust and poorly refined sandcastles. 

The control tower told you to head for bay three-five and the Mandalorian copied as he steered the ship in that direction. The Crest had definitely seen better days as it sputtered and landed with jerky movements before finally touching down in a puff of sand and a clang of metal. 

As you drifted through the vast emptiness of space before entering the atmosphere, the child had somehow lulled himself back to sleep. It was actually pretty impressive the amount of naps he managed to squeeze in in a day. 

You carefully tucked him back into the sleeping compartment and put on the rest of the clothing you had from Arvala-7. It was still breathable but it wasn’t nearly as light as the cloth you had sported back on Sorgan. The leather riding pants and bantha hide boots would keep the sand out of your more intimate places, while the tan corded top and matching cloak kept your skin protected from the harsh sun without absorbing much of the light. 

The beskar looked out of place with the rest of your attire, but something told you it was just the fact that you weren’t used to it. What was your favorite mantra as of late? One thing at a time. 

You stopped in the doorway to the refresher and couldn’t help but stare at your reflection in the mirror. The metal of the headpiece that Din had tucked gingerly into your hairline. You had spent most of your life running from what you were: an Omega, an Ursa, a royal lineage of some kind that you had no desire to uphold. And yet, the tangible evidence was glittering on your forehead. Had Din designed such a thing or had it been at the behest of the Armorer? Somehow you felt you knew the answer to that. 

You saw Din appear behind you in the mirror before you ever heard him and you prided yourself on not nearly jumping out of your skin. 

"Good to go?"

When you nodded, he hit the button that started to lower the ramp on the main hull and you squinted against the bright sun. As you walked down the ramp a group of rust colored droids popped up from their current task and scurried towards the Mandalorian. Their saucer-shaped heads bobbed in place making them look like mushrooms on stilts as they surveyed the ship and chipped back and forth to one another.

Din pushed back his cloak and drew his blaster, firing one shot from the hip into the dirt. The droid squealed and jumped into the air before clamming up into a tiny ball. 

“Mando!” you jumped and looked at him in surprise before looking back to the shivering droid. 

“Hey!” a woman’s voice screeched from inside the building connected to the hangar. She pointed at the two of you through the window of what looked to be a very dusty office. “HEY!” she yelled again, scrambling out the door and stomping over to you. 

Next to the Mandalorian she was incredibly short, but her demeanor was so incredibly scrappy that you weren’t entirely sure who you would bet on if the two of them were in a fight. Her grey mechanic’s jumpsuit was dusty and oil stained from no doubt thousands of ship repairs. Her hair was incredibly curly, poofing out in tight ringlets all around her head to her shoulders and seemed to be growing by the second as she jabbed her finger at Din’s chest.

“You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Din said flatly, pointed his own gloved finger to the fear-filled robot.

“Yeah? You think that's a good idea, do ya?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest before looking at you. “Blink twice if this brute is holding you hostage, honey. Though by the looks of ya, I’d say you can handle your own.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized on Din’s behalf before you introduced yourself and stepped in front of him. “We just need some repairs.”

“The name’s Peli,” she returned the politeness and shook your hand with strong, jerky movements. “He always this grumpy?” she nodded at the bounty hunter.

“Actually you caught him on a good day,” you smiled and she chuckled. Din sighed.

“Alright, well, let's look at your ship.” She picked up a clipboard and walked over to the crest. Looking it up and down slowly, she made a fist and knocked twice on the main hull and listened to the klonk that came from the inside.

“Is it bad?” you asked.  

“Oof…” she winced as she wrote some things down. “Look at that.” She looked over her shoulder at you before gesturing to the sides of the ship. “Bad? You got a lot of carbon scoring building up top. Ya know--If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a shootout.”

“Well…” you started and Din cleared his throat.

“Can you fix it?”

“Special tool for that one. Oh ya, I'm gonna have to rotate that…” She mumbled. Peli ignored you both as she continued to poke and prod the undercarriage of the ship before pulling down a side panel and coughing at the smoke that it produced. “You got a fuel leak! Look at that, this is a mess! How did you even land? That's gonna set you back.”

Din looked down at her as she walked back up to him and he tossed over a coin purse that jingled when she caught it. “I've got 500 Imperial Credits.”

“That all you got? Well…” she weighed the money in her hand and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She turned to the droids who were slowly approaching again now that she was there to protect them. “What do you guys think? I mean-- that should at least cover the hangar.”

“I'll get you your money,” Din reassured her.

“Ha! I've heard that before,” she rolled her eyes.

“I promise, we’ll pay you somehow,” you interjected and Peli looked you over again before waggling her finger at you. 

“Now, you I believe.” 

That made you smile and she returned it. 

“Just remember--” Din started.

“Yeah. Yeah. No droids. I heard ya.” She stuffed the credits in her pocket. “You don't have to say it twice. Jeez. Womp rat.” She mumbled the last under her breath as the two of you took her dismissal as a sign you were free to leave. 

You waited until you and Din were out of earshot before you glared at him in disappointment. “We have got to work on your people skills.”

--

Note: When imagining the headpiece Din had made for you, I was drawing heavy inspiration off of Queen Hippolyta’s crown. Something that keeps your hair out of the way, looks futuristic and strong. 

Hey guys, as always there is always room on the tag lists! That being said there are about 300+ of you that want to be tagged in this fic and that is totally cool, but I am human and I miss names and forget tags, SO–if your tag didn’t work, I forgot it, or you want to be moved to another group, please message me or send me an ask. Even if you have already sent me one reminding me, I PROMISE it was not on purpose. A lot of times I wont answer until I have PHYSICALLY put you on the tag list that way I don’t forget! Thank you so much. - K

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[kassandras-one-braincell]

Kassandra x Fem!Reader - The Most Peculiar Wingman

Can be found on AO3 here.

Summary: You recently moved into a new flat and you’re hearing some rather unusual sounds from your next-door neighbour’s abode. You’re worried the mysterious woman next door is involved in something dangerous. Kassandra is worried that you’re the landlord about to bust her for her lease violation.

(Sorry if you don’t like coffee and/or you speak fluent Greek.)

Word count: 2568

.

Damn, you’ve lucked out with your new flat. The area is pleasant, the décor is tasteful – the windowsills could use a bit more greenery, but you’ll get to that – and the letting agent wasn’t a dick. Zero hassle with bills, minimal scuffs on the walls…it’s bizarre how simple your moving process has been.

But nothing can be perfect, can it?

Over the few days you’ve lived in your new home, you noticed some rather disconcerting sounds coming from the apartment next door. Nothing that disrupts your sleep, thankfully, although your post-unpacking nap was interrupted by a very loud thud against the thin wall connecting the two flats. Thumps, crashes and very disgruntled cursing in a language you can’t quite place tend to crop up in quick succession once or twice a day. Today, though, the odd sounds seem to be omnipresent.

The strange symphony is starting to get alarming; you’re beginning to ponder if the seemingly perpetually angry woman next door is involved in violence…or, forbid, organised crime? That would certainly explain the forceful thuds and grumbling. God, what if she manages to rope you into her shenanigans? What if she is armed?

After a loud bang and an exasperated “oh, fuck you” reverberates into your apartment, you decide to investigate.

Anxiously, you pop on some slippers and step into the hall, locking the door behind you (‘I’m not about to get robbed less than a week after moving,’ you think to yourself, ‘Oh, shit, I need to get insurance…’). Stomach churning with speculation, you make the arduous four-metre trek to your neighbour’s door. Biting your lip, you rap your knuckles against the wood.

A chorus of panicked shuffling echoes through the door, causing your throat to tighten. Footsteps sprint from one side of the room to the other, the sound of shattering ceramic shrill against the heavy thudding. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” the woman hisses, muffled by the walls, followed by some shushing and the rattling of something metal. Who is this woman, what the fuck is she hiding, why am I doing this—

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing…oh, wow.

Your neighbour is an amazon.

Flawless bronze skin, chocolate hair strewn into an unruly braid, tall and shredded with lean muscle. Her eyes are a gorgeous tawny brown, the split second of alarm disappearing from her gaze, replaced by a sparkle that makes your heart hammer against your chest. Very kissable lips upturn into a charming smile, bringing your attention to a small scar above her upper lip quirking adorably. A deeper scar sits on her nose, and the pang of anxiety returns, but your eyes need only flicker back to hers and it melts away.

“You’re not the landlord,” she says with a rich accent and curious lilt. Your cheeks feel warm.

“Uhm, hi.” You fiddle with your thumbs, mouth suddenly dry. “Sorry, I moved in a few days ago next door. I just heard some loud noises and was wondering if everything was alright?”

Lips curving furthermore, she braces her arms on the doorframe above and, fuck, are they nice arms. Sun-kissed, bulging against her white t-shirt, three gnarly rings cutting into her right bicep that just scream to be touched. Is this her distraction tactic?

“Oh, sorry about that. I hope I wasn’t too much of a disturbance?”

When you finally pry your eyes from her arms, a tiny smirk registers on her handsome face. Bashful, you stammer, “No, it’s fine. But, uh, what caused it, if I may ask?”

The woman cranes her neck to scan the hall. “Can you keep a secret?”

Mob boss? Arms dealer? Axe murderer?

Clearly, your nervous speculations are apparent, because her eyes widen slightly. “Don’t worry, lovely, it’s nothing dangerous. I just have a pet bird.”

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you run a hand through your hair. Just a bird. Just a bird. Her face relaxes back into a casual smile. A fresh wave of warmth caresses your cheeks at the name she gave you.

Chuckling, you joke, “Must be one big bird.”

“He’s…an eagle.”

You blink back your shock. “How on earth did you manage to get a pet eagle?”

She laughs, the melody warm and addictive. “Poor fucker followed me all the way from Kefalonia. I didn’t have it in me to say goodbye, even if it violates the lease.” Her tone is affectionate, despite her less-than-endearing name for the bird. Pushing back from the door frame – hands flexing wonderfully while she does so – she gestures for you to step in. “Come and meet him, if you’d like.”

Everything about this woman is so inviting, you can’t help but gravitate into her apartment.

“I don’t think I caught your name?” you ask shyly.

“Kassandra,” she replies, flipping the ‘r’ in her buttery accent. “And what can I call you?”

Anything you fucking want. “(Y/N) is fine,” you manage, debating whether her flat is hot or your face is akin to a beetroot.

“That’s a lovely name. Suits you perfectly,” she winks. She saunters over to a shelf with a blanket hastily thrown over it. You can’t help but observe her firm-looking behind through her jeans. Kassandra tugs away the blanket, revealing a large eagle sitting grumpily in a cage. It remains put when she unlocks the cage, standing almost defiantly.

“Don’t be like that, Ikaros,” she chastises. The eagle – Ikaros – begrudgingly flies out of his confines, perching atop the sofa in the middle of the open-plan room. “He’s gentle, I promise.” You’re doubtful, but he isn’t making any sudden moves.

“He just likes winding you up?”

“Loves it,” she grins. “He’s a little bitter I put him on a diet since he was getting a bit fat. That’s why he’s been throwing some tantrums lately.”

You smile as she scratches the top of his head before heading to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Kassandra asks, giving you another heart-melting beam. “I have coffee, orange juice, I might have some tea somewhere—”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” She asks your preference and you state it, taking in the layout of her apartment. The place gave off a very homely, Mediterranean vibe, with warm colours and white furnishings. A few hand-painted ceramic vases were dotted about – maybe she did pottery – alongside some family photographs. Atop the dining table was a woven basket brimming with ripe fruits, as well as a laptop with a pile of messy papers next to it.

“Have a seat, get comfy,” she calls over the whirring of an expensive looking coffee machine. Shyly you take the chair by the unoccupied end of the dining table. Feeling nosy, you scan the documents by her laptop, but the handwriting was all in Greek.

A minute later, Kassandra joins you with a steaming mug in her hand. “Your coffee, madame,” she announces with a pantomimic bow, evoking a laugh.

“Merci,” you thank her. “How would I say that in Greek?”

“Efharistó,” she replies. You test the word hesitantly, wincing on the second syllable, making her laugh. “Not bad,” she chuckles.

“I butchered it.”

“Try it a little softer,” she smiles, lowering her voice, giving it a sensual cadence that made your head spin. Oh, she knows she’s attractive.

“Efharistó,” you border on whisper, gay little brain surging with the overwhelming instinct to do whatever she tells you.

“There we go!” The proud quirk of her lips is all you need to see.

Feeling your cheeks flush, you bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping the steam from the beverage will help mask your fluster. You blow on the liquid and take a sip, immediately regretting the decision as you scorch your tastebuds, repressing the urge to hiss in favour of looking cool for the hot Grecian.

“Do you, um,” you start, ignoring the numbness of your tongue, “work from home?” You wave your hand at the paperwork by her seat.

“As often as my job lets me.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a museum curator,” Kassandra beams, evidently proud of her job. “A glorified history nerd who couldn’t be fucked with the extra academia, basically.” You snort against the mug, nearly spluttering coffee over her. Smooth.

“What time in history?” Her eyes sparkle at the question, passion shining through her irises.

“Mostly the classics, ancient Greece and Rome and all that. But I did my thesis on the evolution of weaponry.” You prop your chin up on your hand as she talks, eyes lazily focused on her lips. If not for the conviction in her tone, you would have zoned out and chased some daydream about kissing those lips. Kassandra reclines back in her chair. “Enough about me, though. Tell me about yourself.”

“You sounded really passionate, though. I don’t mind if you keep talking about your job.” God, you sound like a dizzy schoolgirl who’s hot for teacher. You scald yourself with another sip of coffee in reprimanding.

Kassandra’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t usually invite beautiful women into my home to ramble about cool swords.” You blush and set down your coffee.

The two of you talk for quite some time, getting to know each other, peppering in the occasional flirtatious remark. In her company, you somehow simultaneously feel comfortable and skittish. She’s so relaxed and easy-going, but her physique and seductive demeanour fills your stomach with butterflies.

An irritated squawk cut your conversation short.

Kassandra shoots Ikaros a look before turning back to you. “Sorry about him.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, really. Damn… What was I saying again?” you ask sheepishly.

Squawk.

“Nevermind, I was probably babbling anyway,” you dismiss, sipping on your now cold beverage.

Kassandra chuckles softly. “Don’t be silly, you have the voice of an angel. You could read me the dictionary and I’d still be interested.” She probably said this to every woman she took a liking to, but you can’t bring yourself to care, far too flustered and feeling, for once, special.

Squawk.

Her eye practically twitches in anger as Ikaros flies over to the windowsill, makes unwavering eye-contact with his owner, and shits on the wood.

Kassandra looks like she wants to be euthanised.

“My god,” she mutters as you burst out laughing. She awkwardly rubs the back of her neck and grimaces, mouth parted as if trying to form some kind of apology for her eagle’s behaviour.

“I’m guessing you’re used to being the only one doing the flustering?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Her disgraced expression shifted back to a playful one. “If I say yes, do I sound like a whore?”

Grinning, you shake your head. “A little cocky, perhaps.”

“I’ll take cocky.” She winks and gets up. “Your coffee is probably cold, can I get you a fresh one?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”

“The finest,” she smirks.

“Real smooth,” you roll your eyes, smiling regardless.

Ikaros caws from the windowsill, as if mocking Kassandra’s advances. Once again, her effortless charm dissolves into a look of frustration. She grabs kitchen towels and a bottle of disinfectant from by the sink and walks over to the window, nudging the eagle so he’d move out of the way. “Maláka,” she groans, cleaning up the mess from the surface. “Μη μου το χαλάς αυτό,” she mutters to Ikaros, earning a confused look. Kassandra sighs. “Usually I wait until after the first date before introducing a beautiful lady to this little shit. That way people don’t immediately think I’m just a weird bird lesbian.”

Testing the waters, you remark, “I happen to quite fancy women with an affinity for animals.” You bite your lip and add, “And, well, you’re…very attractive.”

Smugly, Kassandra finishes disinfecting the windowsill and walks to the kitchen with a little more vigour, your compliment proving to be an ego boost.

Once again deprived of attention, Ikaros decides to flap over and join you at the table. Instinctively, you flinch as the large bird flies in your direction, but all he does is stare at you, trying to analyse the stranger in his home.

“Does – does he bite?” you ask, hesitantly standing up.

Kassandra discards the kitchen towel in the bin, washing her hands. “No, he’s very kind to everyone who isn’t me.” She flashes you a wicked grin. “I only bite when asked.”

Stammering, you choke on air, struggling to find a response. Ikaros gives her a disappointed look.

“Shit, too forward?”

You shake your head. “Not at all,” you blush. “I’ve just…never met anyone quite like you before.” Ikaros seemingly gives you a judgemental leer, and you swiftly find yourself adding, “I-in a good way, that is!”

“Oh?” Her brow is upturned, her interest piqued.

“It’s…exciting.” The eagle shuffles towards you and nuzzles your hand, apparently deciding you’re worthy of his affections. The dark feathers atop his head are surprisingly soft to touch. Smiling, you give his head a few pats, inhibitions to the wind when cute little coos vibrate from his throat. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I think it’s adorable,” Kassandra says softly.

You look up. “Really?”

“Really.” She joins the two of you and plucks a damson from the fruit bowl, feeding it to Ikaros while you pet him. “You’re the loveliest person to have ever set foot in this building, that’s for sure.”

Ikaros cocks his head in agreement. His beady eyes meet yours, damson juice dribbling from his beak. Do it, he’s silently telling you.

Screw it, let’s shoot our shot.

You clear your throat, mustering up some courage. “Are you free next weekend?”

Kassandra beams amorously. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she grins. “How does dinner sound?”

Fuck yes. “Really good,” you blurt out excitedly.

“There’s this great Persian restaurant a couple streets over. I’ll book us a table?”

You gasp, having seen the building on the drive when you were moving in. “The place with the garden and the pretty lights, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sounds amazing.” Red in the face and heart pounding, your eyes dart about the apartment, fearing that you’ll combust if you look at Kassandra any longer. They settle on Ikaros, who gently butts his head against your hand, almost like a fist-bump. “Well, uh, I have a home insurance company to ring up, so I should probably get going,” you stutter.

“I won’t keep you, then,” Kassandra says, a tinge of disappointment in her tone. Ikaros squawks sadly.

“Thank you for the coffee.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for staying,” she winks. The eagle coos in agreement. You give him one last pat before walking to the front door.

“Oh, before you leave, there is something you should know…” Kassandra calls, moving over to you. She delicately takes your hand, frying your brain, and leans down to your ear. You feel faint. Lowly, she whispers, “…Our Hermes guy likes to drop-kick our parcels.”

Snorting, you look up at her in disbelief. I mean, what was I expecting? A kiss? Get a grip, woman. Kassandra laughs at your expression. “Use the amazon locker down the road instead.”

“You’re amazing,” you murmur, grinning. “I’ll probably see you before next weekend, but bye, I guess?”

“Chaire,” she bids softly, opening the door for you.

When the door closes behind you, you let out a ragged breath, excitement coursing through your veins.

You are so glad you moved here.

.

( The Greek clause is meant to say "Don't blow this for me" but I used 5 different translators and all 5 came back with slightly different things and I sort of ip-dip-doo'd it and chose one at random...sorry. )

[takamikeiigos]

• though keigo tends to be loud, seemingly carefree, and outgoing, he's convinced himself that hero work is his #1 priority and he has zero time to be getting all up in a tizzy about feelings

• this man probably doesn't even know what a long, meaningful hug feels like. but what does it matter because he's a hero, he doesn't have time to be mulling over that kinda stuff

• now don't get me wrong, keigo has all of the basic human wants and needs for love, affection, companionship, etc. but has managed to tuck those thoughts away deep in the back of his mind

• so he spends his free time alone watching movies by himself while eating takeout, or finding somewhere high on the skyline to perch upon while the breeze caresses him and gives him comfort while he's deep in his thoughts

• when it comes to his avian characteristics and needs, he knows many people don't understand so he tends to them himself

• long tiresome processes of preening his own wings, often getting aggravated when he can't reach a spot or can't get certain feathers to lay flat

• or when it's that time of the season and he continuously chooses to go through his ruts alone because he hasn't allowed himself time to slow down and properly take care of it, because he grew up too fast and exploring his own wants and needs was never an option

• let's talk about keigo nesting during a rut bc of pure instinct but suddenly coming to the harsh reality that he has no one to share it with

• ouch

• imagine the first time he meets you

• you think he's probably the most loud and obnoxious motherfucker you've ever met but he grows on you over time

• its only after spending a bit of time by his side that you realize little things about him that kinda break your heart

• he smiles and jokes around a lot, but when you catch him deep in thought or slipping you notice the vacant stares that make him seem far, far away

• or the fact that he doesn't touch people unless they prompt first, whether it's a high five or a pat on the shoulder, but his hands mostly remain in his pockets or by his sides otherwise

• so it breaks your heart even more when you go to give him a quick hug before checking out for the day and he completely tenses up, clearly not sure how to react

• it occupies most of your thoughts that night, before it finally dawns on you that keigo didn't reciprocate because he didn't know how to (not literally, of course)

• from then on you touch him more often - like gently putting your hand on his shoulder when you're reaching over him, or placing your hand on the small of his back when moving around him

• over-all you're in his space more, always standing a few inches closer so your shoulders touch or your hands brush

• but let's talk about that one time you both go on a mission together and keigo gets knocked around a lil bit

• you're finally able to catch up to him and the idiot is standing there covered in bruises, feathers missing and his hero outfit almost torn to shreds, and he has the audacity to smile at you like he didn't just get knocked into next week

• he tenses again when you run up to him and pull him into a frantic hug, worry ebbing from your entire being but grateful that he's still standing and alive

• but the exhaustion finally catches up to him and its then that his wall comes crashing down, his arms wrapping around you like he's clinging to you for dear life, and his head is resting on your shoulder, coming free of all those heavy thoughts he's been carrying with him

• things slowly change after that

• months later you two end up together, like two pieces of a puzzle that were lost but finally found, a relief of a perfect fit

• he texts you constantly - whether it's of things that remind him of you, or a picture of a cat he saw while on patrols, or even just to let you know you mean the world to him

• when you’re both together he almost always ends up being the one to initiate physical contact now, staying close in your space and his hand always rest against you

• on nights after a long day of patrolling, he'll come over and you'll put a movie on, cuddling close together on the couch while eating the most unhealthy junk food you could find to take the edge off

• you catch him smiling to himself one of those times, and when you look at him curiously, he shakes his head and laughs quietly

• "'s nothing baby bird, just nice to finally have someone to do this with"

• on another tiresome evening of patrolling, he flies through your bedroom window (you always leave it unlocked and open for him) and perches on your windowsill

• you can instantly tell something is bothering him by the way he's holding himself, his wings twitching and his body tense

• so you beckon him to come sit on your bed with you, thinking maybe a back rub will ease the tension. but when he finally sits down in front of you, the disarray of tangled feathers is the answer to your unasked questions

• you tell him to relax and he does, but when you hesitantly run your fingers against his feathers he nearly jumps out of his skin

• you pull your hand away as if it was burned and when you ask if you accidentally hurt him, he flushes and avoids eye contact

• "no! no, you didn't hurt me. they're just.. sensitive. 'm just not used to people touching them like that. but it.. it feels good"

• so you continue running your fingers through his feathers gently, making sure they're all in place and pulling the loose ones from his wings

• he’s all breathy sighs underneath your hands and you swear you hear him cooing every once in a while and your heart melts at the amount of intimacy and trust

• it turns into a ritual after rough days, and neither of you mind it

《《 NSFW 》》

• so look, i’m not saying keigo is a virgin but we're gonna keep going with this little needy & touch starved trend we got going. to each their own

• keigo loves being touched, but he also loves touching you

• i’m talking always pressing up against you when you’re both alone, face nuzzled in your neck while biting and licking, hands on your hips and squeezing

• clinging to you when you’re about to get out of bed, or sneaking into the shower with you bc he misses your warmth and is craving some skin on skin contact, his head nuzzled into your shoulder and his arms wrapped around you from behind

• tbh he’s probably still half asleep as he does this, too. you basically have him completely limp in your arms when you turn to start scrubbing his hair

• i’m getting a little off topic, huh?

• he’s always trying to get your attention, especially when he knows you’re busy

• he’s almost always breathless when things get hot and heavy, nearly falling apart over a make-out session

• but when you finally get him out of his clothes and on the bed where you want him, the experience is one you want to relive forever

• he’s got this wonton facial expression, chest flushed and wings puffed out, lips parted with unspoken pleas as you touch him

• the first time you even touch his dick he nearly loses it, head tossed back and fingers gripping the sheets

• "fuck.. fuck that feels so good dove, please don't stop"

• he’s so sensitive, his skin feels like it might burst into flames because of how worked-up he's getting

• the sight of him falling apart from a simple hand job is a sight to see, something you weren't expecting to get you going but it is

• you stroke him slow, your grip just loose enough where he ends up having to work for it, all the while you're gauging his expressions

• keigo is a talker, loud and completely unashamed of the filth pouring from his lips as he fucks up into your fist, his jaw slack and his brown pinched in pleasure and concentration

• "please baby, right there. god, you feel so fucking good, please don't stop. fuuuuck"

• when you decide to touch his wings out of sheer curiosity, you weren't expecting to his reaction to turn you on as much as it did

• keigo arching off the bed with a broken "f-fuck!", yanking you forward into a harsh kiss as he moans broken please and appraisals into your mouth, whining

• he finally comes in thick spurts over your hand, his hips stuttering as he thrusts upward to milk the final drops of his come, chest heaving and breathy pants falling against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair

• touch starved, needy, and sensitive

don't get me started on my man's going into a rut. whoo, good stuff.

sorry this is so long!! i got very carried away once i got into it.

if anyone wants to request anything, please do?? i would love that, especially since I'm trying to learn more about this beautiful bird-boy. nonetheless i hope y'all enjoyed!!

♡ ky

[deexchanel]

little girl in a box.

word count:

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x BlackFem!Reader

Warning: Swearing, mention of killing😬.

Summary: Bucky and Y/N comes home from their date to find a sweetheart in a box.

A/N: this haven't been my week so im using fanfiction to be a distraction.

Y/N and Bucky walked up the stairs to their apartment in Bucharest. They were holding hands, engaged in a conversation.

"I was thinking, what if I made shrimp alfredo?" Y/N asked as their hands sway back and forth. Bucky looked at her confused.

"What's alfredo?"

"Oh my god, you never had it before?"

"I mean in the army they boiled everything. It wasn't really lavish."

"Everything boiled sound so nasty."

"I know right but I managed. What's going to be in it?"

"Shrimp and pasta with Alfredo sauce. I think you're going to love it!"

"That's fine with me babe, as long as it isn't soup."

"Same." Y/N laughed letting go of his hand so she could unlock the door. Normally they would go through the window. But just for one night, they didn't want to be paranoid. Just to have one normal night.

Bucky stopped in his tracks staring at a medium size box that had big holes poked in it. "Y/N were you expecting something?"

"No." Y/N with hesitation getting worried that this might a setup. Bucky pulled her behind him protectively then proceeded to nudge open the box. The box top fell off and a pair of brown doe eyes stared back at them. Bucky hardened face expression soften as he saw a beautiful little girl in the box.

Whoever left this beautiful child in the box was a horrible person in general. The little girl sat up looking at the couple nervously. Bucky squat down so they could be eye level.

"Hi princess... I'm Bucky and that's my girlfriend Y/N. Would you like to tell me your name?" Bucky said softly then pointed at Y/N who waved giving a toothless smile. It was like Bucky's dad instincts kicked in as he felt the need to protect the little girl any way he could.

She shook her head as a way of saying she didn't want to talk. Her body was skinny seeming that she haven't ate in a couple of days. She looked no older then 4. Y/N squat down to help ease her nerves.

"How about we go in and get you something to eat?"

The little girl looked at Y/N scaredly and instantly held her arms out for Bucky. Y/N sigh knowing that whatever happened in this girl past, she was scared of women she didn't trust. Bucky picked her up gently not wanted to hurt her with his arm.

They walked into the apartment and Y/N quickly started to prepare dinner. Bucky sat on the bed while the little girl sat on the side of them. He tries to start conversation again with her.

"Can you tell me your name now?"

The little girl looked around before speaking softly,"Melanie.."

The pair looked at each otherin shock, he got her to talk. There wasn't any technology in the room so they best way to stay entertained was to have conversation.

"Well Melanie how old are you?" Bucky questioned.

"Five." She said but held up three fingers making Bucky smile in amusement. He helped her by raising up another finger.

"How old are you?"

Y/N giggled while fixing their bowls. Nobody have ever asked him that. Bucky laughed since its been a long time since someone asked him that.

"Well doll, I'm 106."

Melanie made a funny face turning her head to the side. Y/N came over with three bowls in her hands. Bucky grabbed the bowls passing one to Melanie, while holding the other ones as Y/N sat down so she wouldn't spill it.

"Can I eat all of it? I've been good all week." Melanie moved some of her hair from her face with a a sadden expression. Y/N felt so bad for her, this wasn't right.

"Baby you can eat all it. I can make more if you want some okay?"

"Okay." Melanie smiled digging in her food. Bucky and Y/N shared a look. He was angry that she went through horrible things at a young age.

After dinner, Bucky washed and put the dishes away while Y/N laid down on the mattress. Melanie kept picking her head up to see if Bucky was coming.

"He's coming honey, he's washing dishes."Y/N laughed softly realizing what she was doing. "You tired?"

Melanie shook her head, rubbing her eyes,"No."

"Yes you are. Come here?" Y/N asked nicely but Melanie poked out her lip. She was sitting in the middle of the mattress near Y/N's knees.

"Noo, I'm waiting on Bucky."

"Here I am princess." Bucky grunt getting on his knees behind her. Melanie looked happy as he picked her up, walking on his knees to get to this spot on the mattress. Y/N laid on her side, watching them in admiration. 

Melanie was very brave and didn't take long getting used to the couple. Food was a way to her heart so the trust came quickly. She was snuggled between Bucky and Y/N while they cuddled her enjoying their sleep.

-----------

2:48 a.m.

People smashing through the apartment windows starled them awoke. Before Bucky could reach for his gun, a man punched him in the face. Y/N quickly grabbed Melanie holding her into her chest then gets up grabbing the emergency bookbag.

The couple agreed that if this was to happen then find the best way out possible. They would find each other no matter how far away they was. Bucky did one on one combat with the man that broke in.

"GO Y/N!"

She nodded rushing to the door making sure to keep a good grip on Melanie. When she opened the door a man stood their with a gun pointed directly at her head. Melanie start to cry with all the commotion going on. Tears start to fall out of Y/N's eyes, thinking this was it.

"Go back in now or I won't hesitate putting one between your eyes." The man sneered putting the cold gun on her forehead. Y/N turned around going back into the apartment. Bucky closed his eyes trying not to lose it as he saw his family being held at gun point.  He was being held at gun point as well but he was hoping that his girls was able to get away.

"So Winter Soldier, you really thought you could get away." A man laughed turning on a light revealing his face. It was Rumlow holding Bucky at gun point and the man that held Y/N at gun point was Pierce. Bucky chest heaved up and down as he was getting angrier.

Melanie little face was turning red from how hard she was crying. Pierce rapidly pointed another gun in his other hand at Melanie's little forehead.

"NO!"Bucky jumped forward but Rumlow put the gun on his forehead making him stop. Pierce took the gun off safety pressing it harder on Melanie's forehead which makes Y/N sob harder.

"Shut the little brat up!"

"Melanie baby, stop... stop crying we're okay. Bucky's okay." Y/N lied hoping she was to stop crying. Melanie cries turns into sniffles looking at Y/N hopefully.

Y/N nod her head crying,"We're okay baby."

Bucky felt like he let his girls down. He was so angry that he wanted to kill both of them but he couldn't move. "I'll go back and do whatever. Just p-please leave my family out of this."

"That's what I wanted to hear! Cuff him!" Pierce exclaimed letting the guns drop from Y/N and Melanie. Y/N shook her head not wanting Bucky to leave and endure all the things they worked so hard for him to forget.

"Bucky no!”

"Shut it bitch!" Pierce snapped at her holding the gun to her head again making her jump. It was killing Bucky for not being able to help.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I love you." Bucky sigh putting his arms behind his back so Rumlow could cuff him. As Rumlow did, Redwing flew in dropping a disk on Pierce's forehead electrocuting him. Sending him unconscious.

Bucky ducked as Rumlow shot the gun towards him making the girls scream. Sam flew in the window taking out the extra gaurd that stood by the refrigerator. Bucky stood up swiftly so he could take out Rumlow.

He smirked aiming the gun towards the girls," I guess nobody's getting what they want." Rumlow shot the gun at the girls. Y/N used her body to shield Melanie. Bucky stared in horror as he tried to get to them but Steve's shield covered them from the bullets.

Bucky turned around angrily at Rumlow pulling out the secret gun that was in his  waist holster. With no hesitation, Bucky shoots him between the eyes. Rumlow body fell to the ground.

Y/N came from behind Steve's large frame. She walked over to Bucky and pulled him into a hug without crushing Melanie's little body. Bucky rubbed his hand through Y/N hair and kissed Melanie's forehead. They didn't have anything to say, they were just grateful to all be alive.

"I'm so sorry to ruin this moment guys but we need to go. Their supposed to be bringing in reinforcements any second." Steve said placing his shield on his back.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. bring the jet back around." Sam pressed his finger on the com.

--------------------

On the jet, it was quiet but peaceful time for them to rejuvenate. Bucky couldn't sleep so he watched over his girls who were sleeping.

Melanie slept on his chest with his metal arm holding her up so her face could implant into his neck. Y/N was cuddled up with his arm wrapped around her. He kissed their foreheads every other second for his comfort.

"Thank you guys." Bucky said to Sam and Steve who were sitting in the in the front seats of quinjet.

"Just gald you guys are safe." Steve pat his hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"Plus we were able to kill two birds with one stone. Bonus but glad we could help."Sam said making Bucky smiled. He looked at his girls, very content with life.

------------

horrible writing.

I wrote this bout a year ago. I don't like it, but i just needed it as a distraction.

stay slutty my friends

[gisellelx]

Like a Raisin in the Sun

Saint Tropez, France

June 28, 2021

Despite all the trouble it caused them, all of their family liked the sun. Even Jasper, whose ruthlessly military affinity for the dark had taken decades to overcome, lay stretched out on a chaise, his eyes closed, with Alice curled up on his chest. Emmett and Rosalie were curled up on another set of chaises, Rosalie’s head on Emmett’s shoulder, his fingers stroking absently through her hair.

The estate they’d rented had a private beach, of course, and two large pools, and the main house itself was large enough that they couldn’t always hear from one side to the other. Small mercies after the beginning of the pandemic, when the nine of them had somehow managed to cram into their five bedroom cottage in Toulouse. Here at the coast, they all had plenty of room to be apart.

That turned out not to matter much, however. Except for a handful of times of day, when one couple or another would peel off into one of the suites so expansive they were large apartments unto themselves, they were together. Four pairs of chaise lounges feet from the water’s edge. Nine players around the Monopoly board Rosalie and Jasper had designed which was much more punishing and required a buy-in of two thousand euro from anyone who wanted to play to fund the “bank.” Seven in the audience around the Steinway, as Edward and Renesmee worked through the entirety of the four-handed Dolly Suite.

The water made an arrhythmic whoosh as it met sand over and over. Sometimes two waves came almost together, huge and frothy; other times it was the more gentle swish of a small, barely there swell of ocean. It was strange, beautiful, percussion-only symphony, and Edward could almost hear a melody over it, feeling his fingers begin to itch with the desire to compose.

Only one set of chaises sat empty, and as he gazed toward the horizon, he could see them: bright flashes of light between the two-foot swells. They were much farther out than would be safe for humans, having allowed the undertow to take them probably an eighth of a mile out to sea, to a sandbar where the waves crashed prematurely before building up again to come ashore. Between the waves, they stood only waist deep in water, the sun glinting off their shoulders and backs, sending shimmering rainbows across the dark sapphire of the waves.

Carlisle dove through a wave, emerging with hair dripping down his back. He ran a hand through it as he laughed and took a few strokes through the water to be closer to Esme, whose definitely-designed-to-scandalize-the-adult-children string bikini left more of her skin exposed than her husband's long swim trunks did his. Once together, a few steps further out took them both into deeper ocean where they treaded water, having a conversation Edward could not overhear.

So intent was he watching, he barely felt he hand on his shoulder as the chaise beside him became occupied, its regular owner having returned from retrieving a new book from the house. His wife settled in next to him, immediately following his gaze out to the distant sandbar. Together they listened to Esme’s giggling shriek as Carlisle picked her up and threw her full on into a large wave, followed immediately by Carlisle’s deep laughter as Esme recovered her footing and immediately picked him up and did the same. They slapped each other’s shoulders playfully, wiping water out of their eyes and shaking it out of their hair.

“They’re having so much fun out there,” Bella commented quietly.

Edward nodded, saying nothing. After several minutes more, his wife poked him in the side, making him chuckle.

“Sometimes I’d like to have your gift,” his wife said. “Know what you’re thinking.”

He laughed. “That makes two of us.”

It was their private joke, how Bella was his one silent mind. From time to time, she let him in, but it was difficult and she didn’t do it often. So he had scaled the uneasy cliff of learning to ask her to voice her thoughts, and to be more forthcoming about his own.

“I forget so often how young they are,” he answered, his voice quiet. “They should just be at the beach, splashing each other.”

“And then coming in and having mojitos,” Bella added.

Edward stared back out over the water.

“He would be just out of his M-1 year,” he muttered.

Bella laughed. “Carlisle? He’d be a rising M-3 at a minimum. You think he somehow didn’t finish college at least a year early?”

He laughed. “True.”

Bella leaned into him. “And she’d be the rising star architect at the boutique firm. Nobody can believe she has so little experience because her designs are so good.”

Edward slipped an arm over his wife’s bare shoulders. “How did they meet?”

“Mmmm.” Bella’s gaze returned to the ocean. “She designed the art museum and he went to a gala. He’d be looking at the Cezanne. And she would come up from behind him and start telling him about it.”

“Yeah and then he would compliment the architecture of the building and make her blush.”

Bella laughed. “A coincidence, or does he know who she is?”

“He knows who she is. He’s hitting on her.”

They both smiled.

“Does it work?”

Edward nodded. “She lets him buy her a glass of wine from the cash bar. And it’s generic and not very good so he offers to take her to a real wine bar after the event. And they sneak out of it a little early. He orders something way too fancy for his budget and he’s just going to put it on his credit card but—”

“—Esme sees straight through him and gets the check.”

Laughing again, Edward nodded. They both fell silent for a moment, the only sounds the breeze, the birds, and the gentle whoosh of the Mediterranean.

“How long do they wait to do it,” his wife asks mischievously.

Edward threw his hands over his eyes. “Bella!” When he opened them, he saw his wife, one eyebrow cocked, and when they spoke, it was as one:

“Third date.”

They dissolved into laughter.

“His place or hers?” This was Edward.

“His. It’s a mess. He wasn’t expecting to invite her home. His sheets aren’t clean, either.” Carlisle, for his master command of anywhere between two and ten people’s laundry, somehow almost always managed to forget the sheets even with an inhuman memory. Bella’s invocation of one of her father in-law’s few marital imperfections made Edward laugh.

“She doesn’t care,” he added.

Bella shook her head. “She’s kinda charmed, really.”

“They move in together very quickly.”

“But they don’t get married for a long time.”

Edward nodded. “Until he’s in residency.”

His wife smiled. Then she mischievously leaned into his side, putting her lips at his ear and whispered, “They pull the goalie before the wedding.”

This made Edward laugh, but it rang true. In this world of events his mother would be thirty, and worried. They would both want to get started as soon as they were sure of their commitment, and neither of them had ever been much for suffering other people’s opinions about what might be proper. He listened, smiling, as his wife went on.

“They find out the day before and everyone is gushing at the reception about how sappy in love they look. It’s not until she starts showing that they tell everyone why they were so gooey that day.”

Edward smiled shyly, sitting up, dragging his toe in the white sand.

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Bella answered immediately. When he cocked his head and frowned, she smirked and added, “There is no alternate universe in which you are not Rose’s little brother.”

At this, Edward guffawed. But it was true, he knew. When he saw them, in their minds, the shadow-dream family his parents both had, he was always the youngest. Sometimes there were three children, the oldest a boy whom each of them imagined differently—Carlisle imagining caramel hair and brown eyes, and Esme imagining a softened version of Charles, usually, but sometimes a boy with Carlisle’s hair, and blue eyes the exact hue of which she didn’t know and Carlisle didn’t remember. He would have been twenty years younger than Edward, chronologically, yet somehow in all their imaginations he was the oldest—the lost child, the child she ran for, the only person in their family who had ever died.

It weighed so heavily on them. All they had lost, all the things they had won in their stead. They had been so weary a week ago in the morning, when they’d met the rest of the family on the tarmac in Castres. A pandemic year was taking its toll on them both.

The couple who splashed in the waves seemed too young to have experienced all the loss they had. They looked so unburdened, chasing the waves, laughing at each other, catching the sun. As they watched, Esme put Carlisle on her shoulders and he fought until they both fell backward and went under.

Bella squeezed his hand. “Which ones do you think are happier? The imaginary ones or the real ones?”

Edward pressed his lips together. He could see them, in his mind’s eye: the beautiful couple settling comfortably into middle age, the doctor coaching his daughter’s basketball team, the architect leading the pine car derby for her son’s scout troop.

But he could see this couple, too. The joy on their faces as they hugged each of their six children. The way their skin had glowed in the light of absolutely unnecessary birthday candles, a “1”, a “2”, and a “0” on a cake only Renesmee could eat, and in all likelihood wouldn’t. The night before, when they’d watched In the Heights, his daughter fighting sleep as she leaned on her grandfather’s shoulder. How contented Carlisle had looked as he nudged her awake, knowing she considered herself far too old to be carried to bed.

They were old and young. Happy and sad. Yin and yang, like the ancient forces: equal parts the hard amidst the easy, the pain amidst the joy.

“The real ones,” he said, and was rewarded with another squeeze of his hand as his wife smiled.

“I think so, too,” she said.

In the distance, they both watched as Carlisle and Esme disappeared again under the waves.

[catharrington]

Another part of 1950’s cat boy house husband Steve and milk man Billy. We are getting very hurt right here but next part will be the comfort!! I promise!! Tagging @withoneheadlight because I believe you asked in a previous part, thanks so much for your kind tags🖤🖤, and if anyone else would like to be tagged let meow know. 😽

Part 3: dream a little dream of me

That morning, Steve’s tongue didn’t taste like pineapple juice. Even though the cake came out delightfully, and their supper was cooked expertly between it being baked. Steve had sat at that table, their table, and tried to close his eyes and picture something sweet. Something unreachable, he found out.

Now his mouth tasted like cigarettes smoke and copper. And around him the only sounds were also metallic as he pounded away at his typewriter. Writing out a sentence so the stabbing sharpness of each key rang out into the early morning silence. Then, proceeding to the next sentence, he pushed across the metal tray and it sounded like the firing of a gun.

But Steve simply lifted his cigarette from its glass tray beside the machine, took a long breath before continuing to it. The loudness of the typewriter isn’t what makes him flinch in this house.

Steve doesn’t realize it’s been hours until he hears a calling at his door. “Milk delivery!” And that voice seems to finally awaken him this morning.

Steve turns in his small writing desk’s chair towards the living room door. He shivers from the way that voice is too far away. So silent, compared to how loud he wants that voice whispered in his ear.

He knows he cannot, he should just wait for the milk to be left at the door like any other delivery is made to any other house. But as long as Steve can remember, he’s been there to greet Billy. To linger over Billy as long as he could. Even his first morning in the house, brand new and newly married, Steve waited outside for Billy.

Their first meeting felt ages ago, another time altogether. Early morning in early summer where the water clings to the grass as long as it can in the heat, and where even birds are slow to awaken because of the merciless sun.

Steve had stood out on the porch blushing from the tip of his ears to the end of his tail at Billy’s slaked-jawed awe. At the way he tipped his hat towards Steve for the very first time because, “we don’t see much cat folk around here, apologies for being so… captured.”

And Steve loved to write, he loved to read and he ate at words like mice. That word, that first meeting: captured. Was the perfect one Billy could have used.

Steve’s felt captured ever since. And in every sense of the word.

Now he felt trapped. Listening to Billy’s voice outside the door. He felt trapped in the smoke filled living room of their house, his husband’s house. The only light at all being the sunlight that’s streaming right from where Billy is.

Steve smoked down his cigarette to the very butt of it. Pulling so the lit cherry nearly burnt at his fingers. Then he snubbed the trash into the glass ashtray fiercely, his claws clicking against it.

He turned tiredly towards the living room door. Clutching the bamboo back of his narrow desk chair like a life line. He used it to push himself up and away from his writing. Pushed himself towards the living room door.

And he must have wanted to see Billy, at least from the darkness inside looking out, because he had left the wooden door open. Only the creaking, thin screen door of glass and iron design kept them apart.

Steve pressed his body up against the screen door. And looked out to where Billy was still lingering at his porch steps.

“Mr. Smith?” He called again.

Steve dragged his nails down the iron stripes of his door in frustration. “How many times, Billy, must I remind you. It’s Steve. Please call me Steve.”

Billy didn’t reply, he swallowed thickly anything he was going to reply at all. Clutching to the holder of milk in his hands. Searching across the porch as if to find a weak spot in the bars of this cage.

“Your milk will spoil out here on the porch. Still hot outside, even in September.” Billy’s voice was shaky and so was his leg as he gingerly lifted one more step upwards.

“Would you rather me take it to you? To the door?” He lifted another foot as he spoke. His boots leaving flakes of mud behind him on the steps.

Steve’s anger and his embarrassment swirled together into a shivering mess. His hands didn’t know if they wanted to rip at the iron or keep it right where it was. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he tried in vain to keep his breathing normal.

“To the door,” he whispered. “To the door is fine. Leave it and I will collect the milk. Thank you.”

Steve tried to keep his shivering and traitorous hands from acting up by pressing them to his chest. His shirt that he had thrown on in the earliest of the morning was wrinkled and pressed all wrong. It was pastel lavender and mother of pearl buttons and itched where it touched his skin.

He softly pressed his fingers around the base of his neck, where his milky skin was sensitive right above his collar bones, and winced as he forgot of his markings.

Then, a rattling noise, and Steve whipped his head back up. He looked right at Billy who had stepped up to the porch. To the door. And was settling the milk right where Steve requested it.

Billy watched his eyes for as long as he could, as long as it took until those blue eyes wandered downwards to the creamy column of Steve’s neck. They lingered there on the wide irritated markings of red.

They lingered on the ghost shapes of another man’s fingers that ruined Steve’s skin, welts bruised and biting down to the pretty boy’s bones.

Steve gripped at the collar of his half open shirt to hold it together.

But Billy’s eyes were already widened to the size of dinner plates. If the milk wasn’t already set on the porch he might have dropped it. Billy walked ever closer, his hands reaching out towards the screen door.

“What the hell?” Billy hissed. His boots and his breathing and his hands against the iron were so loud, so so loud, it made Steve’s ears lay flat back against his head. “What the hell are those?”

Steve’s been good at keeping it hidden, at keeping the bruises from hands wrapped around his arms under linen shirts. At keeping the desperation and hurt from his big brown eyes if only for a couple minutes every morning.

But today he’s feeling sloppy. He’s feeling used. He’s feeling like he can’t keep this up much longer. And no matter how much he claws or how much he writes no one ever hears him.

“It’s nothing,” he covered up. He pressed the itchy fabric to his hurt throat. He wanted to cry out, to whimper, but bit down on his lip to keep it inside.

“Your-your throat! Does he, your husband, he ain’t— I don’t understand?” Billy stuttered out. His delivery uniform hat bobbing as he glanced up and down nervously.

“My husband?” Steve sneered the word, smearing it around so his fangs ripped from his plush lips. “You believe my husband could do this to me?”

Billy reached out his hand towards the screen door. It collapsed and curled into itself against the iron. His knuckles resting right over where Steve’s standing on the other side. He reached as if he wanted to touch. But he couldn’t though the twisting wall of thorns.

“Tell me he ain’t then,” Billy pleaded. “If he’s a good man, then tell me those ain’t his fingers—,”

Steve couldn’t breath. He couldn’t find the words all of a sudden, anything that came to him was a lie. And Billy was the softness in his life, he was the gentle thing. Him in his all white uniform and his cozy smile even on Summer mornings. Steve couldn’t lie to him, but he���s also selfish enough to want to keep Billy for as long as he can.

“Thank you, for your delivery. Have a pleasant morning, Billy.” Steve muttered to his feet then turned to press his back against the indoor wall. To hide from having to see Billy’s reply.

He could still hear the rushed goodbye, and the noise his boots made stomping off the porch. He could hear the milk truck starting, and he could hear his blood rushing up into his ears from where his heart felt like it was ripping into pieces inside his chest.

[noritoshiikamo]

game over

pairing: noritoshi kamo + fem!oc genre: angst tags//warning: established relationship, wild gojo appeared // blood, character death, emotion distress, mention of shibuya  note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. note that i put descriptions of the characters i write so it would be easier for me, you’re free to imagine the character the way you seem fits! okay listen imma be honest i dont like this part that much dhhdbdjksncjddiem and im sorry if it sucks bcs istg i cant compete to part 1 and 2 of it so IM SORRY tagging @unabashednightmarepizza @sassyeahhhh @dok-ja @sukirichi [bold means i cant tag u idky :( lemme know if wanna be tagged in the next part] read the first part | second part | third part | bonus

few years ago;

“you’re fucking ridiculous!”

“you’re injured, how the fuck is it me that’s being unreasonable?”

she contemplated stabbing him straight to his chest. “i’m fine, leave me alone,” she hissed, holding on to her arm as she tried to limp away. second year jujutsu student noritoshi kamo wondered how the hell one could be this stubborn. with blood caked up on the side of her face, lips busted and bruising in the corner, not to mention the broken arm and probably twisted ankle, he could not understand how one could be this reckless and stupid, it’s almost ridiculous.

but here she is standing in front of him.

“you could’ve let me handle it,” he said, coldly.

she never turned that fast in her life; her limping leg suddenly worked fine as she hauled her ass, throwing both fists to his chest. the force put was enough to threw him back a few steps, he caught her wrists holding her from falling down. “stop acting like i’m so fragile. i can exorcist the curse just fine. you make me hate you so much,” she spitted, pure rage etched on her face, “just because i’m a girl, because i’m your girl, i’m weak. please, i am as good as you are, kamo.”

their faces were so close, he could count the freckles spread on her nose and cheeks. he loves her eyes the very first time he caught glimpse of it; one is a dull brown while the other looks like it carries the secret of the bright blue sea. this time, the eyes he loves looked hopeless, lack of the burning spirit she carried with tears threatening to spill. letting go of a wrist, his trembling hand brushed the hair coated with the blood back, carefully not to hurt her. “i never said you are bad,” he clarified, fingers busy brushing the hair back. his sudden reaction surprised her, and her body betrayed her thoughts as she eased in his arms.

he tilted her chin, his head was panicking as he realised that his brain was no longer controlling his movement as he leaned down and kissed her.

she tasted like blood.

she winced, pain aching on the swollen part and he apologized so quietly as he deepened the kiss. “nori-” her voice croaked as she swallowed his moans. he hummed, satisfied by the kiss. their foreheads rest against each other, the tip of their noses touched as they struggled to catch breath.

“stop being stupid. let me help you okay?”

“okay.”

slipping his arm under hers, he helped her walk, leading them out of the abandoned building they managed to exorcist. nothing major, a couple of pestering level three and four curses that them both handled well but their supervisor missed to tell them about the hiding level two curse that took them by surprise. she had become the curse’s main target.

if she would’ve just listened to him and stay close. he sighed.

“ouch, ouch,” she cried, clutching on her left leg, forcing him to stop. impatient, he slipped his hand under her knees, lifting her up in his arms. she apologized profusely, embarrassed to be such a burden to him. he brushed it off immediately.

“did you call them? told them that we are done?”

she gasped, “wait, i thought they’ll wait for us.”

he huffed, “you’re not that important, y/n. give them a call, please. i want to go home.”

kicking the door open, the moonlight shone on them as he carried her down to the bottom stairs. settling her down on the steps, he sat beside her, letting a long sigh. he watched as she took the call, letting them know that she was slightly injured, and they need to go back asap. she was visibly tired, and he was the same too.

he couldn’t help but to sigh at the way the moonlight enveloped her. he had loved her from the very first moment he caught his eyes on her; she caught him staring, called him out publicly and ignored all his advances. it took him a lot to court her. she’s a gojo, she can have anything and everything with the sky is the limit.

but one thing money could never buy is affection.

it started with little stuffs; noritoshi waiting for her with her lunch readied every day. it annoyed her but momo (who was secretly rooting for him) forced her to just do it. “it’s just a lunch,” momo said sheepishly. noritoshi would have them paired all the time for the missions. she’d accepted it with open heart. noritoshi would also teach her how to weld a bow and shoot arrows. she promised that she would go out on date with him if he taught her.

by the end of their first year, they became inseparable.

the idea of being apart from her hurts him physically and mentally. she took a sharp breath when he laced his fingers between her own, quickly telling the other person on the phone that she was okay. “it was just noritoshi,” she replied with a small laugh. their hands fit each other; his skin contrasted her slightly tanned skin. while his hands were rough from welding the bow and he kept his nail short and clean, hers were slightly softer with her nails painted prettily. this month she had her nails painted in pastel. all the girls’ day out with momo and mai had proven its importance. he was happy to provide her with his black card despite her discontent.

“analysing my hands now?”

he smiled slightly, “it looks very pretty. i guess i got my money worth. are they coming?”

she leaned on his shoulder, his own wrapped around her as she closed her eyes, “they are around the corner. i would definitely need another round this week,” she teased. kissing her forehead gently, he didn’t mind that his uniform was stained with her blood; he was glad that she’s safe.

“i’ll happily take you there.”

few years later;

noritoshi kamo almost lost his mind. the stadium was half destroyed, huge craters on the pitch with the sight of his wife nowhere to be found. he looked up to the black pitch curtain encasing the stadium area from the sky, a curse escaped his lips.

“where the fuck are you?” he grunted, scanning the area.

she is gone, his stubborn little wife. she could’ve just wait but annoyed that their dinner date was interrupted and eager because this was their first mission together as a married couple; she escaped his supervision. as they were dealing with minor curses outside, she decided to head on forward, leaving him to deal with whatever is left. he beat himself inside for letting her come, he could easily do this himself and send her home safely, but she blinked her eyes and he was weak. she always has her way with him.

his step stopped when he realised there was a shadow ahead.

“she’s pretty,” the thing said.

his blood ran cold, “what did you do to my wife?”

the curse let out a laugh. it was sinister enough to send chills down his spine. especially when he realised the head it was stepping on was his wife. her eyes were fluttering back and forth, struggling to stay awake. a howl shocked him, shivers down his spine at the painful whimpers her shikigami making. cursed spirits were devouring it alive, overwhelming it and chewing every part of its body. his wife was too weak to dispel the shikigami; it’s dangerous as the devoured wolf shikigami will drain her cursed energy by a second.

all shikigami linked directly to the owner; everything inflected to the wolf, she could feel it too.

he needed a plan.

hidden in his wedding ring was a retractable knife. he rarely carries blood bags anymore as his power solidified itself. the older he got, the better he was at using and controlling a small steady flow of his own blood straight from the tap. with a clap of his hands, the knife cut his hand enough to send blood shooting like bullets. the blood hit the curses straight to its cores, died out instantly on impact, but the shikigami was beyond salvageable. it let out one last howl, one last goodbye before dropping to the ground, half of his snout gone. she will be devastated, it’s her only shikigami she managed to tame at such a young age, but at least it has stopped the shikigami from stripping his wife’s cursed energy to its core.

the fire burning in his eyes only made the curse laughed. he kicked her body away, spurting blood out of her mouth. she was halfway close to death’s doorstep.

“i will fucking murder you,” he hissed.

“my blood is my power. it’s supposed to rot human, stripping its meat from the bone like acid. however,” the curse nudged her body, “your wife didn’t. humour me, did your blood tainted hers? tell me, i’m curious how.”

“are you going to chit chat because i don’t have whole day.” his blood dripped on the pitch.

the curse grinned, shrugging his shoulder. he kneeled, running his bloody fingers on her cheeks leaving trails of flowers pattern that dissipated immediately, “i’m not here to fight. i’m here to serve a warning,” he looked up to the tensed sorcerer, “for gojo satoru. tell him, we’ll be waiting for him in shibuya.” noritoshi’s face scrunched in confusion.

“we have no business with the gojos.”

“but she is. she could change her name, married you, but it doesn’t erase the fact that she carried gojo’s blood in her vein. she’s the bridge to your two clans. i’m just killing two birds with one stone. ruin the kamo clan’s relationship with gojos and hurt gojo satoru. all thanks to her,” the curse turned his back on him, his laugh echoed as he walked away. the dark curtain disappeared slowly as the ground rumbled. a perfect chance for noritoshi to strike if it wasn’t because of the cursed spirit’s words gluing him to his spot, “oh, kamo, i believe a congratulation is overdue. let me know when’s the baby is due, i would love to drop by personally.”

the pillar holding on to the roof collapsed sending wave of dust all over the place. noritoshi covered his face, coughing as he sucked some in, removing his coat as a shield. the cursed spirit was no where to be found.

“the place is going to collapse! i’ll get the curse, you go get her!”

a voice echoed and he caught a glimpse of blond hair running past him and noritoshi didn’t think twice as he sprinted around the cracks and holes. who was that voice or who was the curse, he couldn’t give a single fuck, he just wants his wife back. he was shaking when he got to her, arms immediately scooped her up in his arms. her chest was raising slowly, blood dripping on the side of her lips as she struggled to exhale.

“you’re going to be okay,”

he told her, but he wasn’t sure if he will ever be.

-

“can you turn down the stupid light, it’s hurting my eyes.”

the voice laughed melodiously, the light moved to the other eye repeating the same thing.

“as you can see, she’s awake, slightly weak, but she should be okay.”

another voice interrupted, “are you sure?” she gasped, excited to hear a familiar voice. “nori?” she called out, unable to open her eyes, relying strictly to her hearing as she reached her shaky hands out for him. “her senses might be slightly off, just let her do it herself,” the woman’s voice noted, and she felt annoyed. how dare you underestimate me, her mind scoffed.

“my senses are fine. see?” she claimed as she held noritoshi’s hand up. he smiled, gently rubbing her hand with encouragement. “thanks, shoko, we are fine.”

“i’ll leave you be then. call me if you need anything.”

she listened to the clacking of shoko’s heels, followed by the door opening and slamming shut. she jumped, but he held her hand tighter, reassuring her that it’s alright. “so why can’t i see?” she asked, confident that they are alone now. she felt the bed sunk a little on the left side, “you were high on anesthesia, i’m surprise you could even move your jaw to speak.” she felt a finger brushed her hair aside, breath loomed on her face and she could feel her own face reddening up.

“are you going to kiss me or are you just going to tease me?” his heart swell up, despite her shaky voice almost made him laugh.

“do you trust me?” his hand cupped her cheek gently.

she nodded eagerly, “always.”

“good.”

his kiss hit her like a waft of fresh air. every kiss felt like a first kiss to her that she couldn’t help to react so eagerly to it. his tongue slipped through her defense, overwhelming her taste buds with such strong taste of iron. it didn’t stop her. she knew what he was doing from start. he peeked a little, didn’t stop a second from kissing her as he watched his blood marking appeared on her face. her hands went up around her neck pulling him closer and he obeyed, deepening the kiss.

heal; his mind commanded.

after a while, she pulled back, being the one to break apart from the kiss first, her chest raising up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. her eyes were wide open now, fluttering lazily as she leaned back on the propped-up pillow. he wiped the corner of his lips, eyes on her as he watched the open wound on her face and arms slowly closed leaving the fresh healed red marks behind. he relaxed when he heard a thank you coming from her, as she checked her healed arms.

“i’m disappointed with you,” he finally broke the silence.

“really?” she frowned. he always does this thing where he will immediately go into lecture mood every time she does something that pisses him off. it’s almost like a game to her as she waited for him to explode, “right now? not even going to wait until i’m discharged. this is a new record, toshi. like shoko said, i’m fine.” he shook his head, “it doesn’t make it right. you always disobeyed me. ignored my orders, going about with your goddamn big head, you could’ve been killed.”

she rolled her eyes, noritoshi is being noritoshi, what a drama queen, she mentally rolled her eyes, “but i’m not,” she pushed her hair back, twisting it easily into a simple loose knot, “i told you, i am not weak.”

“your shikigami was destroyed, your blood was poisoned, 70 percent was already circulating to every part of your vein, i had to beg for the higher up to help purify your blood,” her smile died down. this game no longer feels fun for her. noritoshi was really mad this time. “you think it’s fun and all game but game over, y/n. you need to stop doing this. if you can’t do it for me, do it for yourself.”

“leave me alone, nori, if you just going to nag, please i don’t want to hear it. i’m tired.”

it made him angry that she was taking his word lightly. running his hand in his messy hair, he felt like hauling his head to the wall.

“you don’t understand-”

she slammed her hand on the bed, interrupting his words, “no YOU don’t understand me, i’m tired of you babying me. i’m an adult, i am your wife, stop treating me like a fucking child! we have been married for months, but god you’re suffocating me.”

“i will when you stop endangering yourself. i will stop treating your like a child when you stop acting like one. you’re pregnant, for the love of god!” he threw his hand on the wall. the wall cracked from the force. “i’m what?” she felt the world stopped spinning. she was hundred percent sure that her ears and head were deceiving her. he removed his hand from the hole he made on the wall, his body shaking from the amount of anger building up.

“noritoshi, answer me! what do you mean- i’m not pregnant, i had my period this month.”

“you are,” he shrugged. he felt something hit him in the back; looking down he saw the fluffy white pillow sitting by his feet.

he pointed to the bedside table where a sonogram perched up against a tissue box. she was about to lose her mind. “this is not funny, if this is your mean way of fucking me up because i won’t listen to you then this is just fucking cruel.”

he marched towards him, his hand went down on his chin, forcing her eyes on him, “until you stop playing your stupid games, until you stop treating your life like it’s nothing, until you consider my feelings and my worries, as your husband is valid, i do not exist in your life,” tears fell down her cheeks, “like you, i’m tired too.

“nori i-“

he left her before she could say a word. she broke into sob; her chest was pounding so hard that the blood pressure monitor was beeping. the door burst opened but it was not the face she wanted to see. she was immediately hysterical. satoru managed to hold her wrist down before she ripped the tubes and needles off her arms. “no, no, i want nori. where is he!” she screamed as satoru held her down. “you need to calm down, it’s not good for the baby,” satoru cooed, but she was not having it. he turned to shoko, “her cursed energy is skyrocketing, she’s going hysterical, do something!”

“let me go!”

shoko held out a syringe, “hold her down.”

she screamed, thrashing so rough that she almost slipped out of the strongest sorcerer’s hands. she managed to get a needle out before she felt another sharp pain on her back. shoko pulled the empty needle out and they retreated away as she fell on her butt backward. she was reduced to a babbling mess, her eyes drooped as she struggled to fight the waves of sleepiness hitting her one after another.

“tell him i’m sorry,” she croaked out, before everything turned completely dark.

the blood pressure monitor returned back to normal.

three days later;

“are you still going to ignore her? it’s been 3 days.”

“she needs to learn her place.”

gojo satoru disagreed. he eyed the head of the clan, shaking his head before standing up. he thought he could convince noritoshi kamo to visit his wife, but the man was as stubborn as- huh, her.

“i think she have learned enough, she’s miserable. you’re miserable.”

the man glared at the blonde man child, raising the cup of tea up for a sip. the tea doesn’t taste as good as the way she made it. he left her for 3 days and he found himself struggling to do everything alone. 

he, noritoshi kamo, 23 years old and the head of the kamo family, could not make a cup of fucking tea.

she always said that the best way to make tea depends on how long you let it steep. “too early and you won’t get the right amount of flavour,” she explained, her back facing him as he watched from the counter as she loomed over the stove, “but if you steep it way too long you going to burn the tea leaves and it will make everything taste bitter.” she turned around, a huge smile on her face that made his heart skipped a beat.

he frowned; the tea tasted bitter.

“she’s pregnant, she’s supposed to be crazy. you are supposed to be the wise one. she is going to carry your child for 9 long months, i can’t explain to you how long that’s going to be but she is allowed to be crazy.”

he dropped the cup on the floor when gojo’s hand grabbed him by his collar, pulling him up from his chair.

“now please, see your goddamn wife before i deck you in the mouth.”

“i will.”

satisfied with his answer, gojo’s demeanor changed and he was again the man child they all know of him. noritoshi could no longer focus on the report in front of him; not when his mind is full of her and only her.

would she forgive him? he wasn’t sure.

but he would spend his lifetime making up to her and the baby if that’s necessary.