#listen to me. listen to Me. i do not control the rate at which i complete tasks that I am under an NDA with myself on

[idkyetxoxo]

One | The Sweetest Sins | Daylight

Pairing - Rhysand x reader

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - None

|| series masterlist || next ->

Being mated to the High Lord of the Night Court was, according to nearly everyone in Prythian, a feat reserved for the most poised, powerful, and mysterious females alive.

Graceful. Elegant. A walking embodiment of shadows and seduction.

And then there was me.

Where Rhysand was a symphony of control—velvet words, razor-sharp smiles, and the ability to turn silence into a weapon. I was... considerably less so. 

A one-woman whirlwind of untamed commentary, emotionally driven decisions, and the attention span of a magpie in a gemstone shop.

The Night Court hadn't known what hit it. Honestly, I wasn't sure Rhys had either.

At the very least, he never admitted it out loud.

Tonight, the long table in the House of Wind gleamed beneath soft golden faelight, platters of food scattered across its polished mahogany surface like offerings before gods. 

The air buzzed with the scent of roasted meats, spiced vegetables and the soft whisper of wind through the arched windows.

Rhysand sat to my right, a portrait of composed elegance in black. His attention flicked lazily between his plate and the conversation around him, every movement precise, practised. 

The silver circlet in his dark hair that I had insisted he wore caught the candlelight as if even starlight bowed to him.

Meanwhile, I vibrated beside him full of energy.

Cassian lounged across from us, already three glasses in and visibly bracing himself for the storm that was me. 

Azriel nursed his drink with quiet vigilance, shadows curling lazily at his shoulders like they, too, were eavesdropping.

"So," I continued brightly, "I told him, 'If you hate females so much, your father must have given birth to you.' And he didn't laugh. I mean—come on. That's good, right?"

Cassian barked out a laugh so loud he nearly choked. "You did not say that."

"Swear it," I said solemnly.

Azriel made a quiet, strangled sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan while still looking at me like I was a particularly amusing wildfire. 

Probably wondering whether to douse me or let me burn.

Next to me, Rhysand didn't say a word. He simply reached over, calm and sure, and twisted a lock of my hair gently around his finger. 

A silent tether. A quiet reminder that he was listening, always but more importantly, that he adored me exactly like this.

Just that little hum of amusement—the kind that said, You're ridiculous, but you're mine.

Honestly, that had been the exact energy the first time we met.

I'd been dangling upside down from the shelves of a particularly large library in Velaris. I had my reasons, of course. One of which involved a particular book I just had to get my hands on and a very angry, very large librarian who'd chased me up there with fury.

I was laughing because panic does that to me sometimes when Rhysand appeared below in a sweep of darkness and tailored perfection, looking up at me like I was mad.

"You do realise," he had said, casually folding his arms, "that beam is weight-rated for manuscripts, not mad females."

"I'm testing structural integrity," I called back, trying to sound dignified as blood rushed to my head. "For... Night Court security."

He had tilted his head. Smirked. And then I had felt it—

A tug. Gentle, invisible, unmistakable. A golden thread sliding into place, stitching something warm and ancient into my ribs.

The bond. It didn't snap—it sang.

And I knew that he'd felt it too.

Because one second I was contemplating the dangers of gravity, and the next I was in his arms, shadows coiling around us like a curtain drawn between the rest of the world.

"You're mad," he had murmured, voice curling in amusement as he tucked a stray strand of my hair away from my face

"You caught me," I had whispered back. It was all I could manage in the moment.

His eyes had burned like starlight when he spoke his next words. "You're mine, after all."

And now, seated beside him, I still wasn't sure if he'd ever recovered from that first moment.

Poor High Lord.

But then again... he had kept me.

"You're glowing again," Cassian said, mouth full of food. "Did you go snooping around Helion's library again or is it just post-mating glow?"

I blinked innocently at him. "Or maybe I'm just hot, Cass."

"Or delusional," Azriel muttered, eyes still on his wine.

I stuck my tongue out at both of them like the picture of maturity and leaned dramatically into Rhysand's side. 

He, of course, remained stoic, like a marble statue that had been mildly inconvenienced by a mischievous bird. A bird now stealing food.

With zero remorse, I reached across his plate and speared a glistening honey-roasted carrot with the wrong fork.  My fork. His plate. Classic.

"Are you going to eat your own food... or just all of mine?" Rhys asked lazily, tipping his chin toward his now empty side of the plate like he hadn't already predicted this outcome.

I blinked at him with round, doe-like eyes. "Are you gonna eat yours?"

There was a pause, just long enough to imply this was far from the first time we'd had this conversation. Then, with the patience of a male who had clearly accepted his fate, Rhys exhaled, slow and deep.

Cassian snorted into his glass. "She's like a raccoon in a pretty dress."

"She's been stealing my meals since our first dinner together," Rhys said mildly, as if he hadn't already resigned himself to this fate centuries ago.

"You weren't eating your asparagus!" I declared. "And I was hungry."

"Whatever you want, darling" he replied.

I grinned triumphantly, commandeering Rhys's entire plate like a conquering general and stabbing another carrot. "I think we should introduce Nuala and Cerridwen into our marriage."

Cassian choked on his wine. Azriel didn't even bother pretending not to listen now.

Rhys barely blinked. "And why's that, darling?"

"So we can always have access to food like this." I popped the carrot into my mouth and let out a completely inappropriate moan. "I could die happy with a tray of these beside me."

Cassian leaned back in his chair, smirking. "If you two are looking for a third, you don't have to look far."

I waved a dismissive hand. "Nuala and Cerridwen would make it a third and a fourth, Cass. Keep up please."

Rhysand nodded sagely. "She's not wrong."

Then, just to add insult to injury, he scooped up a spoonful of velvety pudding, the good kind, the one I'd been eyeing since we sat down and held it up to me in offering.

I puckered my lips dramatically. He groaned like I was killing him slowly, but still fed it to me. 

The pudding was creamy and spiced just right, and I gave another content sigh that made Azriel shoot a look toward the ceiling like he was begging for the Mother's mercy.

Rhys's hand slid to my waist, and with zero warning, he pulled me into his lap.

"Keep stealing my food," he murmured near my ear, voice as low and dangerous as it was teasing, "and I'll have to exact revenge. Slowly."

I turned in his arms, grinning with no shame whatsoever. "Ooh, terrifying. What are you gonna do? Feed me dessert until I surrender?"

Rhys's smirk curved slowly, dark and full of promise. The kind of expression that said he'd already thought of a dozen ways to ruin me—sweetly, slowly, delightfully. 

"Something like that," he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth.

His fingers brushed just beneath the edge of my shirt—nothing improper, but possessive. And warm. Gods, he was always so warm.

"Come taste," I whispered, voice curling with mischief as I scooped another bite of the rich, spiced pudding. I held it up to my mouth, licking the spoon slowly before popping it between my lips with a sinful little hum.

Rhysand's eyes gleamed, half-lidded and amused. But I wasn't done.

I leaned in, a whisper of movement, and pressed my mouth to his.

The kiss was soft at first, teasing. My lips brushed against his with a slow, deliberate slide, like caramel melting on the tongue. Then I parted them slightly, just enough for the taste of sugar and cinnamon to linger between us.

Rhys responded immediately.

His mouth deepened the kiss, tongue slipping past my lips to steal the sweetness right from me. It wasn't frantic, not rushed just a deliberate claiming, a savouring. 

Like I was the dessert now, and he had every intention of devouring me slowly.

The whole table seemed to vanish. The candlelight, the food, even the cold mountain air. There was only Rhysand, kissing me like he was drinking in something he'd been thirsting for all day. 

Like I was his home, his heat, his grounding point.

He pulled back an inch, barely enough for breath, his lips still grazing mine. His eyes were molten, voice low and hoarse when he spoke.

"Delicious."

Cassian groaned dramatically flopping back in his chair. "I'm going to be sick."

"Lovesick pups," Azriel muttered under his breath, though the smallest hint of a smile ghosted across his face.

But I didn't care. Because Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, kept holding me like I was his greatest victory... and I was still eating his pudding.

"You're mine, darling," he murmured, thumb brushing across my waist like he couldn't stop touching me. "Even if I lose every meal to you, I'll still count myself lucky."

"Good," I whispered back, chest pressed against his, "because I'm keeping you."

With that, I slid off his lap in one smooth bounce of motion, practically vibrating with renewed energy. Like the kiss had been a jolt of sugar to my bloodstream rather than something to slow me down. 

My legs barely hit the floor before I tugged on Rhys's arm, wide-eyed and ready for chaos.

"C'mon," I chirped, full of mischief, "let's go do something fun."

Rhys didn't even blink. Just one perfectly arched brow lifted as he looked down at me like I was an adorable storm cloud wrapped in silk. "Fun?"

I tugged again on his hand, already halfway out of the chair before I halted mid-motion and turned back toward the table, eyes wide. "Oh! Wait—grab the pudding."

Rhys blinked slowly. "The pudding?"

"Yes, obviously." I looked at him like he was the unhinged one. "You think I kissed you just because I like you? No, no. I intend to lick the rest of that pudding off you next."

There was a beat of silence.

Cassian made a strangled sound. "There goes my dinner," he muttered, shoving back his chair as if he couldn't get away fast enough.

"I don't need to hear that," Azriel added flatly, already vanishing into the shadows like the spirits of his patience had finally fled his body.

A swirl of red and gold flashed at the edge of the dining room.

"I do," Mor said, breezing into the room with a glass of something sparkling and undoubtedly strong in her hand. Her golden curls bounced with each step as she flashed a wicked grin. "Please tell me someone's taking notes."

I grinned and threw my arms out dramatically. "Mor! Save me from these overgrown bats!"

She snorted. "Darling, if I tried to save you, you'd just end up dragging me into your chaos."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She came over, kissed the top of my head in greeting, and winked at Rhys, who gave her an arched brow and the faintest nod—some amused form of communication that probably meant we love her, but she's your problem now.

Then she turned, already backing toward the door with her drink in hand and mischief still sparkling in her eyes. "Sorry, darling. I'm heading back out. There's a wine-soaked rooftop and three dancers waiting for me."

I gasped, placing a hand to my heart. "Without me?"

"You're otherwise occupied," she said over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Have fun doing... whatever it was you planned on doing."

Cassian made another strangled sound. "I'm begging you all—stop saying things that make me picture them doing things."

"Then stop listening," I said sweetly.

"Then stop narrating," Azriel's voice echoed faintly from a distant shadow.

Rhys, for his part, didn't even flinch. Didn't look surprised. If anything, he just let out a low, amused breath, like he'd predicted this from the moment I sat down.

He tilted his head, ever so slightly, and the corner of his mouth curved in that lazy, lethal smirk that made knees weak across courts.

"You want to lick dessert off your High Lord?" he asked, voice silk-wrapped sin.

"I always want to lick dessert off you," I replied sweetly, tugging him toward the hallway with both hands wrapped around his wrist like a leash. "And you keep letting me, so really, who's to blame here?"

Rhys's laugh was low and indulgent. "One day, I will say no to you."

"No, you won't."

He didn't argue.

Instead, he reached back with his free hand, grabbed the little silver dish of pudding with a dramatic flourish, and held it aloft like a trophy. "Lead the way, trouble."

I beamed.

And as we strolled out of the dining room hand in hand, with the pudding held in one of Rhys's hands and my shoes clicking too loudly on the marble floors, I felt his gaze drift back to me. 

Steady. Fierce. So full of love it made my steps stutter.

And somewhere behind us, Cassian was probably still gagging, Azriel was probably begging the Mother for patience, and dinner had ended in complete romantic chaos.

But Rhysand—High Lord of the Night Court walked beside me like the stars had never burned for anything else.

Maybe power didn't need poise. Maybe what it needed was balance. Not a perfect High Lady, but a storm to match the sea. 

Someone who'd burn the world down with laughter and rebuild it with love.

And Rhysand... Rhysand had always known how to hold fire.

A/n - First part in what's going to be a very fluffy, chaotic, love-drenched series!

This part is all about setting the tone—a warm, messy introduction to the dynamics between them and how their bond snapped into place :)

Thank you so much for reading and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, I genuinely love reading your comments across all platforms. <33

Daylight tag list - @sttvrdustt @thirstyroses-world

[sophiethewitch1]

far distant and incredibly vague spoilers for www but putting it under the cut anyways

realising for some reason that at some point in all 3 wips im currently working on you get imprisoned. i would say i dont know what that says about me but i do i really do know what it says

[seonghwaddict]

23:46 — song mingi

in which your best friend is a little hard to wake up.

roommate!song mingi x fem!reader. genre. friends to lovers. fluff. timestamp. warnings. lots of kisses. wc. 1k. rating. pg-13.

lilo's notes. hiii here's a cute little mingi fic because i love him so much :3

listening to. you're mine, you!, chet baker

masterlist.

a quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you walk into the living room, finding your roommate fast asleep on the couch. mingi snored softly, sprawled out with his black playstation controler dangling from his hand for dear life.

you just wanted to grab a snack from the kitchen, but instead you made a detour to crouch beside the couch and take the controler from his hand as gently as you could. not that taking it from him forcefully would’ve made any difference; he could sleep through a category five hurricane. once you set the controller on the small coffee table, you reached for the glasses that squished against his nose.

he didn’t stir as you nudged his shoulder gently. at first you felt bad about having to wake him, but the distinct memories of him whining about his shoulder hurting after sleeping on the couch flashed through your mind.

“mingi…” you whispered softly, nudging him again, “mingi, wake up.”

after the third nudge he muttered something, though you could quite tell what. with your hand resting on his should as he pushed his face further into the pillow beneath his head, you sighed and moved to get up. but before you could register it, a hand wrapped around your write and pulled you down on the couch, legs tangling with yours and his other hand keeping you close by the small of your back.

you held your breath as he began moving you, practically trapping you beneath his large body as he drags himself halfway on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. his short, washed-out pink hair tickled your cheek as he lifted his head to look at you. you would’ve laughed at the tired expression of his face, all pouting lips and squinting eyes.

“i tried to wake you.” your voice came out a lot higher than you intended, not realising you almost felt flustered at your current position.

his eyes fluttered shut again and he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, making you tense for a moment before relaxing. his voice gravelly in his newly awake state, he spoke against the soft skin of your neck, “why”

“you always complain about your neck hurting when you sleep on the couch, i was trying to get you to move and sleep in your bed but you wouldn’t wake up.”

your answer has him humming understandingly, nuzzling his face further into your neck. your best friend was usually quite affectionate, however, this felt different from the more common cuddles during movie nights or occasional hand holding. you chalked it up to him not being fully awake, mind still hazy from his nap. at least until you felt the first of his kisses along your neck. they were so soft they were easy to miss, yet still the unmistakable brush of his lips that you sometimes found yourself wanting to feel against yours.

still, you didn’t protest, tentatively moving one of your hands up to brush through the hair at the nape of his neck. this only encouraged him, another hum vibrating against your skin. a soft sigh slipped passed your lips as his large hand moved to the small of your back to your waist, thumb carressing you through your flimsy white tanktop. with his body pressed against yours and his lips kissing anywhere he could reach comfortably, you relaxed, letting yourself lean your head back against the plush sofa.

“mingi,” you finally pulled yourself together to ask, “what are you doing?”

“just… just holding you,” he muttered against you. his kisses were tender and didn’t hold any sense of urgency, lazy presses against your pulse. “you feel nice, you smell nice, and you’re so warm. let me just hold you for a bit, please?”

it almost sounded like he was pleading when he asked you to let him do so and you found it hard to say no. in general, you found it hard to say no to anything he asked. so, you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper and making him lift his head to look down at you. moments turned into seconds which turned into minutes as your surroundings blurred and all you could think of was the tender look in his eyes as he leaned forward. he paused, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop, but at the sight of the slightest of nods he couldn’t hold himself back from brushing his lips against yours. his hand on your waist tightened for a second as he pulled away, holding himself up with his other hand, forearm supporting him as his face hovered above yours.

he took in the sight of you beneath him, gaze flickering all over your face as he tried to memorise the sparkling look of your round eyes and your tiny puffs of air. there’s a smile tugging at his plush lips, barely noticeable but enough to make your cheeks warm even more. and when he spoke, his voice was no longer rough with sleep, but a gentle whisper only for you to hear.

“please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

you almost laughed at the endearing question but opted to smile instead, your hands cupping his cheeks. “no, this isn’t dream.”

“good,” he spoke through a sigh, sounding oh so content, “you’re just so pretty.”

a comfortable silence washed over you as he lowered himself to press another kiss against your lips. this time he let himself stay longer, he found the taste of your lips addicting, getting lost in the way they feel against his tongue as he swiped it along your bottom lip. when you parted for air, he rested his forehead against yous, breath mingling. the rest of the night was spent through lazy kisses and loving words that left you confused at the relationship you shared with him. but before you could ask about it, you had both fallen asleep, wrapped in each others arms on the couch you had tried so hard to get him off of.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet

taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo

[aphroditessaturn]

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐓, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐓 || 𝐇.

pairing || homelander × fem!reader

summary || Homelander constantly destroys your underwear to the point where you have none left. In conclusion you force him to buy you new ones and have the whole media see it.

warnings || SMUT; we've got tittie sucking, fingering, sublander (I love that word) but also domlander? p in v, unprotected sex, big load (he's a supe so ofc), rough sex, did I forget something?

note || this is my first homelander you guys and sure ain't the last... idk what my problem is with these difficult men and making them soft, please reblog/comment and give feedback!

BLOGS | WEBSITE | AO3 | WATTPAD | TAGLIST

“Yes, and tomorrow you have an interview with Fox,” Ashley told Homelander as she trailed after him, clipboard clutched in her hands. The blonde nodded, not even listening completely because his mind was already on you.

He was only meters away from you and could already hear your light humming over the music that played in the background. Ashley kept talking to Homelander’s dismay, not that he wasn’t interested, especially if she was talking about his ratings.

However, you took over his thoughts and body, god, his body longed for you. With his heavy footsteps he walked towards his penthouse and thinking about every position he would put you in.

Homelander opened the doors, and Ashley was still there. He was close to cursing her out, but stopped in his tracks once he laid eyes on you.

You stood in front of the trashcan, throwing away your lingerie. Completely naked. His eyes went wide, as naked as the day you were born you stood there.

Ashley squeaked, holding her clipboard in front of her eyes, “I’m sorry, god, I’m so, so, sorry,” she apologized profusely. Quickly she run out of the room, shocked as to what she just saw and hoped that Homelander wouldn’t punish her.

“What the fuck are you doing,” he questioned you with a glare, slowly making his way over to you.

In response you pouted at him, pushing all your destroyed lingerie into the trash, “well, you see all my pretty lingerie is destroyed and now I have to throw them all away,” you looked up at him with innocent doe eyes.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re naked,” he pressed, although Homelander didn’t mind but he hated anyone else seeing what’s his.

“I have no underwear, dummy,” you teased him with a smile, one that turned his mind around. He had known for years by now and knew exactly that you acted dumber than you actually were.

His patience was waning and he fought himself to not look at your perfectly hard nipples touching his suit coveted chest.

“I can’t even wear my plain once because my handsome boyfriend ripped them when I was on my period,” you added, acting as if you didn’t know what else to do. Your arms snaking around Homelander’s neck.

“Then buy fucking new ones and don’t let anyone see you naked,” he growled as his hands found a vice grip on your hips. “Mhm, but you know the rule. If you break it, you have to replace it,” scolded him, rubbing your breasts against his suit covered chest and pulling on his concentration.

“Fine, take my card,” Homelander hissed, he wanted to get over this topic and simply fuck you. He pushed you back against the wall, his leather gloved hand stroking along the back of your thigh.

“Don’t think so, you will come with me baby boy,” you grinned at him, hooking your leg around his torso.

Homelander didn’t like that, he couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized and how would it look if a superhero was buying lingerie?

As if you could read his thoughts – which by now you could – you pushed back, caressing his cheek while pushing him back onto the sofa. He laid back with you on top of him, still gripping your waist in a way that was sure to leave bruises.

“Imagine how good your ratings would be if you buy your pretty girlfriend all that lingerie. Men would love the control you have, and women will love seeing a devoted boyfriend,” you whispered, praising him as you moved your cunt over his clothed erection.

He released a strained groan, already painfully hard, “everyone will love you,” you whispered into his ear. You leaned down, your nipple hovering over his lips.

You knew how much he loved sucking your tits and you knew what to say to get everything you wanted.

“And don’t you wanna choose what I should wear? I’m too stup-,” “Fine, I’ll fucking go with you,” Homelander hissed and switched you around, now on top of you and his pearl white teeth bared.

Your thighs clenched, your cunt already soaking wet, but you had to suppress the smirk of triumph.

Homelander latched onto your nipple, sucking on it hungrily while his right hand kneaded your unattended breast. You threaded your hand through his gold-blonde hair, harshly tugging on his roots.

His tongue licked around your nipple before gently biting down causing you to arch your back, “John,” you moaned.

With a ‘plop’ sound he released your breast, looking up at you through his beautiful lashes.

Slowly his hand trailed down to your core, the cool leather of his glove causing goosebumps to dance along your skin. He rubbed his thumb over your clit as his attention directed towards you other breast.

You could feel his desperation, it wasn’t from the conversation just moments before, no. It was because of the other team members had gotten his last nerve, VOUGHT had gotten on his last nerve, everyone had gotten on his last nerve.

“Oh, baby,” you mused with a loving smile, taking a deep breath. The pressure on your clit increased, and your breath quickened.

John immediately picked up on your behavior, you were close to your high. He inserted his middle and ring finger inside you, “fuck,” you groaned at the new feeling of his thick fingers.

“They’re all brainless idiots, can’t do a thing right,” he gritted his teeth, curling his fingers against your g-spot. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you tried to come up with words to response, John expected it from you.

“Mhm, yeah, they’re-,” your sentence was cute off by a loud moan slipping from your lips as he bit onto your nipple.

He sucked harder, a desperate call for praise, “you’re right, they’re all brainless, but you, you’re the best of them. John, you’re smart, pretty and the greatest supe,” it rolled off your tongue naturally.

To you he was perfect, he could do no wrong and maybe you were sick in the head for thinking that.

“Make me come, please make mommy come,” you pleaded, grip still tight in his hair. Without hesitation John brought you to your orgasm, a pornographic moan fell from your mouth as you bucked your hips up to meet his thrusts.

“You did so good, you’re perfect John,” you praised as your high rushed through your blood, god you felt amazing.

Homelander reeled in your praise, he needed it to function properly. While he enjoyed, loved, controlling you, telling you what to do and not to do, John worshipped the ground you walked on.

-----

Ahley organized the press along with fans to stand in front of your favourite lingerie shop, Homelander was for once wearing something casual – you forced him to.

“It looks better, trust me,” you told him with a pointed look, “you want them to love you, don’t you?” you added, knowing this would push him over the edge.

Now he wore dark jeans, sneakers and a matching polo shirt. He had a charming smile on his face as he escorted you into the store which was empty – expect for a cashier. Never before did you have the chance of shopping private like this, online shops were your best friend.

Your man looked around, already picturing you in some of the lingerie that catched his eye. “What do you think of this one?” you asked, showing him a blue piece, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just a baby blue lace set.

“It’s uhm, pretty,” boring, fucking boring, was what he wanted to say. You rolled your eyes playfully and continued looking around, until something unique came into your sight.

Quickly you took your size and vanished into the changing room, of course Homelander heard you and followed you curiously.

You put on the hot pink bra, the underside was see-through, and the top was decorated with flowers. The slip was the same, meaning most of your vagina was visible add to that it was connected with two strings on each side.

The accessory that made you pick it was the choker, it came with a chain that went down between your breasts and was attached to flower shaped belt which fitted your waist perfectly.

Homelander waited outside, impatiently looking around the room until you were ready. Then you opened the curtain, revealing yourself.

You smiled at him innocently, “how does this look?” you asked. He took a step towards you, hand tracing along the fabric and causing a shiver to run down your spine. Suddenly he hooked his point finger around the chain, slowly dragging you to him.

He leaned down, lips hovering over yours, “you’re playing a dangerous game little lady,” he whispered. You pouted, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly close.

“I’m not playing any game,” you told him honestly, playing with the tiny hairs on his nape. “Don’t think just because they’re many, many people out there I won’t fuck you till you can’t walk anymore,” Homelander threatened, but was it really a threat if you would enjoy every second of it?

“Promise?” you smirked and within a second you were pressed against a wall. Homelander slid his hand down to your core, in your mind you already knew what was about to happen.

With that he snapped the pink panties in half, pushing his two fingers inside you, “look at that, little slut is already wet,” he taunted you.

Your head fell back as he curled his fingertips against your cervix, his unoccupied hand came up to lift your leg around his torso.

“Does that feel good mhm? Come on let me hear you, let them hear you,” he rubbed his thumb over your clit, finally drawing a moan from you. Homelander kissed you, hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

He showed his dominate side, hand leaving your side to undo your hand around his neck. Slowly moving it towards his belt, a silent order to open it which you follow without hesitation.

The trousers of his suit fell to the ground, Homelander hosted you up into his arms and entering you in one stroke, giving you no time to adjust to his size – as if he ever did.

You moaned, biting your lip in pleasure. For a moment he stilled inside you, his heavy breathing hitting your skin. Slowly he moved his hips upwards, you could feel him stretching your cunt, feel him hit that spongy spot inside you.

“Fuck, you’re fucking me so good, so good,” you groaned, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Homelander grinned at you, “yes, yes, tell me how good I’m. Fucking tell me and I will let you cream all over my fat cock.”

“You’re good, fucking amazing, baby. No one compares to you, you’re so good,” you chanted as he pounded into you at a ruthless pace.

Sometimes you wondered if your cervix could form bruises, but what you knew was that it could become difficult to walk out of this store.

A tight knot formed in your stomach, pleasure building up and you gripped Homelander’s hand, guiding it towards your clit.

“That’s right, I’m fucking you and you love it, you love me. Say it, come on,” he growled, letting go of your thigh and you closed your legs around his waist, sucking his cock deeper in. You need to feel more of him.

His hand came up to your throat as you didn’t answer, stilling inside of you, “I said, tell me you love me, or I will fill you until my seed is dripping down your legs and you can’t take it anymore, but you little lady, little slut won’t get to come.”

Tears welled in your eyes, you wouldn’t even mind it and he fucking knew it, but for your own sanity you had to answer him. Play into his game, because in your sick twisted mind you enjoyed it.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much,” you whimpered, clutching your hands on his shoulders, begging him to move.

“You do, don’t you? Want me to make you come, want me to fill you up?” he asked, though he knew the answer he, wanted to hear it from you.

“Mhm, yes, want you to make me come, please, please and fill me up, I want it so bad,” you begged, and he finally moved again, rocking his hips up. They you begged him brought him closer to his high, he loved having you at his mercy, doing everything he wanted.

A pornographic moan slipped from your lips as he rubbed over your clit and hit your g-spot. You reached your high, the knot exploding and smashed your lips onto Homelander’s to muffle another moan.

He barred his teeth, releasing his cum into your cunt and his pace slowed down. “Come, paint me baby,” you whispered into his ear.

----

“These please,” you grinned at the woman working the register, letting a pile of lingerie fall onto the counter. Every sort of color and shape, nervously the woman cashed you up, “a bag?” she asked to which you nodded.

“That will be 300,36 please,” she said, “cash or card?” she added, looking at you and not daring to spare Homelander a glance.

You held out your palm to your boyfriend who huffed before putting his card into your hand, “thank you,” you said and laid the card down, then stepping aside once it signaled, “pin, “ you told him and gestured to the machine.

Homelander put in the pin while the cashier packed everything up, handing it to you, “thank you very much,” you smiled.

Finally, she found the voice to ask Homelander for an autograph, “oh, sure everything for my fans! You guys are the real hero’s,” he showed her his pearly white teeth and signed her card.

“We could do this a lot more often, go shopping together, maybe have a little lunch date,” you trailed off, teasing him.

Outside there was a lightening of reporters and fans, all wanted pictures and asked questions. In Homelander style and because of Vought, he answered some of them, but he had to keep himself together.

"What is it like to have such a devoting boyfriend?"

"Anything else you do for your girlfriend?"

"How is you future looking? The two of you are a beautiful couple!"

"Thank you, thank you! The future is bright and what my girl wants she gets, there is truly nothing I won't give her," he smiled at them brightly. You posed for pictures, getting bolder with every flash.

Homelander wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side to whisper in your ear. "You better behave little lady, I will punish you until you can't walk a fuckinf millimetre."

"Promise?"

please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Homelander fics, I have so many ideas

BLOGS | WEBSITE | AO3 | WATTPAD | TAGLIST

[viridian-dagger]

That You Are - 1

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x OC

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: sex worker!oc, age gap!, non-explicit discussions of sexual assault and a physical assault, vague descriptions of sex work and injuries, Langdon is straight up mean to her, other people judge her for her line of work, some insults, Abbot is highkey a simp for her, mention of Abbot being a widower. This fic is in part inspired by Pretty Woman which will become more relevant later. Smut in later chapters to come 💕

✨ this is a companion to Residuals by @eureka-its-zico but can be read on its own. Jenn's character Dr. Fullerton is featured in this ✨

word count: 5.3k

Author's Note: listen. i didn't intend to write this but Jenn got in my head and now here we are. i don't think this will be too many chapters, but it also was never supposed to be more than a one-shot so we see how that turned out. lmk your thoughts and if you want to be on the taglist 🖤

-----

She hates the way she can’t force herself to leave the waiting room. The only doctor she’s ever seen there who didn’t treat her like garbage was part of the night shift, and she’s pretty sure that he's long since gone. All she can do now is hope it’s not him who gets saddled with her. He has a way of making her feel worse than a client ever could.

But her face hurts, and she can’t bring herself to stumble back out onto the street without the pill. She knows too many girls who lost everything relying on birth control alone — she won’t let that be her.

Hopefully the nurses won’t ask too many questions, or the doctor believes her when she says the bruises are a few days old; she knows they look bad. She isn’t immune to the stares she’s been getting for the last few hours; mothers with disdain in their eyes as they shield their children’s gaze, the leering stares from men, the pitying looks from girls who think they know the fear she’s been living through. In a way, she's grateful for them. They think she’s just another party girl who trusted the wrong guy on a night out, and in a way they’re right. But while this would be the worst night of their lives, for her it’s just another day late she’ll be on rent.

So she ignores the looks, ignores the pain radiating from underneath her skin, ignores the way her pleasers dig into her toes and have long since gone numb, ignores the black dots that dance in the edges of her vision, and focuses on her rapidly dying phone battery and the crooning in her headphone that she wishes could tune out the man complaining to anyone who would listen about his treatment thus far, or lack thereof.

“Kat Thomas?” The intake nurse calls out, eyes scanning over the waiting room teeming with people, all suffering in different ways. She tries not to flinch at the pity in the intake nurse’s gaze when they make eye contact; she knows she’s seen this nurse before, and her stomach drops. She knows he is an inevitability now — she knows she’s a fool for hoping to see someone else, anyone else. 

She holds her head high as she walks toward the doors and the ER nurse who's waiting for her and away from prying eyes, but the click of her heels on the linoleum draws eyes like flame draws a moth, and she regrets ever sitting in the far corner. By the time she reaches the door, a hush has settled on the waiting room and she can feel the discontent stirring.

“So you’ll take some junkie whore but you won’t see me?” A man calls out, and the rage in his voice makes her toe catch on the waxed linoleum. She can see in perfect detail in her mind the way she’s going to be sent sprawling on the floor when her ankle wavers the same moment the nausea hits. But hands under her elbows stop her descent before it can begin.

The ER nurse who caught her has curly brown hair and a softness in his eyes she doesn’t see on many people; he knows what she is, but he doesn’t care. In fact, there’s something she can almost recognize as rage in his eyes when he looks away from her, eyes locking on someone behind her — undoubtedly the man who just called her a whore for all of Pittsburgh to hear — before they slide back to meet her gaze. 

“Do you need a wheelchair?” He asks, voice soft. The words die in her throat as she shakes her head before straightening out and pulling her limbs from his grasp. He withdraws without a fight, the small smile on his mouth unwavering as she steps away, toward another nurse standing at the door who wears another tight smile trying to hide pity, and she retreats into the all too familiar bustle of the emergency department.

She can hear his voice again, hard and stern, when the door closes, but the words are muffled by both the plexiglass and the chaos of it all that’s been kept out of view by the waiting room. She wonders if people would complain so much if they could see just how busy it is back here as she follows the nurse back to a room, and she can’t help but scan the faces of every doctor she can find who’s wearing black scrubs. There are four faces she doesn’t know, five really when she sees a woman in black scrubs disappear into a bathroom. But none of them are the one she's dreading, and for a moment she lets herself hope. 

The nurse gives her a pitying smile again when they enter the room and gestures to the gurney and the folded hospital gown that’s waiting for her. It almost makes her embarrassed when she realizes the gown will cover more of her than the dress she’s wearing, but she swallows it and gives the nurse a half-smile-half-grimace. 

The nurse turns to leave, and the words come out of her without her permission. “I know it’s a long shot,” she rasps, ignoring the way her throat burns and the way it coincides with the downturn of the nurse's mouth, “but is Dr. Abbot here?”

“I'm sorry, but no. He usually works the night shift, and left a few hours ago,” the nurse says softly. “Someone will be by in a minute to check on you,” she trails off, ducking her head to look at the tablet in her hands as she turns, clearly eager to leave if the speed the privacy curtain closes is any indication.

The moment the nurse is gone, she lets herself deflate. Stripping the dress off her body hurts; emotionally and physically. Her joints pull, her skin is raw, and it feels like every nerve ending is on fire. But the state of her dress just makes her sad; the glittery mesh is torn in multiple places, and the white satin is flecked in blood. The whole thing is going to have to go. 

Just looking at it makes her feel sick, but she refuses to think about the man who did this to her. She puts the concept of him out of her head and slips the hospital gown on. It chafes the bruises on her throat but she ignores it in favor of tossing her ruined clothing and the holographic platforms on the chair in the corner and making herself comfortable on the gurney. She wouldn't be surprised if it was hours before someone saw her. 

-----

If Jack is honest with himself (which he tries to be most of the time) it wasn't the vet patient dying that fucked him up this morning; it started way before that. It had been calling the time of death at 2:39 am on a Jane Doe who had been attacked and all but bled to death in the ambulance on the way in. Because when the call had come through 14 minutes before he had to call it and Bridget told him about the inbound sex worker found on the street, his throat felt like it was closing. Because he knew it could have been her. Because when they rolled her in on the gurney, black hair spread out like ink on the white sheets, blood spilling from her slashed throat, face bruised and swollen so bad she was nearly unrecognizable, he couldn't breathe. 

But then he saw it — more the lack of it — Jane Doe didn’t have a tattoo. She had a tattoo of a mermaid in the dead center of her left forearm, a beautiful thing he always wanted to ask her about but never got the chance. The realization it wasn't her had the vice of fear loosening its grip from his chest. 

He worked hard to save the girl (even though she wasn't her) and he probably let the effort go on longer than he should have, but the inevitability of her death couldn't be changed. He tried to let go after; let go of the panic that had invaded his senses, let go of the questions lingering in his mind. 

But the unease had stuck to him like a fly trap through the rest of the shift. It might not have been her, but damn well could have been. 

Losing the vet had just taken him out at the already shaky knees. And he held it together until he knew Robby was about to show up for his shift. Only then did he retreat to the roof. Only then did he let himself feel it all the way. 

He knew he wasn't going to jump, not when he had so many unresolved parts. Because more than anything, Jack craves the completion, to get the full image, the satisfaction of all the pieces coming together; it doesn't matter if the outcome is bad, it just needs to be done. And she is unresolved. 

So the first thing he does when he walks out of the hospital is call his therapist. Jack talks as he walks through the park, his therapist listens, and when they're done talking, Jack gets in his truck and drives home; the police scanner stays on low. 

He started listening to the scanner years ago, wanting to be prepared for anything. Prepared to come in on his day off. Prepared to go in early if he's needed. But it's only recently that he really listens for something. Any mention of a Jane Doe that fits her description, Jack has to see. Has to know if it's her. And thankfully it hasn't been yet. 

But he’s afraid it will be soon. His therapist, Walter, keeps telling him to talk to her the next time she comes into the ER. But he also knows he shouldn't, for any number of reasons. 

In fact, he has a list of reasons, detailing exactly why he should not speak to her or seek her out for any reason:

1. She's way too young for him, probably with baggage he hasn't the first idea how to deal with

She's younger than he has any right to even look at, younger than he thinks he could ever be comfortable with. And he knows her line of work isn't something people go into easily or with a lot of other options. The thought of her forced into that life unravels something in him that he thought he left in the desert overseas.

2. He's a grown man, with a lot of baggage he still isn't quite sure he knows how to deal with

Jack knows the life he’s lived hasn't been easy; tours and medic training and losing a foot and losing his bride days after she walked down the aisle to marry him. All probably before she was even old enough to drive. Maybe even before she hit puberty.

3. She's a patient (sometimes) and he's her doctor (sometimes)

These go hand in hand, because there are lines he told himself he wouldn't cross, lines he knows he shouldn't cross. And the biggest one was taking advantage of someone who he was duty bound to. Worst of all, it's a position he's seen lesser men take advantage of many times, and Jack has always enjoyed making those men regret it.

4. She could ruin him 

Despite all the things that he knows about himself to be true — he's standoffish, borderline suicidal, a workaholic, not quite cold but definitely not warm — the one thing he can't deny is that he’s never been able to do something in half measures. Jack can't do casual, not anymore; he tried after his wife died. He told himself that he couldn't commit to someone again, but the emptiness the one-night stands left haunted him. And he swore off flings after the last one left him bitter and hollow. 

5. He would happily let her ruin him if she wanted to

He feels like Odysseus tied to the mast of his ship when it comes to her. And he convinces himself that he’s resisted her pull until the next time she ends up waiting in a patient bay for him. He desperately wants to know her, wants to be pulled into her orbit, wants any part of her she'll give him. And he knows himself; he is already too attached to her. Because he doesn't even know her name (she always comes in with a different one) but it doesn't matter to him. 

And he knows he should tell someone, Ellis maybe, or Robby. But he also knows he won't, because he needs to see her. He needs to know she's alright. Because he knows it's a dangerous world out there, especially for a girl in her line of work. Because he’s already lost himself to her. Because the day he goes to ID a Jane Doe and it's her, he's going to shatter. 

So he drives home listening to the police scanner and recites his list while he packs away the anxiety and the emotions from the shift and starts ticking off the items on his day off list: he sleeps, he goes grocery shopping, he picks up his package from the post office, he picks up a new book from the library. And he hopes he doesn’t hear about her through the police scanner.

-----

The sound of the curtain being pulling back is what startles her out of her half aware doze; it isn't like anyone can get much sleep in the ER. But the loss of time still confuses her; he must have hit her harder than she remembered. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she can't really remember what happened other than the pain and the fear. But the memories around it — how he got her alone and how she got away from him — are what's missing. The more she thinks about it, the less she can remember even getting to this side of town. PTMC should have been an hour walk at least, and she can't remember making that walk at all.

But she puts that aside as she braces herself for him;  the condescending remarks, the accusations, and the threats of getting her arrested for prostitution. She’s taken every insult, every intimidation, every reproach and doesn't say a word. He'll never know what it means to live the life she does and how vastly different it will always be from his world; if not for the fact that he is a man, but also for the choices and opportunities that have been handed to him at every turn. 

She tries not to let his words stick too much, but sometimes she can't help but hear his voice in her head, sneering and snide as he walks out the door, gloves snapping, “I can't wait for the day you show up in the morgue instead of my ER.”

It was what she heard rattling in her head when she was losing consciousness under violent hands a few hours ago.

But the relief swamps her all at once when two female doctors walk in, neither of whom she'd ever seen before. One looked younger than her, by five years at least; her eyes widened and she fought to stifle the gasp that tore through her throat when she walked in. The other was the one who disappeared into the bathroom when the nurse walked her through the ER; she was confident, but not cocky, and despite the kind smile on her face, her eyes betrayed her pity.

She didn't want their pity, she was sick of it. For a second, her rage burns bright and hot, but it gets smothered instantly by shame. What right did she have to be angry at them? They could pity her all they liked, maybe she deserves it. She’s broken enough for it today. 

“Good morning, Kat. I'm Dr. Fullerton,” the doctor with the kind smile says. “I have a student doctor here with me. Is it okay if she comes in with us?”

She gets tired of watching the shock compound on the student doctor’s face and she turns away from their stares before agreeing half heartedly.

Moving her head was evidently the wrong move as the ringing in her ears comes back just then, and she can barely hear Dr. Fullerton’s question, but she’s been through this enough times to know what the question was. 

“I need Plan B,” she mumbles back. She doesn't really care anymore if that's not the answer to the question she asked, only that the sharp ringing starts to subside. Only now the bright, fluorescent lights are making her feel like her head is being bounced off the pavement again. 

She hears the muffled sound of satisfaction and agreement, before the wave of pain passes, and Dr. Fullerton’s voice now comes back, “—did you get your injuries?”

That's the question that always makes her cringe; they're never interested in how it actually happened. And even when they are, all it means is that cops are soon to follow. They don't need to know that some guy who was supposed to pay her decided he wanted to get his pleasure for free, and didn't like it when she said no. 

She flicks her gaze up to meet Dr. Fullerton’s eyes, pity now stowed away. She doesn't bother looking at the student doctor — she knows exactly what she'll find there. The shrug she gives gets no response, and she finds she can't look this doctor in the eyes and lie. So she looks away, down to her beaten up hands and says, “Took a nasty fall down some stairs.”

“That's one hell of a staircase,” the student doctor fires back, and if it were any other time she would have laughed out loud.

But her ribs scream even as she huffs out the mirthless chuckle, “You're not wrong.”

Dr. Fullerton looks distraught for a second before schooling her expression into something neutral. "Do you mind if I examine some of them? I'm worried about your right eye, especially. It's swelling up pretty good."

The thought of missing a shift sends her reeling. She needs the money, badly. Ivan took her rent money saying she never paid him out for last weekend. If she doesn't have the money by the end of the week, she'll lose her apartment, and being on the street is the one thing she really doesn't need right now. 

"Is that going to take a long time? I-I kind of need to get back to work…” she hopes they understand, hopes they see the urgency in her eyes.

Dr. Fullerton looks nauseous as she stares into the middle distance just above her head. It makes her nervous more than it makes her comforted by someone's care; if Dr. Fullerton wants to keep her there, to try and save her from this, she's dooming her to a life worse than what she has now. 

It takes a moment for the doctor to find her words before speaking. "It depends if the exam findings indicate anything that appears worrisome. Your wellbeing is important and I'm going to treat it as such."

The simple way Dr. Fullerton says it shocks her all the way to her bones. It's maybe the nicest thing she's heard from a doctor in a while — definitely the nicest from anyone on day shift regardless of the hospital. 

But as she watches the doctor’s slow, methodical movements and feels all at once like the feral cat she feeds sometimes outside her apartment. Skittish, wary, ready to strike out and escape. She supposes the image does fit as the doctor's hands move toward her face and she cringes away, expecting the pain.

"I'm going to apply a little pressure," Dr. Fullerton says, pushing her thumbs against her cheekbone first before moving them up towards her nose.

The gasp that escapes her is involuntary but cuts through the silence of the room like a knife, followed by a hiss of pain that makes Dr. Fullerton pull away.

Dr. Fullerton looks actually aggrieved as she sits back in her chair, small frown set on her lips. "I'm going to order a CT to rule out any facial fractures. Have you felt dizzy at all? Any bouts of nausea or vomiting since you...fell?"

She almost laughs; of course she has. The room hasn't stopped spinning since the first slap. Every blow that followed only made it worse. It reminded her of learning ballet as a little girl and getting dizzy when she lost her spot in a turn. But she also knows that telling them means more time in the ER, and she doesn't know if she can afford that. Especially not when she doesn't really know what time it is anymore.

"No,” she says dismissively, but as soon as the lie passes her lips her head throbs and her conviction wavers for a second, “I mean… I get a little dizzy but it's okay. Is the CT going to take a long time?"

Dr. Fullerton looks actually distraught by the idea of her not getting a CT scan and she decides she can try to wait it out as long as possible. But over her shoulder, she sees the one person she's been desperate to avoid since walking into PTMC.

"I'm super curious what your name is today? Val? Eva?" Dr. Langdon’s words land like a slap and she recoils as if he had as well. He leans against the doorframe, arms over his chest with a smug smile and she can feel the threat in his stance. He wants her to know he's caught her and he’s going to make her suffer for it.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Fullerton snaps, voice full of what she can only identify as rage and indignation. 

But he isn't phased, he just juts his chin towards her and smiles passively at Dr. Fullerton like he’s about to open her eyes to some unseen truth. And she hates how nervous it makes her. "She's a frequent flyer and has been flagged at multiple other hospitals for drug seeking."

But Dr. Fullerton’s mouth purses in disgust as she glares at Dr. Langdon over her shoulder. "Can I speak with you for a minute?" The doctor’s voice is clipped and angry, and it sends a sick satisfaction curling in her gut. Especially when she sees how it makes him sweat and watches the confidence die in his eyes. 

“I'll be right back, Kat, alright?" Dr. Fullerton says, and everyone in the room jumps when she snaps the gloves off her hands; the sound still makes her flinch as Dr. Langdon’s words echo in her head. 

"Okay,” she chokes out, ignoring the metallic shing of the curtain and the hiss of the door closing. 

The student doctor shifts back and forth from her toes to her heels, looking at anything but her. The girl is pretty in an innocent sort of way, and she knows with near certainty that this doctor has never met someone like her before. 

“So, is this your first day?” She asks, trying to break the tension.

“Oh! Uh, yes. It is. I don't think Dr. Fullerton said it but I'm Dr. Javadi,” she says back with a smile, holding her hand out for a shake. She can't help the wry smile that sneaks on her face as Dr. Javadi starts to second guess her attempted pleasantries.

She reaches out to shake the hand offered politely; her grandparents would have rolled in their graves if she snubbed the poor girl's handshake. “If it's not too rude, how old are you?”

Dr. Javadi’s eyes widen in alarm before she cringes and admits, “I’m actually 20.” The look on her face must have betrayed her surprise because Dr. Javadi is quick to follow with, “I swear I finished med school, I am a real doctor. I just-I had a lot of—”

“That’s awesome,” she manages to breathe out, which stops Dr. Javadi in her tracks. 

“Wait, really? You think it's cool that I'm a huge nerd who finished med school like 4 years before everyone else?” The doctor chokes out and she smiles.

“Yeah, it's really fucking cool,” she laughs, “I’m older than you and I don't even have my—”

The door hissing open draws her attention away from Dr. Javadi and onto Dr. Fullerton, who's bustling in the room so quickly she almost stumbles into another doctor's back. For a second, she's happy it's not Dr. Langdon.

But that's immediately overshadowed by fear. She's seen this doctor before, not as a patient but around. Dr. Langdon pointed him out to her once, the warning in his tone was clear but the words were lost in the haze of pain from her fractured collarbone. 

His eyes go wide as he scans her, and just for a second she sees shock and horror. But he shutters it quickly and steps aside to let Dr. Fullerton back into the room.

She can't deny how scared she is; he’stall and broad, hair salt and peppering at the temples. But his presence looms and steals the words from her mouth in response to Dr. Javadi.

She's instantly back to feeling like a cornered animal, and she knows she probably looks like it to the doctors in the room as well when all three of the doctors softened their postures.

Dr. Fullerton gives her a soft smile, "Kat, this our senior physician, Dr. Robby. I asked for his help during our assessment."

Her eyes cut back to Dr. Robby warily, "Hi," she deadpanned cautiously. She couldn't tell if they were preparing to kick her out or follow through with Dr. Langdon's threat to send her to jail. 

Dr. Robby gives her a small smile, tight but lacking pity. "It's just like Dr. Fullerton said; I'm just here to check on you. I also want to apologize on behalf of my resident earlier if anything he said upset you. That's not how we operate here."

It would have been funny if she wasn't so afraid he was lying; Dr. Langdon had been threatening her for months, ever since the first time she'd come in. She waits for the catch, for the caveat, for the hint of a lie. But he simply stares at her, waiting for permission. She nods, but hesitation lingers in her mind.

He approaches her like the scared animal she feels like, hands outstretched toward her. "Can you tell me how this happened?" He asks, gently taking her face in his hands presses on her cheekbones, just as Dr. Fullerton had. 

The pressure makes her vision swim and her eyes water and she forces out the words, "I took a nasty fall down some stairs." It barely tastes like a lie when her face feels like it's on fire, pressure moving closer to her nose and forcing a tear to track down her face. 

She winces, and surprisingly he stops, but his hands stay hovering slightly over her skin. "Does it hurt when I apply pressure?"

"Yes," she spits out, willing him to stop with her mind. 

"On a scale of 1 through 10," he asks, and she fights the urge to snarl at him.

"It hurts but I'll live,” she grits through her teeth, staring him in the eyes.

She barely notices his hands fully leaving her face, fighting against the tears gathering in her lashes, when he takes her arm in his hand, lifting and prodding.

The medical jargon starts flowing between the doctors in the room and she feels like a doll on a shelf; it's a familiar feeling for her. She lays back on the gurney when he directs her to, and lets him press on her stomach.

She finally zones back into the conversation when Dr. Robby starts "—a CT also for chest and abdomen along with an x-ray."

"Why?" Dr. Fullerton and Dr. Javadi ask at the same time. 

Dr. Robby gives her a sympathetic smile and moves his hands and presses on a spot that makes her groan in pain.

"That hurts, ya know," she gasps. 

Dr. Robby gives her a wry smile, "I know. You're sure you fell down a flight of stairs?"

Defiance rises in her chest and tastes like ash in her mouth as she snaps, "You calling me a liar?"

She stares him down, all the judgement and vitriol and pity filling her like acid. He wants to paint her as a victim, but she's a fucking person and she doesn't have time for this.

"Not calling you a liar," Dr. Fullerton cuts in, voice soft and pleading. "Your injuries unfortunately don't seem to be from falling and landing on concrete."

She almost feels bad for snapping at Dr. Fullerton but Dr. Robby's tone and condescending doubt override her sense, "I fell."

His humourless chuckle makes her want to scream and the disapproving smile that plays on his face fills her with rage. "It's okay if that's how you want to play this," Robby says gently, but the disbelief in his tone bristles. When she doesn't back down, he crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, shoulders curling inward as he shrugs. "We won't force you to share more than you're ready to, but we just want to make sure you're safe."

Safe, a hilarious concept for her. Especially after she's received more threats from PTMC doctors than any other hospital in the city. "I'm good. Great even" She deadpans, not backing down from his stare.

He sighs and nods, "Okay. Well, you're in good hands with Dr. Fullerton. She's one of our best."

Dr. Fullerton nearly runs out of the room after him when he leaves without a look back in her direction but she stops and looks back, eyes focused on Dr. Javadi who's been doing her best impression of a decorative plant for the last 5 minutes.

"Can you put in the orders for the CT, x-ray Robby suggested, and a urine analysis? Give her tylenol with codeine for pain. If her UA comes back negative for pregnancy, go ahead and put in for Plan B," Dr. Fullerton instructs and barely sees Dr. Javadi's nod before tossing a hasty, “I’ll be right back,” over her shoulder as she passes through the door, following after Dr. Robby. 

She and Dr. Javadi sit in silence, letting the moment pass, but she can't help but mumble, "I bet they used to date."

The startled laugh claws out of Dr. Javadi’s throat, but the panicked, half coherent protest just solidifies her opinion. While the young doctor has clearly never considered the idea before, she can always tell. Maybe it's just the line of work she's in that gives her the hint, but the signs that those two were lovers are hard to miss. 

“Well, anyway, I'm gonna get you a cup for the UA—I mean the urine analysis—and then get you lined up for CT and x-ray. I'll be back in a minute,” Dr. Javadi smiles nervously. 

“Wait,” she calls out, and Dr. Javadi stops in her tracks, eyes wide. "What time is it?”

“Oh, god, yeah, uh it's…” she trails off, pulling up her sleeve to look at her watch, her expensive watch, “Almost 11am.”

She gives the doctor a smile and turns away, giving the out she knows is needed. She decides to wait for the scans, hopefully they don't make her wait too long to take the pill. But as long as she can get out by 4, she can make it.

-----

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[holylulusworld]

A new home

Summary: He deserves love.

Pairing: Wakanda!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (Steve's adoptive sister)

Warnings: brother’s best friend trope, fluff, kind of secret relationship

Square filled for @avengers-assemble-bingo “Bucky Barnes Birthday bingo event": Square 4: Brother’s best friend

Square filled for @buckyboybingo: Square 16: Almost caught

Square filled for @fandom-free-bingo: Half-Baked Edition: Square 7: “You are so beautiful.”

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: C1: Wakanda!Bucky

Card: B004

Rating: Teen

A/N: In my story, the reader is Steve’s adoptive sister, which makes the story more inclusive.

Steven Grant Rogers. Captain America. A hero. The golden boy. A fugitive now. A man on the run.

Why? Because he saved his best friend. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky to his friends.

Not only are Steve and his friends on the run. You, his adoptive sister, are on the run as well. You’re not adopted legally. Hell, his parents are long gone, and you never signed any papers.

Steve found you some years back in an abandoned Hydra base. The bastards were looking for people to experiment on, and you ended up in a cell. Steve came just in time, saving the day and you.

From that day on, he called you his little sister. Not related by blood, but a strong bond of trust, loyalty, and love.

You, along with Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Bucky, and Steve, found refuge in Wakanda. It’s not the worst place to live. The truth is, it’s so much more peaceful and advanced than the old world you were living in.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?” Steve worriedly watches you stare in the distance. “Do you regret following me?”

“Never,” you reply without missing a beat. It’s the truth. Since the day Steve saved you, he has been nothing but good to you. He never lied or let you down. He’s, in any way, your big brother. Related by blood or not. “I just wonder what the others are doing.”

“Tony is… He gets around somehow.” He says, not convinced himself. “T’Challa checked on Rhodey’s condition for me. Clint and Lang made a deal to get out of prison. It’s not ideal, but…”

“They are free,” you end his line. “That’s good. They both have kids and all. I wouldn’t want them to end up being in prison. Our fight wasn’t their fight.”

“This fight should’ve never happened. Zemo did a good job splitting the Avengers,” Steve sighs deeply. He’s tired of saving people while hiding in the shadows.

“I understand that Tony was mad, but—” You nervously rub your face. “Bucky wasn’t himself back then. Tony should understand this. He’s a smart man.”

“One of the smartest people I ever met,” Steve says, sadness in his voice. “Maybe, one day, we can look back at that moment without anger.”

Steve walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You look out of the window one last time before turning around and walking away.

He looks almost at peace when you watch him from afar. A few months ago, Shuri removed the programming controlling Bucky. No more Winter Soldier. No more being controlled by trigger words.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bucky murmurs as you sneak inside his thatched-roof hut. He sighs because you won’t listen to him.

“I want to be here,” you reply as you sit down on the makeshift bed. “If you do not join us in the palace, I’ll stay here with you.”

“Y/N,” Bucky says as he enters the hut to sit next to you. “If Steve finds you here, he won’t like it.”

“Why?” You move a little closer to place your hand on his flesh hand. “You’re his best friend. He fought his friends to protect you.”

“You’re his sister,” Bucky softly whispers your name as he looks at you with soft eyes. “You’re so beautiful and too good for me.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you angrily reply. “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

You look at him, gently stroking his hair. It’s a little longer now; it falls past his shoulders and is slightly wavy. You press a soft kiss to his bearded cheek and giggle as his full beard tickles your skin.

Bucky softly smiles, letting you run your hands over his chest. He’s wearing a sleeveless reddish-burgundy top. The one you bought for him. Over this, he has a dark blue shawl draped loosely over his shoulders and knotted at his chest.

“I don’t deserve you.” You cup his face and lean closer to kiss him, soft and careful. Bucky is not ready yet for the next step.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I don’t care about your past. This wasn’t you, Bucky. I know the real Bucky, and Steve does too. Nothing else matters.”

Bucky sighs against your lips. He’d love to tell you that he feels the same, but this would only encourage you to stay with him. Deep down inside, Bucky believes that Steve would never accept your relationship and that you are too good for him.

“Stop thinking too much.” You press your forehead against Bucky’s. “Steve would be happy if he knew. He loves you like a brother.”

“Last time, we almost got caught. You shouldn’t stay here or be around me. Steve would turn his back on me, knowing you sleep here.”

“We are adults, Bucky,” you kiss his forehead. “And we didn’t do anything wrong. We slept together, nothing else. Even if we…” You giggle and hide your face in his neck. “You know… Steve couldn’t do anything against it.”

“He’d kill me if I did dirty things to you.”

“Dirty things,” you tease. “You want to do dirty things to me?” Lifting your head to meet his gaze, you smirk. “What kind of dirty things?”

His cheeks are shades of pink when you look at him. “I wouldn’t… I mean…”

“I was being a tease, Bucky.” You peck his lips, careful not to pressure Bucky. “Do you want me to stay? If not, I’ll go.”

“Stay.” He carefully touches your hand. “Please stay tonight.” He nuzzles your cheek. “I have a second pillow for you.”

You smile because he slowly opens up to you. Love is something Bucky hasn’t experienced in ages. But now that you all have found a new home in Wakanda, he has the chance to explore his feelings.

Both of you lie down. Bucky wraps his arms around you and allows you to rest your head on his chest. Your heart flutters as he holds you a little tighter and says, “I’ll ask Steve for an allowance to ask you out on a date.”

Tags in reblog.

[legendofmorons]

Your honor, I humbly submit an idea that has not left me alone for a solid few months. Seriously. I can’t escape it.

Reader is a hero. Well, kinda. They are a hero in their dreams in the most literal sense of the phrase.

When they were younger, they had this incredibly strong love for the Legend of Zelda and Mario and all manner of games where you could simply help people for the sake of doing good. They weren’t too shocked when their dreams took a more realistic turn. As they slept, they felt like they were living a second life where they were the hero. They would go around solving problems, collecting items, and generally saving the day. Some nights, the dreams would be from different times, based on different adventures, or fighting different people.

Those dreams had always felt extremely real to Reader, yet they knew they were just dreams. When morning came, they moved on.

That was the norm until a strange portal appeared in front of them. The summer was coming and they had no better plans, so they threw caution to the wind and stepped through. When they came to, they found themselves clad in the same clothes they wore in every dream, surrounded by the items they had grown so familiar with adventure after adventure.

They had gathered their things, realizing they instinctively knew how to fight, similar to what had happened on that first night. They wandered the area, heroic persona seemingly taking control, heading towards a town and immediately solving problems.

In fact, that was how they found the chain, while attempting to solve another problem. Something told them to keep their name close to their chest and they weren’t in the business of going against their gut, so they listened. They used a nickname in a group full of nicknames.

A long while of traveling and growing trust (and one particularly heated story rendition where the reader just plain forgot to censor their name) and Reader had shared their name with the group. They were met with stunned silence which was, admittedly, not the reaction they were expecting.

As it turned out, each of those dreams became stories to these heroes, acting as a guide on how to act, what to try. In their eyes, Reader was a hero of story and legend, someone kids played at being.

How do you think the boys would move forward from this?

-VS Anon

Dreamscape

Pairing: Chain & reader

Rating: G

Notes: (Y/n/n) - Ypur nick name. I wrote the opening and then skipped the middle, I hope it's okay. I just really wanted to write the meeting.

Summary: You find yourself in the world of the dreams you played hero in, but apparently those dreams were more real than you thought.

Warnings: none.

Other: I saw you submitted something along these lines more recently. VS, do you want a second take on this? I am willing to do another take, haha. As always, if I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You have always had a vivid imagination, at least according to those around you. But you can't really argue. After all, your dreams used to feel like a whole other world. A second life of sorts.

You'd loved games where you played a hero. Legend of Zelda? Amazing. Mario games? Absolutely.

Over the course of your life, you built what would have been quite the legacy in your dreams. You had countless items and had even been blessed by a sages.

Summer hangs in the breezes, due to start any day.

So, when a strange purple portal with a spooky energy opens up before you, you go through it. You don't have much else going on, and don't imagine anything too weird coming of it.

A shield, that was gained from a forest. Wooden with metal enforced ages and a beautiful swirling design carved into it.

You emerge in a small clearing with birds song cheerily overhead.

In front of you is a pile of items. Items that you know, because you collected them in your dreams.

A sword, gifted by the ruler of a fairy kingdom. The blade is enchanted to never break and to absorb any malice.

A small stachel that clips to a belt that is a bottomless bag. Anything you put in there appears in your hand once you reach in and think

A small cluster of potions. One that heals, one that provides stamina, and one that protects from fire.

Even the small flute from your travels.

"What the hell?" You murmur, looking at your hands.

You realize then, belatedly, that you are in the same outfit from your dreams. The leather armor on your limbs and the breathable fabric comfortable.

This is officially Weird, with a capital 'W'. This- doesn't seem like a dream. Not at all.

Ypu gather your items, securing them as you have many times before. You brush yourself off and look around for more details.

The clearing you're in is nice. Wild flowers are scattered about and there's a rabbit at the edge.

A river runs through it.

Well, your best bet is to find a town or something, and you heard once that towns are often near rivers. So, in theory, if you follow the river, you'll be okay.

You head off, following the river downstream and hoping for the best.

-------

After two days of travel you have come to a few more conclusions.

First of all, you can fight. Like- really well. You fought of monsters that included a lynel, some lizards, and several bokoblins.

Second of all, walking for two days straight sucks but also you aren't as exhausted as you probably should be.

And third of all, this is definitely not a dream.

You're starting to wonder if this second life was ever a dream.

The third day you find a small town, but a town nonetheless. Thank whatever it is that looks out for you.

You make your way towards the store, hoping to stock up on arrows and food. You've accepted this is your life for the moment, might as well be prepared.

Unfortunately, while lost in thought you trip and stumble into someone. You are both sent sprawling to the ground.

With a groan, you rollout of them. You sit up and say, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" A male voice asks.

You turn to look at him and nearly chokes. You find yourself staring at the Link from Skyward Sword.

Okay, this is a lot.

"Uh-" You manage eloquently. Blinking as you try to formulate some kind of response.

"Did you hit your head?" Another male asks, he has pink hair. That's another Link, the one from Link to the past and s several other games.

"I think I might have." You frown, pushing to your feet.

You look around the group and find it made up entirely of Links from different games.

"That's no good, you need a potion?" Asks Twilight Princess Link.

"No... Just a little dazed." You wave him off, "Ever since I walked through a portal it's been a little weird."

"You walked through a portal too?" Asks Wind Waker Link.

"Yeah... Why?"

"I guess you're supposed to help defeat the shadow." Muses what is probably an older version of Majoras mask Link.

"Maybe."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, I'm Twilight." The Link in a wolf pelt says.

"I'm Time."

"Legend."

"Hi, I'm Wind!"

"Wild."

"I'm Warriors."

"Hyrule!"

"I'm Sky."

"Four."

You know these are all nicknames, so you decide to give your own nick name. You have a feeling your real name will cause- a scene.

"I'm (Y/n/n)."

-------

Time can't stop thinking about the connections between you, (Y/n/n) and the hero (Y/n). You both have the same items, the same personality, and even the same appearances.

The hero you remind him of is legendary, chosen not by Hylia but by a deity before any remembered. A hero chosen Fierce Deity.

He comes back to the conversation in time to catch the tail end of your story.

"Ams then my friend was like "Stop hiding from them, they don't remember ypu tripping two years ago, (Y/n)."

"What?" Hyrule chokes.

"You're name is (Y/n)?"

About time. Fierce purrs from the void inside Time's mind.

"Uh- yeah?"

"You're The (Y/n)?!" Wind demands.

"Oh stars." Time mutters.

"I mean, maybe?"

"You're The one who slayed the hydra of Catan?" Wild blinks.

"Oh. I mean, yeah. That wasn't a big deal." You shrug, "It needed to be done."

"You rode a tornado!" Legend accuses.

"What? No I got swept up in a tornado."

"You knew the original sages before Skyloft even exsisted!" Sky gasps.

"Yeah?"

"You're the biggest hero ever." Warriors manages, sounding awed, "How are you unaware?"

"Uh...I didn't think that stuff mattered?"

"Are you kidding? Kids play games where they pretend to be you." Four says, looking horrified at your unawareness of your importance.

"Oh. Neat?" You say shakily.

This makes no sense, your dreams - if they were ever that - never seemed like you would be a hero of legend important enough to be known millenia later across different timeliness.

"You really don't know." Legend muses wryly.

"Glad I helped?"

"You are telling us all about your adventures." Wind informs you.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised. 

7PM. 

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting. 

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself. 

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision. 

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..." 

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey. 

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both. 

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts. 

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library. 

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him. 

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—" 

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale. 

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping. 

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—” 

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips. 

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent. 

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin. 

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” 

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all. 

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[oddballwriter]

All I Want is Forever

Summary: A blurb in which you are a vampire and in a relationship with the MK system and Khonshu likes to nag you about how you take a bit of what’s ‘his’.

Warning: Reader is mentioned to and is actively watching the moon boys sleep in this, it’s an endearing thing. Mentions of blood drinking (both implied for feeding and also for sexual purposes). Implications that Steven’s a monster fucker. Khonshu being a pain in the ass and an asshole. Not proofread so beware of any mistakes I wrote this around midnight and I was simultaneously watching The Last Unicorn.

Author’s Snip: Vampire posting time 🖤🦇

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word count: 780

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sergeant102105 @ingoldthewizard

It wasn’t creepy.

Well, it was. It was creepy, but it technically wasn’t on par with the fact that Steven, Marc, and Jake didn’t mind it.

Well-

Okay- more like Steven and Jake liked it and Marc didn’t say anything to not ruin whatever joy the other two got from you watching them sleep, but you could tell that Marc understood that the gesture was endearing rather than… predator. Which you wouldn’t put past anyone considering that the whole concept of having a vampire watch you sleep was seen as a predatory thing in film and media over the centuries. But they knew you’d never do such a thing to them. Never take without permission.

Even when you first met each other, they already seemed to know that you weren’t one of the “bad ones” let alone knowing what you are from the beginning. You weren’t sure when exactly you two crossed from being casual acquaintances in the night where you’d occasionally join them on local missions and get your feed that way - to a fully committed relationship, but you were there now and had crossed many other lines in the relationship, and done many things that you’d most likely see in adult rated monster romance novels, of which you found out Steven had a secret stash of in the flat. But there was one that you hadn’t crossed. One that you personally never wanted to cross.

You’d be lying if you said that you never wanted to turn them. It was this strange irk that sat in your chest and made you clench your jaw, wanting to bite. With all the years that you’ve been around, you’ve learned to control all of your irks to the point that you can hardly feel them anymore unless you let them be there. But this one sat even when you tried to shake it off. But you had enough willpower to keep it away from them.

Even if you liked the thought of being the same in that sense, you could never. You liked them this way. Warm. Breathing. Heart beating. Life still in them. It made them so beautiful to you. But even if you did want to make them yours there was one thing in your way.

You can always feel him in the room at a certain point as you watch them sleep, and it’s not different when you sit there on the edge of the side of the bed gently petting Steven’s hair as he sleeps there sound asleep. You feel the slightest gust of wind behind you and that feeling of no longer being alone in the room, coupled with the high and mightiness that Khonshu carries in the air with him, but you just continue on watching Steven’s chest slowly rise and fall and the slightest sound of the body’s heart beating until dusty old bird speaks.

“You can not have them.” he bellows out, “They are mine. They are my avatar.” he reinstates.

“I don’t want to have them.” you remind him. “If I wanted to I would have done it already. Steven’s given me his neck a dozen times already. I could have easily done it then.” you tease.

“I have told the little bug not to do that. I have told him that the blood in that body is mine on a technicality and that he’s not to waste it. But he doesn’t listen to me.” Khonshu complains. You just roll your eyes and say “Don’t kink shame him.” under your breath.

Khonshu stomps his foot, exclaiming “He could use that blood to spare when they’re harmed in battle that I assign them.”.

Steven sturs in his sleep at the sound but you turn back to him to gently shush him and lull him back to sleep. “You assign them plenty and replenish them when they need it. Don’t act like you can’t.” you scold him. “And don’t act like you don’t keep them from aging. I can see the changes of time in every living thing I see, and I don’t see any on them. They can sit by the both of us and be fine.” you tell the god.

“As long as they’re here with me forever, regardless of how, I’ll take it. It’s that simple,” you explain. “I prefer them like this anyways,” you add. “Steven as a fledgling would be a hassle anyway. He wouldn’t eat anything straight from the source. And Jake’s a messy eater in general.” you claim.

“But if you ever set sights on a new potential vessel then feel free to toss them right towards me. I’m sure I can figure something out.” you joke.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jamil Viper - Nightmare Suit Vignette

”From all the children to the witches flying through the sky”

[Halloween Town – Dr. Finkelstein's Lab]

Jamil: Sally-san, I've made a dish sample. Could I ask you to taste test it?

Sally: Of course, I don't mind at all. In fact, I was waiting for you to say something, since it had been smelling good for some time now…

Jamil: Is that so. Well, I do hope it suits your taste… Try it with this sauce here.

Sally: There are a lot of finely chopped ingredients in this sauce. I wonder how it will taste.

Sally: …Oh, this is delicious! You really brought forth the flavor of the herbs.

Jamil: That's right. Do you think the others in Halloween Town will like it?

Sally: I know I like it. But hm… I think the folks in this town would prefer it to be a little more acidic.

Jamil: A little more acidic, I see. Should I add more vinegar, or add fruit to the sauce…?

Sally: There was that one plant with the huge leaves, remember? What if you were to chop up the stem and cook it together?

Jamil: Huge leaves…? I think I know which ones you're talking about, but just in case, can you point out…

???: Sally, help me out here. At this rate, I'll lose my head.

Sally: Jack…! You look so troubled. What's going on?

Jack Skellington: No matter how much I think about it, I can't figure it out, so I feel like I'm going crazy. I need your advice.

Jamil: …Looks as though this is a serious matter. I'll leave you two be.

Jamil: Now that I have received Sally's thoughts, I'll proceed with fixing the dishes. The two of you should have a good talk together…

Sally/Jack Skellington: WAIT!!

Jamil: Eh?

Jack Skellington: I'd like you to listen to what I have to say too, Jamil-kun. I need to figure out a way out of this funk.

Sally: I'd like to ask your help as well. There's no way we can leave Jack like this. Please, help him.

Jamil: …O-Okay, then. If both of you are going to insist like that, I'll join in.

Jamil: So, what's the issue you need help with?

Jack Skellington: It's about the Halloween preparations. I heard that in your world, you guys do some sort of "illumination" event.

Jack Skellington: So I had this thought… What if the Jack-o'-Lanterns light up right as I appear?

Jack Skellington: Wouldn’t it be grand if the lanterns lit up one by one as I walk forward!?

Jack Skellington: …Only, I just can't figure out how to get the timing of everything being lit up right.

Jamil: Wait, so you've already decided to do it!? Shouldn't you determine whether it's actually feasible, first…?

Sally: This is how Jack always works. Once he comes up with something, he won't back down.

Jack Skellington: Sally, Jamil-kun. Please, give me some good ideas!

Sally/Jamil: …...

Jamil: Well… An illumination would definitely liven things up.

Jamil: Back in our world, we have certain programming…

Jamil: We generally have people with specialized knowledge use specific tech to control that sort of illumination.

Jack Skellington: Well, that's wonderfully useful to know. Is that something we would be able to do, as well?

Jamil: I wouldn't really know how to do it. Even in our world, there are only a handful of people who would be able to pull it off.

Jack Skellington: Hmm… I wonder if there's any way we can make it happen.

Jamil: Right… What if you were to ask Dr. Finkelstein?

Jamil: I hear he's an excellent scientist. He may come up with a good answer.

Jack Skellington: I see, you're right! I wonder if he's at home right now.

Sally: No, he's out, helping with preparations. I think he should be in the town center…

Jack Skellington: Alright. Well then, I'll head off to find him!

Jamil: I do hope you find a solution. And with that, I'll go back to finishing my work.

Jack Skellington: What are you talking about, Jamil-kun! You're coming with me!

Jack Skellington: I have no knowledge of how things work in your world. I need you to explain things to the Doctor for me!

Jamil: No, wait, I need to finish preparing the food… Sally-san, can't you back me up here?!

Sally: Once Jack starts saying something, he doesn't listen to anything else.

Sally: I'll let Trey-kun and the others know, so… Please take care of Jack for me.

Jack Skellington: Thanks, Sally. Okay, now that that's settled, let's go right now!

Jack Skellington: COME, COME, HURRY, HURRY!

Jamil: Fine. I understand, I'll join you. …Why am I always resigned to the same sort of role wherever I go?

[Halloween Town – Center]

Jack Skellington: Alright, we made it to the town center. The Doctor should be setting the decorations up around here somewhere.

[nyoom!]

Jamil: !! Jack-san, stand back!

[thud! roll, roll…]

Jamil: Why did half a pumpkin come flying at us!?

Jamil: Oh, it's been sliced so beautifully… Wait, I mean, what just happened?

Halloween Town Resident: Huh? Oh hey, it's Jack and Jamil! You guys just showed up out of the blue, that surprised us!

Jamil: We should be the ones saying that! Was it you who threw that pumpkin at us?

Halloween Town Resident: No, not at all! We didn't do anything! It was all because of this big guy slicing that pumpkin in two.

Jamil: This big guy?

Jamil: Are you talking about this thing with the huge cutter? It just looks like it's a sharp blade held between two long poles.

Jamil: They're using something this big just to slice pumpkins in half? Or maybe… nah, it can't be.

Jack Skellington: Oh, is this your first time seeing something like this? Then, I bet you don't know about this huge box with all these spikes inside.

Jamil: This big box…? I'm afraid I don't. What is it used for?

Vampire: It's to squeeze the life out of… fresh juice! Heeheehee!

Jamil: Ach! He just popped out of nowhere, said his piece and then left again…

Jamil: But seriously, juice? I feel like this would be pretty difficult to use to squeeze fruits… I think I won't think further about it.

???: Ah, Jack-san. So, you were over here. I've come to collect you.

Jamil: Jade? What do you mean collect him?

Jade: As soon as he heard of the concept of illumination, he said, "This won't be enough!" and ran off so forlornly…

Jade: And so, were you able to concoct some brilliant idea, Jack-san?

Jack Skellington: Well, that's… Not yet. I haven't come across something that just screams "This is it!" yet.

Jade: If you find yourself in a quandary, please don't feel the need to keep it bottled up inside yourself. Both I and Azul would be happy to be of help.

Jamil: Hey, don't try to peddle your business here of all places. Seriously, you Octavinelle folk are always on the lookout for opportunity.

Jamil: We're actually searching for Dr. Finkelstein to ask for his advice. Have you seen him at all?

Jade: I'm afraid I haven't. Vil-san should be helping out nearby, perhaps you could ask him?

Jamil: Vil-senpai…? Oh, that might work! Jack-san, what if we were to ask Vil-san for his thoughts?

Jamil: He's an actor… He has experience in working on projects that garner a lot of attention, so he may be helpful for not only the illumination, but also on various ways to implement it.

Jack Skellington: Is that right? I might be able to really learn something by talking to him. Let's head over to Vil-kun right away!

Jamil: Vil-senpai, thanks for taking the time. We were hoping to get your take on something for Halloween…

Jamil: Jack-san is saying that he'd like to appear before everyone in a very flashy manner, with a resounding illumination.

Vil: The most important scene to prepare in any production is when the main character appears, yes. I support your plan to enhance that moment. However…

Vil: Halloween Town doesn't have any sort of specialized equipment of that sort… I feel as though it would be difficult to set up some elaborate lighting scheme as of right now.

Malleus: There's no need to use any human-made equipment. I can enhance Skellington's appearance with my magic.

Jamil: Right, using this guy was also an option, hm.

Malleus: Would you be wreathed in light? Shall we raise fireworks into the sky? Ah, or perhaps we could make it snow.

Jack Skellington: Oooh…! That's amazing, Malleus-kun! I bet you could even make it rain bugs to frighten every…

Vil/Jamil: ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vil: You want to rain down bugs? Absurd! That idea is the worst thing I've ever heard.

Jamil: YEAH! …Ahem. Pardon my outburst.

Jamil: Jack-san, you're the Pumpkin King. Should you not rely on your own strengths to give your townsfolk a scare, instead of using bugs?

Jamil: Even if we were to secure Malleus-senpai's cooperation… This is the only time we'll be able to help you with this, Jack-san.

Jamil: Next time, you'll have to bring about Halloween by yourselves, just like your previous years.

Jamil: If we were to implement a method that can even be executed by the others in this town, then it can be utilized for future years down the road.

Jack Skellington: Jamil-kun… You're an inspiration! You were not only thinking of this Halloween, but for the next ones, too.

Jack Skellington: I get it. I won't rely on magic or bugs. Let's think of something that all of us Halloween Town residents can do.

Malleus: Hm… It seems I am unneeded. Call me if you change your mind.

[Malleus leaves]

Jade: Oh, my… Is he sulking, now?

Vil: He isn't that much of a child… I'm sure. Come now, let's get this discussion started.

Jamil: So, we need to come up with a method to give him a grand appearance without any specialized equipment, or using magic, huh…

Vil: Yes… This may be a cliché, but what about an entrance while riding something?

Vil: The higher up one is, the easier it would be to garner the attention of others as opposed to simply walking. We can even make sure the spotlight is on one focal point.

Jade: That's a good idea. Just like how the tales of the mermaid princess even tell of how her father, the king, would appear before everyone on a chariot pulled by dolphins.

Jamil: I actually was reminded of the legend of the princess of the oasis that's prevalent in the Scalding Sands.

Jamil: With golden camels, peacocks, and various other animals and dancers in tow…

Jamil: A young man presented himself before her in an extravagant parade.

Jamil: Hmm, a parade…

Jamil: Jack-san, I've thought of something good.

[Halloween Town – Center]

Jamil: Jack-san, I've thought of something good.

Jack Skellington: I see that gleam in your eye… You look pretty proud of yourself. What kind of plan do you have up your sleeve?

Jamil: We should throw a parade.

Jade: A parade?

Jade: Back at Night Raven College… At our school, we tend to have one as a finale on Halloween.

Jamil: That's right. We tend to have one at the start of our feasts in Scarabia, as well. …More often than not.

Vil: A parade would definitely be grand and lively. It's not a bad idea to keep the audience's attention.

Vil: However, wouldn't we require a large number of people to put on a parade?

Vil: Do you intend on having the townsfolk learn how to parade march?

Jamil: Not at all. The only one who will be in the parade will be Jack-san.

Jack Skellington: Just me?

Jamil: Ah, well, of course, we'll still need all hands on deck to help…

Jamil: All the townsfolk are looking forward to seeing how you'll arrive on Halloween day.

Jamil: We couldn't possibly ask them to march behind you in the parade!

Jamil: Instead, we need to make sure your gallant appearance is firmly burned into their mind.

Jack Skellington: You're right. It's just like you say, Jamil-kun! I want all my fellow residents to see me clearly.

Jamil: And so, that's where Vil-senpai's earlier idea comes into play.

Jack Skellington: His earlier idea…? Oh, you mean where I arrive while riding something.

Jack Skellington: Jade-kun mentioned the story with the dolphin pulling the chariot. And what was it Jamil-kun said again…?

Jamil: Ah, I hadn't actually mentioned what he rode, right. That young man presented himself riding in on the back of an elephant…

Jack Skellington: An "elephant"? We don't have such a creature in Halloween Town.

Jamil: An elephant is an extremely large animal with a long nose, magnificent tusks, and large ears.

Jack Skellington: I can just imagine something utterly frightful just from that description. I'm getting chills.

Jade: Well, we can't have that. I suppose we should hurry and find an elephant and bring it here to Halloween Town as soon as possible, then!

Jamil: Hey, don't just throw that out there!

Jade: What do you mean? I am simply attempting to accommodate Jack-san's request.

Vil: Jamil's doing all he can to wrap this up quickly, don't cause any unnecessary issues.

Jade: But it would be no fun if the plan were to go off so smoothly without a hitch.

Jamil: It's not like someone like you from Octavinelle would do something without taking a fee, anyway. So, shut up and just let me deal with this!

Jack Skellington: Hey, what are the three of you whispering about over there?

Jamil: We were simply discussing his idea on bringing an elephant into town.

Jamil: As a concept, I don't think it's terrible. However…

Jack Skellington: Oh, is there something problematic about it?

Jamil: Jack-san, you said that you'd want everyone to be able to see you clearly.

Jamil: But if you were to ride on the back of a large elephant…

Jamil: Wouldn't there be people who wouldn't be able to see your expressions, let alone your silhouette?

Jamil: And we want everyone from those brats― I mean from all the children to the witches flying through the sky to see you!

Jack Skellington: Oh no. So if I do that, not everyone will be able to enjoy themselves…

Jack Skellington: I would have loved to have seen an elephant, myself… But I suppose we should leave that for another time.

Jack Skellington: Ahhh, we've come full circle… Urgh… What should I do?

Jamil: THUS!! What if you were to ride a horse?

Jamil: There are many scenes in movies and fairy tales in which a king would appear before his people while riding a horse. Right, Vil-senpai?

Vil: That's true, it does tend to give them a heroic aura. For this production, it doesn't have to be a real one. We only need to make it look just as striking.

Jack Skellington: A horse… A horse, huh! Yeah, that sounds perfect. Now it feels like the last piece of the puzzle just clicked into place!

Jack Skellington: Oh, what if we were to gather up some straw to make a horse? I want to make it look terrifying to perfectly suit the King of Halloween.

Jamil: You want to make a straw horse? That's definitely not something I've ever seen back in my world. What a brilliant idea, Jack-san.

Jamil: Ah, lovely, I'm glad that we've assuaged your worries. I'm looking forward to Halloween day!

Jade: It seems as though everything has wrapped up without any further issues. Although, I can't help but feel a little disappointed…

Jade: You were able to bring some almost impossible request back into the realm of feasibility without rejecting it outright…

Jade: Heh, if anyone could have done it, it would've been you, Jamil-san. I guess it's to be expected… since you're so experienced in dealing with unreasonable behavior.

Vil: Indeed. On top of that, he even found a way to utilize my strengths… Looks like everything was settled thanks to your careful thinking.

???: Jack, Jamil-kun!

Jamil: Sally-san, what are you doing here?

Sally: You didn't come back, so I started to get worried. Have you all decided how Halloween will be kicked off yet?

Jack Skellington: Yeah! Jamil-kun gave us a spectacular idea.

Sally: Well, now...! I'm so happy to see a huge smile on your face, Jack. It's all thanks to Jamil, I'm sure.

Sally: I don't know if me or the other townsfolk would've been able to clear up his worries.

Sally: I only wish Jamil-kun could stay in this town forever…

Jack Skellington: That's a great idea! You should stay here in Halloween Town and help us prepare for Halloween forever.

Jamil: I am beyond honored to have such high praise from the both of you.

Sally/Jack Skellington: So, then…!

Jamil: I appreciate your invitation, but I'll have to respectfully decline.

Jamil: Back home, there are many things that would fall apart without my assistance… I worry for the people I left behind.

Jack Skellington: I see… Well, that's a shame. You truly are a prudent guy. I totally understand why so many rely on you.

Jamil: Thank you.

Jamil: While I'm here… No, while we're here we'll make sure this Halloween will go smoothly.

Jamil: Let's make this Halloween the most enjoyable and scariest one yet.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[scary-grace]

certain stars (part 2) - a Shigaraki x reader fic

Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do.

This is for @shigarakislaughter (happy birthday!) who asked for a forced-proximity roommates to lovers situation. Being me, I had to make it weird, and being one of my fics, it had to get away from me. Part 1 can be found here! Shigaraki x reader, rated M, space station au, angst + suggestive content. dividers by @cafekitsune.

part 1

You’ve been on the line with Mission Control for four hours, in a conversation that includes you only tangentially, and your eyes are starting to blur. This plan to save your life and Shigaraki’s without carrying the virus back to Earth was your idea. You have to be here to advocate for it, to address any questions Control might have, to find a way around any problems that might arise. You’re the pilot in command. It’s your job to get yourself and the last remaining member of your crew home.

But you’re so tired. It’s all you can do to write down the figures that are being named, calculating trajectories and fuel burns by hand to fact-check Mission Control’s results. It’s hard to do when they still haven’t decided if it’s safe for you and Shigaraki to return to Earth. The suspense would be killing you if you had any adrenaline left to spare.

As Mission Control continues to debate, no one willing to come right out and say that they’re not sure it’s a good idea to bring you back, Shigaraki slips into the seat beside you. You sent him into the shuttle with step-by-step instructions for running a full diagnostic, and he slides the results across the desk to you. You study them, the numbers difficult to read until you squeeze your eyes shut and open them again. Then you tap your mic and interrupt one of the flight director’s proteges in the middle of a soliloquy about reentry speed. “I have the shuttle diagnostics. All systems are operational.”

“What about the heat shield?”

That’s a sticking point. One of many. “Protocol is to do a visual inspection, but we can’t risk a spacewalk. Is there any way we can get a satellite view?”

You hear paper rustling, then a thud. It’s all too easy to picture one of the ensigns getting up in a hurry, tripping over themselves, and falling flat on their face before beelining to the comms center. “We’re investigating the prospect,” Director Sasaki says. “Every participating nation has offered their help, as have several non-participants and several corporate entities. If they elect to put their money where their mouths are, we should be able to give you multiple views of the heat shield.”

You nod, then remember they can’t see you. “Can someone check a compromise rate?”

“The compromise rate depends on your reentry angle,” the flight director says. You think her name’s Tatsuma. You’ve only met her once. “And your reentry angle depends on your landing site.”

“Which hasn’t been decided yet,” Shigaraki says, into your microphone, “because you jag-offs can’t make up your minds about whether we’re coming back at all.”

“Get your own headset,” you hiss, shooing him away. “Mission Specialist Shigaraki has a point. All of this is theoretical unless it’s safe to come home.”

“We told you that already,” Director Todoroki snaps. You roll your eyes. “Were you listening?”

You were probably trying to do math. You rub your eyes, and Shigaraki speaks into your mic again. “I didn’t hear it.”

Director Todoroki heaves a big, nasty sigh, and Director Bate, the current head of the space station program, speaks up. “Based on the data your crew collected, the virus thrives in the same conditions humans do. Extreme cold renders it inert, while extreme heat destroys it. The heat from reentry should cook that thing right off the exterior of the shuttle. Your return to Earth should be safe, as long as you land in the right place.”

“Only two concerns remain,” Director Sasaki says. “First, whether the damage your plan to purge the virus from Station Ultra will cause is worth the reward –”

You appreciate him giving it to you straight. “And secondly, whether the likely expulsion of your deceased crewmates’ bodies into space is an acceptable result.”

“Yeah,” you say. You’re too tired to stick to formal speech. “I thought that might be it.”

Your plan to clear Station Ultra of the virus involves blowing the airlocks on each of the infected modules, which will suck the virus back out into space, where it’ll go back to hibernating. It’ll work, but it’s likely to take the bodies of the crew with it. And the space program’s unofficial and unstated policy has always been to bring all the crewmembers home, dead or alive.

“Um –” Someone in Mission Control clears their throat. “I feel terrible saying this, but we can’t bring their bodies home. They died of the virus. They’re probably still carrying it. Asking the pilot and mission specialist to retrieve them is an unacceptable risk, and we can’t risk live virus entering the atmosphere.”

Someone protests. Dr. Shield, maybe – Dr. Shield, whose daughter died in the lab module, conducting research on the virus right up until it killed her. Director Tatsuma waits for him to finish, then speaks up. “The flight academy prepares its graduates for this. They are aware that this is the likely scenario if they should die outside the atmosphere.”

“The astronauts, sure. The mission specialists have families,” someone argues. You don’t know that voice. Your head hurts. “What are we supposed to tell them? That we just launched their loved ones’ corpses into space?”

“Yeah.” Shigaraki’s finally put on his headset. “Everybody who died here was a better person than me, and if I died up here, I wouldn’t care what the survivors did with my body.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Unless they wanted to eat it.”

You feel insane, hysterical laughter bubbling in the back of your throat and swallow it down. “I think you should ask the mission specialists’ families,” you say. “It’s their loved ones up here. Tell them what we’re up against and ask them what they want to do.”

“That’s unwise,” Director Sasaki says. There’s a pause. “We will reach out to them. Continue your preflight preparations, and we’ll contact you when a full protocol has been devised.”

The call drops, and you take off your headset. It doesn’t make your head hurt any less, but you’ll give it time. Next to you, Shigaraki does the same. “How long do you think it’ll take them to tell us no?”

You knew your crewmates, astronauts and mission specialists both. You met their families. You’re not convinced it’ll be a yes, but you’re not sure it’ll be a no, either. And there’s one crewmember you haven’t known long enough to make a guess. “Would you really be okay with your body being shot out into space?”

“Sure. Not like anybody’s waiting for it at home.” Shigaraki shrugs. “If you were starving, you could eat my corpse.”

This time, you don’t have to suppress your laughter. “Just me, though?”

“What, do you want to share or something?”

“No,” you say. You glance at him, noting the way-too-prominent bruise on his neck, remembering that there’s one just like it on his shoulder. He seemed into it, and you were into his reaction, so you went a little overboard. “I’m not good at sharing.”

Shigaraki’s pale enough that even the faint flush in his cheeks is as obvious as a neon sign. “Don’t act possessive. You only hooked up with me because we’re going to die soon.”

There’s a lot to address there, and you’re too tired to do it delicately. “We’re not going to die soon. I’ll find a way to get you home. I didn’t think you liked me. I only hooked up with you because I thought we were about to die. If we weren’t about to die we’d have gone on dates first.”

Shigaraki is staring at you now, eyes wide. Did you even speak a recognizable language, or were you just mumbling to yourself about nothing? You really don’t want to have to say it all again. You look away from him, even though it’s hard to do, and look down at your sheet of calculations. You can barely read them. You find a new piece of paper and start copying them down again. “What is that?” Shigaraki asks, peering over your shoulder as you rewrite equation after equation. “I thought we didn’t have a trajectory yet.”

“We don’t. But the basic reentry calculations were made assuming that the shuttle is at capacity, and it’s – not.” Not even close. “We’ll be coming down light. That changes things.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki’s chin comes to rest over your shoulder. “Why are you doing it by hand?”

“That was how they used to do everything,” you say. “Back in the early days. But the academy still teaches it, in case we lose contact with Mission Control or the onboard computer goes down. They don’t want us to be totally helpless without it.”

“Huh,” Shigaraki says again. “That’s a lot of physics for a bunch of meatheads.”

“Yeah. Almost like we aren’t meatheads after all.” You copy out the last equations, then elbow Shigaraki until he straightens up. “Check these for me, okay?”

“You don’t trust your calculations?”

“I can barely see straight,” you say. Shigaraki blinks. “I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a stretch since this started, and this isn’t the kind of thing where mistakes are survivable. You’re an actual physicist. Just look at them.”

“Sure.” Shigaraki flips over the shuttle diagnostic and starts writing on the back.

You fold your arms on the console and rest your head on them, watching him work. You like seeing him locked in on something, even if you wish he’d stop scratching his neck with his free hand, and you wonder what his research profile looks like. What he works on when he’s not getting tossed into a shuttle he doesn’t want to be on. He must be in a lab or something. Or have his own. So –

Something occurs to you. “Should I have been calling you Dr. Shigaraki this whole time? Some people get mad about their titles not being used.”

“Some people are assholes,” Shigaraki says matter-of-factly. “I might be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”

He frowns at something he’s just written. “Show me your first set of calculations.” You hand it over, and he identifies the mistake in seconds. “You rewrote it wrong on this page. With this reentry velocity we’d bounce right off the atmosphere.”

“This is why you needed to check it.”

“You got it right the first time,” Shigaraki says. His hand falls from the side of his neck to rest on the console, then edges out into the space between the two of you. You spend a little too long looking before it occurs to you to touch.

A green light starts blinking on the console, indicating a call from Control. You yank your hand away from Shigaraki’s and pull your headset on. “Yes?”

“The families of the mission specialists agreed to your plan,” Director Sasaki says, and exhaustion sweeps over you. Shigaraki is looking at you questioningly. You give a thumbs-up. “However, they requested some sort of commemoration before the airlocks are blown.”

You’ll think of something. “Understood. I’ve adjusted the reentry calculations to account for the lighter payload. Dr. Shigaraki is checking my work as we speak.”

Dr. Shigaraki is also rolling his eyes, but you don’t need to mention that. “We’ve developed a launch protocol,” Sasaki informs you, “which should account for a lighter payload. We also have identified a landing site for you, one which will render any surviving virus inert.”

“Yes,” Director Tatsuma says. “You’ll be aiming for the Ross Ice Shelf.”

You haven’t touched the airlocks, but it still feels like every iota of breathable air has just been sucked out of your lungs. “The – what?”

“A cold environment with little for the virus to feed on, in the unlikely event that any of it is left after reentry,” Sasaki says. “Rest assured, you will have plenty of runway. Do you have any questions?”

You can’t even get your mind around the thought. It feels unreal, like you��ve stumbled through a funhouse mirror into some other reality. Director Sasaki takes your silence for agreement and moves on. “We’ll plan to launch in six hours. In that time you will need to initiate a complete data transfer – everything from Station Ultra, in order to allow for proper diagnostics. Begin the procedure by –”

“I’ll do it.” Shigaraki cuts Director Sasaki off. He looks at you. “You’re going to sleep.”

You look at him blankly. Sasaki’s voice takes on a sharp edge. “The procedure is supposed to be completed by the commanding officer.”

“Yeah. Only you want the commanding officer to land the shuttle on an ice sheet in fucking Antarctica in six hours,” Shigaraki says. “The commanding officer’s going to rest until then. I’ll do your data transfer.”

It’s quiet for a second. “You will need to write this down.”

“I need to get a pen.” Shigaraki takes off his headset, takes off yours, and pulls you away from the console, back to the pile of blankets. “Why didn’t you say you weren’t sleeping when it was your turn?”

“You were having a hard time sleeping, too. It didn’t –” You break off as Shigaraki half-lifts you off your feet, then sets you down on the blankets. “I thought you hated zero gravity.”

“It has one or two perks.” Shigaraki pulls the blankets roughly over you, then fumbles in his flightsuit pocket. “Here.”

You find yourself looking at an old-style MP3 player, headphones already plugged in. You tuck one of them into your ear, and Shigaraki presses play. “What am I listening to?”

“The music,” Shigaraki says. You blink at him. “Musica universalis, on a loop. It helps me sleep.

You hear the first of the high, clear notes, reverberating off into infinity, and hide a yawn. “That’s not very restful.”

“It doesn’t need to be restful. It just needs to keep you calm.” Shigaraki tucks the other headphone into your ear without asking first, his roughened fingertips oddly gentle. “That’s what it sounds like in interstellar space. You’d hear it on your trip to Alpha Centauri and back.”

Your throat tightens, even as your eyelids grow heavy. “Get some sleep,” Shigaraki says. You catch his hand as he straightens up, holding on tight, wishing you knew what to say to him. Like you did when they told you about the landing site, you come up empty. The best you can do is give one more squeeze and let go, before you turn your head against a makeshift pillow that smells like him and fall asleep, the sound of space humming in your ears.

You settle into the shuttle’s cockpit, wrapping your gloved hands around the controls and watching the console come to life. You’ve piloted a shuttle up to Station Ultra three times, but this will only be your second reentry, and it’ll be a hell of a reentry. For a split second, you allow it to fill your mind, oozing into every corner of your thoughts, sending shooting pains through your fingers. What they’re expecting you to do is impossible. It can’t be done.

And then you glance sideways, at Shigaraki strapped into the copilot’s seat. The instant the shuttle detaches from Station Ultra, his fate is out of his hands and firmly in yours. He looks scared enough on his own. He doesn’t need to see it from you, too.

You take a deep breath, then let it go. “Walk me through the preflight checklist.”

Mission Control is in Director Tatsuma’s hands at the moment. One of her proteges takes you through it, system by system – propulsion, shielding, navigation, life-support, everything coming up positive. The satellite photos of the heat shield revealed a few tiny abnormalities, nothing that should cause trouble. Then again, there shouldn’t be viruses floating around in space.

Something occurs to you, and in the middle of a stir of the oxygen tanks, you find yourself laughing. “What?” Shigaraki demands. “What’s funny?”

“The virus,” you say. Shigaraki looks at you like you’re out of your mind. “It’s an extraterrestrial. We found the first alien.”

“From a research perspective, this was a very fruitful trip,” one of the ensigns pipes up. “The first confirmed contact with alien life, the first recordings of Shigaraki phenomena –”

Shigaraki coughs. “Of what?”

“And the first loss of a space station, Ensign Hado. Read the room,” Director Sasaki says severely. “All systems are go. Were you able to come up with a commemoration to share as you depressurize the modules?”

“Um, High Flight is traditional,” you say. “But it’s religious, and not everybody’s religious, so – I have a different one. Should I use that?”

“Can you deliver it while completing the depressurization sequence?”

“Yes.”

“Then begin the sequence with Module Five.”

Module Five was the dormitory module. Five of your crewmates died there. You blow the airlock and speak. “We never know how high we are, til we are called to rise.” Module One is next. You avert your eyes. “And then, if we are true to plan, our statures touch the skies –”

You blow Modules Three and Four next, sending Station Ultra into a calculated spin. In the seat next to you, Shigaraki closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. “The heroism we recite,” you continue, blowing the airlock on Module Six, “would be a daily thing; did not ourselves the cubits warp –”

Module Two. “For fear to be a king.” You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of your crew, dead in the atmosphere, lost to the void. How they kept fighting, kept studying, until the very end. “Depressurization sequence complete.”

“Detach.”

“Detaching in three – two – one.” You disengage the seal between the shuttle’s airlock and the command module, pitch the nose of the shuttle down, and let the stolen momentum from the station’s spin carry you down towards the atmosphere. “Departing high orbit. Any updates to the trajectory?”

“Not as yet, but owing to the uniqueness of the landing site, a pilot who had the opportunity to fly the route in the simulator will –”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Shigaraki mumbles.

You glance over at him and see him taking his helmet off. “If you don’t put that back on right now, I’m going to –”

“Trouble in paradise?” A familiar voice comes in over the intercom, and your frustration with Shigaraki takes an instant backseat. “Long time no see, airhead.”

“Not long enough, birdbrain,” you mutter, and Hawks chuckles into the mic. “Flew this in the simulator, did you?”

“Easy as pie, at least for me,” Hawks says. If you make it through this, you’re going to beat him to death with his helmet. “But don’t you worry, Dr. Shigaraki. You’re in good hands with Airhead here. Second in our class at the Flight Academy. Want to guess who was first?”

“We tied,” you snap, over the sound of Shigaraki gagging into an airsickness bag. Neither of you have enough food in your stomachs to really vomit. “You’re not first just because they called our names in alphabetical order. Do you want to talk shit or beta this trajectory?”

“We can talk shit when you land,” Hawks agrees. “Okay. Your current angle looks good. On the count of five, initiate a two-second burn from your starboard engine. Five – four – three – two – one –”

You trigger the burn, your grip on the controls as relaxed as you can make it, and the shuttle dips sideways. The flight roughens almost immediately, rattling the entire cockpit as you brush against the atmosphere, then skip off again. “Ooh, okay. It looks like you’re not in the atmosphere yet,” Hawks says. You can’t tell if he’s mimicking the flight simulator’s voice or not, but you’re still going to kill him when you get back. “Let’s do another burn – two seconds, both engines –”

The shuttle’s left wing dips into the atmosphere without being repelled, and you feel the lurch as gravity takes hold and pulls. “Autopilot will do the rest,” Hawks says. “Nice and easy.”

It’s not. The shuttle’s too light – too light for gravity to pull you the rest of the way in, and the longer you spend in the atmosphere, the more likely it is that something will go wrong with the heat shield. The cockpit is heating up way too fast. “I’m doing another burn. Both engines.”

“The autopilot said –”

“It’s not flying this mission,” you snap. There’s a reason shuttles aren’t flown completely on autopilot. Autopilot can’t adapt. “I am. If we stay in here any longer, the virus isn’t the only thing that’s going to cook. Burn in three – two – one –”

It works this time. The shuttle leaves space behind and plunges into the thermosphere, and the cockpit rattles and heats up, growing hotter and hotter with every nanosecond that passes. It’s killing the virus, you remind yourself. You’re in a shuttle with a heat shield, but the virus is clinging to the hull, and it’ll be destroyed. Reentry always feels like hell, anyway. Somehow it’s so much worse when you know you’re almost home.

Shigaraki’s got his helmet back on, finally. You can hear his ragged breathing over the comms. Is he conscious? “Stay with me, Shigaraki. This part is normal.”

“This part blows,” Shigaraki mumbles through clenched teeth. “Tomura.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Tomura.” He’s slumping sideways in his chair, limp against the restraints, his speech slurring. “Call me that.”

“Okay, you got it. Tomura.” You feel a brief twinge of embarrassment that you didn’t think to ask his given name before you hooked up with him. “If I call you Tomura, are you going to stay awake? I really need you to stay awake. We’re going to lose comms with Mission Control in a second here and I don’t want to do this alone.”

Hawks chooses that moment to break in. “You were right about the burn, but you’re coming in way too fast. Hit the brakes.”

“I can’t do that. I need the parachutes for the landing.” You take your eyes off the windscreen for a split second to check your position on the map. “If I cut momentum right now, we won’t make it to the landing zone.”

“And if you don’t cut speed, you’ll pancake into the ice at Mach 10!”

“If I hit the water and there’s virus left on the hull, that’s it. For everyone!” You hate the way your voice pitches up, cracks. “I’m getting to Antarctica, Hawks. One way or another.”

Hawks starts to say something else, but the comms cut off in a static flatline, just like they’ve done at this point on every reentry you’ve flown. It’s the first normal thing that’s happened on this flight, and it hits you like a splash of cold water across the back of your neck. This is a reentry flight. You studied this at the academy. What does a pilot do on reentry to cut altitude and gradually reduce speed? There has to be something. Somewhere –

The answer occurs to you, in the same moment as Shigaraki stirs in his seat beside you. “Hey,” you say quickly, keeping your voice calm. “Welcome back.”

“Are we there yet?” Shigaraki’s voice blurs. “Is it over?”

“We’re through the atmosphere,” you admit, “but we’ve got a problem. I don’t know how much you heard, but –”

“Too fast.” Shigaraki sits up with an effort. His expression is grim through his helmet’s visor. “Either we crash into the ice and kill ourselves, or crash into the ocean and kill everybody else.”

“Or we land on the icesheet and everybody lives.” You reach for the control panel and start making the adjustments, ignoring the alarms that sound. “There’s a way to land this shuttle.”

“How?” Shigaraki’s hands clamp down tightly on the armrests. “If we were going to die anyway, we should have stayed up there.”

“Why?” you ask. You check your trajectory one last time, then kill the engines. “It wasn’t worth it to try to get home?”

“Maybe. Except –” Shigaraki peels one hand off the armrest and clamps it down over his mouth as you put the shuttle into a gentle bank. “Don’t ask. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I need to cut our speed, but if I deploy the parachutes now, I won’t have them to slow us down during the actual landing. So I’m going to slow us down the old-fashioned way. Like a glider.” You can tell that none of what you’re saying makes sense to Shigaraki. You keep talking anyway, adjusting the controls to create a gentle turn. “In the academy they make us study all kinds of aviation accidents. There were a couple where the aircraft lost both engines and had to descend and land without them. One time a flight crew landed a plane on a river like that and everybody got out alive.”

You can tell Shigaraki’s getting nauseous. Then again, you’re flying the shuttle like you’re going down an endless set of switchbacks, trimming speed by fractions on each one. “You’re the physics guy. Tell me what will happen if I burn enough momentum on the descent.”

“If I open my mouth I’ll hurl.” Shigaraki speaks through clenched teeth. If you actually succeed in landing this thing, he’ll wind up with the worst tension headache in history. “You know what you’re doing. Keep talking.”

You keep talking, narrating your bizarre flight pattern as the shuttle travels around the world once, then again, spiraling down with painful slowness. If this was a normal flight, you’d have hit your landing site already, and space shuttles aren’t designed with long-term atmospheric flight in mind. But just because they aren’t designed for it doesn’t mean they’re incapable of it. You’re not putting this thing through any ridiculous maneuvers. Just curving gently down, one S-turn after another, letting physics and gravity take care of the rest. Pilots before you have done this and lived. Pilots after you will do it and survive, too. You just hope none of them have to do it in a shuttle.

When you drop out of the upper atmosphere, gentle flight goes out the window. You’re still coming down fast, and your landing site is approaching. One more trip around the world and you’ll be there, and if you don’t land then, you won’t have enough altitude to make another rotation. You bring the engines back gently, get ready to pull the brakes. “This is it,” you tell Shigaraki. You risk the smallest glance his way. He’s pale, his brow furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ve got this. It’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” You check your speed and your stomach lurches. Mission Control had better have given you the longest runway in aviation history. You complete a final S-curve, as long and winding as possible, then line yourself up. “Deploying landing gear.”

The landing gear won’t survive contact with the ice, but you don’t need it to; you just need the extra drag it’ll provide. Brakes next, starting out slow, then pushing harder by the second as your airspeed indicators begin to drop. You don’t even want to think about how fast you’re descending. The ground rushes up to meet you, and the ground proximity alarm starts to sound. TERRAIN. TERRAIN. PULL UP. “I can see it,” you snap at nothing. “Shut up.”

You’re not slow enough yet. You deploy the parachutes while you’re still in the air, and all at once you’re wrestling with the controls, diverting all power to hydraulics in order to maintain a steady flight. “Brace,” you order, like you’re a flight attendant on a plane that’s about to crash with no survivors. “Any second –”

The initial impact jars every bone in your body, and the next is just the same. The shuttle is acting like a skipping stone, touching down and bouncing up, and you already deployed the chutes. As if the bouncing’s not enough, every touchdown brings a series of jolts as the landing gear makes contact with the uneven terrain. You hit the brakes, pitch the nose of the shuttle ever so slightly up, and slam the back wheels down so hard that they crumple like a tin can.

Control’s going to kill you for how much damage you’re doing to the shuttle, but you can feel the drag reducing. Your skipping-stone maneuver devolves into a long skid across the ice, slowing by degrees, as you scan the horizon through the windscreen. No sign of the ocean. As far as you can see, there’s only ice.

Your console chimes, and you take a look at the indication. Hysterical laughter spills out of your mouth. “What?” Shigaraki asks. “Did we crash?”

“No,” you say, although you’re pretty sure the shuttle techs are going to disagree. “You’ll be interested to know that we’ve reached appropriate landing speed.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. “We’re landing?”

“Landed,” you say. The shuttle bobs up once more, and you drop the nose down for a final time, planting it firmly into the ice. “Sorry. Now we’re landed.”

You cut the engines, open the comms channel to establish contact with Control, and start going through your post-flight checklist. Beside you, Shigaraki unbuckles his seat. “I’d stay down if I were you,” you say, knowing he won’t listen. “It’ll be just –”

He drapes himself over the back of your seat, his helmet knocking against yours. The move would startle you if you had any nerves left. As it is, you’re just bemused. “What are you doing?”

“If we died up there, we’d have died like this.” Shigaraki’s arms come up around you, holding on tight. “You’re not getting out of it just because we lived.”

“If that’s how it’s going to be, you owe me a date,” you say. You depressurize the cabin, taking off your helmet the instant there’s outside air to breathe. Shigaraki takes his off, then presses his face into the side of your neck in a way that makes your face heat up. “At least one.”

“That landing of yours took ten years off my life. You own me ten.”

Before you can argue back, the comms squawk to life. “This is Mission Control. Do you read?”

“We read, birdbrain,” you say, and Hawks laughs. You can hear cheering in the background, and you’ve been at Control during enough reentries to picture the scene perfectly. “You blew your landing site by a thousand kilometers, but we’ve got your position. Welcome back to Earth.”

“A drone is on its way to scan the hull for evidence of the virus,” Director Sasaki says into the microphone. “Once we’ve confirmed its absence, our extraction team will come to retrieve you.”

“In the meantime, sit tight,” Director Tatsuma says. There’s a pause. “Well done, Commander. That was quite a landing.”

“We made it,” you say. Your hands are shaking on the controls, and you pull them away. The instant they’re clear, Shigaraki grabs one, peeling it out of its glove. “That’s good enough.”

Tatsuma signs off, after instructing you to run a diagnostic and transmit the results, and you key in the command one-handed. Shigaraki’s got your other one pressed against his face. His skin is warm, his lips dry and cracked. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “I knew you could do it.”

“Yeah?” Your hand is shaking, no matter how you try to hold it still. Shigaraki presses it harder against his cheek. “How?”

“You promised.” Shigaraki’s voice is matter-of-fact, even if it’s rattling just as badly as yours. You give it a few more minutes before one or both of you goes into shock. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know.” There’s never been a mission like this in human history. You hope it never happens again. “Thanks for trusting me to get us home.”

This time, the pressure of Shigaraki’s mouth against your hand can’t be called anything but a kiss. “Any time.”

“I have good news, and I have news,” Yamada, the space program’s PR director, says from the other side of the glass. “Which one do you want first?”

You and Tomura glance at each other. “News,” you say, and Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll start with the good news,” Yamada says, and Tomura rolls his eyes. “The good news is that you guys are cleared. You’re getting out of quarantine tonight, and there’s a hell of a welcoming party waiting for you. Your family’s here – and your friends, Dr. Shigaraki – and they’re hyped to see you.”

“Finally,” Tomura mutters. He won’t let you call him Dr. Shigaraki, or even just Shigaraki – it’s his name or nothing. “What’s the news?”

“The news is that there’s going to be press everywhere,” Yamada says, and sighs. “We’ve been beating them off with a stick, but we’ve been ordered to host a press conference, and they’re going to want to hear from you. I need to prep you for the kind of questions they’ll ask.”

“Go for it,” you say. Yamada grimaces. “What?”

“The media loves a narrative,” Yamada says. “The coverage of the Station Ultra disaster has been wall-to-wall for weeks, and so far, the only narrative they’ve been able to spin is a horror story. Which is what it is. It’s the worst loss of life in the history of spaceflight, and it was nothing anyone was prepared for. Things have been pretty dark. They want something else. And unfortunately, that something else is you.”

Tomura makes a face. You’re pretty sure you’re making the same one. “What does that mean?”

“If there’s anything redeemable about the mission, it’s attached to you two,” Yamada says. “The discovery of Shigaraki phenomena –”

“Stop calling it that,” Tomura says. “It sounds stupid.”

“It’s tradition, as far as I understand it. New stuff is named after the person who discovered it,” Yamada says. “There’s that, and then there’s that crazy landing the commander here pulled off. They’ve had pilots in simulators all around the world trying to copy that landing. Nobody’s been able to do it.”

“Because it was luck,” you say. Tomura elbows you. “It was. Any pilot will tell you that. I know how to fly, but I got lucky. All of this was us getting lucky.”

“We didn’t make it because we’re special or something,” Tomura says. “It could have been any of others, too.”

“I know,” Yamada says. “Everybody does, but nobody likes thinking about it. Like I said, they want their narrative, and they’re building it with or without you. You and me and everybody else in the program knows it was luck – mostly – but the media’s decided it was fate. The media likes a hero. The only thing they like better than a hero is a love story.”

“No,” you say at once. “They can’t make this about us. It’s not about us.”

“It’s not their fucking business,” Tomura says. “And they’re wrong about it.”

That’s news to you. “What?”

“It didn’t happen during the lockdown,” Tomura says. He’s glaring at Yamada through the glass at first. Then he looks to you. “I liked you before that. I was at the command module that night because I wanted to talk to you.”

His face always flushes awkwardly when he talks about his feelings, but he never backs off of it. It always gives you butterflies. “You still haven’t told me what you wanted to talk about. Are you going to?”

“I don’t need to,” Tomura says. “You already know.”

You smile in spite of yourself. Tomura’s eyes stay locked on yours, and you’re conscious of his hand in yours, his leg pressed against your own. You were in two separate chairs, but he dragged yours alongside his before you’d even sat down. On the other side of the glass, Yamada clears his throat. “You guys aren’t exactly beating the love story allegations here.”

Tomura’s face flushes worse than before. You look away with an effort. “What are they planning to ask about – us?”

“Like I said, they’ve already made up the story. They’ll just be looking for confirmation,” Yamada says. You grimace. “If you get a nosy one – I’ll try to avoid calling on those ones – they’ll ask you to elaborate. Don’t lie. The transcripts from the command module were made public, so they’ll call you out.”

Your stomach lurches. “Wait, all the transcripts?”

“No,” Yamada says. “You know the rules about documenting a mission. No filming in the bathroom, during a medical exam, or impromptu hookups in the command module. That got deleted on-sight. But there’s enough context in everything else for them to nail you two to the wall if you try to lie about it.”

The flush in Tomura’s face is slow to fade. “What else are they going to ask?”

“About what’s next for you two,” Yamada says. “If I were you, I’d work out an answer.”

He goes over the rest of the questions – lots of stuff about the mission for you, lots of stuff about his research for Tomura, things the two of you could talk about in your sleep. Then he leaves, and you and Tomura step away from the glass, retreating further into the quarantine unit. You’re still trying to catch up on sleep, so you climb back into the bed, which you haven’t made since the first time you turned it down. Tomura climbs in next to you without asking first.

Originally they were going to put you in separate quarantine units, but then they decided that they only wanted to risk contaminating one. It’s the size of a small apartment, ordinarily cramped for two, but compared to the command module it’s basically a penthouse. You and Tomura have all the space you could possibly need, if you wanted it. But you don’t.

You thought you and Tomura would be sick of each other after three weeks in close proximity, but the opposite’s happened. You feel better when you’re close to him, feel better knowing where he is, which works out pretty well with Tomura’s clinginess. You’ve felt okay here, with him. Not needing to go anywhere or do anything. Just being together, seeing what works, searching for something that doesn’t. So far, there’s nothing. There’s so much nothing that you’re dreading walking away.

He asked the question after you landed the shuttle, so it’s your turn now. “What happens now?”

“Press conference.”

“What about after that?” you ask. “If this is a thing, Tomura – you live in Japan. I live here.”

“Long-distance won’t work,” Tomura says, and your heart sinks. “I’ll move my lab.”

You roll over to stare at him, and Tomura looks back, like what he just said isn’t a little insane. “People are interested in my work. I’ve gotten formal offers from every research university with an astrophysics department. The offer from the one near here was pretty good. They aren’t even going to make me teach.”

“You don’t like teaching?” You fake surprise, and Tomura snorts. “If you’ve got offers from everywhere, you should go where you want to go. I don’t want to hold you back. I don’t want us to hold each other back.”

“Sure.” Tomura shrugs. “But you’re going to be around here, too, aren’t you? They’re making you an instructor at the flight academy.”

You wince. “How did you find out?”

“Read your mail. It was open already.” Tomura shrugs again, and you shove him lightly. “I’ll move my lab. You’ll teach meatheads how to fly. It’ll be fine.”

“Your friends are in Japan –”

“And they work in my lab,” Tomura says. “If I move my lab, they’re coming, too.”

This is what you want. Exactly what you want. And it seems a little too easy. “Are you sure?” When he nods, you speak up again, your voice wavering. “How?”

“I thought we were dead up there. And I didn’t have a job to do like you did. So I had time to think about stuff while I was staring out into the void.” Tomura closes the distance between the two of you, crawling halfway on top of you and burrowing into your shoulder the way he does when he doesn’t want you to see his face. “The universe is so big that human minds can’t comprehend it, and the space between habitable worlds is enormous, and entropy’s ripping the whole thing apart – and there’s fuck all we can do about it. There’s always going to be fuck all we can do about it.”

This is why you never learned about astrophysics. “That’s dark.”

“No shit.” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “I realized that there was something I could do about it. Up there, or down here. Anywhere. I get to choose if entropy wins – not for the universe, just for me. I’m not letting it win. So I’ll find a way to keep the things I want together.”

There’s something a little absurd about him, something you’ve grown fond of. Maybe fond is understating it. “You’re going to fight the laws of the universe.”

“Yeah. And win.” Tomura settles against you, a contented sigh exiting his mouth as your fingers wind through his hair. “Say what you want. If the reporters ask me, that’s what I’m telling them.”

“We’re definitely not beating the love story accusations if you tell them that.”

“Never said I wanted to.” Tomura’s voice is starting to blur into sleep. If you close your eyes, the two of you are going to nap like this straight through the press conference. “If your apartment doesn’t allow dogs, we’ll have to get a new one.”

Now you’re moving in together. It makes as much sense as anything else about this, which is to say it doesn’t. In some ways it feels like you never left orbit, or like you never landed the shuttle – everything is surreal, hard to believe. But you remember Tomura’s music of the spheres brushing against your eardrums, impossible to imagine and impossible to refute. You don’t have to believe. All you have to do is trust what you can see and hear and feel. And that’s him.

For a little while the thought is peaceful. Then something else pierces through it, something you can’t hold in. “I’m still a pilot,” you say. “They’re making me an instructor, and I can’t fly until my psych evals come up clean, but once they do – the program’s down two pilots. They’re going to send me up again.”

It’ll be a while. Right now the mechanics department is designing drones that can repair Station Ultra, outlining a system that will eliminate the need for spacewalks, but it’ll be a long time before it’s ready. Not long enough, though. You’re a long time from mandatory retirement. You’ll fly again. And when you do – “I’ll go with you,” Tomura says. “I still have work to do up there. And I’m not flying with anybody else.”

He yawns. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you say, and when you kiss him, you let yourself believe.

<- part 1

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @dance-with-me-in-hell @evilcookie5 @cheeseonatower @koohiii @minniessskii @handumb @agente707 @lvtuss @xeveryxstarfallx @stardustdreamersisi @warxhammer @atspiss @shikiblessed @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @issaortiz @aslutforfictionalmen @f3r4lfr0gg3r @lacrimae-lotos @fwxyz00

[fsbc-librarian]

I don't know if you accept fic finds but this has been driving me insane and I've been searching for half an hour just for some form of marvel fanfic search community.

I'm looking for a fic set either just before or during CA:TWS. Bucky ends up finding a spaceship that he can control because of his arm and uses it to run away from HYDRA. He ends up listening to a ton extreme heavy metal, including "an audio track of a combine harvester trying to turn itself inside out." He calls himself "Barnes-thing."

Natasha is also a POV character and spends a lot of time being very awesome and terrorizing HYDRA.

I have a few screenshots of the fic I can upload in submissions but none of the lines are bringing up results on Google, so either it's been hidden or (to great sorrow) been deleted, but at this point I would just take a name.

This fic/series has been dominating both of the discord servers I’m in lately, so yes, I absolutely know which fic you’re talking about 😊

https://archiveofourown.org/series/429256

If They Haven't Learned Your Name

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Natasha Romanova, Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Maria Hill, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Peggy Carter, Phil Coulson, Thor

Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, standard Winter Soldier trauma umbrella, POV Alternating, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Weirdness, Llamas, Bucky Barnes Has A Complicated Relationship With UFOs, Thirty Korean Grandmothers, Steve And Sam Vs. Canoe, Natasha Is Taking It Personally, Consent Issues, One (1) Orgasm, Podfic Available, Russian Translation Available, do not copy to another site

Summary: Steve gets out of the hospital in two days, but just barely. “I’m fine,” he tells Sam, Nurse Eunjung and the phalanx of doctors assigned to make sure Captain America didn’t bleed out and die and get bad PR all over their nice clean hospital. “I have an advanced healing factor. It’s fine. See? I’m standing.”

“That is not standing,” Sam tells him.

“You’re bending the IV stand,” Nurse Eunjung adds pointedly. “Let go and sit down, they don’t grow on trees.”

aka Steve and Bucky's Global Honeymoon Revenge World Tour.

[kawaiigirly21]

The Beast In His Arms: Chapter 2

Not even a week later, trouble started when Nayera started letting Cecil run tests on her. They studied her strength, her speed and agility. They asked extremely personal questions and inquired that they were ‘Necessary’ for their studies. “Have you and Invincible had sex?” A scientist asked while another checked her heart rate.

“Excuse me!? How dare you ask such an explicit question?! I do not see how my personal affairs have anything to do with my abilities as a hero!” To say she was offended was an understatement. She was royalty for God sakes! A princess! And they dared to ask her something like that?! Petulant rats! Standing from her sitting position, Nayera fought the urge to smirk at the size difference between her and the scientists.

Suddenly Cecil walked in. “Leaving so soon? We're not done.” The man said as he watched Nayera gather her things to leave. “I believe we are good sir. For your so-called scientists have insulted me for the last time.” Cecil in return rolled his eyes. “Who knew your kind was so sensitive. All they did was ask you necessary questions.” Nayera was quick to turn around and back Cecil up against a wall with her teeth bared.

“I’ve had dolls bigger than you in my adolescence. I’d hate to see you end up like them. Broken and used. Now, let me leave.” Later that day, as Nayera laid her head on Mark’s lap while listening to him talk about his day, she felt tears sting her eyes under her bangs. “Babe? You’re pretty quiet tonight. Is everything ok?” Mark asked while stroking her tail. She nodded silently and moved her head closer to him trying to gather all his warmth.

“I heard about the incident today, In the  GDA HQ. Is that why you’re being so mopey?” His fingers trailed from her tail to her back to her head. Gaining another silent nod from her, Mark sighed before leaving down and pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. “ I’ll talk to Ceil. It wasn’t fair for them to ask you stuff like that.” Thinking for a moment, Mark smiled and tapped Nayera on her nose. “Wanna race? Here to home? I’ll even hold back to give you a chance.” Nayera sat up and smirked. “You are going down!”

Many Many months later, Many things had happened to Mark and Nayera. While Mark struggled with his morality, Nayera struggled with her ability to control her anger. With this came arguments. Loud and explosive arguments. At that time, the couple decided to take a break until they were sure they were stable enough to be together again. They however still remained friends. “Mark, pass me that?” Nayera asked as she scribbled in her stress relief art book.

Her markers and colored pencils spilled across his bed as the pair sat in comfortable silence with the occasional question or two. “Mark? Hello?” Looking up from her book, Nayera noticed Mark staring off into space with a frown on his face. “Mark? It's not your fault about what happened. That powerplex guy is going to get the help he needs in prison…” Mark looked over at Nayera as she leaned over him. Her bangs parted slightly which gave him a good look at her pale blue eyes that albino animals usually had.

She had a soft mile on her face and brushed a caring hand through his hair. It gave him flashbacks to the day he met her…The day he actually fell in love. “The help he needs because of the fight with my dad and I killed his sister and niece or the help he needs because the fight between him and I killed his wife and son?” Mark grumbled. “I know none of it is my fault but it feels like…” Nayera then pressed a sweet kiss on his head.

“It’s not your fault Mark. End of discussion. Now, Pass me that marker!” She giggled, making the man smile. It seemed like when he was around her, he felt better about his situation. He didn’t think about it much unlike when he was by himself leaving his mind to wander. He missed her smile. He missed her laugh…he wanted to get back together but wasn’t sure on how to approach the subject.

Sitting up, Mark handed Nayera the purple marker before taking a deep breath. It was now or never. “Hey…Nayera? I wanted to know…what’s your …If you want to…Um..Fuck! Do you wanna-” “Hold that thought Mark!” Nayera noticed her watch beep red. “Guardian emergency. I gotta skedaddle! We’ll continue this later, kay? I’ll just leave my stuff here. See ya Marky Mark!” Leaning in close, Nayera pecked him on the lips quickly before leaving.

Mark could feel his heart palpate as he brought his fingers to his lips. “Does…she still love me like I still love her?” Before he could further dwell on it, Mark picked up his phone when he noticed Eve calling him. “Hey Eve. I’m at home…why? I’m not in Paris Eve. Trust me I would know if I’m in Paris.”

“Wait…So if you’re not in Paris…Who is…?”

AN: The variants are in the next chapter!! Which variant should Nayera meet first?

@mikajack9273

[eponastory]

Watching From the Tower - Part 1 (Bucky/F Reader)

Your code name is Scout and your job was easy. You worked the cyber side of things for the New Avengers. You directed them where to go with your hacking skills, and you are the eyes in the sky. There was just one problem... you don't like leaving the tower. You are not a complete agoraphobe, but you are pretty close. Leaving makes you feel so unsafe and people touching you, that's even worse. So, when James Buchanan Barnes the former 'Winter Soldier' tries to get you out for one mission, things got a little hectic after that.

Part 1: The team gets ready for a mission while you go to war with Bucky about leaving the Tower.

Word Count: ~2.4k words.

Rating: M (Later parts will be marked 18+ for smut, but for now, it's okay.)

Pairings: Bucky/F!Reader (Non-descriptive, No Y/N) Squint for GhostWalker and Boblena (Platonic)

TW: Angst, Depression, mentions of past SA, phobias, Anxiety, MDNI for sexual content in later parts (Will be labeled).

You’re pretty sure you are not really that much of a tech genius compared to the late great Tony Stark with all his fancy programs, but you make do. You’ve got it all under control so when you’re hired to not only be the girl that walks the team through every security measure and hacks into whatever network they need you to bypass on the job, you’re that person. Unfortunately, it comes with the not-so-welcome benefit of working under Valentina’s thumb. 

How you can’t stand her, but you have to do what you have to do in order to pay on your student loans from college when you graduated over ten years ago. It’s not a bad job, but you end up in the crossfire anyway. You don’t know how you ended up here, you just did. Maybe it was fate, but here you are six months after the announcement for the New Avengers and you are working on Alexei's broken phone. 

“It can’t be hard to fix phone.” You stop what you are doing with the soldering tool and look at him as he’s standing over your shoulder. 

You sigh. “Alexei, if you would quit dropping it, this wouldn’t be an issue.” One more drop and it would be over with. No more phone for Alexei. “Go make yourself useful or something and I’ll let you know when it’s done.” 

You’re in your little workshop down below the main hub where the team meets up. You have everything you need here and Val was able to provide everything you asked for on the promise that you had a place to keep it. No one else could get in there to do anything you didn’t approve of and when the Team had to go on missions? You were in the hot seat for comms and getting them home. 

It was definitely a nice change of pace from working for her directly to working under Bucky’s command. That was the deal. You listened to Bucky, and Yelena too, since both of them seemed to be a sort of duo when it comes to giving orders. 

“Okay, okay, I go find John and maybe he will spar with me.” Good riddance. You prefer to work alone. 

“Great, I’ll bring this to you when I’m done.” You roll your eyes as he walks out of your workshop. “I can never catch a break.” The words slip out of your mouth as you go back to soldering the chip back into place on the phone. “One thing after another.” 

Then your phone rings after five minutes of tinkering. Of course it would be him. He probably wants you to look into something or fix the AI that you’ve installed because it’s doing something stupid again. You aren’t Tony Stark so you can’t do everything like him. 

“Yeah?” You put the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continue to work on Alexei’s phone. 

“Be up here in ten. We’ve got a mission.” Bucky’s voice is serious which means your current plight has to be put on hold. 

“Got any specifics?” You set aside your soldering tool before you move to your couch to grab your jacket and head out of the door. 

“Just be here in ten.” 

“I’ll be there in two.” You smirk as he scoffs over the phone and then hangs up. You know how to get on his nerves. 

You make it up to the hub in two minutes exactly going by your watch. You grab your tablet as soon as you get to the Comms desk and you are good to go as Bucky makes his way over to you. Paying attention to him is not on your to do list because you know it annoys him. You swivel around in your chair just as Bob comes around the corner with a milkshake in one hand and a book in the other. 

“Hey, Scout!” Bob is always excited to see you. 

“Hey, Bob.” You give him a little wave and a smile before he continues to his little nook. He likes to listen in on the Comms when missions are going on, and sometimes he’s very helpful. Other times, he’s always doing something to keep his mind occupied. 

You look at your ‘boss’ who’s looking at his own tablet with intensity before he hands it to you with that infamous scowl on his face. “What do you think?” 

“It’s a building in Singapore.” Once again, another mission that has the team travelling outside of US borders for reasons. Bucky isn’t interested in completely following the government on this, but he always ends up strong-arming Val into submission. Yelena is also very good at blackmail. “With some of the most advanced cyber security that country has.” You flip through the files and realize that this is a Chinese operation. “Oh boy. Are we really going after them?” 

“Yeah, they’ve taken some hostages from a bioengineering facility and apparently one of them is the inventor of this.” Bucky runs his finger across the screen to a machine that is capable of blasting cancer cells without harming the patient. 

“Interesting.” You raise an eyebrow at the specs on the instrument. “No radiation needed, just a high powered laser that moves at a tenth of a tenth of a second, but why would the Chinese be interested in that?” 

“I was hoping you can figure that out.” He looks at you with those blue eyes of his and even though you have this very interesting relationship of antagonization and fraternization going on, you cave. 

“Yeah, maybe– but you guys have got to be careful. I don’t think going in uniform would be the best thing. This will definitely be breaking some international laws, especially with– well you know.” 

“I do, and that is why you are coming with us this time.” 

“And leave Bob by himself?” You don’t like leaving Bob by himself. 

“Alexei is staying. It’s just Ava, you, Yelena, John, and me.” 

“And what exactly will I be doing?” You stand up and put your hand on your hip. 

Bucky sighs. “Playing a part.” 

Oh that’s just great. “What part?” 

“They are going to auction off the machine. We need to get our hands on it and also find a way to get the engineer out of their hands too.” There is no way you are going to be able to do this. You are an introvert that can’t even handle going to the grocery store for tampons. You barely like coming out of your workshop to work the missions and you were happy to keep to yourself. 

“Bucky, I haven’t been out of here in three weeks and I am not the type of girl to dress up in public.” 

“And you won’t be.” He reaffirms because he knows you don’t like leaving your rabbit hole. “You can do all of this from the hotel, right?” 

“I can do it from here actually.” It was a blessing to be able to hack into any satellite in Earth’s orbit in order to crack a safe open in a place like Tokyo. You’ve done it before and that is what led to you standing right there with Bucky in front of you. “Bucky, please don’t make me go.” You tilt your head, pleading with your eyes. “Please?” 

“Let Scout stay. This is not the first time she has done this from here.” Yelena says walking in suited up and ready to go. “Besides, she is safer here.” 

“See? I’m safer here.” You see Bucky’s jaw clench when he knows he’s lost against you and Yelena. 

“I say she stays too.” Ava appears out of nowhere like always and you smile at her for having your back. 

“What is this? Women Unite?” You scowl at Walker’s words as he saunters in with his shield still bent in the shape of a taco. “I’m all for team building and all, but this isn’t it.” He scoffs before taking a seat on the couch and acting like he’s the best of the best. You see Bucky shake his head in disbelief. 

“Okay, fine. You win.” The team leader caves and you sigh. “We’ll talk after the briefing.” Bucky holds his hand out for the tablet that belongs to him and you hand it over with a smirk on your face. You’ll rub this victory in later for sure. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” You say as he turns away with this look in his eyes that does something to you. 

You sit down in your chair with a huff as he starts going over the mission and each member’s role in it. As soon as each of the team members were given their objectives, they each came to you for the equipment they needed. Obviously the earpieces that you had built with unlimited range were handed out with each name on the case. They were discreet enough to hide in plain sight while in any situation. You could also communicate individually with any of them with the flick of a switch. 

Bucky is the last one to come to you as everyone walks away to their personal lockers to gear up. You hand him the two most important devices of the operation because without them, you couldn’t do shit from where you were. It all depended on Bucky having them. One was a device that connected him to the satellite. You could hack anything within two miles of him with the Sentinel device and then the other one was for security. 

“Come with me.” He doesn’t explain as he moves to his office on the other end of the room. You follow him like an obedient puppy this time, not really putting up a fight because he gives you that sincere look. 

The moment you two are in there, he closes the door behind you and then moves to his own weapons cabinet to gear up. He wasn’t wearing anything other than the UnderArmor shirt that he normally puts on underneath the woven fiber canvas that he wears over it. But you stand there and watch as he puts it on and then zips it up. That red star on his right arm means something more than it did years ago. 

“Val will probably stop by while we’re gone. Try not to give her too much information on the situation if you can help it.” He then pulls out the chest armor he finds a little cumbersome but at the same time you think he looks pretty good in it. “I have a feeling she wants the machine for herself and we’re getting it for her.” 

“So, basically, find out what she’s really up to.” You cross your arms as he’s strapping his armor to him and then pulling his knives out of the cabinet and arming himself. 

“Pretty much.” He’s placing his side arm in the holster on his thigh along with the knife that goes with it. “Look, I wanted you to come with us because you’ve been up here for weeks, keeping to yourself.” 

“That’s what I do, Bucky.” You can’t help it, you’ve been like this since– well since the Blip. You haven't stepped outside unless you needed to. It wasn’t even the Blip that did this to you. It was something that happened during the Blip and you still haven’t recovered. “I’m safe here.” 

“I know.” His voice goes soft as he moves closer to you. “It took months for you to actually talk to me without being terrified.” 

“Well, you are pretty intimidating.” You shrug and then you flinch when he puts a hand on your arm. You shrug him off because contact is hard for you. “Sorry, I just– I still have some things to work on.” 

He nods with a little guilt in his eyes at having crossed a boundary. “No, I’m sorry.” You weren’t ready. “I– I don’t want you to feel alone.” 

“If there is anything I don’t feel, it’s definitely not alone.” You give Bucky a smile. “All of you come see me at least once a day if we aren’t doing missions or meetings of some sort– but I think you check up on me the most.” 

It’s true, he’s either calling you or knocking on the door to your workshop because you practically live in it. He had Valentina set up the section next door into a small apartment for you so you’d stop sleeping on the couch. You had a bed now at least. You were just happy that you found some sort of belonging with this group of misfits that all had something wrong with them. You matched their crazy and they matched yours. Especially Yelena and Ava, who dragged you into drinking games every chance they could get. 

“I’m okay, Bucky. I really am.” You reach out to touch him this time. You put your hand on his right arm and squeeze it. “I appreciate that you wanted me to go with you guys, but I would just be a liability in the field.” His eyes told you that he knew that, but they also told you that he regretted asking. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking to be honest.” He admits and you smile. 

“Despite your grumpy old man attitude, you wear that heart of yours on your sleeve.” 

“Only for you, Sweetheart.” He doesn’t realize what he said to you until it’s too late, and he doesn’t break the attitude. He clears his throat before he's moving to the door and you’re watching him with warm cheeks and a look of bewilderment on your face. He turns to look at you again with no hint of what happened only moments before and his hand on the doorknob. “You’ll have about eight hours before we land in Singapore so get some rest while you can.” 

And just like that, he’s out of the door. 

You stand at the windows watching as the team loads up on the jet with Bucky at the yolk with Yelena in co-pilot. You had made an update to the autopilot systems last week so if something should happen, you could easily hack in and take full access to flying the jet yourself. Almost like a drone, really. But you watch as Bucky’s eyes turn to you through the windows and then he’s taking off. 

“Well, it is just you, me, and Bob.” Alexei stands next to you with a smile before he’s moving to the couch to sit and watch TV. “Bob! We should watch Judge Judy.” 

[daengtokki]

part six // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 10.4k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: angst, fluff, sex, oral sex, sa mention, child abuse mention

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

Please support and reblog if you enjoy! Reblogs help your favorite writers on Tumblr!

TAGLIST: @kkamismom12 / @r0tt1n / @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz

[ MASTERLIST — DEITY MASTERLIST ]

The full moon shines down at you from the balcony window, and the light bounces perfectly off of the soft pink walls of the room. Seungmin is busy making the bed, moving the blankets and pillows from one yo to the other, and then stacking them. You’re supposed to be unpacking things, but you got distracted by the light coming in.

“Are you sure this is okay? I don’t mind requesting a room with a regular bed.” He sits gently to test it out, and runs his hands over the blanket to smooth it.

“If we don’t like it, we can switch tomorrow…but I’ve never slept on a yo, I should probably try it. Besides, you doubled everything up.”

“Yes, it should be comfortable. I slept on one when I was a kid. We only had yo’s at the Uljin house.”

Seungmin sneaks up next to you, and his touch sends a chill up your arms. It’s gotten softer, sweeter, and more frequent, the little touches he gives you. “Is it completely full? I should put my glasses on, it’s a little blurry.” He slides away and heads for the table where you set his things. You packed all three pairs he had in his drawer, and tonight he chooses the thick black frames.

“I like those with your short hair, you look cute”

He adjusts them and drapes himself over your shoulders. “Yeah?” Seungmin still feels a twing in his stomach—a little bit of awkwardness at the way you look at him and call him sweet things. He has plenty of confidence in his looks, but hearing you say it feels different. You looking him in the eyes and telling him anything feels different. It feels real.

“Yeah, it’s full…good timing”

“Can you see the rabbit?”

You look hard, and Seungmin laughs when you tilt your head. “Rabbit…oh yeah, I think I know this story.”

“You do?”

Maybe not. You’re suddenly drawing a blank, which is good, because now he can tell you why there is a rabbit on the moon. “I know that a story exists…I guess I don’t know much else about it.”

The moon disappears as he spins and guides you toward the bed. It seems perfect—the squishy doubled up mattress, the multiple pillows, and Seungmin’s body all surrounding you as you sleep. It can’t get much better. You pull down his neatly placed blanket and watch him pull his clothes off, piece by piece.

“Is it story time, or are you trying to start something?”

He laughs. His laughs have changed, too. They’re louder, and less hesitant every time you get a new one. “I’m always ready to start something…but the floors are heated and it makes me sweat. I don’t wanna sweat all over you.”

“Can we turn them down?”

“Yeah…” he slides under the blanket and pulls you closer, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”

Seungmin is now bearing some of the weight of your biggest secret, but the way he looks at you hasn’t changed. Everything is as it was before, or better; his touch, his laugh, his smile.

“Story time?”

“Yes, let me remember…” Seungmin flops into his back and closes his eyes, but his hand finds yours and squeezes. “A long time ago, in ancient times, there was a fox…yeou, a little monkey…wonsung-i, and...” He pauses, and turns his head to look at you, but your eyes are closed as you listen. “A rabbit, tokki. One day, Jeseokcheon, a king of the gods, decided to test the animals. He pretended to be a sick elderly man, and he approached the animals saying that he was very hungry. The fox, the monkey, and the rabbit decided to help him and went to look for food. The fox caught a fish and gave it to the old man. The monkey found and gave him berries. But the rabbit couldn’t find any food, and the grass he ate, it didn’t seem fit for the hungry old man to eat. He wanted something better for him. So, tokki made a bonfire and jumped into it, offering himself as food to save the old man. After seeing the sacrifice that tokki had made, the man revealed his true identity as Jeseokcheon and decided to send the selfless rabbit to the moon and make him its guardian, so that every living being could admire his sacrifice and good heart. Daltokki.”

“Tokki was willing to give up his life to help someone he didn’t even know?”

Seungmin nods. “And now he’s up there making tteok all the time.”

“Is this the rabbit on your music box?”

He nods again, and a smile pulls at one side of his face. “Umma loved daltokki.”

“I like him, too. And I’m sure I’d like your mom.” It might be too much—you keep giving him too much. You don’t know why. The time you’ve spent with him feels like years, not weeks, and everything that comes to mind ends up flying right out of your mouth. “Do you think she would like me, if she met me?”

“My mom would like you very much. She’s the reason I speak English so well. Imagine if we couldn’t speak to each other…”

“I would find a way”

“And she’s the reason I have any good in me at all, if I do”

“You do, Min”

“Sometimes I’m afraid she wouldn’t love me, or even like me anymore—the way I turned out, the way I get through my days, the awful things in my head.”

It’s not true, what he’s thinking, but you don’t know how to make him see himself the way you see him. You know what he does, but seeing him behind closed doors in his most private moments…he’s not a bad person. He’s just him, doing the bad things his brain tells him to do. Seungmin is hurting; he’s afraid, and he’s lonely…less lonely now. He’s doing terrible things, but he’s not the nightmare he claims to be.

The real nightmare is whatever happened to him—the bad dreams that plague him and make his urges worse.

“That’s not true, I don’t believe that. She would love you more than anything.” You remember the photo of the two of them, and the one of his smiling face that she probably took. “You still feel it all around you, and in your flowers…that’s how strong it is. I know you were talking to her.”

Tears are threatening to fall. You see them brimming and shining as he stares quietly at the ceiling. “Did he hurt you?”

You pause for a moment and think. The memories still come back, but you’ve gotten very good at shoving them right back down. “Sometimes. He liked to hit, but he preferred his hands over everything else…so I guess it could have been worse. My sister got my mother’s love, but she got all of his attention, too. He hurt her more.”

“Is that why you killed him, to protect her?”

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take another night listening to him.”

There’s some reluctance in his face, but you wait for him to get there. “How? You were fourteen. You’re small now, you must have been tiny then. How did you kill him?”

“I gave him too many heart pills. He trusted me to cook for him and feed him, so I—” you watch Seungmin’s eyes grow. “I crushed them up in his food.”

“You poisoned him”

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. It took a few hours, but it worked.”

“Did things get better after that?”

“It was manageable. We had to move—we lived in my aunts basement until I turned 18, and then I finally left.”

Seungmin moves closer, and wraps you up in his arms. The smell and warmth of his bare skin calms you, and makes you feel homesick all at once. Homesick for what, though, the apartment? Leaving Seoul and running from something that might happen has been the best thing that has happened, in a weird way. What if you could always be like this—just the two of you, alone, surrounded by the quiet mountains?

And what if you nudged him for more of himself right now? Maybe you could get it…just some even exchange. You need to know everything about him, but you’ll take whatever little piece you can get.

“Was Daltokki one of your bedtime stories?”

“It’s a Chuseok story, but yes…sometimes she would tell it to me at bedtime when the moon was full.”

The twinge of jealousy at his normal childhood disappears as soon as you remember how brief it was, and probably not that normal. Seungmin lived in Uljin with his mother who loved him, and his stepfather who didn’t, until he was nine, but you don’t know much else. “Did she always have a story, every night?”

“Almost every night. She read me stories in English to help me learn, but she couldn’t speak it around me much otherwise…at least not if my stepfather was home.”

“He didn’t like you?”

“He despised me from the moment he saw me. I was two when my dad died, and three when my mom married him, and he tortured me for six long years—ignored me, or disciplined me whether I deserved it or not. Eventually he took any opportunity he could to…scare me, I guess...break me."

You weren’t expecting Seungmin to open up, but he may be evening out the trauma with what you gave him. Maybe enough time has passed, and his comfort with you has grown. The joint killing had to have helped that.

“He would send me to bed without dinner all the time, but he was also good at making up new punishments without mom even knowing he was doing it.”

“Oh, Minnie.” The torture he put himself through sitting on the balcony makes more sense now. It seems like the type of discipline his stepfather would come up with, and unfortunately, it stuck to Seungmin. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

The blank look on his face, and the slow, thoughtful blinks, “he would lock me in that shed all night. I remember him sitting on the porch and smoking, making sure my mom didn’t wake up and see what he was doing. Not that she could stop him…”

So far, he’s said much more than you expected, and you’re not sure if he’s drained, or if talking about this has made him feel a little lighter.

“I just remembered something. I dreamt about it last night, but it may have been a memory.”

“Tell me”

Seungmin lets you place a hand on his cheek, and he closes his eyes and waits as you run your thumb across his lips.

“He drove me into the woods, the same pine forest we drove through…I’m not sure how far we went, but in my mind, as a kid, it felt like forever. Yeah, I remember sitting in the backseat and fogging up the window with my breath. I drew something in it.” He stops and sets his hand on yours. “It was cold out, it was far into winter. Just like now. We got out and walked right off the road to a clearing, and he told me run out and grab some of the nice pieces of wood to burn when we got home.”

You sigh, because you feel like you know where this is going.

The color drains from his face as he settles more into the bed. It’s as if he’s trying to find more warmth from the chill of his memory. “I listened, because I always obeyed him. I grabbed an armful of sticks, just the best ones, and I ran back to the road…and he was gone. I screamed for him, and cried for umma until I lost my voice.”

There is no stopping his tears, and finally, for the first time, Seungmin is letting you see him cry. He needs it, but you pull him close and knead your hand into his neck, so tense until your fingertips find just the right spot. You don’t interrupt—everything is quiet around his shallow, gasping breaths. As soon as you pull back to look at him, he grabs your neck and kisses, and it’s messy…wet and salty from his tears, but you kiss right back until he finally exhausts himself.

The silence carries on, and you watch him as he wipes at his cheeks and nose. You want him to keep going, but you also know when too much is too much. Are you the first person Seungmin has really unloaded his memories on, or did he have someone else to confide in at some point in the last fifteen years? It’s a long time to keep quiet.

“Sorry,” he covers his face and mumbles through his hands. “I didn’t mean to…” and takes in a deep, shaky breath. “

“Didn’t mean to what? You can tell me anything, and you can cry all over me if you need to.”

“The kiss,” he grabs a corner of the sheet and wipes at the mess he left on your face, “so messy.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, at least—a little sparkle in his eyes, and again, for the umpteenth time, you wonder how you ended up where you are, in a strange hotel in the mountains, with him. The seriousness of the situation you’re in was almost forgotten until right this moment, but you don’t see the point in bringing it back to the front of his mind right now. What will checking the security cameras do, except ruin the mood? Or really ruin the mood, if he sees something this time.

No, you’ll do what you can to stay right here with him.

“In my dream, I was standing in that clearing again. Me, as I am right now. But there was something there with me. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it walking around me and scratching at bark on the trees. And something was burning, it was snowing…but not snow, it was um, from the fire…”

“The cinders…embers were falling?”

“Yes, embers. They looked like snow.”

“Scratching?" Now you start to remember. "And then?”

“I woke up, and then fell back asleep. When I woke up again, you were dreaming, so I woke you up.”

“That’s right, I was dreaming…and, what the fuck?” Everything starts falling into place. You thought about this yesterday, but the pain in your stomach pushed it out of your mind. The scratches, his dream, your dream, “you woke me up, because you heard the scratches on the door, right? And you left, and—”

“I didn't hear anything. Was this your dream? Hey, don’t cry…”

The tears come out of nowhere and without your permission, just like his did. The air you try to pull in gets stuck in your chest, and Seungmin’s hands on you makes you cry even harder. He backs off for a moment. “What is happening? Why…god, I feel crazy.” You sit up and wipe at your face. “I think I’m hearing things.”

Seungmin sighs, and you hear it through the muffled pump of blood in your ears. He’s looking at you, but he’s not looking at you…he’s thinking, and his eyes dart around when he notices you staring at him. “Minnie,” you move closer—almost sit in his lap, and put your arms around him.

“It’s scary sometimes”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s gone away, mostly. I think the medicine is helping that. But I can’t hear her anymore…I haven’t heard her lately, at least.”

The voices in the greenhouse, Seungmin’s auditory hallucinations. So he’s fully aware her voice isn’t actually there, or anywhere. That doesn’t matter to him, though, because he misses hearing it. “Maybe she’ll come back when we get to Uljin, when we get some flowers.”

“That would be nice”

You get back under the blankets and make yourself comfortable, “get in here.” He smiles like the heavy conversation didn’t even happen, and folds himself around you. Seungmin can keep you plenty warm without help from the heated floor. “It’s late, are you tired?”

“A little.” Despite the soft, sleepiness of his voice, his hands end up beneath your shirt and slowly work their way up your back. It’s an innocent touch, though—just a need for contact. “How is your stomach? No pain tonight, I hope.”

Fortunately, the horrible, stabbing pain eased up and hasn’t returned again. The dizziness comes and goes, but it’s not bad enough to send you to the floor. It’s nowhere near bad enough to mention and worry him again, and to let the idea of a hospital visit re-enter his mind. “No, everything feels okay.”

He replies with a kiss, a hand moving back down and squeezing your ass, then your thigh, tight enough to make you jump. Seungmin pulls your leg until you wrap it around his hip, and now you can feel what he needs. He’s not quite there, but he wants to be, and you’ll make sure it happens. A roll of your hips into his makes contact, and just enough friction to get a groan out of him. It’s nice like this, and easy…face to face, close enough to kiss and touch him.

The last few days without him, with the thought of his last fuck being with that girl, has been torture, but it felt like the wrong time when you laid in bed with him. Worrying, wondering, and sick. You’re finally here. You free him from his shorts and feel his cock grow in your hand, and lose yourself in the noises he makes as he kisses. He pulls you again, grips the back of your thigh and slides his fingers over you, but your clothes are still in his way. He grabs the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, and two fingers tease, slide between your lips, and slowly push inside of you.

“Are you comfortable like this?”

“Very comfortable”

His fingers push in and out, waiting patiently. He knows how much work it takes to get in, and Seungmin wants you wet in this new position.

“Can your leg stretch…” he grabs behind your knee and pulls it high, and he seems satisfied with how much he can spread you open. “Good,” he whispers and moans against your lips when he feels you guiding him into you. He pushes in gently, just a few inches, and then he gives you everything.

“Good,” you whine and hold tight to him as he pumps into you. “Oh…mmm, Minnie…”

“I’ve missed how you feel”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grips your waist and pulls you close, “so good.” Seungmin pants into your mouth, “so soft,” and nibbles at your lips as he finds a perfect rhythm. “Fuck…ah, jagi,” he whimpers, and mutters something in Korean, over and over as he fucks you.

If only you could understand him. All you have to go off of is how he sounds as he says it, and that feels good. But jagi, you know what that means.

“Nae jag-eun tokki…”

You watch his mouth form each word as he says it.

"Nae…salang…” he laughs, and you can feel him working up the courage to continue. But he’s done this already, so why the hesitancy?

You say it back to him, “nae salang”, bite gently at his lips.

He closes his eyes, and he keeps them closed even after you pull back. “Salanghae,” and he hides himself away in your neck.

“Nado salanghae”

Seungmin comes right back after your words hit his ears. You hope they hit him even harder in his own language. You’re not sure how to tell him in a way that expresses how it feels swirling around inside of you, but you made sure to learn how to tell him properly. The words in your head don’t seem big enough, and at the same time, your head is making you feel silly for feeling the way you do, and as much as you do.

Seungmin feels it, too, and he can’t look you in the eyes when he tells you. It’s still too much for him.

It’s too much for you, too. The tightness in your chest, the pounding of your heart. Your body feels like it’s somewhere else, but you feel his soft, strong hands on your back and ass, keeping you close…his lips on yours, on your cheek and neck. His hips rolling, and his cock gripped tight around you, stretching, pushing deeper and hitting right where you need it. You can’t hold yourself together, and you don’t care how thin the walls might be. Seungmin doesn’t care, either—he smiles even wider as you moan and cry his name.

“Don’t slow down,” you whine.

Seungmin holds your hips as you try to push him on his back and fuck him yourself. He resists, but lets you move on him, and he slows you down. “Not yet.”

“You feel so good”

“I’m gonna make you feel even better”

He pulls out and pushes your hips until you’re on your back, and gets you out of your panties. Seungmin is careful, but he still handles you like he’s desperate to get back inside of you. He turns you until you’re facing the window, your leg is up, held tight, and he’s in again. It does feel better like this, even at his pace—the slow push in against your g-spot numbs everything except the orgasm building.

Seungmin lets go of your leg and his fingers are on your clit, rubbing lightly, listening to you whine for him as it gets even closer. “Faster…slower?” He whispers and runs his teeth along your shoulder.

“Fast”

His fingers and his hips move faster, and he bites down.

“Fuck…fuck, I’m gonna come”

Seungmin laughs like he’s tipsy. He’s drunk on you, and his mind is numb to everything but this…fucking you just like you want it—

You feel yourself gush everywhere as your body shakes.

He slides out and feels it hit his thighs, and it keeps coming as he rubs your clit—warm, and wet, and messy. You soak the sheets, but Seungmin is still rubbing more out, and your orgasm takes its time running through you.

Seungmin breaths hard in your ear, but he’s speechless as he looks down at you, down at his fingers stroking. Another soft bite on your shoulder, and he stifles a laugh. “Wow,” he whispers as he finally slows down. But he doesn’t stop. He slides his cock into your dripping entrance. “Come for me again. Please.”

“Again?”

“Please.” He holds your leg and gives your clit a break as he works himself back to where he was. “I didn’t think you could get any more wet.”

The tone of his voice deepens, and that’s all it takes to get you going. His head hits that same spot—that perfect spot. You can feel every inch and every curve as his short, fast strokes slip in and out. Your swollen, sensitive clit throbs, and you need him to touch you, but you wait until you know he’s close. You wait…and wait, until his breath catches in his throat—until he makes the desperate noises you’re more familiar with now.

“Touch me”

As soon as his hand makes contact, yours hits, and he groans as he fills you up. You drip and squirt through his fingers as he keeps your orgasm going, and his cum mixes and runs out with yours, onto your thighs, and his…all over the sheets. He doesn’t stop until you do, and you feel another gush as he slides out. It feels too good. Whatever he did is still moving through every nerve as you hit the bed, but Seungmin can’t help but touch and slide his fingers into the mess escaping.

“Oh my god,” you pant, and try to keep your heart from exploding.

Seungmin laughs again—his tipsy laugh, like he’s not quite sure what’s going on, he just knows he feels good. “I didn’t know you could do that.” He pulls you until you’re facing him again and looks you over…eyes watering, cheeks pink, your tshirt, somehow still on, but working its way up your back, and your messy, trembling thighs.

“Neither did I”

“That was your first time?”

You nod, and collapse into his chest, “sorry, what a mess.”

“But did it feel good?” He’s smiling and giving you doe eyes when you look at him. Seungmin doesn’t need your approval, he heard you screaming…but he still wants more.

“Good?”

“Mhm. I’ve never made anyone do that before, how does it feel?”

It’s hard to describe, and it was a little embarrassing in hindsight, but… “felt like you were fucking every nerve in my body all at the same time, and every bit of tension disappeared. Probably how you feel when you come inside of me, maybe better.”

“Sounds better”

“It was intense”

“It was hot.” He slowly gets to his feet and stretches, and when he seems satisfied with how his legs feel, he heads for the closet. “Hopefully I can get you there again.”

One set of fresh sheets sits on the top shelf, fortunately, so you work on getting up and pulling off the wrecked ones. Also fortunately, it didn’t soak through both sheets to the mattress cover. But as soon as you kneel and start gathering them, another gush of cum trickles out, and you have to stop and wait for it to pass.

“I can change these, why don’t you go run a bath?”

“Seungmin, you’re very thoughtful…has anyone ever told you that?”

He thinks, but not for long. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, you are…you’re more thoughtful than most of the people I’ve encountered”

“I’m also a little selfish, because I’m getting in, too”

The water is as hot as you can stand it, and every time it cools down, you top it off and heat it back up.

“How did you get out of the woods?”

“Hm?”

He sounds so much more tired, and he should be.

“When you were left there”

“Oh, right. It took a few hours, but my mom finally found me. She said she drove up and down all the roads, got out and yelled for me every mile or so. Her voice carried pretty well through the trees, thankfully.”

“Did she know he left you there?”

“He told her I wandered off, but she knew better. And she also knew not to question him.”

“That had to have messed with your head, being left out there”

“It did. For a while, I couldn’t sleep through the night. I still have a letter she wrote to me not long after that, in the music box.”

The butterfly—you remember peeking and wondering about it. You almost poked around too much and read it. “The origami butterfly?”

“Yeah. And she made me wear her medallion, too. I never got to give it back.”

Now you’re much more curious about that letter. “I haven’t worn my necklace in years, I don’t know why I still carry it around with me.” A little piece of your past you can’t let go of.

“Are you catholic?”

“No, but I briefly considered confessing my sins. I never did, I was too full of attrition. It seemed pointless. Are you? Or were you?”

“No, but my mom had a lot of catholic friends when she lived in the states. I think some of it rubbed off on her, and she liked the archangels.”

You stand carefully and reach for a towel. The heat is actually starting to get to you, and the dizziness is fighting its way back. Seungmin waits for you step out, and then he follows close behind.

“Do you want the heat on?”

The room is a little chilly, especially against your damp skin, but a cool room and warm blankets might be the best idea. “No, but if you do…” You watch his towel fall away as he starts to dry his arms and shoulders, and you shouldn’t be lusting after him already, but he makes it difficult without even trying.

“We should check the cameras again”

That’s enough to get you back down to earth. You nod at him, and dig out your laptop. It’s long overdue, and should have been checked again a few hours ago, but the two of you got far too distracted when the secrets and stories started coming out.

He gets back into the fresh sheets and pulls up the footage, and this time he starts with the live feed.

“Front entrance looks okay, side entrance, too. Back door…oh, why is it propped open?”

“It’s open?”

He widens the angle, but the night vision isn’t giving much. “Yeah, it’s a fire exit. It’s supposed to stay closed.”

Seungmin’s voice changes. He doesn’t like what he’s seeing, regardless of how small and insignificant it seems—just a door left open. You can feel the tension on him, and it scares you a little. He starts the feed on the back door from where he left off earlier, and he speeds through it.

“Can you get my phone?”

He has to power it up again, and it feels like it takes forever, but the footage keeps him occupied until he can refresh the news sites from earlier. And he’s quiet as he scrolls.

“Seungmin…slow down the footage”

He stops it, goes back a few minutes, and then starts it again. “That…” he points at the top right corner, “is a police car.”

It’s the smallest corner of a headlight and front bumper.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, brand new Sonata…white, and only police cars have that blue stripe over the hood.”

Just as he finishes, two men walk into view; a cop, and another man that you can only assume is an inspector. That one goes for the door, unlocks it, and opens it exactly how it was open on the live camera.

“If it’s still open, they’re still in there.” Back to the live feed, the wide angle…and everything is suddenly lit up by a pair of headlights parking exactly where the car was before. Seungmin is quiet as he watches, but you have to assume his heart is pounding like yours is. “Yeah, they are.” Two cops walk into the shot and disappear through the open door, but this time, it closes behind them.

“Do you want me to be practical again?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind”

“They have to check. Maybe there was just enough for a judge to issue a warrant.”

Seungmin looks at you, purses his lips.

“Actually, I don’t know if it works the same here. Maybe I’m not helping.”

“No, you’re right…if I wasn’t there to grant permission, they could get a warrant. I’m assuming they did.”

“And they have to search everywhere. Knock on every door. Ask questions. You keep turning your phone off, so you may have missed some calls asking for permission. Especially with the spotty service where we’ve been staying.”

“If they search the apartment, they’ll figure out who I am, what kind of car I’m driving, where I’m from. My background is clean, but…if they can find us…and if they find something weird…”

The defeat in his eyes is surprising. You know he’s stronger than this, and smarter, but he might need time to process what’s actually happening.

“I’m sorry, Minnie. None of this would have happened if I had just left when I was supposed to.”

Now he looks truly defeated. His big, watery eyes burn right through you, but you know it’s true. You distracted him, you helped him stay on his medication, and then you continued to distract him. Seungmin had been doing very well, so you think. He was smart about his kills, and about his habits, and he probably didn’t draw attention to himself in public.

“Then I’m glad it happened”

As much as you want to slap him and tell him you were never worth all of this, it’s far too late. There is no point in dwelling on the damage you’ve caused if you can’t go back and change it—you’ll have to fix it in real time. Seungmin clearly sees something in you that you might never find, but you see in him what he overlooks, as well. If you try hard enough, maybe you can understand his growing devotion. It’s there for you, too…you’re pretty certain you would die for him.

Both of you somehow fell asleep without the help of tea or medicine, you’ll happily assume because of the comfort of each other, and the idea that you’re jumping to the next place sooner than Seungmin had planned. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems like he does have a plan. He has to, because he’s had a long figure out how to protect himself in case the worse happened.

You only sleep about three hours, though, and when you wake, Seungmin isn’t under the covers next to you. He’s in the corner repacking what you unpacked not long ago.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No...should I get up and get dressed?”

“Unless you’re still tired. The sun isn’t quite up yet, we have some time.”

True, but if you fall asleep again, you might wake up much more tired. And the adrenaline is already starting when you remember everything that happened. “No, I’m okay.”

Ten minutes into the drive, which will apparently be a long one, Seungmin explains his plan—which he admits isn’t completely solid…and very disjointed, but it’s all he has. “I was a little cocky. I never thought I’d actually have to worry about this.” He glances at you, “don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you still think this is your fault”

“Can we at least agree that we are both at fault in some way?”

“If the guilt makes you happy”

“Thank you. Where are we headed?”

“Daegu, it’s a bit of a drive, and it’s out of the way…but it might be a good idea to switch cars”

A second car shouldn’t surprise you, but it wasn’t something that crossed your mind. “Unregistered, I’m assuming?”

“Of course”

You actually started getting used to the backroads and small towns, and after another two hours, you’re still in them. Seungmin knows his way around without any sort of direction, and no map pulled up on his phone (off again), and it makes him even more attractive to you. He may not have a solid plan, and he might be much more nervous beneath the surface, but Seungmin is capable of handling things when he has to, and all he wants you to do is sit back and watch.

“What is it?” He glances at you briefly, and merges into the far left lane that leads to Seokjeon-ri.

“Hm? Nothing”

The car slows as he turns and then you’re on a new, smaller stretch of road.

“I feel you staring at me”

“That’s because I’m staring at you”

“Because I’m so handsome?”

You watch a reluctant smile appear, and eventually, it turns into a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s exactly why”

“This isn’t even my good side”

“You have a bad side?”

He laughs again. You’re glad you can still make him laugh. “When I look in the mirror I do, yeah”

“I like both sides”

The car slows, and you force your eyes away from him to look at your surroundings. Another small town, but not quite as small as the previous two. Seungmin drives down a narrow road, barely big enough for two way traffic, and after a mile or so, he pulls into a maze of storage units. The car turns left, and right, and right again, and you eventually stop paying attention as you weave in and out of the identical rows.

“Almost there,” he glances down at his watch, and then gives you a smile. “Oh, here it is.”

It feels good to get out and stretch your legs—Seungmin does, too…he lifts his arms and stretches his back and rubs his neck as he pulls a set of keys from his pocket. Unit 3047 is the one he leads you to, and it takes him some time to get the locks, both of them, to unlock and unstick from their rusted latches. You watch as he bends and grabs the handle, pulls, and it slides up easily. The car is inside, very well covered, and this rundown looking storage unit is surprisingly nice on the inside.

“Do you want some help?”

“Yeah, come grab this side”

You walk inside, and you’re right about it being nice. It’s not cold in here—it’s well insulated, it’s finished, and the vent on the ceiling seems to be doing its job. He grabs a corner, and you follow. The first layer comes off, just a loose tarp, and now you can see the shape of the car beneath its cover. Seungmin does this one himself, pulling one side loose, and then the other. You grab a piece and pull, carefully lifting it over the side mirror. The front end is a pristine, shiny dark blue, and as you walk the cover off…

“I assumed we’d be detracting from ourselves, but—“

“But you like it, right?”

The cover falls to the ground as he starts to gather it up, and you look at it from every angle, starting at the back. Turbo on the left side, Toyota Supra on the right. “Of course I like it. And it’s my favorite color.” You’re starting to think Seungmin has a secret need for your praise and approval, which is fine. You’ll give him that all day. “It’s almost as pretty as you.”

“It’s the same age as you”

“Oh…thanks. No more compliments for you today.”

He knew it sounded wrong as soon as it left his mouth, but it was too late. “Maybe several days. Sorry, just a stupid observation.”

“It’s okay, you’re still young and awkward when you’re not being cool and charismatic.” You wait for him to unlock the doors, and then slide in. “Did you pick this out yourself?”

“No, this belonged to my dad—my real dad. He left it to me when he died.” He’s silent as he starts it, almost as if there’s some fear of the engine not turning over, but it does, and it sounds good. “Am I awkward?”

“Sometimes, but it’s cute. I mean…you’re not cute, I take that back.”

The first time taking it out of storage since last May, and he still managed to keep control on the one long, straight empty stretch of highway before getting close to Daegu. He hit 155 kilometers per hour, but just for a few seconds. He knows better than to get pulled over in this car. It’s not unregistered, like he told you, but it is registered under a different name, and the license should still be in the glove box. He didn’t double check.

“Feel better?” You say, and Seungmin looks at you stretched out in the passenger seat. “Getting a little bit of speed?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s easy to do in this.” He slows and finds his exit, and looks at you again when he can take his eyes off the road. “What’s wrong?” Maybe nothing, but you suddenly look very uncomfortable sitting up, unbuckled, gripping the edge of the seat.

“Can you stop the car?”

He pulls off and onto the shoulder as you swing the door open, and you make it out just in time to throw up the coffee and cream bread you had an hour ago. Seungmin is out and next to you as it happens a second time, and a third, and then your face disappears in your folded arms.

“You okay?” He knows you’re probably not, and he feels a little guilty for speeding and causing this, but there’s not much else to say. And there’s not much else to do aside from rubbing his palm across your back and hoping it somehow soothes you. He hears your muffled mhm and sees the slight nod of your head, but you don’t move back to your seat. “I’ll find us a nice room and get you something for your stomach. We’re almost there.”

“I think I’m okay now”

But you’re colorless when you look at him, and your eyes are red and watery.

“Let me know if you need me to stop again”

The hotel is nicer this time, and while he is a little concerned about his now limited money, he decides he’d rather have you staying somewhere that feels more like the apartment, plus all the amenities. And now that you’re in the city, somewhere closer to a hospital—he doesn’t mention that, though.

“How long?”

“For now I booked a week”

“A week? You think we’ll stay that long this time?”

“It’s big enough here, and pretty crowded. Nobody will notice us much. How is your stomach? I can find you some dakjuk if you’re hungry.”

“Dak juk?”

“Chicken and rice porridge. It would be easy on your stomach. Or maybe just some tea if you have no appetite.” He doesn’t want to keep hovering when you don’t feel well, but at the same time, he does. You’ve already done the same for him. “Or maybe sleep is what you need.”

“We both need sleep”

“Okay, we’ll sleep…and we can worry about dinner later”

But when you say sleep, you mean getting into bed and holding him. You are tired after the last few days, especially last night, but touching and hanging on him is the necessary part of getting into bed and falling asleep. You wouldn’t even deny him if he was in the mood, because you’ve been feeling feral over the sight and the thought of him since last night. Your lust is outweighing the sour feeling in your stomach.

And that’s what you do—get him into bed with you and make him your little spoon. You kiss his neck and shoulders, touch him softly, run the tips of your fingers over his side. It only helps him relax, and he seems to quiet and fall to sleep with no trouble. Probably for the best, because you start to fall into your sleep immediately after.

Seungmin feels your hands on him, but he knows he’s still stuck in his sleep. He’s dreaming, and you’re in this one, finally. The problem is, there’s something wrong, and he can’t figure out what it is. The dream version of you is looking to him for an answer because you just want to feel okay again, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“Hmm?” Seungmin rolls over in his half-sleep, and he starts to wake up. It’s taking so much effort to pull himself out of it, though. “Tokki?”

“Minnie, I’m right here”

His arms fold you into a sleepy embrace. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Dreaming?” You rub circles over his back, “what are you dreaming about, love?”

Finally, his eyes open and he sees just beyond your shoulder. He sees the window, curtain halfway open, covered in night sky. “I’m awake.” But he doesn’t let go. “I’ll fix everything.”

“There’s nothing to fix right now. All we’re gonna worry about is what to eat for dinner.”

/ / /

Ten days…that’s how long you’ve been in this hotel suite in the middle of Daegu. Seungmin was right about not being noticed, of course. It’s not as busy as Seoul, but it’s busy enough for people to not care about you as you go about your business. It feels normal again, like being back at the apartment and occasionally leaving to stretch your legs, or get the necessities. No more shopping trips and no more splurging—it’s a good thing you didn’t have time to get used to that sort of lifestyle, because it might not be there in the future.

You come home with the only foods you’ve had any luck keeping down: ingredients for dal juk, because Seungmin makes it surprisingly well, eggs, tuna…and your favorite, which Seungmin hates—leftover rice and bananas in milk.

“I can find you some good rice pudding somewhere” is his comment every time you make it.

“You can, and then I’ll just eat both”

So now he walks the four blocks to get it every time you mention it to him.

The security cameras have given nothing significant in all of this time away, and Seungmin seems much more relaxed because of it. Neither of you have let the idea of complete safety get too far into your minds, though. You still don’t know if they found anything significant, but if they have, it was small enough to be taken out discreetly.

“We did get rid of everything suspicious, right?” He’s asked that two separate times while you reviewed footage. Both times you assured him you did.

Tonight, over dinner, you check the live feed briefly before he decides to put on the news, but there’s nothing mentioned about a missing girl, a murder, the apartment building…nothing.

“I feel like we dreamed this whole thing,” Seungmin leans back on the couch and sighs, “how can there be nothing?"

He looks inviting sitting there, even though he’s a little frustrated, “maybe we just missed it, and they looked and found nothing and started searching somewhere else,” so you climb on the couch and onto him, sit in his lap, and start the process of getting him out of his clothes. “And we can just go home soon, and this will have been a really nice bonding trip for us.”

“Bonding trip?” He jumps when you grab his sides, “yeah, I guess we did get to know each other better.” He’s told you more than he ever imagined speaking out loud. Someone sticking around and comforting him after telling his stories seems like a weird dream, too.

“And I love you even more than I thought I could”

The flutter in his stomach comes out in a nervous laugh, because it still feels so strange hearing, and it feels strange coming from him when he can get it out. But he knows you mean it, because he feels it all. “Yeah?”

Seungmin groans when you take his soft cock in your hand and stroke, and you get a mhm out after he pulls you in for a kiss. “Yeah. I love you, and your warm hands, and your sweet mouth…”

“You need me again…already?” He teases as he leans back and watches your hands on him. “Last night wasn’t enough?”

“I can never get enough of you”

He’s already getting hard, and his hips move to match the steady up and down of your hand. You’ve been all over him, needy and horny, since the night you spent at the moon dream hotel. Tired, but not tired enough. Every night, you’ve initiated, and every time, Seungmin has happily accepted your advances.

“I have plenty to give”

He watches you move to the floor and get between his knees, and your eyes move between him and his growing cock. A long, slow lick from the base to the tip of his head, and a shiver runs over him—Seungmin can feel a wave of goosebumps on his thighs, his arms, and up his neck.

It’s a lot of work, but you enjoy the act of touching and licking and getting as much of him in your mouth as you can, and you’ve gotten more and more in over the last several weeks. Seungmin loves watching your progress, and he likes watching you just like this—on your knees, taking your time, worshipping every inch of him.

Another wet lick up his length and you suck his head into your mouth, tongue him slowly as you work him in and out, a little deeper each time.

“That’s good,” he whispers and runs his knuckles across your cheek until you look at him.

Seungmin feels you gag on him—he feels the quick squeeze of your throat before you pull back, and then you do it again, and again. Both hands grip him and stroke, twist, and suddenly he’s squirming under your touch. Your tongue comes out for another taste, over his head, around it, sucking it back in while you keep stroking and slowly working his orgasm out of him. The sounds he lets slip out are less subdued each time, and Seungmin no longer cares how vulnerable you make him. The way you look at him and smile at those sounds makes him come so much harder. But by now, you usually switch up and climb on him to finish. This time you keep going—devouring as much of him as you can and stroking the rest, and it’s perfect, the rhythm and speed. You’ve gotten used to taking his cock anywhere he wants to put it, and now you want to finish right here.

“Gonna make me come…is that what you want?”

You look up and smile as you lick him.

“Yeah, you do. You hungry for it?”

“I want it”

Seungmin’s thighs tremble and his stomach tightens. His head swims, and he wants to tell you how much he loves you right now but instead he just screams it in his head. He loves you, and he loves watching you taking him like it’s the only thing keeping you going, and swallowing his cum will wash away all of your sins. It makes him feel powerful again, despite being so weak for you. You’re weak for him. Together, you could destroy each other…

Seungmin releases with no warning, but you’re still on him, pumping everything you can into your eager mouth, letting it trickle down your chin, not stopping until you're sure he's given you everything.

“Let me see,” he grips the back of your neck and so he can look at you and your mouth, overflowing with him. “Swallow.” The cum escaping is swiped up, and you close your mouth around his thumb as he pushes it in. “Good,” he coos and leans in for a kiss.

“Yeah? Was it good?”

He kisses harder, tastes himself on your lips. “It was perfect.” Seungmin smiles against yours, “was I good?”

“Mhm, very…I should do this more often”

A phone buzzes on the kitchen table, and it makes both of you jump. The post-orgasm bliss is cut short, but despite it, he still pulls you close for another kiss before rising from the couch.

“Is your phone on?”

“Yeah, I decided to leave it on for a few hours.” The curiosity got the better of him—wondering if someone would call, whether it was someone asking about the building, or his doctor. This call is not from his doctor, and the screen says unknown caller.

He picks it up and starts the conversation. You listen carefully though you can’t catch any of Seungmin’s quick words. It’s a short phone call, less than a minute, and when he hangs up, he looks at you and smiles.

“Who was it?”

“Senior Inspector Byeon.” He says it very casually, smiling.

“A cop? What did they say?”

“He said they’ve been trying to reach me, and I told him I’ve been in Daegu visiting family…and I asked what the problem was.” He pauses.

“And?”

“And he wanted to apologize for the intrusion on my building…and in my apartment, because of a false police report. They were tipped off and couldn’t find any evidence of the girl anywhere. Nothing on the security footage. Nothing from my tenants. They didn’t want me coming back to a surprise.”

“They didn’t find anything?”

“But if something changed, or evidence was found that linked to the building, he’d be in touch.”

“Did it sound like they were expecting to find something?”

“No, he didn’t think so”

“So we can go home?”

“Do you wanna go home?”

You think, look around the hotel room you’ve broken in, and think about how good everything has been between the two of you. “We should stay here a little longer.”

“Okay, let’s get cleaned up and go get ourselves a treat”

Seoul is safe—the apartment, the building, his bank account, so Seungmin’s pockets are suddenly bottomless again. He picks a cafe a few blocks from the hotel, and fills the table with whatever he thinks you might like; a slice of chocolate cake, a soufflé covered in caramelized bananas, a raspberry strudel, a plate full of hotteok, and two cappuccinos.

“Are we going to eat all of this?” You laugh, but immediately pick up a fork and take a bite of the cake.

Seungmin does the same, and then tries strudel. “We’re gonna try, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“I know. I have been feeling a little better recently, but I don’t like testing it.”

“We’ll have our leftovers for breakfast,” he says, but he’s distracted by a loud group walking into the cafe, all men, and probably younger than Seungmin. He knows better than to look and attract their attention, but he turns away a moment too late.

One of them speaks, but he ignores it and takes a sip of his coffee.

“What does he want?” You ask quietly.

“Nothing, just don’t look at them.”

He speaks again, to Seungmin, and then he seems to say something directed toward you. His friends don’t join in, but they don’t seem bothered by anything happening.

“Please, give it a rest,” he says softly.

A flashback to Seungmin’s temper, the bartenders bloody, broken nose, and the crack in the plaster wall. That can’t happen again, not now…not after finally being able to relax. Again, you’re in the dark listening to their fast-paced Korean—first the stranger, then Seungmin again. You can hear his anger growing.

“Hey,” your hand closes over his, “maybe we should just go.”

“Not yet”

The stranger speaks again.

“What is he saying?”

“He’s just being an ass”

Your heart jumps when Seungmin stands, and he’s at least a few inches taller than all of them. More than anything, he has a way of looking intimidating without much effort. But he’s one, and they’re three.

The cafe owner finally notices and yells at them to leave, but they ignore her.

“Min?” He doesn’t hear you, or he acts like he doesn’t. You wish he would look at you, because everything is starting to turn sideways. “Minnie?”

The anger in him is ready to spill over. Nothing would feel better than his hands around this boys neck, squeezing, crunching, destroying his windpipe and watching him writhe and gasp for air on the floor. Watching the light leave his eyes as he wondered if the things he said about you was worth his life.

The owner yells something, points over his shoulder, and all he sees is you, slowly falling from the chair and landing on the hard floor. He runs to you, and his anger disappears as if it never existed at all.

“Jagiya…what’s wrong? Open your eyes”

He hears the woman say she’s calling an ambulance, but he doesn’t want to believe that’s necessary. You just fainted because you said you get dizzy when you’re anxious. The vertigo hit when you were worried he would do something stupid, and he almost did. Seungmin could feel and see his fist meeting the boys jaw—he could hear the crack.

“Please open your eyes.” Your skin is hot. He places a kiss on your forehead, and then moves to your mouth. Seungmin can feel your slow breaths against his lips.

“Minnie, please be good,” you say, and groan in pain.

“I am…I was good”

He’s there when your eyes open. Confused, still dizzy, and now a throbbing pain in your shoulder. Seungmin looks just as confused. “What happened?”

“You passed out”

You feel stupid sitting here in a hospital bed—like a burden, like you’re wasting everyone’s time, and like you’re just causing more worry. But you can’t blame Seungmin for being concerned.

“How’s your shoulder?” He moves your gown out of the way and gently touches the red mark left by the floor.

“It’s not bad”

“I know you don’t wanna be here, I’m sorry”

“No, I just don’t think they’ll have an answer…that’s all. They’ll tell me it’s stress, or that it’s in my head and that it’ll go away. And I want my chocolate cake.”

“They did take blood, so maybe that will tell us something.” Seungmin readjusts your gown as two nurses return.

One speaks to Seungmin first, leaving you clueless, and she doesn’t give him a chance to translate. He holds his hand up and turns to you, “she said they did a few tests, but the others will take a few more hours.”

“You only speak English?” The other nurse looks at you.

“Yes”

“Are you her husband?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation.

“We do have some results from your blood, and you are feeling unwell because you are pregnant. Probably around six weeks, based on the information you gave us.”

“I’m what?”

“Pregnant?” Seungmin asks, and the look on his face is a mixture of confusion, and what looks like relief…maybe more than that.

“Yes, we suspected that and the bloodwork confirmed it. But it’s still very early. The morning sickness is normal at this stage, and the tiredness. All of this was making your stress worse, but knowing why should help.”

“Can we go home?”

“What’s wrong?” He pulls you against him and feels you tense up, “it’s okay…everything will be okay.”

“Probably not tonight. We’re going to give you IV fluids and vitamins since you haven’t been able to eat much lately, but you’ll be taken to the maternity floor.”

Seungmin can feel the anxiety radiating from you. He isn’t quite sure which direction his brain wants to go in right now, but of course he doesn’t want to leave you here alone for the entire night. “How long will the IV take?”

“Maybe an hour or two”

“Can we go home after that? And we’ll come back to see the doctor tomorrow.”

The nurse looks at you for a long moment, and then to him. “Alright, two hours in bed, and if you’re feeling okay, I’ll see if the doctor will release you. But I can’t promise he’ll agree.”

/ / /

Silence falls over the hotel room when you finally return three hours later, but you can tell that Seungmin wants to talk—wants to, but doesn’t know what to say. Both tests you took almost two weeks ago were wrong, but it must have been too early, and the idea of being pregnant almost left your mind with those negative results. Now you sit, wrapped in your damp towel with the knowledge of something growing inside of you. That thought is wearing you out, and so is remembering him trying to hide his true feelings when he found the discarded box. You love Seungmin, and you should be happy you’re having the baby he obviously wants, but your fear and uncertainty outweighs everything right now.

Seungmin sets a stack of clean clothes next to you, and he stands there for a moment, because the words on the tip of his tongue refuse to come out. He can sense your doubt and your worry.

“How do you feel…after the IV? I should’ve made sure you were eating enough, and staying hydrated.”

“I feel better.” You do, but you’re stuck with this uneasy stomach whether it’s from the baby or your nerves. “You didn’t know why I was sick, Minnie.”

“No, but I should have been taking better care of you anyway.” He turns and heads for the door when you both hear a soft knock. “I’ve been too distracted by everything going on.”

You hear him greet and thank whoever is there, and then he’s heading back to you with something in his hand. It’s a piece of chocolate cake—not like the one you had earlier, but it still looks good. Seungmin drops to his knees in front of you and wraps his arms around your waist, and you pull him into a hug.

“Hopefully this one is good, too”

“I’m sure it is.” A kiss on his forehead brings a smile to his face, finally. “Thank you.”

“Can we talk about it?” His voice shakes a little.

The Seungmin in front of you and the one you met almost two months ago are the same, but so different. He’s allowed himself to become soft around you, and for you—not just sometimes, and not all of the time…but most of the time. This part of him has always been in there somewhere, waiting to be coaxed out, but you’re mostly surprised because you know he stopped taking his medication after you arrived in Daegu.

“Of course we can. I wanna know everything you’re feeling right now, and everything going on in your head.”

“Everything?” He laughs. “Okay. I know I acted strange when you took your test before, and that was because I never thought I’d have a chance to experience the things that we’ve done together, and felt—the feeling of having someone so special that you could happily make a baby together. And I know I shouldn’t be, I know I shouldn’t feel that—“

“Yes you should, Seungmin”

“We aren’t really parent material…or you think you’re not, at least. I know I’m not. But maybe together, we’re different. Maybe we just need each other.”

“I need you, baby or no baby”

“Tell me what’s going on in your head”

That look he gives you makes everything feel better, and you’re starting to believe you can do anything as long as you have him. “I’m worried…I’m scared.”

“What are you afraid of? Giving birth…or caring for the baby? I’ll be there for you, for everything. I promise.”

“Yes, but I’m more worried I won’t be able to handle it. I’ve already been so sick, and I know that’s normal, but what if it gets worse? What if my body can’t do this right?”

“I’ll take care of you, whether you’re sick or not. Whether you can handle it, or you can’t. You come first.”

[sundrop-writes]

(Un)Intimidated

Derek Hale x POTSie!GN!Reader Blurb

Word Count: 600

Sundrop's Main Masterlist

Warnings: the reader is gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; mentions of the reader having a 'girly' room (elements of pink and having stuffed animals); the reader has POTS - it is the main 'plot' of the fic (Derek can hear the reader's heartbeat). This is mostly just very self indulgent fluff.

A/N: So - again, I am on hiatus. But self indulgent fic ideas are getting to me. If you follow my main blog then you saw this one coming. Originally, my idea was to write something about Derek listening to the reader's heartbeat and catching them before they faint, but this fic is what happened when I started typing. Maybe I will write the other idea sometime, idk. Also, shoutout to the fact that I was writing this while having chest pains due to POTS. Wild

...

You had been assigned to ‘babysit’ Derek. 

What a glamorous role: sitting in your bedroom with a man on the run from the law (only because Scott had publicly (wrongfully) accused him of murder). 

When you first met Derek Hale, you had been intimidated by him. It was impossible not to be. He was more than six feet tall and impossibly broad - a giant wall of muscle that could have ripped you apart in seconds if he wanted to. But soon, you came to realize that he was… softer than other people gave him credit for. He had lost his entire family, and he was alone in the world. Of course he protected himself from that loneliness with bitterness and anger. But you saw glimpses of something else beneath. 

Especially now, when he was sitting in your bedroom on your pink beanbag chair, among a pile of stuffed animals, reading a YA romance novel that you had given him to entertain himself - he was almost… cute. 

He let out a gentle huff, seemingly frustrated, and you wondered if he had gotten caught up in the plot of the book - which would have been entirely amusing. 

“You okay?” You asked, putting down the pen you had been using to doodle with in your journal, giving him your full attention. “I can get us a snack or something if-” 

“Look, I’m sorry.” He mumbled out, so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words. 

“What?” You gaped, wondering if you had misheard him. 

“I said: I’m sorry.” He repeated himself, slowly and a bit louder. 

Unfortunately this confused you even further. 

“What for?” You asked, moving to the edge of your bed and putting your feet on the floor, directing even more of your attention toward him. 

“I know Scott and Stiles are making you stay with me, but you don’t have to stay here if you’re going to be… scared.” He explained slowly, quietly, choosing his words carefully. “I know I’m not exactly the friendliest person-” 

“‘Scared’?” You repeated his own words back to him, unsure of what he meant. “Why do you think I’m scared?” 

“Your heart has been racing for the past hour - ever since I arrived.” He explained. “I know you must be afraid of me-” 

You let out a gentle laugh, shaking your head. 

It was Derek’s turn to be confused now. 

“I - I forgot that werewolves can do that.” You told him, putting a hand to your chest and feeling your own rapid heartbeat. “Scott told me, but…” You trailed off, and then you switched to a different line of thought completely. 

“I’m not scared of you.” You announced, entirely firm. 

With your heart thumping at the exact same rapid pace, Derek couldn’t tell if this was a lie or not. 

“But-” He tried to argue, and you cut him off. 

“I have a medical condition.” You explained. 

He looked at you with curiosity, and you continued. 

“It’s called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. It means that my entire nervous system is whack - and my heart speeds up or slows down when it’s not supposed to. Because the part of my brain that controls my heart rate is… broken. It also causes me to faint. Way too often.” 

Derek hated to hear you speak of yourself as ‘broken’, because he saw you as such a kind, perfect person. But he chose not to say anything about it. 

A hint of sadness, pity, drifted across Derek’s features - anybody else would have missed it, but since meeting him, you had focused on seeing beneath the surface of his bruteness, and you had started picking up on everything more than the toughness he projected. 

“Do you… need to go to a hospital?” He asked, concerned about the fact that your heart had been racing for more than an hour now. 

“No.” You assured him. “It’s like this all the time. I just need a lot of water - and rest.” 

He nodded. 

“So - you’re not afraid of me?” He confirmed gently. 

“No.” You nodded. “You’re really not that scary.” 

You flopped back onto the bed in order to lay down, but you didn’t miss the tiny uptick at the corner of his mouth - the small flash of a smile that he gave you at these words.