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mggslover · 3 months ago

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Addicted

In which Spencer meets a beautiful stranger at his local dealer, his addiction to weed rapidly turning into an addiction to her.

Pairing: stoner!spencer x stoner!fem!reader Genre: slight angst x smut (18+) Content warnings: weed usage (not promoting it! pls zont zo it), short mentions of tobias hankel and maeve, finger sucking, mutual masturbation, lazy high sex Word count: 3,6k A/n: my first fic inspired on a song! when i listened to 'denial is a river' by doechii, this fic immediately started to form in my mind

Spencer oftentimes wondered when he started becoming afraid of his own mind. Maybe there was never a starting point — maybe it was rooted in his bones, something he never had the chance to escape. An inherited terror, passed down like a family heirloom.

He knew the descent into insanity was inevitable. That there would come a time when his mind, the thing he’s relied on all his life, would betray him. That he’d watch the pieces of himself scatter until his identity was nothing but a cruel mockery of who he once was.

What Spencer didn’t expect was for that moment to arrive so soon. He never imagined his first meeting with madness to be in a dark cabin as the sting of Dilaudid coursed through his veins. And what Spencer least expected was how he’d feel afterward — how, no matter the trauma, he would find himself aching for that sensation, longing for it to return.

With his reason still intact, he managed to sign himself up for a support group destined for addicts in law enforcement. Rehab might’ve been the hardest battle he’d had to face, and being clean is a title he still doesn't deserve. Because even though it’s been years since his arms last looked blue, he’s been smoking weed habitually.

It started when a police officer in the program spoke up about his struggle with weed addiction, going into detail about the tranquilizing effects and how it left him unable to focus on the job. Whereas his story would sound appalling to most, Spencer found appeal in its descriptions. Cannabis offered the same calming qualities as Dilaudid, but with a lower overdose risk, and on top of that, it was far easier to obtain.

So when the officer casually slipped his dealer’s address in the middle of immersively sharing his story, Spencer made a mental note and found himself on the location later that day. The transaction was easier than he’d expected; showing the cash in his pocket was enough for the gruff man to hand him a small, opaque bag, its contents concealed.

That same night, Spencer found himself sitting on his couch, supplies spread out on the coffee table before him. He remembered a guy from his PhD mathematics program, rolling a blunt in Yale’s community garden under the same big tree where Spencer would read his literature for the day. It gave him some of an idea on how to proceed. Once he had the wrap filled, he methodically pinched and smoothed the paper as he rolled it with his fingers, careful to avoid tearing.

He didn’t feel much with the first drag, but as he inhaled deeper, a tingling sensation spread to his head and chest, almost coaxing him into a dosed state. The world around him instantly softened, and he sank further into the couch, as if a fuzzy, warm blanket had draped over him.

That moment marked the first of many, as Spencer would often return to the plant when experiencing withdrawal or when he started developing headaches later in his life. He frequently recalled how the officer mentioned performing less at his job while under the influence, but for Spencer, it had the opposite effect. He tended to approach cases too objectively and analytically. When he would go home at the end of the day and smoke before bed, his mind would suddenly make creative, out-of-the-box connections — connections he had never considered before.

Spencer wasn’t ready to give up weed just yet.

———

You were lying down, your head resting on the armrest of the pink velvet couch that stood in the corner of your therapist’s office. For the past fifteen minutes, you’d been staring at a small star painted on the ceiling, which was part of a mural of the universe. It was supposed to help people ground themselves — to remind them that their existence was nothing more than a tiny spark in the entire cosmos.

“I don’t know,” you eventually responded in a sigh as your therapist questioned you once again. “This is a really dark time for me, I’m going through a lot.”

“By ‘a lot’, you mean drugs?”

You were thrown off guard by the inquiry, brows furrowing. “Um, I wouldn’t-”

“Drugs?” She repeated, her pen ready in hand, as her notebook rested open on her lap.

Your head shot up from its position on the armrest of the couch. “No, it’s a-”

“No?” She probed, her eyes raised up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a natural plant,” you stated, sitting up straighter.

“No, I’m not judging.”

You rolled your eyes at her attempt to reassure you. “I’m not an addict.”

“I’m just saying-”

“I don’t think-”

“You wanna talk about it?”

———

The door slamming behind you was as much of a response as you would offer her. With hurried steps you walked out of the building, hand reaching into your pocket as you searched for your car keys. With a small click of the door, you entered your beat-up old car, shivering as you still haven’t been able to fix the radiator.

You didn’t need to pull up the GPS — not that you even owned one — to know where you were headed. You speed-dialed your dealer as you rounded a corner, and maybe that was enough to confirm that you did have a bit of a problem with drugs. At least you were seeing a therapist; not many can say the same.

The sun was disappearing behind the clouds as you pulled into the familiar motell parking lot. There was a chill in the air, making you pull your jacket tighter around you as you walked toward room number 13.

Your attention was drawn to a tall, lanky man with messy curls, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stood in front of the door. It was a rare sight to see someone ahead of you in line — usually people would arrive one by one to not bring any attention to the scene, but then again, you made an appointment at the very last minute.

You walked up to him, standing beside him in an attempt to make the scene look like a casual visit. You offered a polite smile, which he returned with a brief wave of his hand. Awkwardly, you turned your gaze to the door in front of you, waiting. You could feel his eyes scanning over you, making you reach up to fix your hair, just in case something was out of place. He seemed to notice your action and turned his head.

After a minute, you cleared your throat. “Did you knock?”

He looked at you, and you weren’t expecting the flutter in your stomach as you met his deep, brown eyes.

“I did,” he answered. “It’s been four minutes and twenty eight seconds, which, based on my previous encounters, gives him approximately three more seconds to open the door.”

You fell silent as the door opened, just like the handsome stranger had predicted. You reached into your jacket pocket, pausing when you found it empty. Your heart began racing as you checked the other pocket, then anxiously patted down your jeans.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” The brown-haired man asked in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I forgot my wallet.”

“I could pay for you.”

The casualty of his offer took you by surprise. “Really?”

It was embarrassing that you didn’t turn him down, but you didn’t have the energy to be polite — today had been rough, and all you wanted to do was go home and relax. You felt a little less guilty when the stranger’s lips curled into a smile, as if he was happy to do this for you.

“Well, I don’t give a shit who pays. Just give the damn money — it’s cold.”

The stranger’s lips tightened in response as he handed the man twice the usual amount of bills. The dealer handed over two small bags in return, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

“Here you go.”

You breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ as you accepted the bag from him. “I’ll pay you back next time.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand.

You exchanged names, which led him to compliment yours and give you a brief history lesson on its origins.

“I never expected to learn more about myself from a total stranger,” you chuckled.

You didn’t notice he had walked you to your car until you stopped in front of it. “This is me. Where are you parked, or are you staying here?”

“I got here by subway, actually.”

You raised your brows, surprised. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood, especially at night, and Spencer didn’t strike you as the type to wander around here.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked, just to be certain.

“Absolutely!” he answered, lifting up his shirt, revealing a gun holstered at his waist. “I can handle myself.”

Alarm bells blared in your mind at the sight, and you instinctively stepped back.

“Wait! No, no, no,” Spencer put his hands up, showing you that he meant no harm. “I work at the FBI.”

He could read the doubt in your expression, slowly moving one hand to his jacket while keeping the other raised in the air. Carefully, he retrieved his badge and held it out, revealing it to you. You leaned in, observing the golden emblem and the ID picture beside it.

“Now, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” you said with a relieved sigh. “I guess I can offer you a ride, then?”

Spencer looked at you, as if considering all the possible outcomes of his answer. He ended up nodding his head and giving you a soft grin.

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over both of you.

“You seem nervous,” he observed.

“How’d you know?”

“Your fingers are tapping against the steering wheel, and they’re out of rhythm with the radio, so it’s not like you’re tapping along with the song.”

“I guess I am.” You turned your head to him, then back to the road. “It has nothing to do with you, though. I feel oddly comfortable around you.”

When you glanced at him again, he was smiling, a glimmer in his eyes, shyly playing with his fingers. “Me too.”

———

You hadn’t expected Spencer to invite you in when you arrived at his house. He suggested you smoke together, saying you shouldn’t be driving while feeling anxious.

Honestly, you didn’t care about the reasoning. You just wanted to spend more time with him.

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs pulled up and half draped over his as you took another drag from your joint. You didn’t know who started the conversation, but somehow you found yourself opening up about life and its struggles.

“I caught my ex cheating. He was supposed to pick up his stuff and leave the next day, but instead he crashed my place and just… destroyed everything I owned.”

His expression remained neutral, like he was trying not to judge, though his eyes said enough. After a beat, he spoke up again. “My girlfriend got shot in front of my face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but the weed dulled your reaction. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah… shit,” he muttered in an exhale, picking up his joint again.

Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, noticing the long, slender shape of them, the small bones shifting under his skin as he gripped the joint. The image of a tree flashed through your mind, its branches moving in the wind — or maybe it was just the weed making your mind wander.

As he brought the joint to his lips, your gaze followed the movement, your breath catching when his pink lips parted just enough to reveal a hint of his tongue. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes lingered there, entranced. He closed his lips around it, letting out a low hum that was almost a moan as he inhaled.

He exhaled, filling the air with smoke, the rich scent enveloping you.

“Can I take a hit?”

He didn’t question why you weren’t using your own. Instead he handed you the joint, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you took it.

You kept eye contact with him as you placed it between your lips, softly moaning at the contact, knowing his mouth had been right where yours was.

Spencer took you in with dark, tired eyes. You threw your leg over his thigh, feeling the need to be closer to him as the air around you grew warmer.

He didn’t seem to mind your clinginess, which gave you the confidence to lean in closer. Carefully, you reached out, your nails lightly grazing his jaw, making him shiver as he let out a quiet purr at the touch.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a husky whisper, more intrigued than accusatory.

“I’m horny,” you whispered against his lips, fingers trailing down his jaw.

His breath heaved at the proximity. “Evidence shows that cannabis can enhance sexual pleasure.”

“Yeah?” you purred, lips brushing against his. “And what should I do about it?”

“You should touch yourself.”

“Should I now?” your voice teasingly sang as you leaned back, your hands sensually moving up the sides of your body before squeezing your breasts through your shirt.

“Like this?”

He blinked a couple of times, licking his lips. “A bit lower.”

You smirked, your hands trailing down your body, relishing how he was taking you in, unable to look away. Your hand stopped as you cupped your heat through your clothes, slowly rubbing your fingers in circles. “Here?”

He groaned at the sight, nodding his head in confirmation. “Right there.”

Spencer’s bulge pressed against your leg, which you had thrown over his lap. You couldn’t resist moving against it, making him gasp as he threw his head back.

“You should take care of that,” you suggested, nodding towards his pants. “Let me give you something to work with.”

Spencer’s gaze was expectant, as he watched you slowly peel your clothes off. Inch by inch, you revealed your skin, leaving him desperate for more.

Spencer mirrored your actions, undressing himself before he took a hold of your bare leg, placing it back on his lap, so that your legs were spread wide open. With one arm behind you, he pulled you in closer, his other hand reaching out to caress the skin in between your breasts, making you catch your breath.

His hand trailed further up your skin, until his fingers were lightly tapping against your lips. “Open up for me,” he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips for him to slide two of his fingers inside of your mouth. You responded instinctively, wrapping your lips around them, your cheeks hollowing as you started moving your head back and forth. Your tongue swirled in lazy circles, humming at the taste of his skin.

“Good girl,” he cooed in approval. “Get them all nice and wet, so that I can touch you.”

Spencer watched your eyes sparkle at his words. When a moan escaped your lips, vibrating around his fingers, he was reminded once again why he loved being high — it soothed his anxiety in a way that made his thoughts spill out without overthinking. And it thrilled him to see the effect his words had on you, words that would usually stay locked in his mind.

The hand that had been resting around your shoulder wandered down to your breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. You moaned around his fingers, meeting his gaze, his nose nearly brushing yours as he watched you with intent focus.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop, before he reached down to press them against your pussy. You closed your eyes in bliss as he rubbed his fingers up and down your slit, the combined juices of your slickness and your mouth made his fingers easily slip between your folds with every move.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in awe as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth.

“That’s your fault,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled, his breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll take the blame,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to yours.

You hungrily accepted his kiss. Your hand slid between his thighs, finding his hard length pressed against his stomach. His cock felt warm against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around him, the movement causing a string of precum to form, connecting from his tip to his happy trail.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, his tongue swirling against yours, deepening the kiss even further. You traced your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, causing him to buck his hips and pressing his fingers harder against your clit in response.

You squirmed at the intensity of his touch. His slender fingers continued to trail over your pussy, teasing with delicate strokes before slipping a finger into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned.

You began stroking his length, squeezing him gently as you flicked your wrist. Every movement was a lazy, unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies. Savoring the haze of the high as it sharpened your every sensation.

You broke the kiss, as you reached for the joint on the coffee table, turning toward Spencer with a playful glint in your eye. He gratefully parted his lips, as you placed the roll between them. He took a deep drag, the smoke curling into his lungs. You leaned closer, opening your mouth in anticipation to receive the smoky breath he exhaled, as you shared the pleasure.

Spencer took in the sight of you. Your swollen lips were slightly parted as you breathed in. Your nipples were hard with excitement, and your pussy glistened around his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out of you. You were a sight to behold, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten tonight.

He could look at you all day. He’s never felt so drawn to someone before, and he could easily finish just by watching your body as you sat bare in front of him. His cock fitted perfectly in your delicate hands. You were gripping him just right, bringing him closer to the release he’s been longing for.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words slipping out naturally.

“So are you,” you replied just as sensually, your eyes tracing the way your hand palmed him, feeling his heavy weight in your grip. “I wanna know how you’d feel inside of me.”

A flush crept across his cheeks at your bluntness. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, humming in response. “Bet you’d fill me up so good.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, swallowing hard as he could feel the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Are you clean?” you asked him, and he quickly nodded.

He eagerly grabbed your hips as you crawled on top of him, moaning softly as he felt the weight of you. His hand slid to your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, sucking your bottom lip.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers curling around his thick length as you guided him to your entrance. You let out a shaky whisper as he filled you up more than you expected. Spencer noted the furrow in your brow, but before he could remind you to take your time, you were already rocking your hips against him.

“Oh, baby,” he cried out, his hands sliding to your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your thighs rolled over his, and he met your pace, thrusting up into you.

“You feel so good,” he continued moaning as his fingers dug into your skin.

You could only whimper in response and you fastened your movements, your breasts brushing against him with each slide of your hips.

He could feel you tightening around him, your legs trembling against his. “Spencer, I-”

You didn’t need to finish your sentence for him to understand. “Me too, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

You kept moving, the urgency in his voice spurring you on. You leaned in to capture his lips one more time, and Spencer accepted with a desperate whine.

The pressure in your core finally broke, and you cried out his name as an overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened, and he pushed up into you one last time, his body shuddering as the warmth of his release filled you.

“You’re so amazing,” he sleepily groaned, nuzzling his head into your chest as you came down from the high. You chuckled at the scene, unsure if he even noticed how clingy he was being. It had to be the weed that made him hold onto you like that, but the action still made your heart flutter, imagining how you could be the reason why he’s acting this way.

“Can you pick up the joint for me?” he softly asked, his lips brushing against your stomach.

You giggled. “You’re really an addict.”

“I’m just addicted to you.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader

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bullet-prooflove · 12 days ago

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Boston: Jack Abbott x Reader

Tagged: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @noxytopy @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Masochist - You and Jack have an indepth understanding of one another.

Seven Shades of Fucked Up (NSFW) - You know exactly how to get Jack off.

Part of the Job - Violence has always been part of the job, but this time it hits a little too close to home for Jack.

Love Language (NSFW) - Jack has his own unique love language.

Pittfest - Jack's day turns into a nightmare when he recieves a notification from the hospital regarding a mass casuality event.

Snapband - Jack's worst fear comes true during a mass casuality event.

Your mom hates Jack and that’s ok because Jack hates your mom, he’s just more polite about it out of respect for you. It’s why he bites his tongue when you go to lunch with her, why he’s even more attentive when you return because that woman she wears you down, erodes you and Jack he despises it.

It’s worse today because it’s the anniversary of your sister’s death. Your mom, she refuses to acknowledge it but you do, you put flowers on Abby’s grave for every one of the occasions she misses. Jack, he goes with you because he knows that pain can be just as visceral a decade later, that it can leave you feeling hollowed out, wrecked.

“You don’t have to go to lunch with her today.” He tells you as you sit in the car outside the restaurant. “We can take a drive down by the river instead, get out of the city for a while, give you a little breathing room.”

Today is a tough day for you, even without your mother’s looming presence and he doesn’t want it to get any harder.

“It’ll be fine.” You tell him as you get out of the car. “Maybe she finally wants to celebrate Abby’s life this time.”

She doesn’t. The reason she’s summoned you is because she wants to talk about your future, the one that doesn't include an underpaid, overworked emergency room physician. However it does include your ex-husband Richard, the man who used to be your psychiatrist and your sister's before her untimely death.

Jack finds this out six hours later when he has to track you down using the Find My Friend App because you haven't returned home from the restaurant. He locates you back at Abby’s grave site, sitting on the bench underneath the old oak tree watching the sunset in the distance.

“Mom didn’t come.” You say quietly, your hands tucked into your pockets as you stare at the scenery in front of you. “She sent Richard instead. Apparently they both agree it’s time for me to move on, to stop lingering in the past and return to Boston.”

“Boston, that’s where you were before…” Jack swallows hard against the ache in his chest, the one that’s been growing ever since he realised you hadn’t come home to him. “…where you were with him.”

Before your return to Pittsburgh you helped Richard to establish a rehab clinic, one that catered especially to the rich and famous. You used to spend your days negotiating treatment plans with publicists and managing people who had more money than god but no drive to heal. It was soul destroying, morally irrepresentable and it only added to the numbness you felt in the years after your sister’s death, which is why one night you found yourself taking off your clothes and walking into the ocean.

You’d just discovered Richard was fucking one of his celebrities and that last scrap of self-worth had evaporated. You weren’t anything to anyone, nobody would care if you just slipped out of existence. So that’s what you decided to do. Step into the water, leave it all behind. Just like Abby did.

It’s the initial burst of cold that stops you, that bracing wave of freezing water immersing your body. Something inside of you breaks and all of those emotions you’ve shoved down into a box unleash themselves. Instead of nothing, you feel everything, the anguish, the grief, the devastation, it hits you all at once and that pain, it pours out of you into the water as you struggle to keep your head above it.

You almost drown that night, you almost let the current take you but you don’t because deep down in the core of your being you know it has to get better, because truthfully it can’t get much worse.

The only way is up, you remind yourself as you drag yourself back up onto the beach.

Three years later you meet the man that makes all of your dreams come true, who gives himself to you so unconditionally that sometimes even you can’t believe he’s real.

“If you want to go to Boston, I won’t stop you.” Jack says as he sits down beside you, you can feel the despondency in him as he runs his hands through burnished silver curls. “But I can’t go with you, the need here… it’s too great.”

You understand what he means. You, him, your colleagues, you’re the only thing standing between most people and a really bad fucking day. Jack can’t abandon the people who need him, and the thing is neither can you.

“Jack.” You say softly as you take his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “I’m not going to Boston, I’m staying right here with you.”

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#jack abbott x reader #dr abbott #dr abbott x reader #shawn hatosy #jack abbott #the pitt 2025 #the pitt hbo #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt

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hometoursandotherstuff · 12 days ago

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Wow, this is very different. It's a restored c.1300 14th century convent that was converted to a home in Lisbon, Sintra, Portugal. 13bds, 10ba, 3,659.73 sqft, $4,263,770 approx USD. It's ancient and so incredibly amazing. Since it was rehabbed in 1989, some of it needs new restoration work.

Look at this entrance. The Convent of São Saturnino is an architectural complex of labyrinthine design consisting of houses, corners, terraces, & gardens on several levels, with fabulous views of the mountains and the sea.

Beautiful dining room. In a convent, it would've been called a refectory. Look at the nook on the right. Is that a little holy water font on the wall?

Look at this kitchen. It still has the basic old elements, like the oven, original floors, walls and ceiling.

Steep steps coming down. I wonder if that's a reception desk on the left. Nice fireplace has a wood burning stove inside.

Niche with glass encased bust. There are other hotels in the area, b/c it's located 20 minutes from Cascais, 10 minutes from Praia Grande and Guincho beach and 40 minutes from Lisbon International Airport.

Nice little library. It looks like the restoration held up pretty well, though.

It doesn't say, specifically, but I'm assuming that everything comes with it, b/c it has a license for local accommodation, which means it could be a boutique hotel, a place of worship, or small family apartments (I hope they don't butcher it up for that, though.)

The living room doors open to this terrace.

This is one of the other buildings they refer to.

There are so many of these wonderful artifacts.

The property is stunning.

There's a modern home up here.

It's a very modern house, I wonder what the story with this one is.

What a nice hallway.

Beautifully restored.

This is so nice.

It has a pool that needs cleaning. Look at the stairs and the tile wall.

This looks like a covered cabana.

Look at this building. I love the older ones.

Everywhere you look, there's something to see.

Beautiful path thru the property.

Approx. 0.36 acre.

https://www.rightmove.co.uk/properties/156064382

#converted convent portugal #homes portugal #historic homes portugal #houses #house tours #home tour

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jessthebaker · 30 days ago

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With Sticks and String

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?” Trust me. You’ll see.

Dieter Bravo x reader

word count: 1.7k-ish

A church basement. A large circle of uncomfortable metal folding chairs. A table at the side with hot water urns, a stack of paper cups, a basket of tea bags and instant coffee sachets. A disused pulpit at one end of the circle for someone to stand and speak.

Dieter stands in the doorway and feels the familiar deja vu. He’s been going in circles for more than a year now, the endless loop of losing control, using, rehab, enforced sobriety, falling into using again. His agent is fed up with his bullshit and finally gave him the “I may be your employee but I’m the only friend you have left, go to rehab and make it work this time or we’re done” speech.

That was two months ago, and he’s done his mandated time at the rehab facility. Now he has to find a NA meeting to attend. He’s been to every NA meeting group in the city over the last few years and never lasted long at any of them. This group is the final one left on the list of available options that gelled with his location and schedule. Not like his schedule was that full anyway.

He notices you at his first meeting and as cliché as it was, there is something different about you. You seem to have the same dark sense of humour as him, the same cheekiness in danger of being stamped out in the name of sobriety. The same marks of near-silent desperation that you can hide from everyone but other addicts. However, the strand of fuzzy yarn running up your legs to connect the pile of fabric on your lap to your bag on the floor is new to him.

After that first meeting, he keeps stealing glances at you from across the circle of chairs. He notices you always have a project in your lap during meetings, your needles clicking softly as a backdrop to the sound of other attendees telling their stories. Sometimes it’s your crochet hook flashing in the light, as your wrist twirls it effortlessly through the air. He’s more fascinated with watching you work than paying attention to the speakers. Your motions are graceful and practiced; you deftly create something out of a jumble of fuzzy string without even looking. It’s like magic to him.

After a few meetings he works up the nerve to say hello to you afterwards. Swap names over weak shitty coffee in flimsy paper cups. A few more meetings, and he sits next to you. A few more weeks, and he asks you about your project. You smirk (got another one, you think to yourself) and show him what you’re working on.

You ask him, “Do you want to have a go?”

“Uh, yeah, if you trust me not to ruin it.”

You scoff lightly. “Don’t worry about ruining anything, it’s crochet. Whatever you fuck up, I can pull back and fix. Just...play around with it.”

You show him the basic stitches, the way to maneuver the hook and where to place it, how to pull up a loop and draw it through. He’s surprised to find he likes it. He works through your row and you show him how to make a turning chain, encourage him to work back through the next row. A soft cough behind you both makes you jump. It’s the meeting leader giving you the wind-up. It’s past time to turn off the lights and lock up. Dieter is surprised to find half an hour has passed in your company.

As you start packing up your project again, you can tell he wants to say something. His eyes are a little wild, his teeth biting at his lip nervously.

“Do you think you could teach me more next week? I think I need something like this. Something to keep - keep the hands busy, you know?”

His hands are always restless, you have noticed this. He’s always fidgeting during meetings, pulling at his coat hems, fiddling with at his pant pockets or the buttons on his lapel, twiddling his earring. Right now as you both stand together, his hands are twitching at his side, making flicking motions as if ashing an invisible cigarette.

“Of course. Come early next week and I’ll show you more.” You beam indulgently at Dieter, and to him it’s as if a shaft of sunlight has put a spotlight on your face.

His face relaxes instantly and a shy half-grin emerges. You get the feeling he has a nice smile when he lets it really show. You secretly wonder if he might have a dimple. You agree on half an hour before the regular meeting time and say your goodnights.

The next week, as promised, you bring a ball of yarn and an extra crochet hook and teach him more of the basics. You get him started with a simple dishcloth project that will fit on his lap during the meeting. You don’t say anything, but you do see that he’s more relaxed with this in hand – he’s not actively working on it during the meeting itself, but he is idly stroking the yarn, turning the partial square around in his hands, rolling and folding and twisting it up. You catch his eye and glance at the wadded up square of crochet stitches in his hands. He looks down too, sees what he’s done subconciously, and gives you a sheepish grin. You wink and grin back.

After that first crochet lesson, your friendship with Dieter grows. You look forward to the weekly meetings in a different way, now. He does too. Beyond the obvious connection of being fellow addicts in recovery, he can talk to you and you don’t stare at him like he’s a nutjob. You enjoy passing down the crafts that have helped you to stay sober these past thirteen years.

And there is the attraction. That doesn't hurt.

You can’t help but stare sometimes when he’s not looking. Does he not realise how handsome he is? Maybe he does. But he doesn’t draw attention to himself that way. Over time he lets slip little details, offhand comments, that give you the impression he used to fuck around but he doesn’t anymore. It makes sense, you think. His celebrity and fame lent itself to partying and access to people as well as drugs. If he’s working this hard to stay sober from substance abuse, maybe he’s also staying away from the rest of it. You try not to let your crush get in the way of your friendship. You know he’s not supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery, anyway.

For all that, you really, really enjoy watching him work. His broad frame hunches over the project on his lap. Even the longest knitting needles always look tiny in his big hands. To say nothing of a short crochet hook, it’s practically fully hidden in his paws. His brow furrows in concentration and his tongue pokes out subconsciously when he’s trying to maneuver the hook the right way.

For Dieter’s part, he can’t help but stare when you don’t notice. Do you not know how beautiful you are? Maybe you do. But you don’t draw attention to yourself that way. Over time you let slip comments about your past that give him the impression you used to party, but you don’t anymore. It makes sense, he thinks. If you’ve worked hard to stay sober for this long, maybe you’re also staying away from relationships. He tries not to let his crush get in the way of your friendship. He knows he isn’t supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery anyway.

For all that, he really, really enjoys watching you work. Whatever you’re knitting or crocheting, you make it look effortless. During meetings you sit with your feet crossed neatly underneath you, project in your lap, hands moving deftly through the yarn. Sometimes you don’t even look down, you just move without having to see what your needle or hook is doing. It’s like the tool is an extension of your hands and they work independently of your conscious brain. He wants to know what that feels like.

He’s an eager student. You teach him to crochet first. He wants to be able to “make ALL the things, I don’t want to limit myself!” So you teach him what you know. You teach him to make increases, decreases. Amigurumi toys, granny squares, knitted stockinette. Ribbing, lace, cables, socks, shawls, hats.

He learns to notice mistakes and fix them himself. He teaches himself to alter a pattern to suit his own tastes. He teaches himself to do colourwork through YouTube tutorials, after you admit it’s something you aren't interested in yourself. He figures out what he likes and doesn’t like in his crafting.

Just as Dieter’s path along sobriety has entwined with yours, your lives become more and more entwined over time.

For his six month pin you knit him a slouchy beanie.

For your 14 year pin he crochets you a little stuffed heart, which he presents to you with a shy smile.

For his 1 year pin, you crochet a little stuffed raccoon (his favourite animal) holding the stuffed heart he gave you last year. You’ve embroidered a little word “yes” on the heart.

For your 15 year pin he knits you a simple lace shawl.

For his two year pin, you knit him a handsome scarf and a matching pair of fingerless mittens. (Not too long in the cuff, his tattoos like to be free to breathe.)

For your 16 year pin, he knits you an intricately cabled scarf that he designed himself.

The next year you crochet an afghan together, using your combined stash scraps to make wildly colourful granny squares and crochet them together. Dieter drapes it proudly over the couch in the house you’ve bought together.

When he met you, Dieter was desperate for a hobby to keep his hands busy, to distract himself from the cravings and needing to chase his next high. Thanks to you, he found a different path to the high. Now he chases the euphoria of sinking into a trance as his hands move unconsciously in rhythm with the yarn. The way his brain hums peacefully as he reaches a meditative zen state. He craves the feeling of creating something and watching it grow in his hands.

He loves you, and he loves that you’ve been with him to celebrate every finished project, and every milestone date. Together.

With you, he thinks he can actually do this sobriety thing.

Part 2 is here

Tagging some peeps who were interested in this as a wip!

@toomanytookas @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork

@grogusmum @jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @dieterbravobrainrotclub

@ghotifishreads @covetyou

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x gn!reader #dieter bravo x reader #fic: with sticks & string #writingthroughtheseasons #wttschallenge2025 #tw: drug addiction #tw: narcotics anonymous #dieter plays with yarn

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chatlote · 3 days ago

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Thank you everyone for all your questions. I will be putting an end to this askblog after this post and returning it to its owner. I didn't know what to expect when I created it, certainly not this… but I guess this wasn't such a bad ending.

Without further ado, here's my replies to all the questions I left unanswered. And goodbye.

During these past few years I had a lot of time to think, and I realized I care about being useful, or meaning something to someone. That's why I kept working at the rehab center after settling my debt with them, though I was never all that good at caring for the people there.

In terms of physical objects, I've come to care about my home and possessions quite a bit. I didn't have many things that were my own when I was the detective prince, but this home is something I worked for and gained all through my own efforts.

Ten years is a long time. I pride myself in being resourceful but even then I'm unsure if I would survive that long.

… Though in some ways I feel as if I've been lost these past few years too.

Watch movies, especially the ones that make me think more deeply about myself. I find the journey to find oneself quite inspiring. The original featherman movie trilogy is quite good at that.

I wasn't miserable in those interviews, but well… I suppose I wasn't quite myself in them either.

In relation to your questions: 1-I have picked up writing, mostly of the mystery genre, I have no plans to publish this, especially since some are inspired by confidential cases, but I enjoy it. 2-I have not travelled outside of Kyoto since moving here, I have not been recognized more than a handful of times, I keep my hair up and dress differently so no one connects the dots. 3-Galaxy Studios Park is just a short train trip away, I loved visiting when they had some special rides and attractions dedicated to last year's featherman movie. (Not that the movie was that good, but it was still fun. The wait for the rides was a nightmare, though.) 4-Yes. I enjoy no longer being in the public eye. It's freeing being allowed to be myself, even if I'm still figuring out who 'myself' is. 5-No pets, but have considered getting them... now that Akira is here (and seems intent on staying) I will have to discuss it with him.

I'm in a Reddit thread for ARG's, they are intriguing, and harmless, but still exciting to try to solve. Unfortunately, I can't participate in many due to parts of the mysteries being related to real world locations.

I think they are nonsense, no one's fate should be decided by another, much less by pieces of paper, they are also obviously just vague enough so that it applies to anyone. Still, I know Akira likes that sort of thing, so I try to not...judge too much.

Taiyaki, I wasn't the biggest fan before, but there's a vendor near where I live, I especially enjoy the matcha flavor since it's not overly sweet.

Boring. I'm stuck in bed because I have a leech clinging onto me, otherwise, I suppose it's an alright day. If you meant yesterday… it was stressful, but it worked out.

I saw this ask before deciding to leave because I realized if I left him to his own devices he would blow up half the city trying to find my apartment.

Thank you, I think. I just wear them when I'm at my laptop, the blue light filter is helpful.

I got worried of what he would do once he came to the town I've started calling my new home. Can you blame me?

It was... alright. It still feels a bit surreal, I'm still not sure if this is happening or a dream. But it's nice to know he still cares.

... Yes. It seems as if you are correct.

I always recommend the classics of the mystery genre, Conan Doyle and Edogawa Ranpo. But... Well, if you like rivalries between thieves and detectives I recommend checking out Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes.

...Not my type of song.

Turns out he is not as harmless as I previously thought.

I very much doubt that anyone else from the queer community has a similar relationship to ours. If so, my condolences.

I don't think I will be waking up alone ever again. But while I was on my own… I just looked for the small things I still cared about. Working on a rehab center helped. You get a lot of coworkers that are constantly mentioning that as long as you keep going, you will find a purpose in your life again.

And so I have.

---

That was all the questions I received. I will be logging off now permanently.

Thank you again. I was angry at first of how several of you got Akira even more pumped up into finding me, but I not understand your intentions were not malicious ones. We have a lot to talk about still, but I am... looking forward to it, I think.

Goodbye. Goro Akechi, former detective prince.

#goro akechi #the detective prince #this post turned out quite long so i put it under a read more #i will now go wake up akira so we can have lunch #goodbye and thank you

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scariusaquarius · 3 months ago

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rehab. 11.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: That last chapter was so much fun to write, I really do hope that you guys enjoyed it too! We got to see a bit of backstory, so lets get another look but from the outside ;) Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 10

The Avengers had been working tirelessly since the moment they had put the soldier under general anesthesia. They had placed on a mask onto her that was delivering a constant flow of Desflurane due to the soldier's heightened metabolism posing a risk of causing the medicine to wear off too fast. Shuri and Tony had been able to locate the chip within the auditorial cortex of the temporal lobe of the soldier's brain after a bit of imaging and scanning her brain thoroughly.

Due to the significant risk that came with operating in the temporal lobe, Shuri and Tony were using Shuri's digital representation of the soldier's brain to guide the surgery. When the chip was finally extracted, both of the scientists were feeling highly accomplished.

Once the surgery was over, they stitched and stapled the soldier back up before Shuri began to work on implementing her safeguards and destroying HYDRA's programming once more, Clint watching over her shoulder with curiosity as she worked. During this time, Tony was analyzing the chip with Natasha, Bucky, T'Challa, and Steve.

"So, not only was this chip used to deliver messages and recite the trigger words in the case of an emergency, it was also the thing that was attempting to continuously reprogram her. With this thing out, I bet our soldier is gonna start remembering a lot more."

Bucky and Steve both looked happy, but Natasha and T'Challa both had apprehensive looks on their faces. Steve asked, glancing at Tony as the man bit into a pear.

"You're saying that she's gonna be able to remember everything?"

Tony looked nonchalant as he replied, shrugging his shoulders before throwing a couple grapes into his mouth.

"Well, I can't exactly say that for sure. I mean, statistically speaking, she has about a 60% recovery rate for all memories. With how many times they scrambled her eggs, I'd say that number gets lower and lower due to the neurological trauma her brain went through."

Natasha added, tilting her head slightly and shrugging.

"Not to mention all the torture that they put her through. There's probably a ton of stuff she shouldn't remember."

Shuri's voice made all of the Avengers look at her, the woman giving them a look as she continued to fiddle with the soldier's programs, the red parts of her brain disappearing bit by bit.

"That is her choice to make. We must remember that this is all dependent on her. While she was a conditioned agent of HYDRA, we need to acknowledge her progress from before her reactivation. She was eating, she remembered her career with the CIA, and she was actively communicating without permission with Sergeant Barnes and I."

Bucky nodded then, adding.

"I have to agree with Shuri. While remembering everything that HYDRA did sucked...I'm thankful that I at least had that choice. We need to let the woman decide for herself when she wakes up."

Tony shrugged before he stated.

"Listen, I did my part with this. The only thing that I can tell you is that the chip is definitely from HYDRA, but it looks to be a fairly old technology. There isn't really a signature or a serial number that I can see."

Shuri shook her head, waving her hand at Tony.

"Please, allow me to finish this and then I will show you how wrong you are."

Clint whistled low, shaking his head.

"Someone telling Stark that he's wrong? I think it might be the end of the world all over again."

Tony gave Clint an offended look before T'Challa sighed, his patience beginning to run thin.

"On other news, have we been able to locate Rollins? Seeing as he seemed to already know that we were going to be there, he must have planned for such interruptions. Is it possible that he prepared for the worst?"

Natasha nodded, bringing up a hologram of the black book pages that had been translated, saying as Steve nodded alongside her.

"The book on this winter soldier detailed how difficult she was to program and to keep programmed. With the preexisting knowledge of her history of memory lapses, it's possible that Rollins knew she was going to remember...and he might have some intel about Princess Shuri's rehabilitation program that she used on Bucky."

Steve crossed his arms, stating as Bucky sat back against a table, his gaze lingering on the soldier that was still and sleeping deeply; Shuri sparing him a quiet and worried glance before going back to work.

"Even so, we should keep running those biometric programs until we get a hit or a lead. Have we been able to get in touch with the Director of the CIA?"

Tony took out his phone, typing for a little while before he put the phone on speaker. It was ringing, and Natasha couldn't help but to smirk to herself as the phone was answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello Director, I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes of your time and resources."

The Director seemed to sputter, asking with a stern and aggressive tone of voice.

"Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?"

Tony made a noise of shock, clutching his chest with a dramatic head-nod, gesturing to wipe invisible sweat off of his brow.

"Seriously? You can't tell? I'm almost ready to cry, everyone. It's Tony Stark. You know: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?...ugh, Iron Man?"

"I get it! What the hell do you want, Stark?"

Steve just rolled his eyes, and Tony explained.

"Well, I've been trying to reach you for a while now, but all my calls were left unanswered. Can you imagine my sorrow? Anywho, the Avengers have a mission that requires your cooperation and clearance for us to get into some archives...unless you can share the information?"

The Director was silent for a moment, seeming to mull over his next decision. He asked after a moment.

"It depends. Some of the information that we have is classified, Mr. Stark, and sensitive enough that not even the Avengers can have clearance. What exactly is your mission, sir?"

"We just need access to a couple of records about a woman that used to work within the Directorate of Science and Technology. As you can guess, we have some classified information too, but the only thing that I can tell you is that this woman was a receiver of the Career Intelligence reward and had to be apart of the agency before the 1980's."

The Director hummed, repeating the information to himself quietly before sighing.

"Alright, Mr. Stark, what I can do is gather as many files as I can, but you understand that this will take some time? You haven't even provided me with a name."

Tony admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"We don't know her name yet, which is why we're coming to you about this. My suggestion is to look for any woman with remarkable scientific work or went missing at least before 1980."

"Might I ask what this might be about?"

"Nope."

Tony then hung up, and Natasha snickered slightly.

"Well, that went well. Why didn't we do that earlier?"

"You...did hear me when I said they weren't returning my calls, right?"

Steve just sighed, and Bucky offered with a shrug.

"I mean, this is still progress as long as the Director is willing to actually send those documents over. I think until then, we should really focus on finding Rollins."

T'Challa nodded, urging.

"It would be in our best interest to do so. We don't know what other tricks he may have up his sleeve. While the soldier is now free of that device, there is no telling what else it can do even when outside of her body."

Shuri cut in, shaking her head as she paused her work with an exhausted sigh, hands on her hips.

"It won't be an issue once I, or Stark, take it apart. There is going to be a calling card or a signature for the device. No sensible scientist would ever leave his work to be unknown."

Tony nodded, pointing towards Shuri while glancing over at T'Challa.

"The princess has a point."

Steve then declared, nodding to every Avenger in the room respectively.

"Then you two should get started on taking that apart. Clint and I can make a house call to the CIA to help with the investigation, and Natasha and Bucky, you guys watch over the soldier."

Natasha chuckled as Clint stuck his tongue out at her with a smug look on his face.

"Don't make that face at me. The CIA would be stupid to let me walk through those doors. Information wonderland."

Tony sighed with a mock look of adoration, placing his hand against his arc reactor.

"God, don't you just love it when Cap takes control? You know how to really spangle my stars, Rogers."

"Please don't ever say that again."

Clint made a face of disgust as Steve just shook his head while closing his eyes, and Bucky couldn't help but to add, making Steve glare at him.

"Well, you are the man with a plan."

"Listen, don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Bucky snorted, winking at Steve.

"How can I when you're taking all the stupid with you?"

When everyone dispersed, Bucky walked towards a chair and sat down in it, staring at the soldier as she slept. There were a million thoughts running through his mind, and he was aware of Natasha watching him. The woman sat down on the other side of the soldier, stating as she looked over the horrific scars that littered her body.

"Looks like they really had it in for her."

"Not surprised, honestly. HYDRA didn't like it when you displayed any sense of free-will. Considering that she was pretty difficult to program, I wouldn't put it past the Handlers and Enforcer's to get angry."

Natasha nodded before she spared Bucky a glance.

"You know, you keep looking at her as if you know her."

Bucky became uncomfortable, glancing over at Natasha with a grimace before pursing his lips and looking back at her.

"She knows something about Meltzer Woods...back from where I was born. It's been bothering me for a while."

"It's deeper than that. I can see the look in your eyes."

Natasha pressed, staring down at him with a friendly yet scrutinizing gaze, and Bucky's shoulders fell slightly.

"There's something familiar about her. I can't really place it. I don't know if she's one of the Winter Soldier's that I had to train back at HYDRA or...or if maybe...maybe I'm the reason she doesn't have anybody to miss her."

Natasha was quiet, crossing her arms and sitting back in her chair a bit. Her gaze was back on the soldier, watching as the soldier's face scrunched slightly and sweat began to pearl at her temples. Grabbing a cold wash cloth, Natasha gently dabbed her face.

"Even if that's true, you're something that is familiar for her. I think you could use that to your advantage as you have been. If you are a cause of something...then I think then that you owe it to her to make sure she becomes someone that she can be proud of again."

Bucky was quiet for a moment before he mumbled.

"When did you get so damn wise, Romanov?"

"I know what it's like to not be given a choice too."

Natasha and Bucky shared a look before Natasha glanced over at Tony and Shuri, watching as they spoke as Tony carefully took the chip apart.

"You think that we could trace the main signal back to Rollins?"

"Do you think it's possible to do that?"

Natasha shrugged before taking out a stick of beef jerky and biting into it nonchalantly.

"No clue...but just let me know when you're ready to have the file."

Bucky gave the woman a confused look, and Natasha's only response was to chew her jerky loudly.

"Unbelievable. I don't even wanna know."

"Technology has really improved the last few years, Smithsonian."

Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

-STEVE-

Back in the United States, Steve and Clint were currently being escorted through the CIA, the Director wagging his finger with disdain and exasperation as he led the two Avengers into the archives.

"Unbelievable. He can somehow get a hold of my number and yet can't give me anymore details about why the hell he wants into the archives?"

Steve cleared his throat while Clint just rolled his eyes, making a face at the back of the Director's head.

"Sir, with all due respect, this is an information-sensitive mission. We're just needing to identify someone to get a lead on a...missing persons case."

The Director looked at Steve, who gave him an expressionless look, and the Director huffed before muttering.

"This better be no goddamn trick. That goddamn Stark..."

The Director began to grumble to himself before he granted access into the archives. Escorting the two through the shelves, the man gestured the two men to a desk that was situated in the middle of the room where a box was already sitting.

"I located as many files as I could on previous employees that were employed in the Directorate of Science and Technology that received any awards and medals for their service. It goes back all the way to when the CIA was first founded in 1947."

Steve nodded, and Clint clapped his hands together.

"Alright, let's get started."

Steve looked at the director, nodding his head in thanks.

"Thank you, Director, your help is very appreciated."

The Director pursed his lips before huffing.

"Don't thank me. Just make sure to tell Stark to delete my damn number."

Clint snorted to himself, muttering as the Director walked away.

"Good luck with that. He's like a damn mosquito we can't get rid of."

Steve rolled his eyes, and the two men began to sift through the files. As the two men read and worked, Steve watched as the Director kept a close eye on them, speaking into a phone though Steve couldn't tell what he was saying. Looking back down, Steve murmured.

"You think the Director might know something?"

"Considering that HYDRA has ears and eyes everywhere? I wouldn't be surprised if a few rats were still looking for cheese."

Clint didn't even bother to look up, reading like lightning through the files before he hummed, picking up a file and grinning.

"I found our girl."

Steve was wide-eyed, a look of accomplishment flashing through his eyes.

"Great job, Clint."

Clint slipped the photo off of the file and hummed, a sad look coming over his face as he gazed at the unmarred face of the Winter Soldier.

"Man, they were really unforgiving with her...look how excited she is."

Steve gently grabbed the photo, and a strange feeling began to fill his chest as he stared into the characteristic eyes of the woman. His chest was tight, his eyes feeling a bit wet, and though his heart hurt for the woman and what she went through with HYDRA, he was also beginning to feel angry.

"(Y/n) (L/n), daughter of Robert and Doris (L/n). She was a Princeton graduate with honors, was valedictorian in her high school, and she was hired onto the CIA when she was 24 and fresh out of college and passed their exams with flying colors."

Steve's interest was perked by the name Robert (L/n), and he asked Clint as he grabbed the file from his hand to read through it.

"Does it say anything about Robert (L/n)?"

Clint shrugged and replied.

"Not a lot. He was a very prestigious scientist, uh...that's about it. I could ask Tony to look into it though."

Steve nodded, and he began to read through (Y/n)'s file more before he whispered to himself.

"Well, that's not surprising."

"What is it?"

Steve took a deep breath before reading the file out loud to Clint.

"(Y/n) (L/n) of the Directorate of Science & Technology was announced deceased December 18th, 1979. Cause of Death: REDACTED."

Clint hummed before he held up the file.

"We should probably ask to make a copy of this."

Steve nodded, and when the two men approached the Director after being patted down to ensure no information had been stolen, the Director frowned heavily.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes. Would you be willing to make a copy of this file for us so that we can do more research?"

The Director hummed, his eyebrows shooting up as he read the name on the file.

"(Y/n) (L/n), huh? I remember her actually."

Steve and Clint shared a look together, and Clint asked.

"Director, did you ever work with Ms. (L/n)?"

"Not like that, no. Science wasn't really my interest, but Ms. (L/n) was very talented. When she was awarded the Career Intelligence award back in 1981, she had greatly shaped the way the Directorate of Science & Technology viewed and applied the sciences. She advanced a lot of the methods, scientific and military technologies, and was damn-near a genius. Why do you want to know about her?"

Steve and Clint both wore apologetic faces, and the Director just squinted before handing them both a complete copy of the files.

"You know what, I don't even wanna know. You both have a good day. Don't forget to tell Stark to delete my damn number."

Steve nodded, saluting before he left, and the two Avengers gave a sigh of relief the second they stepped out of the agency.

"He was weird to you too, right? Like...I'm not the only one that doesn't really like that guy?"

"It's not just you. There was something weird about him...he knows something. He was nervous the whole time that we were there."

Clint made a face of annoyance before stating.

"The plot thickens. Let's just get back to Wakanda and see what Tony finds."

STORY NOTES: The Avengers have been working nonstop since they have put the winter soldier under strong general anesthetics. Tony and Shuri performed a successful surgery to remove the chip from the winter soldier, who is now being allowed to recover outside of cryostasis. Shuri has begun to work on removing the winter soldier programming once more while Tony, Natasha, T'Challa, Bucky, and Steve analyze the chip.

Tony discovers that the chip was able to trigger the winter soldier reprogramming sequence as well as send out messages to the soldier. It is not concrete whether the soldier will remember everything, but Shuri and Bucky both advocate for it to be the soldier's choice to do so if she wants.

T'Challa asks about Rollins, which Natasha theorizes that Rollins knew the winter soldier was going to start remembering the second she was out of cryostasis, and so he made sure to remotely retrigger the winter soldier so nobody would know his whereabouts. Steve asks if Tony was able to get in touch with the Director of the CIA, in which Tony directly calls the Director.

After a slightly heated exchange, the Director allows the Avengers limited and supervised access to the files that they need, and Clint and Steve set out to return to the USA to get into the archives. Shuri and Tony are tasked with dissecting the chip and figuring out its creator, and Natasha and Bucky are tasked with watching over the soldier.

While everyone disperses, Natasha makes a comment to Bucky that he keeps looking at the soldier as if he knew her, which Bucky comments that he is bothered that the soldier mentioned Meltzer Woods, a State Park located within Bucky's hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana. However, Natasha calls out Bucky for lying, and Bucky finally reveals that the soldier does, indeed, feel familiar. He is unsure if the Winter Soldier is one that he trained back in his HYDRA days or if she was a previous target.

Natasha tells Bucky that even if such theories are true, he is something that is familiar to the Winter Soldier, and that he owes the winter soldier to make sure she 'becomes someone she can be proud of again'. Natasha then makes a comment about if Tony could trace the main signal back to Rollins, and when Bucky asks if it's possible, Natasha gives a vague remark, revealing that she has information on Rollins.

In the USA at the CIA, Steve and Clint have gained access to the archives. After a bit of research through the files that the Director gathered for them, Clint is able to locate the Winter Soldier's file. The file reveals that the Winter Soldier's name is (Y/n) (L/n) and was officially declared deceased December 18th, 1979. They decide to ask the Director to make a copy of the file, who allows them to do so. The Director reveals that he knew (Y/n), and he comments that she helped shape the way the CIA applied their science and technologies.

Once Steve and Clint exit out of the agency, Clint makes a comment on the strange behavior that the Director had exhibited and asks if Steve had noticed as well. Steve agrees, and they decide to wait to do any research until they both arrived back into Wakanda. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

None

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

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zeltqz · 2 years ago

Text

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 [𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃] ONE

| coming back after leaving the country for eight years, you reunite with old friends, family, and ex boyfriends.

pairing. ex!ran x fem!reader

word count. 7.9k (long sorry not sorry)

series synopsis. bonten is forming and in the midst of it all, you find yourself caught in the sticky webs of your ex boyfriend and current bonten executive, haitani ran.

content. angst, first meetings, mentions of alcoholic mother in rehab, drinking mentions, bonten timeline, smoking mentions from Ran in flashback

a/n: nothing too bad this chapter but there's smut next chapter, promise 💯😎

November 2005

“Shion,” you groaned and rubbed your head, massaging your scalp to try and tame your roaring headache. “Is your room available? I drank too much.”

“HUH?!” he yelled in your ear, unable to hear him over the music. Given your location, you didn’t get mad at him for screaming at you considering the fact you’re at a party with loud music. But still, it was probably the worst thing he could’ve done.

“I said—” You raised your voice slightly, moving to speak in his ear. “Can I go to your room?”

He took another chug of his drink and nodded, pointing up the stairs. “First room on the left.” You planted a kiss on his cheek and thanked him before stumbling up from the couch. Following his instructions, you were on your way upstairs but the amount of moving bodies as they danced took up space, making you confused so you opened the first door you saw and locked it behind you.

You wasted no time before flopping onto his bed, fisting his sheets as you groaned when your headache thumped again. The sheets were so comfortable and warm you almost fell asleep. The door opened again suddenly and you fought back another groan when the booming music from downstairs passed through and blasted your ears.

“Shion, close the damn door,” you said tiredly, uncaring about the aggression in your voice.

“Hot girl in my bed, that’s new,” the voice said suddenly and you stilled. Using all your strength, you blinked up at the man in the doorway. He was tall, holding onto a lighter in one hand, braids slipping past his shoulders.

“This isn’t your bed…it’s Shion’s,” you groaned, explaining slowly. The headache makes your tone sound more annoyed than you’d planned on using, especially with meeting a hot stranger. “Now shut the door.”

He snorted. “Shion’s is next door. This is my room.”

Your head pulsed sharply when you sat up instantly, spitting out rapid fire apologies as you knelt on his bed and redressed the sheets you crumpled from its neat position from lying down starfish on his bed. “I’m so so so sorry.”

"'S cool." His eyes were only focused on one thing, the sight of your dress riding up your thigh as you reached forwards, sliding your hands across the sheets to smooth them down and fluff up his pillows. The sight of your bare thigh was sensual, making him wish for nothing more than to reach out and run his fingers along it. He bet your skin was soft, inviting even, and his hands itched to sink his fingers into its warmth. The hunger stirred within his body as he watched you push the dress back down, covering your thigh once again as you slid off his bed, locking eyes with him. His eyes travelled up your body quickly until they stopped at your face, the intensity caused you to look away, flustered.

"So..." you started, swinging your awkwardly stiff arms by your side. "I'm gonna go..." you said, unable to handle the awkward situation.

"There's no point. There's a couple in there, you know how parties get."

"Oh," you breathed out, an expression that can be interpreted as sadness or defeat crossing your features.

"You can stay here though. As long as you don't mind smoking," he gestured to the lighter in his hands, and the unrolled joint tucked between his two fingers.

"I don't mind."

"Cool." He kicked the door shut behind him and moved to sit on his bed and pat the spot next to him. You were a little hesitant before stepping over to the bed, shifting backwards until your back pressed against his cold wall and crossed your legs.

"Why're you so far back? Come closer," he said, reaching out a hand, motioning with his free hand for you to come forward. You shook your head meekly, lightly scratching your nails down your arm. "C'monnn," he insisted, reaching out a hand and gently pulling you towards him.

Your protests were ignored before you sighed and allowed him to pull you forward. You sat next to him, intimidated by the proximity of your skin to his. His scent washed over you, causing goose bumps to rise on your skin as you plucked at the loose thread on his blanket.

He put the joint in his mouth, and nudged at your knee to grab your attention. "Do me a favour. Grab that candle in my drawer for me."

You obediently got up and crawled to the end of the bed, idly pulling down your dress when it rode up too far and opened his drawer. You were oblivious to his gaze down your legs, his strong eyes now turning red as he took a hit, blowing smoke through his nostrils.

"Is this the candle?" you asked, bringing out a lavender scented candle and waved it around.

He squinted his eyes to get a better look at it. "Yeah," he muttered, shifting onto his back, kicking a leg up and lacing his hand behind his head.

"Why do you have so many candles? Do you smoke a lot?" you asked, handing it to him and fitting yourself back next to him.

He was still relaxed, inhaling the smoke deeply and shook his head. "Only when I'm stressed," he exhaled, lifting his head back and blowing the smoke out into the air. You shifted on the bed, nervousness clawing at your insides as you found your eyes drawn to his lips wrapped around the joint. He was quite skilled, keeping his lips taut while smoke puffed out and his jaw clenched. Your heart rate picked up, beating heavily against your chest as you stared at his lips with longing.

As if sensing your unease, his eyes locked with yours, staring at you intensely for several seconds before he cleared his throat and removed the joint from his mouth.

"Why are you so nervous around me?" he asked, noticing the change in your behaviour.

You glanced up at him, surprised at his question. "Um, I'm not."

His eyebrows rose up to his forehead. "Sure you aren't. You're practically running away whenever we make eye contact." He reached out to poke your knee, laughing when you jumped slightly. "See? You're so jumpy, relax." His laughter calmed you down somewhat, allowing you to meet his gaze for longer than five seconds. He offered you the joint and you shook your head.

"You nervous? Never smoked before or something?" he asked, tilting his head to the side as he spoke.

You looked down at your lap, shaking your head. "Yeah, never. I can't handle the smell."

"No one likes the smell. It's about how it makes you feel," he responded, the words coming out slow as the joint began to take its course inside his body. He rolled his neck, working out any tension he felt and ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip.

You snorted, hiding a giggle between your palm. He looked over at you, raising an eyebrow at you but smiled and asked, "What's so funny?"

"You sound like a hippie," you giggled again, recounting his words and lowering your voice to match his pitch. "It's about how it makes you feel," you said between laughs.

He was too high to really understand what you were saying, but found himself laughing anyway. Eventually the laughing slowed down and the both of you sat silently. You were watching intently as he took another hit before offering it to you again.

Feeling more comfortable, you accepted and shifted closer to him as he sat up, leaning his body weight onto one elbow. Ran held it up to your lips and your eyes met as he instructed you on what to do.

"Inhale," he said, pausing briefly to watch your lips purse around the joint before continuing. "Slowly...hold it...now exhale," he finished, smiling encouragingly when you sucked in deeply. The smoke filled your lungs and you panicked, pulling away before exhaling and coughing harshly as your lungs protested the smoke.

Ran burst into laughter and shoved the joint back into his mouth, taking an easy hit as you doubled over, fighting to catch your breath as you tried to breathe properly. A heatwave flushed over your body when you looked back up and heard him laughing at you.

"Stop laughing! It's not funny," you protested, opting between smacking him or suffocating him when he didn't stop laughing. A pillow was right there and nobody would know it was you...but you shook the thought away and grabbed the pillow instead, throwing it at him.

He swatted it away, breathing heavily from laughing. "Alright, I'll stop, I'll stop." He shifted so he was sitting upright against the headboard. "Wanna give it another try?"

"Fuck no," you hissed, shaking your head and pointing and the tiny joint. "That's a whole murder weapon. I don't know how you do it."

"Your lungs are just weak, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" you blinked, caught off guard for a moment and flustered from his teasing.

"Well, I don't know your name so," he shrugged, taking another hit, blowing the smoke in your face and laughing when another round of coughs erupted from your lungs.

"You never asked for my name," you retorted, placing your chin on your knees. "Do you wanna know?"

"Is it necessary?" he questioned, lazily playing with the thin strands of hair sticking to his forehead. "How badly do you wanna tell me?"

"Not that badly. I don't really care," you shrugged.

"You just want me to keep calling you sweetheart. I can see right through you," he grinned widely, flashing his teeth at you. You pursed your lips, trying to keep them in a straight line before failing, breaking into a wide grin of your own.

"Maybe I do... so what?" you lowered your voice suggestively, feeling the failed attempt at hitting a joint float through your system, your body and mind feeling lighter by the second. "Besides, you never told me your name."

His tongue traced the edge of his lips, distracted by the way your eyes were staring at him, full of lust. You took the opportunity to lower your gaze to his mouth, wondering if it tasted as good as it looked. You saw his eyes follow your path and wonder crept in when he stared intently at you.

"C'mere," he whispered, beckoning you over. . When you leaned in close enough, your nose brushed his, sending sparks through your entire body. You instinctively pulled away when he whispered his name into your ear.

"Nice name," you responded, searching his eyes and staring deep into them. He was leaning in slowly, his lips touching yours before stopping just short, creating a confusing mix of emotions within your body.

A fire burnt somewhere in the pit of your stomach as all you could think was his lips against yours. You gripped his shirt tightly in your fists and closed the gap between you, pressing your lips firmly against his. When he felt your lips part, his tongue swept in, running along the edges of your mouth.

Your fingers dug into the sheets when his arm traced down your side, resting against your hip. A low moan rumbled from your chest as you tilted your head to the side, accepting the gracious slide of his lips against yours.

He pulled away after a moment, resting his forehead against yours. He stroked his thumb across your cheek before dragging it down to your lips, wiping the wetness away before leaving his hand splayed on your cheek, forcing you to lift your head up and meet his gaze.

"You gonna tell me your name now?" he demanded, staring directly into your eyes.

You parted your lips to speak before the door burst open and a very worried Shion stumbled through. "What the hell?! Why didn't you tell me you were in here! I thought you died or something!" His words were slurred, the alcohol he'd been drinking kicking into full gear as he did a dramatic double take at the sight of you and Ran on his bed. You were sitting next to him, your dress ridden up your thigh so high you might as well be naked. His eyes travelled up to your face, glaring at the grip Ran had on your cheek. "What the fuck are you doing?"

You pushed yourself away from Ran and fixed up your dress, clearing your throat. "Nothing."

His eyes narrowed and he stepped towards you, gripping your face until you looked up at him. Your eyes were slightly red and he frowned. "...you're high."

"Nah," you scoffed, swatting his hand away. "I'm not."

Shion ignored you and directed his glare over at Ran who was watching the situation with an amused smirk on his face. Shion grabbed onto your arm and helped you slide off the bed and fix your clothes. "Come on I'll get Mira to drive you home."

"Okay," you hummed, turning around to wave at Ran before waiting outside the door.

Shion turned to look at his friend and scowled. "There's hundreds of girls in this house. Sleep with any of them. I don't care, just not her. That’s my fucking friend, okay?"

Before Ran could respond, Shion already turned around and slammed the door behind him.

PRESENT DAY—2015

The entire drive from the airport to your brother’s house was filled with anticipation and silence. Your leg bounced restlessly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you looked out the window. A familiar feeling of nostalgia washed over your body and reminded you of the last eight years you spent away from this place. Studying abroad was not easy, but definitely worth it. Without the distractions, family drama, (ex) boyfriend drama, you were able to focus on yourself for once, and put your own needs and interests first. You were able to meet new people every day, able to properly form new relationships in university without the fear of people judging you for the mistakes you made in high school. One thing about the neighbourhood you grew up in was that it was a tight-knit community. Everybody was well acquainted with everyone, meaning any gossip or secrets spread around like wildfire. One small mistake and everybody knew within a week.

Pushing the unpleasant memories aside, it was still good to be back home.

“We’re here,” the driver announced, parking his car outside your brother’s house. His voice snapped you out of your haze, blinking yourself back to reality. The driver was looking back at you, smiling.

“Oh! Thank you so much,” you said heartily, digging in your pockets for your change. You handed it to him and thanked him once more before sliding out of the car.

Grabbing your suitcase, you took in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the butload of questions your brother will ask you for disappearing randomly for eight years. Your fist hesitates before knocking on the door, biting your lip when you hear the tv inside pause, then a flurry of footsteps.

The door opened and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. He’s blinking rapidly, probably busy trying to distinguish the difference between reality and delusion.

“Hi Hiro,” you decided to speak first, worrying your lip between your teeth as you waited for him to say something.

“No,” he shook his head, backing away from the door. “No this isn’t real.”

“It’s real, I’m back.” You smiled, letting go of your suitcase to hold your arms open. Your heart warmed when he pulled you in for a hug, gently swaying you side to side as he took a moment to drink this information in. You don’t blame him for being this tongue-tied, if anything it’s a positive reaction when you were prepared for yelling and arguments.

“Holy shit, I missed you so much,” he spoke into your shoulder, fighting back from lifting you off the floor. He pulled away and looked at your face again, squishing his hands against your cheeks just to make sure once again he wasn’t hallucinating. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?! I was so worried!”

He finally let you go and stepped aside as you wheeled your suitcase in.

“I was nervous. I thought everybody hated me for leaving,” you admitted, looking guiltily down at the ground.

“Yeah, that was so uncool,” he responded and you felt a wave of remorse flush through your body. “I just woke up one night to a million calls from Mom telling me you left the country. I didn’t even get to say goodbye, man.”

“I know, Hiro. It was a stupid mistake. I just…” you paused, melancholy flickering on your face, then looked up at him staring you down with a soft look on his face. He knew you were going through a lot back then, but due to your obsession of keeping your personal life a little too personal, he was unable to know anything about you until it was too late and you were already gone.

You took a moment to take a deep breath, voice shaky as you continued, “I got into an argument with someone, then I fell out with Mira not even an hour later and I just lost it that night. So I checked my emails and saw that University abroad, the one I applied to as a joke, actually accepted me. So I just said fuck it and left. Obviously I regretted it but it was too late for me to go back with the limited money I had, so…yeah.”

“Who did you argue with…?” he asked, fiddling with his hands anxiously. “Who was it?”

You wiped a stray tear that slipped from your eyes and faked a smile, speaking through a watery laugh. “I’d rather not discuss this right now. How have you been?”

Hiro frowned, disappointed you still didn’t trust anybody enough to talk to them about stuff that’s clearly bothering you, but sighed all the same. “It’s good, man. I got into university too. In my second year right now.”

“Oh my god, which school?” you asked, stepping aside as he carried your suitcase further into the house. “Wait, no. What do you study?”

“I study Computer Science, obviously.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot you were a nerd,” you fake grimaced, laughing when he muttered for you to shut up. “Are you at the top of your class? You always liked computers and…hacking and stuff.”

“Should’ve hacked into that airplane and turned it back around.”

“Yeah, wish you would’ve too,” you sighed, flopping down on the couch. The leather sunk in when you sat, and you inhaled sharply, closing your eyes and taking in the familiar scent of your childhood home.

Looking around now, the house was fairly empty and dull. It was like the aura had changed, now eerily and dreary. “Hey, Hiro,” you called out to your brother in the kitchen, the sounds of plates being brought out of cabinets comforting you. “Where’s ma? I tried to reach her when I landed but her phone went straight to voicemail.”

“Oh about that…” He stilled for a moment, and you froze, unlike the sound of his tone.

“...Hiro..?”

There was a sound of footsteps as he walked back into the living room, leaning against the door and folded his arms over his chest. “She’s back in rehab.” A scowl crossed his face and he cursed under his breath. “She’s been in and out for the last eight years but I haven’t been speaking to her like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” You sat upright, frowning. “When? Why? How?”

He waved his hand flippantly. “I don’t know. Don’t care either. She can rot inside that damn building for all I care. Anyway, you hungry?”

“Yeah. Plane food sucks ass.” The two of you grinned at each other as he ran upstairs to grab a Chinese food pamphlet. The doorbell rang and you sat up to open the door, thanking the delivery man for handing you a letter. When Hiro came back down, you handed him the letter, urging him to open it.

“You’re so nosy,” he complained, tossing the pamphlet at you along with his phone. “Oh shit.”

“What?” you responded, scrolling through the menu.

“My friend’s getting married in two weeks. They’re inviting to come.”

“Ooh, what friend?” you ask, curiously, mentally deciding between the spring rolls and the chow mein. “Are they nice?”

“Yeah, her name is Hinata Tachibana. She’s really nice.”

“You both in the same class?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I’m friends with her boyfriend’s friend. So when we hang out, I see her sometimes. I’m not really close with her though, so I’m confused why I’m invited.” He slumped against the couch, deep in thought.

“Don’t think about it too much. Just go, eat loads of cake and have fun. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, picking at his nails before sliding his eyes in your direction. “Do you wanna come? It’s been a while since you’ve been back so I assume you have no friends.”

“Damn. Straight in the heart, huh?”

He grinned and looked down at the couch. “I didn’t mean it like that…”

“I know what you meant, don’t worry. But you’re right though.” Your shoulders slumped down as you pinched your lips together. “I’m too scared to contact any of my friends right now.”

“Understandable. So, you wanna come?”

You thought about it for a moment before agreeing. It wouldn’t be that bad. You spent the last year perfecting and moulding yourself into a more social being, no longer that super awkward antsy pushover teenage girl that went along with anything anyone said because you were too scared that they’d dislike you.

The food came twenty minutes later and you spent the next hour or two eating and laughing with your brother whilst watching shitty movies on Netflix. Words couldn’t explain how much you missed him, how much you missed your old home, your old life. Though your phone was dry, no new notifications, nobody to text or call, just being at home with your brother was enough for you.

The next day on your way down to the kitchen to grab some water, the doorbell rang. On the list of people you were initially hoping you’d run into eventually, versus the list of people you planned to avoid like the plague, Shion happened to fit in the middle of both of them.

You stared dumbfounded at him, watching his eyes widen as he mumbled, “You’re actually back…”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, your question along the lines of, “How’d you know,” being interrupted as he stepped forward, sweeping you in his arms. Your body felt like it was suffocating, your poor bottle of water twisting and spilling onto the floor as your fist enclosed it.

He fought back on the urge to pick you off the floor, wanting to keep things as friendly as possible, for now… before stepping away, planting his hands by his side. He blinked at you again, you blinked back, the both of you just waiting to say something other than hey…

Your brother came down the stairs just in time and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. “Dude. When I said she was back I didn’t expect you to come over right away,” he grinned at Shion, thus momentarily snapping him out from his daze.

He was hesitant to look away from the face he’s missed for over eight years and it took him a second before gathering his wits, his mind slowly coming back from its spiralling haze to respond. “I had to see it for myself. I still don’t believe this.”

You swatted his hand away when he reached out to poke your cheek. “I’m not a ghost.”

“I know. I know. It’s just—wow. You look good.” He forced an awkward smile at you. His words, to those that don’t know the context of your relationship, seemed innocent enough; your brother seemed to be pleased with the compliment, happy that he wasn’t here to lash out at you for leaving. But to you, your heart skipped a beat in your chest as you remembered the last incident between you two before you left.

For a split second, you swore you could feel his hands again as they ran down your sides, could feel how strong his shoulders were as you gripped onto them with everything you had.

Shion could tell you were thinking of the same memory and gave you a crooked smirk as you were unable to retreat your eyes from his face.

“Why is it so awkward…?” Hiro broke the awkward silence and you cleared your throat.

“Nothing. Shion come in.” You stepped out of the way to let him inside.

“Nah, nah I can’t. I just came by to see if it was true. I gotta go to work.” Your face fell at the news and a flash of guilt crossed him momentarily. “But I’ll come see you later tonight. I promise.”

“Okay,” you whispered back, giving him a long searching look in his eyes. His breath stuttered for a short moment, his hand just aching to reach out and touch your cheek but the presence of your brother held him back.

Shion left with a wave not long later and you shut the door, pressing a hand over your heart and fighting the urge to bang your head against the door.

“Did you both hook up or what?” Hiro asked as he opened the fridge door.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re both awkward as shit and you look embarrassed right now.” He reached for the milk at the back of the fridge door and stepped over to the cabinet to grab a bowl.

“I’m embarrassed because I don’t want to talk about the topic of sex right now with my younger brother.”

“It’s not a big deal. I slept with your friend once,” he said casually, pouring his milk into the bowl, and you cringed when you saw him pour the cereal last.

His words took a minute to sink in. “Excuse me, WHAT?!”

He took a spoonful of cereal and shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

“Which friend? Hello?! When was this?! Why—oh my god ew.”

He frowned at you. “I’m not repulsive. Chill out.” He took another spoonful and wiped some milk spilling past his lips. “It was Dona.”

“Dona—” you paused for a moment. “When was this?”

“I dunno…like two years ago? Or like three? To be frank, I lost track of time years ago. Could’ve been last week for all I know.”

You shuddered at the thought of your old friend with your brother, but pushed that sick image away from your mind. “Have you spoken to her recently?”

“Yeah. We talk from time to time. Why? Don’t want me to tell her you’re back?”

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Hiro.” He nodded in your direction then refocused his gaze back onto his cereal. “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to wash away that mental image from my head.”

“Oh whatever.”

~*~

Weddings in all honesty weren’t something you truly cared about. It was bizarre, growing up and seeing all this talk about getting married to the ‘one’ and spending the rest of your life with them. Sure, for some couples it was a main goal they wanted to achieve, but with you, it wasn’t something you truly cared about. Women would freak out that their time was soon coming to an end because they weren’t married and still didn’t find the right man. But truthfully, how did someone know who was the right man? Is there some sort of criteria box to tick off? Nobody actually knows someone from the get go, and you can hide your true self for years so it truly doesn’t matter how well you think you know someone, you will never know if they were the right one.

That all changed when you met Haitani Ran though. He was the right one for you. If someone asked you how you knew, you’d have to tell them you don’t know. It was more of a gut feeling. That lonesome feeling you got in your gut whenever you were away from him. That feeling could just be anxiety, scared he might not come back home alive doing what he does. But he reassured you time and time again that he would be okay. That he’s fine and doesn’t need you worrying. It was a natural instinct to worry. Especially with the countless times you had to help clean his cuts, bruises, and scratches on his pretty face.

That feeling you got was indescribable. Being with and around him changed you for better and for worse. He made you truly understand what it was like to love someone no matter how toxic it may have been. But he also managed to bring out your worst, the side that you wanted to shove down and stomp on before you left the country.

Being back now, you feel that side of you inside just chilling down there, as if waiting for the right moment to come out. It’d been successfully tamed for eight years, so the shackles were tight and it was properly chained up, and you hoped that you wouldn’t love someone else like him, hoped that nobody else managed to bring out that side of you again.

Standing here in this chapel right now as you watched Hiro congratulate his friend Hina and her now husband Takemichi on their new marriage, you couldn’t help but wonder just how perfect their relationship was. If they had brought out any bad sides in the other and had to take month long breaks in order to piece themselves back together.

The wedding photos make them seem happy enough, and you even shed a tear despite not knowing who any of these people are. They just seemed so…perfect. The perfect bride and groom. The perfect couple.

It was…revolting. Seeing them so happy and smiling constantly made you sick to your stomach. It wasn’t fucking fair that they managed to find each other, find the ‘one’ on their first try without any hardships to come between them. Guaranteed you were purely projecting, and you were aware of that, but still. It was better to assume given all the pictures you saw in the photo album of them still dating when they were 14 years old.

You couldn’t properly enjoy the wedding without tearing up slightly, wondering just what went wrong in your life that made you such a bitter human being. These people were happy to enjoy a new stage in their life and you were just being a sulking mess in the corner of the room, wishing bad on everybody as they smiled.

Seeing everyone happy with their friends, dancing, smiling, drinking, it made you jealous. The only friends you have in your life right now are your brother (if that can even count) and Shion. The loneliness never sunk in more at this point. Seeing the crowds of people in this wedding having fun…you never felt more alone in that moment.

Your mind travelled back to when you had friends, were stable in your life, had a boyfriend, and most importantly you were happy. Before you fucked it all up when you struggled on balancing all four.

JANUARY 2006

You grabbed your lunch tray and practically bounced over to your friends table, blinded by delight to notice the way Mira and Dona were shifting in their seats, uncomfortable with your presence.

“Hey guys!” You sat down on the bench in front of them, a wide smile on your face.

Mira mirrored your smile, mumbling a hey back as she poked her food with her fork. Dona didn’t bother to cast you a smile, instead choosing to frown and roll her eyes.

Sensing some sort of tension, you swallowed awkwardly. “What’s up? How’ve you guys been?”

“Fine,” Dona responded sharply.

You deflated slightly, mood turning damp. “Why’re you acting so weird?”

Mira peeked over at Dona with a worried expression. Dona was never good at hiding her emotions, always being an open book unlike Mira who mastered the art of acting happy even when she wasn’t. In that moment though, you could tell that you were clearly missing out on something because the distance between your trio had never been further.

“We didn’t hear from you for the whole holiday. We just missed you, that’s all,” Mira spoke carefully, watching your expression attentively.

Oh. So that’s what this is about. You scratched your neck, lightly dragging your nails along the skin. “Yeah…about that. I’m sorry, I was busy. You see Ran took me—”

“Of course he did,” Dona interrupted, practically spitting the words out.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Dona?”

“Nothing.” She put her fork down on her tray and looked at you for the first time today. Her eyes were sharp, the irritation practically radiating off her as she continued speaking. “It’s just that he’s literally all you fucking talk about now and frankly it’s getting annoying.”

“I’m sorry,” you blinked, getting yourself ready for defence mode. “Weren’t you the one who was pressuring me to pursue him? I was the one hesitant to talk to him but YOU wanted me to start dating him.”

“Yeah but it doesn’t mean you should be acting like this! Abandoning your friends for WEEKS without a single word!” Dona’s voice was getting higher to the point that it started to gather people’s attention from other tables. Mira wanted to sink into a puddle on the floor when people started staring, praying silently that you both would keep the volume down, but then Dona continued, eyes practically flashing red. “You didn’t even go home! The entire holiday! Your mother was worried sick!”

You scoffed. “Who gives a fuck what she thinks.”

Dona paused, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “What the hell happened to you?” The two of you stared at each other for a moment and you both couldn’t recognise each other. Mira desperately wanted to intervene, ask you both to keep your voices down and stop attracting attention but whenever she opened her mouth, Dona continued. “You know she started drinking again right?”

You stiffened and Mira noticed.

“Dona, stop,” Mira whispered, looking over to her friend desperately. “Now’s not the time.”

“Nah,” Dona shook her head. “I’m tired of her shit. She needs to hear this.” Her volume started to rise again. “You hear that, (Name). Your mother started drinking again. Because of you.”

“How do you know?”

“My mother goes to the same AA meeting as her. She was there. She heard all the stories your mother said during those meetings and told me.”

There was a moment where a look of shock flashed over your face, but Dona wasn’t having it. “Oh, don’t look surprised. I don’t know what was going through your head to think stumbling in the house drunk at 3AM was a good idea. You thought she wouldn’t notice? Or what about that tattoo you got on your stomach that you also thought she wouldn’t notice? You think this is the kind of stuff your mother wants to see from her daughter? Not even a year ago you were acting normal, going to school ON TIME, getting perfect grades. What the fuck happened to you?”

You stood up abruptly, slamming your hands down onto the table with a loud slam that definitely caught the attention of everyone in the room this time. Mira wanted to explode.

“I’m not gonna sit here and let you talk about my mother like she was a saint. In those dumbass AA meetings, did she ever discuss the ugly parts of herself or only sit there and bad mouth me? Hm?”

Dona swallowed harshly, arms crossed over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh so I’m guessing she didn’t. Let me update you then.” You brought your finger out and started counting. “Let’s discuss the fact she thought it would be a great idea to bring over different guys at the SAME TIME and sleep with them on the goddamn couch when I was trying to sleep upstairs. Did you think my thirteen year old self wanted to see that? Or my brother? Or, oh yeah this is a good one,” you brought your second finger up, “the time I had to drag her unconscious body up the stairs and help her bathe because she decided to drink herself half to death that night? Or the fact she passed out on the sofa, blacked out for DAYS and I had to sit there and cry next to her because I thought she died? My whole goddamn life was dedicated to taking care of HER. Now I finally want my own fun and go off the rails one time, that’s enough to send her spiralling and crying to her alcoholic friends? How the fuck do you think I feel?!”

You finished ranting and clenched your jaw as you waited for Dona to continue talking. She had so much to say about a situation she knew nothing about. Now everybody knew your dirty business because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Embarrassed, you dropped back down to the bench and began stabbing at your food with your fork, pretending the chicken was Dona’s fucking head.

Mira cleared her throat, the sound echoing in the silence of the cafeteria. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I really didn’t know.”

“Yeah well there’s a lot of shit you don’t know,” you responded harshly.

Dona swallowed heavily and fiddled with her fingers under the table. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your fucking pity.” You stood up abruptly, grabbing your tray. “And maybe shut your fucking mouth and stop speaking on shit that doesn’t concern you.”

“But Dona was just looking out for you,” Mira started.

“Looking out for me, how?! By bringing up my mother in an attempt to catch me off guard and make me feel guilty? Or basically call me a bitch and a useless friend.”

Dona stood up also, pointing her finger in your face. “Maybe stop acting like both and you won’t get called that.”

“You know what. Fuck you both. I’m done. Consider me gone.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we aren’t used to you being gone anyway,” Dona muttered under her breath.

You shook your head, glaring at the both of them once more before dumping your food in the bin and storming out the room. The doors slammed loudly and everyone’s eyes were back on that table. Mira felt like there had been a spotlight shining on them the entire time.

Dona slumped back down to the bench and stabbed viciously at her food. “Fuck her. She’s so fucking damaged, I can’t deal with that right now.”

Mira frowned. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s clearly going through stuff. You’re just saying this to cope with the fact she chose a boy over us.”

“I’m not coping with anything. She can go fuck off with Ran, I don’t care.”

Mira touched her friend's arm gently, trying to soothe down her anger. “She will be back. The second things turns out rough with Ran. I promise you that.”

PRESENT DAY

“(Name), is that you?” A soft voice called out from behind you. You froze, wondering who on earth at this wedding might possibly know you.

Turning around, you met the familiar eyes of Mira who looked at you confused for a moment, then widening her eyes before dragging you in for a hug. “Oh my god. I missed you so much.”

You raised your hand awkwardly, unsure what to say, what to do to her. You haven’t spoken to her since that fight in the cafeteria and that was months before you left the country. “...Hi…” you settled on that, mentally slapping yourself for not showing more emotion.

She pulled away and dried her eyes, wiping them with her sleeve. “I honestly didn’t expect to see you…ever again. This is…woah.”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “Neither did I. Also, what are you doing here…?” While she was wiping her face, you caught a glimpse of the ring on her finger and grabbed her hand. “No way.”

“Yes way. I’m engaged!”

“What the hell?! I’m so happy for you, Mira,” you said with a smile on her face, watching her go red at the mention of her fiance. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s on the police force. His name is Naoto. He’s actually related to the bride, Hina. You know her?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m here because Hiro wanted to get me out of the house but I’ve been out of place since I arrived.”

“I don’t blame you. I also feel a bit out of place, being here as a plus one too.”

“Oh, that sucks…” you said softly, chewing the inside of your cheek thinking what to say next. A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, which was expected. Eight years of no contact, this was sure to happen. “So…how’s Dona?”

“She’s…er…to be honest, I don’t know. We stopped speaking shortly after you left the country.”

“Oh,” you deflated. “Why? I wasn’t holding you guys back anymore.”

“It’s a long story.” A man approached Mira from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her backwards for a hug to whisper in her ear. Must be the fiance. “Really?” she mumbled to him, craning her neck in order to hear him a little better. “Are you sure he’s going to be there?” Naoto nodded.

As the two of them spoke, you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at how secure they seemed to be in their relationship. They were cute, and looked good together.

She turned around and grabbed his hand. “Can I bring my friend? I want to catch up with her.”

At that moment, Naoto seemed to just notice your presence. His black eyes met yours and you felt a tremor race through your body for some reason. He nodded at you and you bowed slightly, fiddling with your fingers as the two of them continued to whisper to each other.

“Okay, baby.” Mira planted a kiss to his cheek and he smiled, returning the kiss to her lips before walking away. Mira approached you slowly. “Want to come to this party with us? Naoto has business there and is meeting someone so I’m coming with him.” When you looked hesitant, she pleaded. “Please? I really miss you and I want to talk to you more.”

A voice in your head was telling you to just suck it up and go. You’re not in a position to lose any friends right now. “Okay, fine. I’ll go.”

At the after party, you ended up spending majority of the night with Mira and with the influence of alcohol, the conversations flew smoother, the both of you slowly getting back in touch with each other. She told you about how law school almost ate and swallowed her whole, and you told her all about living abroad in a dorm campus and how homesick you felt sometimes. Eventually during the night, Naoto joined the conversation and you found out more about him and his job at the police force. With the help of Mira’s big drunken mouth, she accidentally mentioned a special super top secret case his division was working on called Bonten and how one of the executives is apparently going to be here tonight, and he quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, laughing awkwardly and her eyes widened when she realised.

“Oh my god Naoto I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say that,” she was almost crying out of frustration and Naoto spared a pity glance in your direction.

“Sorry about her, she gets very emotional when she's drunk.”

You nodded, muttering it’s okay and watched him whisk her away from the table. You were unsure why he reacted that way. It wasn’t like you knew anything about Bonten or whatever that’s supposed to mean. Without the presence of Mira, you began to feel overwhelmed in this big room with nobody to talk to, the alcohol in your system making your brain go fuzzy.

The room started to get too hot and you were beginning to feel beads of sweat begin forming on your forehead. Standing up, you grabbed your bag and went out through the back, grabbing a metal doorstop and placing it on the door. You sat on the staircase outside, taking in the night time view outside, the beautiful way the street lights lit up the streets and the sounds of cars passing by did wonders to your hazy mind.

“Ain’tcha cold?”

It took you a moment, too preoccupied with breathing in the fresh air outside that you failed to notice the presence of a man behind you. You turned around and looked up at a tall man, a black shadow casting over his face and body making it hard to see him clearly. He leaned against the wall, holding the metal door open with his foot, arms crossed over his chest and curled an eyebrow up at you, waiting for you to answer.

“I mean, kinda? But I don’t care,” you turned back to face the front and fiddled with your phone on your lap. “I’ve experienced worse.”

“Hm,” he hummed and lifted himself from the wall, taking a couple steps forward. He sat down next to you on the stairs and you got a whiff of his expensive cologne from the action. His body next to yours was overwhelming, and your shoulders nearly touched. “Do you remember me?” he asked a couple seconds later.

You turned to look at him for a split second then shook your head. He let out a short chuckle. “C’mon try harder. Dig deeper.”

With a word heavy sigh, you turned to look at him again. The first thing you noticed was he was attractive. His sharp jawline caught your attention first, his tattoo next. Then you met his eyes. Those goddamn eyes that no amount of alcohol could make you forget. You blinked for a couple moments, the movement slow as you tried to regain control over your muscles. “No way.”

TAGLIST: @escafhwiluv @lyniana @haitanifxn @rindougf03 @mvteria @hisan-na @luvhaitani @mishueb @Dreamxies @yuma404 @sleeplessreader @shinichirolover @illusorysmut @Lxvephxbic @obsessedwreiner @ililailii @insayninthamembrayn @missgab @reihimbo @l0velikethis @lollevi @danasaan @tenjikusstuff4 @midoriapologist

#—tr </3 #series : wasted times #ran x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyorev x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran smut #tokrev #ran smut #ran angst #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev smut #tokyo revengers smut

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animesmolbean · 8 months ago

Text

Words Hold Power

An “The Umbrella Academy” fanfiction

Five x Reader

(Female)

Author's Note: Welcome to my The Umbrella Academy fanfiction! I'm so excited to share this story with you all! TUA is my favorite Netflix show! I'm very sad to see it's in its final season, but all great shows come to an end! But at least we'll get to rewatch it over and over again, lol.

Speaking of which, please, no spoilers for S4 since I have not watched it yet. I'll let you guys know where I am in S4 in coming posts.

With that said, I just wanted to tell you guys this. There was one hesitation I had with writing this story. Handling Viktor's character. I know about the journey of this character and Elliot Page's journey as well. I know about the transition, and I wanted to tell you how I planned on approaching this.

I did research on this topic and wanted to be sure I was handling it correctly. I researched how I should write transgender characters and their journeys throughout the story.

I also read other TUA fanfictions for research to see how other authors handle it, and like the research, it's a mixed bag. Some use Viktor only, and some show the name change.

After researching, I decided on an approach.

I will follow what the show does and show the transition story Viktor has. I chose this because I believe it's a beautiful journey, and the show does a great job handling the topic.

One last thing, all the main characters (The Hargreeves siblings) are aged up a little.

With all that said, I hope you enjoy the first chapter! ♥️

~Character Info~

Reader's ability is cursed speech. She can make anyone do what she says with only a few words. It's similar to Allison's, except she doesn't need to say certain words first like her, and her ability is much more powerful. To the point where she has to be extremely careful about what she says.

(As you can tell, this was inspired by the anime character, Toge Inumaki from Jujutsu Kaisen.)

Chapter 1: We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals (Family Reunion)

On the twelfth hour of the first day of October 1985, forty-three women around the world gave birth.

This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women have been pregnant when the day first began.

Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

He got eight of them.

Many years later, the kids grew up and went on with their lives as adults.

There was Number One, aka Luther Hargreeves. Big, strong and was currently on the moon, studying and preparing for whatever his mission was.

There was Number Two, aka Diego Hargreeves. Impulsive, brave and works as a vigilante of sorts.

There was Number Three, aka Allison Hargreeves. Famous actress who was currently on the red carpet in front of paparazzi.

There was Number Four, aka Klaus. A lazy, free-spirited soul who is currently leaving rehab and using the money he got from the rehab to buy drugs. He ended up in the back of an ambulance.

And, there was Number Seven, aka Vanya Hargreeves. She was quiet, timid, and was currently leaving the theater after practicing her violin.

However, their lives would change forever with one broadcast.

Their father was now dead.

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

☂

Vanya rode a taxi to her childhood home. A place she lived for many years.

The Umbrella Academy.

A tall condo-like building with a black gate.

Vanya approached the building and opened the doors, whose windows were decorated by umbrellas.

The foyer was fancy still. The middle was open with a chandelier hanging above a small round table in the middle. Tall, smooth white beams holding the sides which held the second floor. A staircase that leads to that second floor was behind the small round table.

It was just as Vayna remembered it. Every little detail was still there.

“Hey, Mom.”

Vanya called to the woman in the living room. Said woman sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, which currently had a fire going. She stayed still as she stared into the dancing flames.

“Mom?”

“Vanya?”

A familiar voice turned Vanya’s attention elsewhere.

“You're actually here.”

She turned and saw her sister, Allison coming down the stairs.

“Hey, Allison.”

“Hey sis.”

Allison now stood before her sister. She chuckled and brought the other girl into a hug, which Vanya quietly but graciously returned.

“Ah. What is she doing here?”

A new voice spoke through the quiet foyer.

“You don't belong here. Not after what you did.”

It was Diego.

“You're seriously gonna do this today?” Allison spoke up, her tone telling that she wasn't in the mood for the male's attitude.

“Way to dress for the occasion, by the way.” She added, mocking Diego’s attire as he ascended the stairs. He was still in his “hero” gear; knives and everything.

“At least I'm wearing black.” Diego shot back nonchalantly as he turned left on the stairs, disappearing from the girls’ views.

Vanya, now uncomfortable, spoke up quietly, “You know what? I- Maybe he's right. And I shouldn't-”

“Forget about him.” Allison interrupted her. “I'm glad you're here.” She spoke softly. Vanya’s lips quirked up a little at Allison's words. The sisters shared a moment of silence.

☂

Diego arrived at his late father's room, to see Luther there checking the windows. He leaned against the doorframe.

“I can save you some time. They're all locked. No forced entry, no sign of struggle. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

As he spoke, he walked over to Luther who was also walking towards him.

“Oh, you got big, Luther. What's the secret, huh? Protein shakes? Low carbs?” Diego asked mockingly.

“What do you want?” Luther asked, not wanting to deal with Diego's attitude.

Diego reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded pieces of paper, handing them to Luther. “The autopsy report.”

After he teasingly tried to pull them away from Luther, the latter brother snatched them out of his hand.

“And you have this, why?” Luther asked.

“Well, that's because I… broke into the coroner's office.” Diego explained as he sat down in an armchair. “And surprise, surprise, Dad's death was… normal. Just a boring, old heart failure.”

“Yeah, so?” Luther looked at Diego.

“So, why are you in here, checking all the windows?”

“Were you the first one on the scene?” Luther asked.

“Pogo found him.” Diego answered.

“Yeah, I talked with Pogo. He said he couldn't find Dad's monocle.”

“And your point being?” Diego asked in a bored tone.

“Can you think of a single time you saw Dad and he wasn't wearing that monocle? No. Which means someone took it. Which means there's a chance he wasn't alone when he died.”

Diego sat up from the armchair. “There is no mystery here. Nothing to avenge. Nothing to solve, nothing like that. It's just a sad old man who kicked it in a big empty house. Just like he deserved.”

“You should leave.” Lither spoke, not liking Diego's tone with that last sentence he spoke.

“Whatever you say, brother.” Diego said in a mocking tone as he turned to leave. Before he did, he turned back to Luther. “By the way, did you visit (Your Name) yet?”

Luther shook his head. “No. I was about to, actually.”

“You know where she is.” Diego simply said.

☂

Vanya entered the living room, looking around at the interior. She spotted a comic and new articles on their group, The Umbrella Academy. She looked at the bookshelves and pulled out one book in particular.

The title read, “Extra Ordinary My Life as Number Seven”

It was her autobiography book. The one she wrote when she left the academy.

She observed it solemnly until a voice spoke out.

“Welcome home, Ms. Vanya.”

She turned and saw Pogo, a human sized monkey dressed formally with a cane and glasses.

Vanya walked over to him and hugged him. Pogo hugged back with a hum. “So good to see you.” He noticed the book in her hand. “Ah, yes, your autobiography.”

“Do you know, um…” Vanya paused before continuing. “Did he ever read it?”

Pogo thought for a moment before replying, “Not that I'm aware of.”

Vanya turned her attention to the portrait above the fireplace. It showed a boy, around seventeen in age, sitting with a neutral but sophisticated look on his face.

“How long has it been since Five disappeared?” She asked.

Pogo turned to look at the portrait too. “It's been sixteen years, four months, and fourteen days.” The two looked at each other. “Your father insisted I keep track.”

“And… how long has (Your Name) been in that coma?”

“Sixteen years, four months, and six days.” Pogo replied.

“You wanna know something stupid? I always used to leave the lights on for him. I was scared that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark and he wouldn't be able to find us, so he'd leave again. And he would take (Your Name) with him. So, every night I'd make a little snack and make sure all the lights were on.”

Pogo nodded. “Oh, I remember your snacks. I'm pretty sure I stepped in half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, and those (Favorite type of Cookie) cookies.” He sighed a couple times before he spoke again, “Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere. He also believed that one day (Your Name) would wake up. He never lost hope.”

“And look where that got him.” Vanya said solemnly.

☂

Allison went up to her late father's study, looking around the area. The familiarity of it brought up a memory.

〰️

Reginald Hargreeves was working in his office, as usual, when Grace knocked on the door. She entered before closing the door.

“The children are ready for bed, sir. They wanted to say goodnight.”

She turned and walked a couple of paces and opened the sliding door.

On the other side revealed the eight children, all wearing matching pajamas. Allison was in the center while the others surrounded her. Little (Your Name) stood between her and Five, a black cloth face mask covering her mouth and nose.

The children were all smiling as they waited for their father to acknowledge them. But he was so into his work that he didn't even glance up at them.

Sensing the awkwardness, Grace quickly dismissed the kids. The kids, of course, were disappointed but not surprised. As they left slowly, (Your Name) tugged on Allison's sleeve, silently asking her to come.

“I'll be there in a minute (Your Name).” The girl whispered. (Your Name) tilted her head to the side. Allison spoke again, “Why don't you go hang out with Five for a bit before bed? I know you planned on it.” She gave the masked girl a small smile. (Your Name) felt her cheeks warm up, but she nodded, leaving and quietly walking over to Five. The boy saw her coming and, with a nod of his head, gestured to her to follow him. (Your Name) nodded and started to walk beside him. As she did, she heard Allison,

“He's always busy.”

〰️

“Where's the cash, Dad?”

The sound of a voice diverted Allison's attention and she walked over to her father's desk, hearing clamoring noises. She leaned forward to look to see who was over there.

“Klaus? What are you doing in here?” She asked.

Said boy looked up and gasped at the sight of his sister. “Oh! Allison! Wow, is that you?” He asked as he stood up. He embraced her slowly; Allison slowly returned the hug. “Long time. Too long.” He pulled away. “Hey, I was hoping to see you, actually, because I wanted to get your autograph. Add it to my collection!” He planted his chin onto his hands.

Allison let her brother act because it was how he always behaved when she noticed the white paper bracelet on his left wrist. “Just out of rehab?” She asked.

“No, no. No, no, no, no. No. I'm done with all of that.” Klaus replied with a sigh as he removed the bracelet. “I just came down here to prove to myself that the old man was really gone.” He smiled. “And he is! He's dead. Yeah!” He clapped, making Allison smile a little, shaking her head a bit.

“You know how I know? Because if he were alive, not one of us would be allowed to set foot in this room.” Allison silently agreed with Klaus.

“He was always in here, our whole childhood, plotting his next torment, right?” He said with a chuckle as he sat in the armchair behind the desk, putting his feet on the desk. “Remember how he used to look at us? That scowl?” He pointed to the man's portrait onto the wall behind him. “Thank Christ, he's not our real father, so we couldn't inherit those cold, dead eyes!” He stretched his eyelids to show more of his eyeballs. He fake screams, making Allison chuckle a little as Klaus started to dramatically imitate their late father.

“Get out of his chair.”

Klaus turned his head and saw Luther standing by the doorway. “Oh, wow, Luther! Wow, you really, uh… You really filled out over the years, huh?” Klaus said as he stood and flexed his arm muscles.

“Klaus.” Luther warned.

“Save the lecture. I was already leaving. You guys can talk amongst yourselves. I am going to visit (Your Name). Oh! The precious little sister of ours.” He chuckled softly. Before he could leave though, Luther stopped him. “Drop it.”

“Ex-squeeze me?” Klaus said.

“Do it. Now.” Luther ordered.

Klaus pulled his arm away from Luther and went back to the desk and started to empty out his pockets, which held a few of his late father's belongings. “It's just an advance on our inheritance! That's all it is!” Allison chuckled silently at her brother. “No need to get your little panties in a bunch.” With that, Klaus left, closing the door; leaving Luther and Allison alone in the room.

“So, Klaus is still Klaus, in case you are wondering.” Luther started.

“You know, after all these years, I find it strangely comforting.” Allison stated.

“Did you see Diego?” Luther asked.

“With his stupid outfit?” Allison added in amusement.

“Oh, I know. Do you think he wears that thing in the bathroom?” Lauther asked.

“Like in the shower?” Allison asked for confirmation.

“Yeah.” Luther confirmed.

“Yes, absolutely!” Allison laughed.

The two went on to talk about how their lives are going now that they are adults. Luther was the only one to stay while the rest went their separate ways. Their conversation ended talking about Allison's family and her powers.

〰️

A little later, everyone congregated in the living room. The fire was still going in the fireplace as everyone sat in silence.

Luther started talking about doing a memorial service for their late father. Some like Allison were mostly confused by this or making fun of it like Klaus.

“Is that my skirt?” Allison asked, noticing Klaus wearing a skirt now.

“Oh, yeah this. I found it in your room. It's a little dated, I know, but it's very breathy on the bits.”

Luther stopped Klaus before he could go further and started to talk about their father's death. He had a theory that he didn't die simply of heart failure. He recounted how he was acting suspicious and requested Klaus to try to communicate with him. Klaus was not interested.

“I can't just call Dad into the afterlife and be like, “Dad, could you just stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?”

“Since when? That's your thing.” Luther said.

“I'm not in the right… frame of mind.”

“You're high?” Allison asked, not surprised.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Klaus laughed. “I mean, how are you not listening to this nonsense?”

“Well, sober up, this is important.” Luther said.

Klaus only sighed.

When Luther started talking about the missing monocle, Diego concluded that Luther was suspicious of all of them, saying that Luther thought one of them killed their dad. This caused everyone to get upset. Diego insulted Luther's leadership, Klaus got up and jokingly said that he might as well go murder their Mom and (Your Name), unless she was already dead. Vanya left in silence and. Allison left in silence as well. Luther tried to defend himself, but it was too late.

They weren't always like this. When they were kids, they were tight knit.

〰️

17 YEARS AGO

“This is Jim Hellerman, reporting live for Channel 2 News outside of the Capital West Bank at Main and Sixth. A group of heavily armed men stormed the bank not three hours ago and took an unknown number of hostages.”

The armed men surveyed the bank as they pointed their guns at the bound up hostages and pushed them behind the counter as they proceeded with the robbery.

Unexpectedly, a girl with curly black hair, in a school uniform and mask, walked casually to one of the robbers.

It was Allison.

“Hey, get back with the others.” The robber ordered the girl.

“I heard a rumor.” Allison spoke.

“What? What did you say?”

Allison leaned forward and used her ability, “I heard a rumor that you shot your friend in the foot.”

The robber pointed his gun at one of his partners and promptly shot him in the foot, knocking him down. The hostages screamed at the sound of the gun.

Suddenly, someone, dressed in a boy's school uniform with a mask came crashing down from a window above and landed behind the counter. It was Luther. He punched one robber and threw him out the window with surprising strength.

Then, another kid dressed like Luther came from the other side of the bank. “Guns are for sissies. Real men throw knives.” He threw two long knives at one of the robbers only for them to redirect to another robber and immediately killed him.

There were now only two robbers left in the lobby.

One of them climbed onto the desk and pointed his gun shakily at the three kids. “Get back, you freaks.”

“Hey, be careful up there, buddy.” Diego, the knife throwing kid taunted.

“Get back now!”

“Wouldn't want you to get hurt.” Allison taunted as well.

“Or what?”

A fourth kid appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sitting criss cross on the desk. A taunting smirk on his face. This was Number Five.

The robber shot at Five, but he disappeared and reappeared on the other side. When the robber turned around and tried to shoot him again, he suddenly realized that he was not holding a gun.

“Ooh! That's one badass stapler!” Five taunted before smacking the guy's hand holding the stapler into his head. This knocked the robber over.

All they had to do now was get rid of the robbers in the vault.

Or so they thought.

There was one more.

He loaded his fun and his gun cocked, catching the kids off guard.

“Down you freaks!” He yelled.

Suddenly, running from a hidden place behind a wall was a fifth kid, dressed like Allison, as she pulled down her face mask. She directed her attention to the robber.

“Explode!”

The single word echoed loudly through the bank, and just before the guy could turn his gun to the girl, his body suddenly exploded, body parts, guts, and blood spreading out everywhere. The hostages screamed in fear. The girl quickly covered her face again, breathing heavily as she ran to her siblings.

She gestured to all of them. They couldn't see much of her face, but they could tell she was worried by the look in her eyes.

“We're okay. Thanks (Your Name).” Allison said.

(Your Name) hummed, nodding as she walked over to behind the desk with the others, while two more kids dressed like the rest of the boys joined them. Five looked at her. “That was pretty badass. Good work.” He complimented, giving her a smile. (Your Name) felt her cheeks warm up a little, and she tilted her head a bit and closed her eyes. Most people wouldn't be able to tell her expression behind the mask, but Five knew she was smiling at him in thanks.

“Do we really have to do this?” A meek voice asked.

“Come on, Ben. There's more guys in the vault.” Luther told the boy.

Ben sighed as he walked to the vault door. “I didn't sign up for this.”

He entered as the hostages all ran for their lives out of the bank. Inside the vault, the last of the robbers were eyeing slaughtered by Ben's ability. He screeched and roared as his tentacles ripped them apart and threw them against the walls. Blood splattered all over the windows.

Once it was quiet, Ben came out, covered in blood. “Can we go home now?” He asked, his breathing shaky.

It was time to leave.

The seven kids started walking towards the entrance of the bank. (Your Name) pulled out a small vial and turned the cap. She pulled the bottom part of her mask up and put the bottle to her lips. She tilted her head back and started swallowing the liquid. She finished it and placed the empty bottle back in her pocket.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Five's voice made (Your Name) turn to him. She nodded and hummed in thanks. Five offered his arm to her. “Ready?” He asked. The girl nodded again, and she hooked her arm with Five's. Five smiled at her, and they started walking after their siblings.

The seven kids emerged from the back as the news reporters pointed their cameras at the group, and they all clamored to try to talk to them.

Above on the top of a building nearby, stood Reginald Hargreeves, observing the other kids with a mini telescope. An eighth kid, dressed like Allison and (Your Name), minus the mask, stood next to him.

“Why can't I go play with the others?” The girl asked.

“We've been through this before, Number Seven. I'm afraid there's just nothing special about you.” Reginald said as he lowered his telescope.

The girl looked down. “Oh.”

Eventually, Reginald came down to stand with the children.

“Our world is changing. Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary. I have adopted seven such children.”

‘You mean eight.’ (Your Name) thought to herself as she looked down temporarily, her arm still linked with Five's.

“I give you the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy.”

Many news reporters asked many questions.

“What happened to their parents?” One asked.

“They were suitably compensated.” Reginald replied.

“Are you concerned about the welfare of the children?” Another asked.

“Of course. As I am for the fate of the world.” Reginald said.

〰️

☂

Everyone was in separate rooms, having their alone time after the little dispute from earlier. Klaus was still in the living room, trying to talk to their late father but he ended up knocking the vase filled with his ashes over.

Luther was walking through the hallways, reminiscing until he got to his room.

Allison was looking through her belongings until she found a gold heart locket with ‘A+L’ carved onto the front.

Klaus took the vase into the kitchen where he proceeded to take more pills.

Diego laid on the couch in the living room, playing with one of his knives.

Vanya sat on the stairs, a solemn look on her face.

Luther eventually found a familiar record and played it on the record player.

“I Think We're Alone Now” by Tiffany started to play.

Everyone heard the familiar tune all throughout the house and they all started to dance in their respective rooms.

Childhood nostalgia ran through their bodies as they all danced like no one was watching. Even Pogo moved a little to the beat.

But suddenly, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed.

The music stopped as the house reacted to the violent disturbance.

The siblings all ran to the courtyard and saw a giant hole, surrounded by blue lightning.

“What is it?” Vanya asked.

“Don't get too close!” Allison warned.

“Yeah, no shit.” Diego said.

“Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly. Either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two.

“Pretty big difference there, Paul Bunyan.” Diego insulted.

“Out of the way!” Klaus exclaimed as he came out with a fire extinguisher and tried to spray it but it was out of steam. So, he just threw it at the mysterious anomaly only for it to get sucked in.

“What is that gonna do?” Allison asked.

“I don't know. Do you have a better idea?” Klaus asked.

The anomaly got stronger and Luther ushered everyone behind him to protect them. Klaus wanted to run. Luther and Allison held hands.

The electrical crackling intensified and someone emerged from the anomaly, arms out. It disappeared and the person fell out of the sky and landed on the ground. The sky cleared up as the siblings walked towards the person, who stood up. He was dressed in a suit way too big for him.

“Does anyone else see little Number Five, or is that just me?” Klaus asked.

The boy known as Five looked at himself then back at the siblings.

“Shit.”

☂

The six were now in the kitchen. Five was busy making a sandwich while the others watched in shock.

“What's the date? The exact date.” Five asked.

“The 24th.” Vanya replied.

“Of what?”

“March.”

“Good.”

Luther spoke up. “So, are we gonna talk about what just happened?”

Five didn't reply. He just continued with making his sandwich.

Silence fell for a couple of seconds until Luther stood up. “It's been seventeen years.”

Five scoffed. “It's been a lot longer than that.” He blinked over to the cabinet.

“I haven't missed that.” Luther muttered.

“Where'd you go?” Diego asked.

“The future. It's shit, by the way.” Five replied as he blinked back to the table.

“Called it.” Klaus said.

“I should've listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing, jumping through time is a toss of the dice.” Five looked up at the siblings. “Nice dress.” He told Klaus.

“Oh, well, danke!” Klaus said, playing with the article of clothing.

“Wait, how did you get back?” Vanya asked.

“In the end I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.” Five explained.

“That makes no sense.” Diego spoke up.

“Well, it would if you were smarter.” Five sasses.

Diego stood up to confront the boy but Luther stopped him, holding him back.

“How long were you there?” He asked.

“Forty-one years. Give or take.”

Luther and Diego sat back down. “So what are you saying? That you're fifty-eight?” The former asked.

Five looked at Luther. “No, my consciousness is fifty-eight.” He finished his sandwich. “Apparently, my body is now seventeen again.”

“Wait, how does that even work?” Vanya asked.

“Delores kept saying the equations were off. Eh.” Five took a bite out of his sandwich. “Bet she's laughing now.”

Vanya was confused. “Delores?”

Five ignored her and looked at the newspaper that told him about Reginald Hargreeves’ death. “Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How'd you know about that?” Luther asked.

“What part of the future do you not understand?” Five asked. “Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah.” “No.” Diego and Luther said together.

Five hummed before clicking his tongue. “Nice to see nothing's changed.” Then, he got a good look at his siblings again. He realized that one was missing. “By the way, where's (Your Name)?”

The other five siblings looked at each other, solemn expressions on their faces now. “Well…” Vanya started. “There isn't an easy way to say this.” Allison said. “She's in a coma.” “She's dead.” Klaus and Diego finished. “Diego!” Allison scolded.

Five looked at his siblings, a subtle look of worry on his face, but on the inside, his heart was beating faster. “What happened?”

“Well…. like I said… this isn't easy to say.” As Allison tried to explain, they suddenly heard soft footsteps approaching the kitchen. They slowly turned their heads and what they saw shook them to the core.

There stood…

(Your Name).

Klaus yelled in surprise.

“Holy shit.” Diego said.

Everyone else looked in surprise.

(Your Name) was alive.

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua season one #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreaves x you #five x reader #five x y/n #five x you #tua five #tua fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #x y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n

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letsgobarbs · 2 months ago

Text

Crying Cryptids & Canoodling Cupids

Pairing: Javi Gutiérrez x Plus Size F!Reader

Prompt: Javi G + “What cryptid are you trying to be, Mothman’s cousin?”

Summary: Javi is having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. Scratch that. He was having a terrible week, a horrible month, a no-good year, and just, a general, very bad time. He was convinced this movie was going to end his filmmaking career. Nobody will ever want to see any of his work again. It was shit. And there was nothing he could do about it. And he might have just made the sweetest woman cry— someone he is so sure is his soulmate.

Warnings: Fatphobia, no smut for you nasties… okay maybe just a little hint because I couldn't resist, just a mention of it though.

A/N: This is for the PPCUVDAY event organised by @peepawispunk Is it Valentine’s Day? No. Is it even February yet? No. But I spun the wheel and got a prompt and a fic manifested. So we all get this— as a little treat. It is a classic Soulmate AU, where the first words your soulmate will say to you appear tattooed on your body.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You can also read this fic on ao3 <3

Javi had always been quick to temper. He had just learned to never express it, because that was an invitation for being hit— or worse with Lucas. But now he wanted to throw a veritable tantrum— fuck the consequences.

The headset around his neck was strangling him, the usual soft feel and comforting weight of it was replaced by a crawling sensation that made him want to jump out of his skin. He wanted to tear the script resting on his thigh into tiny, minuscule, little pieces and shower it into the air— the corner of the paper was scratching at the exposed skin of his knee, yet another irritant that was making his leg restlessly jump. He needed to jump off a cliff and into a cool body of water. Step away, reset.

Too bad none of them would be getting that. This was supposed to be a movie. He was supposed to be a director. But all this was shaping up to be was a circus and he wasn’t even the ringmaster, he was a sad little monkey walking on stilts and jumping through hoops. Even worse, he was letting all the other sad little monkeys who had faith in him down.

It was his first time trying to make a horror movie— an intense, realistic, gritty psychological horror that offered a poignant insight into both the good and the evil in the nature of mankind. The script had been good. Lucien and Dieter were giving some of the most honest and amazing performances of their careers setting them both up for the greatest comeback after their stint in rehab. The crew was good, he had worked with these people before.

But then the producers started cutting costs and the real horror show had begun. They had terrorised the crew— changed the lighting, equipment, locations, costumes until it looked more like Cliff Beasts 7: Fellowship of the Furious– Journey to a Stranger Tide or something. They had even shooed in a heroine who wasn’t even in the script, naturally, the script had to be rewritten. He just wished she could act…

He had wrapped up filming yesterday after more than twenty takes on one of her simple scenes, making do with the shot of her actually remembering her lines even though they were delivered like she was acting on a Disney sitcom. Javi wished he could wrap up today as well, they were all exhausted from several demanding scenes and it wasn’t shaping up to be any better for her but they were running so behind schedule. Moreover, the costume and make-up department had worked so hard to put her in the monster get-up, they owed it to the crew to at least try. The original script didn’t even have a monster.

She did look monstrous but for all the wrong reasons. She looked huge, hulking at a little over seven feet, covered in bronze armour— why did they have to add big boobs to the metal? There were two giant wings behind her, confusingly made of feathers instead of metal like the rest of her costume. They had given her two fuzzy antennas that reminded him of oversized spruce twigs or moths. The armour was far too big for her he thought with a wince; sure the monster was supposed to represent corporate greed but making it fat was just wrong.

The most placid, emotionless garbled noises rang out of the giant tin can; Javi tried to unclench his jaw, hiding his expression behind a tight fist. His chest racked with effort to draw in a large breath. That’s it, he’s done.

“CUT!!” He roared. The script fell off his lap as he stood from his chair. Javi could feel the anger flooding over the dam he had built; he could feel it prickle in his throat like dry smoke, taste its bitterness on his tongue.

“WHAT CRYPTID ARE YOU TRYING TO BE, MOTHMAN’S COUSIN? Because woooow, that was really fucking pathetic.” He seethed as he maintained eye contact with the two large red bulbs for eyes on her helmet.

Javi whirled around to face the freelancer from the costume department before the actress could fight him, “And WHY IS SHE SO FUCKING BIG?”

There was a collective, shocked gasp on set as everyone stared at him in abject horror. Javi was panting now, still overwhelmed with rage while Dieter scowled at him a dark, menacing look on his face.

“Dude—” But Dieter was interrupted by a dog. A squeaking, whimpering dog. Oh my god, there was a chihuahua in the tin can. For a horribly brief moment, he wondered if he would find multiple dogs stacked together under that armour, it would certainly explain the bad acting. Everyone quietly stood around as the crying continued in quiet keens and puppyish whines.

“Hey, don’t cry—” Dieter cooed at her. Since when was he so nice to her?

His giant cryptid lifted the visor of her helmet, red bulb eyes, moth antenna and all. Javi peered up into the sweetest face that certainly did not belong to the lead of his movie. Fuck. Her face was covered in a glistening sheen of sweat and tears; she looked down at him with glassy eyes and brows furrowed with hurt. She made a strange eep sound as she tried to hold back more of her sobs— it drew his attention to the most kissably pouty lips. They wobbled from the emotional strain. Javi felt like a despicable cur.

“You’re the worst.” She whispered. Her voice choked with tears. And he felt his heart break. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, he didn’t even know who she was.

The pretty cryptid clunked out of there, her feathery wing slapping him across the face— as he deserved. Javi felt the embarrassment curl in his stomach for her, poor girl deserved a more graceful exit but instead, the costume sounded like pots and pans clanging around in the utensil cabinet while she fruitlessly tried to manoeuvre around the set pieces; the noise grated on his ears and made his teeth itch. The shrill, brassy clashing sound of metals abruptly turned into a loud thunk and a crash as she fell just a few steps away from the exit. A mean, taunting little giggle rang from some corner breaking everyone out of their reverie.

Lucien reaches her first, gently helping her to sit while the assistant he had just screamed at tried to remove the stilts from under her feet. Javi moves to rush forward, she must have hurt herself in the fall.

But Dieter held him back, “Give it a moment, you’ll only upset her more.”

She did seem pretty upset, her face had darkened but her eyes were impassive she barely responded to Lucien as he soothingly comforted her. The sight of her blank look was tugging at his heart, he just wanted to cradle her face in his hands, wipe her tears and smooth away the hurt. He settled for doing the next best thing and gave a terse command to finish up for the day.

Javi noticed her painful grimace as Lucien helped her to stand, making a mental note to make sure she saw a doctor; he would pay any of the medical bills. For now, he helplessly watched, a strange caustic feeling blistering under his skin— it wasn’t anger, not quite. But he disliked the way his arm wrapped around her waist, or how her arm was seeking support on his shoulder as she stumbled farther away from him. Javi thought De Leon was being a bit pretentious.

Oh fuck, you’re the worst.

You loved cryptids. Halloween was your favourite time of the year; every year since you were fourteen you had dressed up as various cryptids. Your interest had spiralled from just Halloween costumes to owning a shelf full of books about cryptids, a wall covered in newspaper clippings of cryptid sightings and stories; your family and friends would gift you cryptid clothing and accessories on Christmas— your favourite being the bright blue Nessie ladle in your kitchen drawer and a Kraken tentacle ring which was always wrapped around your finger. You even owned several monster sex toys; you had your favourites there too— a silicone tentacles dildo with amazing bumps and suction cups along its length, and a neon green and purple vibrating monster cock with the most delicious ridges.

It had all started with a small birthmark just to the side of your calf muscles, which spread across your skin as you grew up forming the first sentence your soulmate would say to you. What cryptid are you trying to be, Mothman’s cousin?

You had imagined so many ways your soulmate would say that to you; maybe it would be a pretty girl striking up a conversation at the local cosplay event, or perhaps a cute guy flirting at a Halloween party, or someone sweet and sly who would playfully tease you about your outfit of choice.

Most people do not end up finding their soulmates, but you were so convinced you would find yours one day. Because your line was so detailed, while others had a variation of hi, hello, hey, good morning— something so mundane their soulmate could be anybody. There were even shows that helped people with commonplace soulmate tattoos find their life partner— the current contestant on The Bachelor’s Soulmate was a pilot whose tattoo read, “Hey, what can I get started for you today?”

People with tattoos of greetings could never be sure they ended up with their true soulmate you’d watched a TLC show about them. And now, more than ever, you wished you had one of those boring soulmate tattoos. Never in your life had you imagined the words from your tattoo would be shouted at you, followed by being called pathetic and then he’d called you fat— fucking huge. You burst into more tears at the thought, muffling your sobs against your fingers.

Lucien wiped your tears again, gently dabbing a tissue to your cheeks. You wished he wouldn’t hover, you just wanted to be left alone. You know he is trying to be kind— mostly out of guilt your mind whispered to you. Which wasn’t true… even if it was, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t always been kind, you had worked with him when he was still struggling with his drinking issue. He was mean and had almost cost you your job once. He was nicer now that he was sober, or at least more aware of the people around him. You were happy for him.

“You know he didn’t mean it that way…” He murmured.

It didn’t matter whether he meant it or not. You had decided you didn’t want him. Someone not being with their soulmates was unheard of, because why would anybody reject a person that was made, curated, for you by the universe. But the truth was Javi Gutiérrez did not want you— not really. He thought you were fat and pathetic.

Your heart still clenched every time you thought about his words. And even if he was mysteriously accepting about him being your soulmate, and instantly fell in love with you because you were perfect for him or he loved your super cool personality, you would always know, in the back of your mind, that he hadn’t wanted you. In the quietest, most intimate moments with him, a mean little voice would be the loudest and it would always remind you that you were just thrust upon him by the universe. But had the choice been his, it wouldn’t be you.

This was Hollywood, most of the time it didn’t matter how nice and sweet you were, men would always go for the prettiest, sexiest woman— then too nobody over a size 6 and very rarely somebody who was a size 8 but only if they liked curves. You had met Javi’s ex-girlfriend Gabriela who works for a different production company, she was not only tall and gorgeous but also very very sweet and sassy. She was perfect.

You were just some low-level production assistant, running errands, printing scripts, fetching coffees and meals, cleaning up the set and trailers, chauffeuring actors to and from the set. Often it was the assistant directors or the other team leaders passing forward instructions. Even when Javi had introduced himself to the crew, you had made yourself scarce because the sight of him had made you so flustered and tongue-tied— you just hadn’t wanted to make a fool of yourself.

He was far too beautiful— all sun-kissed skin and soft curls. Every time you delivered something to him, you would quickly scurry away before he even had the chance to thank you because of how nervous he made you. You didn’t think you would last if he looked at you with those puppy eyes and spoke to you with that accented voice. He was endlessly kind and polite with everyone on set. You would be an idiot to not want him.

So maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t your soulmate at all. That would make the most sense. You tried to think of the first thing you had ever said to him, your mind sadly pulling a blank. Perhaps, his soulmate tattoo read something you had never said. And there was someone else out there for you who was waiting to ask you what type of cryptid you were trying to be. Your heart lurched at the thought of him not being yours— the idea that he could be was so irresistible that it physically hurt to believe otherwise.

A cough disrupted the air, you looked up to see Javi standing by the entrance of the trailer giving you a shy, toothy smile. You instinctively smiled back at him, too distracted by how violently your heart was flutteringly— you felt queasy like you were hanging onto that single lock of hair curling over his forehead as it swung with the evening air. So, you didn’t notice the two men share a charged look and tense smile before Lucien softly patted your head and made his way out.

Javi had the warmest, twinkling brown eyes, sweet and innocent. You had dreamed about how that plush bottom lip would feel between yours, on your skin, on your pussy.

Stop it, you stupid slut.

He was probably here to scold you for being in front of the camera and taking the heroine’s place. But it was not your fault! She had begged you to do it, said it wasn’t that big of a deal since they didn’t need to see her face in the scene and they could voice over her lines post-production— it’s just monster noises and screeching anyway.

Initially, you hadn’t wanted to do it because you didn’t trust her intentions but she had it cleared with the producers as well. They said you would be just like a stand-in. Then you had seen the silly monster costume, it was so bad— but it had the Mothman eyes and antenna. And you couldn’t resist because of the soulmate tattoo. You had thought, what if this was how you found your soulmate?

“Hey, are you okay?” His teeth were so straight, smile so adorable— it made his eyes squint, one closing just slightly more than the other in a way that made your stomach contract. And that nose… the bold slope of it was downright salacious.

UGH, shut up, don’t be a whore. Have some self-respect. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want you. Fat and Pathetic. Fat and Pathetic.

“Yeah, I’m okay…” You furtively glanced around the trailer, hoping that not looking at him would make you feel less overwhelmed.

“That’s good, I think I’m your soulmate.” He stated in a calm voice followed by a warm, awkward chuckle. But his hands were trembling, and he rubbed them along his thighs.

“Um, no. You’re not.” You croaked, refusing to meet his eyes as you lied to him.

“No, let me show you.” He pulled off his shirt revealing broad, tanned shoulders. You wanted to lick the freckles that dusted over his skin there, kiss the ones that dotted his neck.

He lifted his hand straight up and showed you a string of letters that ran up his underarm. You couldn’t make sense of them at first, they looked like keyboard smash starting from his forearm; some of them were capitalised, some letters lowercase, a few of them had accents on them and some of them were even ligatures.

Then he started pronouncing them in a strange whimpering, squeaking voice. And you wanted to scream. Or laugh. Was he trying to imitate your crying? You knew you weren’t a pretty crier but he made you sound almost… endearing. Especially when he tentatively looked at you with those aggrieved eyes of a kicked puppy. He whispered the last of the words as the letters disappeared into his armpit— you’re the worst.

You tried not to visibly flinch. Were those really your first words to him? How horrible to carry those words on your body for your whole life. He looked so guilty and ashamed, lines formed between his brows and the creases in his forehead deepened in distress.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to say those awful words to you.” His gaze on you was steady and sincere, begging you to believe him.

You swallowed, feeling an anxious tightness in your chest. You surged through before you could change your mind.

“Sorry, but I don’t think you’re my soulmate.” You insisted, looking down at his knees, they were so close to yours. He was sitting in the seat facing you, and suddenly the trailer seemed much smaller. You could smell him— open oceans, sweet citrus, hints of something minty and herby lavender.

“Oh, what does your tattoo say? Can I see it?” The disappointment in his voice nestled just under your ribs, painfully digging into your heart.

“It says hello.” You lied.

“That’s great! I must’ve said hello to you.” He perked up at the possibility. Eyes radiant with joy again. He hadn’t said hello, but that wasn’t his fault. It was ironic but you had mastered the art of being invisible— despite your size.

“No, you didn’t… You said Hi.” At least, he would have if you hadn’t evaded him at all times, mooning over him from afar.

“Noooo… I must’ve said hello— I mean hi, hey, hello. So hard to remember, I said hello. I’m sure.” He argued. You tried not to cry.

You weren’t so insecure. Sure, being the weird chubby kid who liked cryptids wasn’t easy. But you had grown up— learned to love your body. Today just… wasn’t a good day. You felt raw, vulnerable and humiliated. You’d taken off the costume but couldn’t forget how unflattering it had made you feel, and that mean little giggle was still ringing in your ears. Your mind was also regurgitating his harsh words.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And she insisted she wasn’t his soulmate.

Javi couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Well, he could, but then he would be looking at the way her t-shirt stretched over those lovely boobs, or the cinch of her waist before her form generously curved into the most delectable hips— he could almost picture the way his fingertips would disappear in her flesh if he gripped her. Shut up, this is so wildly inappropriate.

He balled his shirt on his lap to hide the hard-on he was sporting in his shorts, sitting in only his white, sleeveless undershirt. His heart was racing, and he could feel the heat climbing up the back of his neck. He had been so convinced she was his soulmate. He still felt like she was lying to him, but why? Did she not want him?

It would be understandable, not a lot of people wanted him. He was just a geeky film nerd who talked about movies until everyone around him was bored and exasperated. He wasn’t strong, or cool, or dashing. Sure, a lot of people flirted with him now but he wouldn’t delude himself into thinking they wanted anything more than his money. He was the kind of guy who took years to stand up to his cousin. At most, he was cute. But why would this goddess want him when she could have Lucien De Leon.

Not even Gabriela had wanted him and they had known each other since they were kids. They both had realised very quickly that while they cared for each other, their relationship had been based on loneliness and scarcity. He had liked her because she was the only one on the compound who had been genuinely nice to him— she was his only friend. And she had liked him because he was the only decent, non-violent man in the international criminal organisation.

They had long broken up when Gabriela had found her soulmate. He wished them all the happiness in the world, she deserved it. Because he would have never survived without her— not even in Hollywood. She had been the one dealing with the production companies for him. Fuck, and now he had to deal with one on his own.

Javi looked at the woman before him, she seemed so lovely and kind. He wanted her to be his soulmate. For years, he had been terrified his soulmate would be someone Lucas had kidnapped, hurt or harmed. He was always afraid he wouldn’t be able to save them— why else would someone call him the worst?

Well, it had finally happened, out of his own stupidity too. He hadn’t even known they were using one of the production assistants as a stand-in. The producers had conveniently left him out of the loop for a lot of things. Dieter had informed him how his lead actress was the daughter of the man who owned their production company; she’d joined the movie for a chance with Lucien. And had planned this whole fiasco as a horrible prank when she had lost his attention to this enticing woman in front of him. Javi briefly wondered if he should tell her that the lead actress was trying to bully her.

He watched her squirm in her seat, rearranging her legs so her knees pressed together and turned slightly away from his. He tried very hard not to think about the way her thighs flattened and spread on the seat under her, because then his mind would provide him with the lewd images of the same thighs framing his face, their weight on his shoulder, his teeth sinking into the soft inside— marking her, tasting her.

She folded her arms over her stomach, her hand comfortingly stroking her upper arm. Was she cold? Because Javi was feeling overheated. He subconsciously wiped his temple, finding a light coating of sweat there. He couldn’t see the soft swell of her belly anymore, which meant he really shouldn’t be thinking about pressing his fingers into her warm skin there and pinching, twisting the flesh to watch it mould around his unruly touch— her waist would roll and twist to escape him, she would probably softly gasp, her eyes wide and aggrieved.

She awkwardly cleared her throat, and it snapped his attention to her face. Her lips were pursed as she glanced around the trailer. He really hoped she hadn’t noticed him staring at her like a creep.

“That’s a nice T-shirt”—he looked down at her top, relieved that it was indeed a T-shirt—“Loveland Frogman? It’s almost Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” There, he was just looking at her top and totally not having any inappropriate thoughts about her body. But he loved the way ‘Loveland’ stretched over those tits. Fuck.

The T-shirt fit snugly over her sweetly rounded shoulders. Javi felt his teeth itch with the desire to bite down on them. She watched him, confused and bewildered at the abrupt change in topic, before glancing down at her T-shirt as if she hadn’t realised what she was wearing.

“Oh, um, Loveland is a place. It’s in Ohio, Frogman is their local cryptid. But turned out it was just a giant three-foot-something iguana. I got the shirt when I watched a musical about it. There’s also a found footage horror movie about it with this absolutely bonkers ending— Sorry, I’m rambling— anyways, are you going to fire me?”

“What? No. No. Of course not.” She had the most charming twinkle in her eyes. He would set fire to the set before firing her.

“Today was entirely my fault”—He felt shame coat his throat, and his next words came subdued and choked—“I’m a shit director—”

“No, you’re not. You are an amazing director. You have a very clear vision for the film, and you’re able to communicate and explain that vision. You won’t believe how many directors just can’t explain what they want. You give the actors enough creative license to explore their characters instead of demanding they do as you tell them to. You respect the crew and everyone’s time, so many directors just treat us like we’re servants to be taken for granted. You’re passionate about your work. You’re a film lover, and you enjoy watching other people’s work. I love that you are still exploring your own visual and story-telling style. I mean, it is easy to tell where you get your inspirations but you still make it so intrinsically yours—”

Her lips were sweet and warm. Javi hadn’t been able to hold himself back and swooped over to kiss her. She was tense for a moment before her lips softened and melted against his. He kissed her slowly at first, selfishly, it wasn’t because he wanted to put her at ease or make her comfortable. He was in disbelief that he was kissing her or that she was letting him in the first place.

She nibbled on his lower lip, and Javi felt himself whimper into her mouth. He cradled her face, pushing closer to her as he licked the corner seam where her lips connected. He was addicted to the divot of her cupid’s bow, the swoop of her lower lip, and the maddening way she was tracing the shape of his lips.

“You don’t want this.” She whispered against his lips. And Javi simply angled her face again before slotting his lips over hers once more. She moaned against him, and he heard a soft, answering groan rise from his chest as he kissed deeper into her, exploring the curve of her palate, the gummy lining of her mouth, and the fascinating way the top of her tongue was different in texture to the side of it. He couldn’t remember wanting anything more.

He was unwilling to part with her even with their mutual need for air, Javi continued kissing her, worshipping just her lips, showering them with tender pecks and kisses. He felt her warm breath fan across his cheek, and the wild beating of her pulse under his hand. He had never been one for overly sweet things, but he could taste something sugary on her— maybe she’d had some chocolate, or honey, or maybe a candy. Whatever it was, he couldn’t get enough of it, he was hankering for more.

His lips slipped from hers as they both panted for breath, pressing affectionate kisses to the side of her lips, her cheek, her jaw and another just under it. He noticed her take a deep shuddering breath, eyes still closed as he touched his forehead to hers, noses grazing each other. She smelled of soap, freshly laundered clothes, and something uniquely her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he felt his breath hitch; they were a world unto themselves. He memorised the pattern of her irises, the variation in their colour; he admired the fuzzy line of her pupils, the curve of her eye line and the length of her lashes. She looked so adorably befuddled, her eyes wet and glazed over— he could almost see himself reflected in them. Javi caressed the apple of her cheek with his thumb.

“We should take you to the doctor’s…”

“Huh?” Javi chuckled at her confused state.

“For your leg, I noticed you hurt yourself when you fell.” He reminded her.

“Oh, no, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt that much, and I took a shower so I ran some warm water over it and it feels better already.” She was gripping onto the fabric of her skirt; she still looked a little uncertain, as if searching for something in his eyes. He gave a wide beam, but her smile was shy and tentative. Wait.

“You showered in Lucien’s trailer?” He didn’t mean for it to, but the question came out a bit accusing. It wasn’t his business where she showered. Except that he had just kissed her, and he wanted to do more. Did she want more as well?

“Well, yeah, he offered. And there isn’t a shower in the employee tent so I took him up on the offer. The armour made me so sweaty and sticky— wait… Why did you ask it like that?”

“No reason.” Except for the fact that she was exactly the type of pretty thing Lucien would like to sink his claws into— his other parts too for that matter. He felt an uncharacteristic sting spread through the walls of his heart like his own blood was astringent. He was jealous.

“Are you and him…”

“No, God, no. We’re not—”

“So, do you want to go on a date with me?”

She stared at him for several long moments, looking like a deer caught in headlights and her mouth agape. Silence stretched between them— an awkward, flustered kind. Her eyes quivered, as if she might cry. And Javi wanted to stuff the words back into his mouth. He was so stupid.

She had kissed him back, but otherwise, she had not touched him at all. He was the director of the movie, her boss. She probably felt like she had to accept his advances. He leaned as far away from her as possible, too disgusted with himself to notice the way her face fell in disappointment and tears brimmed her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, you don’t need to feel—”

“Why even kiss me if you’re not attracted to me? Was it some kind of a prank?” Her voice was pained, she sniffled. His heart broke at the way she was looking at him— like he had broken her heart.

“I am attracted to you… that’s why I’m asking you out.”

“I’m not your soulmate. You called me fat and pathetic!” She raised her voice in indignation.

“I did not!” Javi hotly defended himself. They were both riled up now. He would never.

“Yes, you did. You called me fucking huge.” Her words knocked the wind out of his sails. She scowled at him with angry, resentful eyes. He thought back to his outburst on set, grimacing as he recollected his words.

“I meant that you were almost eight feet tall. And the armour was purposely made too big and unflattering, it just wasn’t right for a monster that represents corporate greed.”

“Well, you still called me pathetic—”

“I thought you were the lead actress and those were some of the most lacklustre, pitiful monster noises in the history of cinema—”

“It wasn’t my fault they said they would voice over it and I should be quieter.”

They both took several large breaths before Javi slipped down his seat and knelt at her feet, gently prying her skirt from her fists and taking her hands in his.

“I’m sorry. I was an idiot.” He watched the tension fall from her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze to her hands. She huffed a small, conceding little laugh.

“It’s okay.”

“Will you at least let me take a look at your leg?” He inquired.

Javi felt relieved to see a smile grace her features again, the light in her eyes made him feel warm. And he gingerly clasped her ankle in his hand as soon as she had nodded his permission.

“Tell me if it hurts,” He said as he pressed and massaged around her ankles first and then her feet, twisting it one way and then another— noticing the wince on her face even when she didn’t verbalise her pain. Finally, he moved up her leg, pressing to check for any tenderness or pain. He gently eased her socks down her calf to check for any swelling or bruises.

And right there, wrapping around her calf, was her soulmate tattoo. His fingers twitched over the words before he slowly traced them, gently twisting her leg to catch the words as they rolled around the back— not that he needed to see what they said.

What cryptid are you trying to be, Mothman’s cousin?

Javi gasped as the realisation settled in. He snapped his head up to look at her. And she nodded, confirming what he hadn’t dared ask. His vision was blurry with tears as joy and elation coursed through his body, he felt a laugh bubble up his chest. Excitement zinged across his nerves. His soulmate!

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” He demanded, no real rancour or admonishment in his voice as he pulled his soulmate into a crushing hug. He marvelled at the press of her body against his; his hands stroked along the contours of her body, pressing her closer to him. She was his soulmate.

“I thought you didn’t want me…” She mumbled so softly that he barely heard her.

Javi relinquished his hold on her to grasp her face again, cradling her jaw and wiping her stray tears, “I would always want you. I wanted you even when you were a giant cryptid in stupid bronze armour and feather wings.”

“No, you didn’t, silly…” She giggled as she teasingly rolled her eyes at him. Javi reverently traced the tattoo on her leg again.

“I’m sorry…” He mumbled, giving her a dimpled, mischievous smile before guiding the sole of her foot to press against the hardened cock he had been trying to hide, “I’ve been trying to cover this up as soon as I’d come in.”

She adoringly tucked a few of his curls behind his ears, her fingers brushing over his stubble. She pinched his chin in her palm, pulling his jaw so he looked up at her. Javi felt his heart race, heat pooling in his belly, and more blood rushed lower to his cock where the heel of her foot was dizzyingly stroking over it. She insistently pressed her toes to his balls. He gulped despite his dry mouth.

Her thumb caressed and wiped at his lower lip, testing the softness of it before she arched a brow in challenge. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and lust.

“Kiss me to make up for it?” Javi went enthusiastically into the arms of his lover. What followed the desperate kisses and the fervent touches was an intimate introduction of bodies and a reacquaintance of severed souls.

And if Lucien accidentally caught a glimpse of their sweet production assistant with her T-shirt stretching under her arms and bunched into her mouth to expose her swaying tits, a foot propped up on his vanity, head lolling back and watching her pretty pussy obediently take the director’s cock in the mirror then… no, he didn’t.

He knew better than to mess with the PAs on set if he wanted to enjoy the simple joys of life like a clean trailer, a hot coffee just the way he liked it and warm meals on time. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way.

A/N: You can find a little more smutty crumbs of Javi and his soulmate's life here.

#PPCUVDAY #writing event #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javi gutierrez #javi gutiérrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutiérrez x reader #javi gutiérrez x you #valentines day #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal cinematic universe valentines event #pedro pascal cinematic universe #PPCUVDAY2025 #ppcuvday #ppcuvday2025

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nhl-stories · 3 months ago

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i'm not sure that you want me – Kent Johnson

Summary: Kent's confused. About nothing. About everything. Mostly, he just wants someone to give him the answers.

Author’s Note: Someone sent in a request that just said Kent Johnson. Gender. I didn't really know him before but somehow his weirdly, pretty bug face broke me out of my writing rut. So thanks anon, I feel like i could have explored so much more but had to rein myself in

Word Count: 6.8k

You still live in Columbus right?

Kent gets the text after a particularly grueling rehab session, he’s out to lunch with the boys and a little tempted to order a drink to take off the edge off the day, even if it’s only 11 AM.

A second text buzzes in before he can answer.

I could google but thought I’d get it straight from the source

It had been a while since they texted each other, the last text telling him to get well soon in February. Not that they ever really communicated a ton. It was mostly when either saw something that reminded them of the other.

Like seeing one of Kent’s old teammates at a basement party doing something stupid.

Yeah, trying to come visit?

They hadn’t actually seen each other in person in a year or so. When he went back to school to get his ring, and that was only a brief hello when he had a million other obligations.

Trying to move just got accepted into OSU law school, it would be nice to have a familiar face

Kent doesn’t know how to respond right away. With the injury he feels a little more lost about his future. Not playing the last months of the season makes it harder for him to get traded, and he’s pretty sure the new contract in the works with Columbus will work out. But he really doesn’t know.

Wow congrats, lmk if you need anything I probably won’t be much help though

He doesn’t want to make any promises.

You’re saying my friend who is strong enough to move my furniture and rich enough to get me a nice meal after can’t help? What a ripoff 🙄

Kent can’t help but smile, unfortunately that gives Silly a chance to pounce.

“Who’s got KJ all smiley at his phone?”

The season has been a grind for everyone, not just Kent who’s had to helplessly watch from the sidelines for so long. They take their laughter when they can get it, Kent just made himself an easy target.

Adam peers over his shoulder, “You texting yourself? Getting that desperate?”

“It’s a different KJ,” he deadpans while he feels his face warm, “a friend from college.”

“Is this ‘friend,’” Silly obnoxiously uses air quotes, “hot?”

Kent rolls his eyes and throws a balled-up napkin at him. Slips his phone in his pocket to respond to later.

++++

KJ had lived in Columbus for almost five months before meeting up with Kent. In part because of the off season, but they had a hard time locking down plans. First a coffee meetup that fell through, then lunch, then she excitedly suggested they get drinks since they were both actually legal now.

KJ said they would be in the park after work and they could walk to a place. He found her reading on a bench. If he hadn’t followed her location pin, he wouldn’t have been sure it was them.

He had checked her Instagram before he left to see a more recent picture than what he had in his head. They don’t post a lot, even less of pictures of them, mostly books, plants, or friends. The last picture is a blurry picture of people dancing on a table, he couldn’t even pick out KJ if he tried.

Her hair was much longer than the last time he saw them, it had been shorter than his and dyed a blue that was so dark it was almost black. Now, it was mostly a light purple, except the blonde roots. Kent wasn’t sure if she was a natural blonde. Can’t recall what shade her shaved head was when they first met.

That was when their Women, Gender, and Sexuality professor paired ‘Katrina Johnson’ and ‘Kent Johnson’ for the first project of the year and as she slid into the chair next to him, said ‘you better not be one of those dumb jocks who drops this class before we finish the project.’ Kent didn’t even try to joke about how he took this class because he heard it was easy and could tell his teammates he had to leave to study women.

And that’s how boy KJ met girl KJ, which they would amend months later: ‘I’m really more of the girl-ish KJ, emphasis on -ish.’

KJ doesn’t notice him walking up so he takes a seat beside her before saying anything.

She jumps a little before a smile breaks through, “holy shit I forgot how low your voice is.”

KJ shoves the book into their backpack, the same beat up maroon JanSport he remembers from college. She reaches over and Kent thinks she’s going in for a hug, but stops turning when they touch the ends of his hair.

“And your hair is so short! People won’t confuse us for a cute lesbian couple anymore,” she pouts.

Kent rolls his eyes but can feel the upward quirk of his lip, “Shut up.”

“What? I liked when my friends would ask me about the cute, butch girl they saw me walking around campus with. It was good for my rep.”

Their smile doesn’t wane, “I’m glad we could finally meet up.”

Then she moves in for the hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle while they’re still sitting. But they squeezes him tight, makes him think about the last time someone really hugged him. Probably his mom, before he flew back to Columbus.

They walk to a bar nearby, KJ asks Kent about his summer, training camp, how his shoulder feels. When they get to the bar, they both get carded; she elbows him excitedly like they’re getting away with something.

He finds out they’re deferring law school for a year, hoping to get some more savings for food and rent before getting more student debt. Currently, she’s part-time clerking at the ACLU and some other law firm that pays better but they seem iffy about the work they do. Then volunteering at a queer community center closer to her apartment and campus.

Kent worried that once they caught up on life basics it would be awkward, they got along pretty well at school, but they didn’t actually have that much in common.

Before meeting KJ, Kent hadn’t even spent a lot of time with women who weren’t interested in him, for hockey or romantically or a combo of both. It had been a nice change of pace when KJ came into his life, but that didn’t mean it would work outside the limbo of college life.

But the awkward moment never comes.

They keep talking until KJ looks at their phone.

“Shit, we’ve been here for like 2 hours. You probably have other things to do.”

“Not really, do you want to get dinner?”

Kent takes them to one of his favorite restaurants, it’s another two hours before they wrap up the evening. Kent’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

KJ gives him directions to her apartment; he pulls up into front of brick building, it’s easy to tell how close they are to the college now. When he turns after putting it in park he sees KJ staring at him, looking up at him while she leans on the console.

“KJ?” They bat their eyelashes.

“Yes, KJ?” His throat feels dry.

“Are you going to invite me to a hockey game?”

He can’t stop the snorting laugh that comes out.

“Um, yeah.”

She raises a brow like she’s expecting more.

“Do you want to come to a hockey game?”

“I’d love to! You probably don’t know your schedule off the top of your head so just tell me when you know some dates.”

“Cool, have good night.”

KJ leans further in for a hug, whispers against his ear, “I’m so happy we get to hang out again.”

They pull away and ruffle his short hair again, then kisses his forehead before he can even process what’s happening. He watches them walk up the drive and disappear through the door.

++++

She told him he was pretty once. Honestly, probably more than once, but the first time is what he really remembers.

Kent doesn’t know why that’s the memory that’s pinging around his head while he’s taping his stick.

Going over to KJ’s to off-campus apartment to work on their assignment, she had answered the door in a silk robe before leading him into the living room where her notes were spread out on the coffee table. She sat cross legged on the couch facing him, flashing her underwear that he would have described as a ‘laundry day’ pair.

KJ started talking about what readings they could cite, like there wasn’t a borderline stranger in her house while she was half naked, like she had never felt self-conscious in her entire life. He had never met a girl like that before.

“I know I don’t look it, but I like sports,” she’s painting her toenails while trying to make a point about how masculinity hurts men too, “how do you think I knew you were a student athlete? You don’t exactly look like a typical jock.”

Kent widened his eyes at that, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” she grabs his ankle and moves his foot closer to her, he has a hole in the big toe of his sock, she slathers a layer of purple glitter polish on the exposed nail.

She looks up when she’s done, “You’re really pretty for a guy.”

He wasn’t sure how to react, he didn’t get a chance because one of her roommates came in.

“Whoa Cage brought home a boy,” the new girl fist pumped with a wicked grin.

Then she’s crawling into KJ’s space, kissing her on the mouth, slipping a hand under the opening of her robe and groping her chest. KJ smiled into the kiss, Kent felt a vague, lecherous swooping in his stomach, he felt a bit like a pervert for not looking away. But really, he wasn’t sure if wanted to be KJ or the roommate.

He shakes the thought out of his head, he has a game to focus on.

The game starts out well enough, despite the time apart, playing Owen is still weird. Maybe extra weird since his head seems to be stuck in Michigan today. But he gets an assist on the first goal, and his head snaps back into focus.

And then as quick as it comes together, it falls apart.

When he falls, he immediately knows something is wrong, a sinking feeling of déjà vu. Surgery, rehab, months away from hockey; it’s a dizzying thought and he forces himself off the ice and down the tunnel before it becomes overwhelming.

The trainers gingerly take him out of his top gear, give him a fairly thorough look over to determine he’s definitely out for the game. He’s poked and prodded while he watches the teams trade goals. The useless feeling from last season starts to rear its ugly head.

The second period ends and so does the exam. He’s not going back in tonight, how long he’ll be out to be determined later. For now, he can take some pain meds and the rest of his gear off.

The guys are in the locker room when he starts to undress, he gets a few pats on the knee, most of the guys try not to give him that ‘sucks you’re injured’ sympathetic smile, but a couple slip through. A knee jerk reaction.

His phone is buzzing incessantly in his locker, like an annoying bug in his ears. Once he’s down to his base layers, he just soaks in being around the guys as they hype each other up for the last push. The sour feeling in his belly makes him worry he won’t get this any time soon.

Once the guys are back on the ice, he pulls out his phone. A text from his mom, some of the Michigan guys all hoping he’s okay.

The last one’s from KJ: That looked nasty, let me know if you’re still up to meet up afterwards, no pressure

He had gotten her a pass that would let her down to the family room, and he doesn’t want the night to be a total bust for her. He gives her directions on how to get downstairs before taking a shower, hoping to wash away some of this awful feeling.

The Blue Jackets win, which feels like a consolation prize for his shitty night. That and he’s given a free pass to skip any media obligations, since his injury is still of an uncertain severity. No one even seems to care that he leaves without changing back into his game day suit.

He turns the corner towards the family room and sees KJ talking to a group of WAGs. They’re having an animated conversation like they’re all longtime friends. KJ looks up and sees him, quickly saying bye before she comes running over, their high ponytail swinging until they pull up short on Kent.

“I was gonna hug you, but that’s probably a bad idea,” They hold out a fist to bump instead.

“It probably doesn’t mean much since I’m clearly bad luck, but I had a lot of fun.”

“Injuries happen, not your fault. Besides you saw me at school all the time and I never got injured there.”

“Excellent point, we’ll have to do further research when you’re better,” she grins up at him and he can’t help but smile back at her.

“Yeah, and you made some friends,” he nods towards the girlfriends who are still talking, maybe shooting subtle glances their way.

“Oh yeah, they just saw me awkwardly standing around and asked who I knew. Said we’re friends from college and as you can see, I’m wearing a pretty gay outfit so they definitely don’t think we’re dating.”

He looks over her outfit and can’t really point out what of the baggy jeans and jacket over a vintage CBJ t-shirt that looks like it’s seen a thousand washes is really gay, but he’s not really the expert. He thinks maybe it’s the Doc Martens before his eyes catch on the pins: A bright rainbow flag and one that says she/they.

He realizes he probably should have just responded, said something like ‘I don’t care if they think we’re dating.’ Which overall, yeah, he doesn’t particularly mind, he’d get an equal amounts of chirps for his singleness or if he had a new girlfriend.

“Do you want to get some ice cream?”

“Huh?” He shakes himself out of his head.

“Ice cream? People tend to like to eat it when they’ve had a rough day, and you, KJ, have had a rough day.”

“Yeah, sure.”

KJ directs him not to an ice cream place, but a grocery store. Buying two pints by claiming ‘my treat’ before they end up on his couch. She lets him put on the Kraken game and talk her ear off about Matty and how teams across the league look for the new season.

When he starts to nod off, KJ takes his pint and puts it in the freezer and gives him a kiss on the cheek on the way out. He falls asleep forgetting about the pit in his stomach from earlier.

++++

The injury is deemed day-to-day, but the doctors seem to think it will be about a month before he gets the all clear. The dark pit in his stomach grows a little deeper. Sure, he doesn’t need more surgery or anything. But it doesn’t feel great going down two games into a new season. The season where he was finally going to prove himself in the NHL.

He goes home and eats the rest of the pint ice cream for lunch, because it’s not like he has to play tomorrow or the day after that or even the day after that. The feeling subsides for a bit, but it gnaws away enough that he has to leave his place. Before he knows it, he’s parked in front of KJ’s house.

He hasn’t been inside, just dropped her off. He rings the bell of the middle door he’s seen her enter. There’s an almost eerie silence after the ringing stops, he thinks about pressing the button again but then hears someone coming down the steps.

KJ opens the door in a fuzzy red robe.

“Hey KJ, this is a surprise,” they smile up at him.

“Yeah, I- uh- had a shitty day and wanted to see if you wanted to hang out?”

“I’m just watching TV in bed, if that interests you? My roommate is sleeping before she goes to work so we just have to be quiet.”

Kent takes off his shoes and follows them up the stairs and to the room off the kitchen before he has a chance to really look around. There’s a small TV on top of beat-up trunk at the foot of the bed that KJ hops back onto, getting comfy against the pillows and headboard.

Her room is lit up with pink-ish fairy lights, that kind of hide the clutter around the room. But he can’t stop from staring at strap on hanging on the wall, a graduation tassel hanging off the yellow harness.

They look between Kent and the wall, trying to hold back a laugh.

“It was a graduation gift for the seniors at The Spectrum, for graduating with honors. Like Some Cum Loud, it’s embroidered on the harness.”

She raises an eyebrow waiting for him to finally make eye contact, they can’t tell if his cheeks are actually pink or it’s just the lighting. He finally flicks his eyes toward her.

“That one’s never been used. The one I use is in a box under my bed,” KJ can’t hold back the giggle this time and gets a twisted smile from Kent in return.

They pat the spot next to them on the bed and wait for Kent to unclench a bit and get on the bed. Moving around some pillows trying to get comfortable.

“We’re watching Girls, it’s problematic and a little annoying but also iconically messy,” they press play without any room for discussion or comment.

And the pair drift into a comfortable silence. KJ fans her hair out on the pillows, it’s damp and will probably dry funny. Kent wonders if it’s soft.

An episode ends and new one begins before KJ finally says something.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Kent shrugs, when he speaks his voice croaks more than usual, “not really.”

KJ hums, doesn’t say anything for a moment, then twists her body to face him. The slit at the front of her robe doesn’t move, revealing her pale leg all the way up to her hip and the pink underwear she has underneath.

“Do you want me to paint your fingernails?”

“No.”

“How about your toes?”

Kent scrunches his face, “No, I’m good.”

“I could braid your hair.”

“Do you need an activity?”

“I don’t know, I don’t have boys in my bed that often.”

“And that’s what you think boys in your bed want to do?”

She shimmies he shoulders, “no, I know what boys want in bed…”

Kent feels his face heat up, he didn’t mean to imply anything.

“But this has more slumber party vibes.”

They suddenly sit up onto their knees, and bounces on the bed, she brushes up against Kent’s thigh.

“We can order pizza and gossip about boys… well probably girls in our case.”

“I could go for pizza… not the gossip though.”

KJ adamantly slaps his thigh, “oh come on, you’re a professional athlete you’ve gotta have some fun stories from the road or something.”

He can’t stop the crooked smile in response and KJ knows she’s got him.

“I’ll find a way to crack you open, just you wait KJ,” they raise their brows a few times before grabbing their phone to look at pizza places.

And suddenly this is how most of Kent’s nights unfold. He’s still keyed up from not being able to play, watching from the press box helplessly, desperate to get out and skate. But it seems more manageable when he can pick KJ up from work and out to dinner or for TV in her bed or his couch.

He never really had a distraction outside of hockey before. He had class or studying at Michigan but that mostly meant hanging out with his teammates with books open in the athlete study hall or on rare occasions, the library. He tried to fill his empty injury time last season with reading, but it still felt like work for hockey when it was mostly books about mindset or other athletes.

This is different.

KJ smiles when he casually brings it up, that he likes having someone outside of his hockey bubble.

“Dumb, jock boy learns about work-life balance,” they laugh and go back to chopping vegetables in his kitchen.

He doesn’t bring up that he liked hanging out with her in college in the same way. That they only lived in the same place for about nine months and some of his time with KJ are his fondest memories.

He liked when she invited him to parties. Ones that didn’t always blast the same music he heard at the hockey house. Where people asked where he was from or what his major was rather than how the Olympics were or when he was leaving for the NHL. Liked that they talked about things he didn’t know anything about and didn’t make fun of him (much), just told him in a way he could understand.

He’s glad he gets to have this with KJ for the foreseeable future, even if it’ll less frequent when he gets back on the ice.

“Are you going to be playing again next week?” She dumps the vegetables in a frying pan.

“Probably not, I think I’m going to be able to practice maybe, or at least skate.”

“That’s exciting! And I hope you get to play sooner than you think, but if you’re not, do you want to go to a ‘Boob Voyage’ party with me?”

“A what?”

“My friend is getting his top surgery, so we’re throwing him party to say ‘ta ta to his tatas.”

“Clever.”

“It’s not your usual crowd, but it’s basically gonna be a college party at a place with a less sticky floor. And I’ll make sure no one posts anything with you on social media, just thought maybe you could meet some of my friends.”

She says it a little too fast, like they’re nervous. Something Kent’s not sure he’s ever witnessed. He can’t tell if it’s nerves about him saying no or him meeting their friends. KJ has met a couple of his teammates; Adam lives nearby and is coming over for dinner in a few minutes.

“Sure, I’ll go,” and it’s worth the answer just to see her smile.

++++

“Maybe you don’t need to change, you’re dressed like a lesbian,” KJ laughs when Kent opens the door.

“What?”

“I have that exact outfit in my closet,” they laugh, pointing mostly at the Birkenstock clogs he’s been wearing since he left the rink.

A retort dries on his tongue when KJ takes off her coat. She’s wearing a white sweater vest with nothing underneath, only the top button holding it together. The loose knit not hiding their dark, rosy nipples underneath.

Thankfully, KJ doesn’t seem to notice the staring.

“Do you mind if I finish my makeup while you get dressed?” She’s holding up her purse, shaking its contents in his face, “But no pressure, you can wear that, you’d fit in pretty well.”

He rolls his eyes and leads them up to his bedroom, a place they haven’t been to except for the brief tour he gave during the first visit.

She walks into the ensuite like she owns the place, leaving the door open and looking at Kent who feels like he’s helplessly staring.

“You can give me a little fashion show if you’re not sure what you’re going to wear, but whatever is probably be fine. James, who’s party it is, is totally basic dude fashion.”

Kent nods and wanders over to his walk-in closet. He tries not to overthink anything while he flips through his hangers.

Once he’s dressed, he leans in the bathroom door until KJ notices.

“Oooh, I like the red, very The Ohio State,” they smile at the bright red button down he’s wearing over a cream shirt.

Kent rolls his eyes and moves to go back to his closet.

“You can’t be mad at me for being an Ohio native. But let me try it again. Go Blue! And you look very Canadian, patriotic.”

“Better,” his mouth twists into a smirk while he looks in the mirror to fix his hair, after wearing a beanie all day.

KJ finishes applying mascara, one eye has swoosh of blue eyeliner and the other pink. Then jumps to sit on the counter, in between the his and hers sinks he doesn’t have a real need for.

“Let me do your make up,” it’s easier for them to bat their eyelashes when they’re thick and sooty like this.

Kent can feel his face contort in a look between confusion and disgust, he doesn’t even need to look up at his reflection.

“Come on, you’ll look so cute! I mean, you’re always cute but even cuter,” she pushes a lock of his hair out of his face, “I’ll keep it simple, just highlight your perfect cheekbones and a little eye makeup.”

She stares him down like she’s not going to beg, but she’s also not going to give up.

“Fine, but only cause you’re making me feel underdressed.”

He lets KJ rearrange him between their open legs, they grab his chin and positions his face the way they want. She gets the intense, focused look on her face when she starts. Her mouth hangs open a bit, their tongue pushing against the gap in their front two teeth.

Kent wants to put his tongue there, too.

He shakes his head like the intrusive thought will fall out, KJ laughs when it causes their brush to go off course. She uses her thumb to try and correct the mistake.

“All done,” they give his cheeks a quick squeeze together and hop off the counter.

She’s still standing in front of him, back pressed all against his front. Looking for approval from his reflection.

He feels kind of pretty.

His cheekbones look somehow sharper and softer at the same time, his eyes brighter than usual with sharp black eyeliner, a sprinkling of glitter at the corner of his eyes.

“Do you like it? I won’t tell anyone if you do,” biting their lip, looking a bit nervous.

Kent can only wordlessly nod, he doesn’t hate it and he’s not quite sure how he feels about that.

“Okay, let’s go.”

They arrive to the party and roar of cheers come with KJ’s arrival. They hold Kent’s hand while they make introductions.

“Let’s play beer pong, loosen you up a bit,” pulls him towards the table, let’s go of his hand for the first time since they arrived.

The beer pong is familiar enough to make him relax a bit. The balls are bright pink and they’re using plastic champagne glasses, when they sink a shot it kind of looks like nipple. He guesses that’s sort of the point.

They win a game and KJ jumps into his arms to celebrate. He feels drunk even though he’s only had maybe one drink.

But then there’s shots and dancing where he can feel the heat radiating off KJ’s body.

There are more shots and people asking Kent questions he normally would never think about, like how the NHL insurance is.

Another shot and then getting shoved into a rented photobooth with strangers.

He gets another drink and laughs from couch with KJ’s friends, KJ comes and plops half on the arm of the couch, half in his lap. His hand carefully rests on her hip.

“Cage, when you said you were bringing a straight boy, I didn’t think you meant your beard from Mich!” A bleach blonde woman Kent vaguely remembers meeting in college shouts from her chair across from them.

KJ flips her off, while she tells their new friends that they used to call them gay KJ and straight KJ after they learned he was in fact not a butch lesbian.

“I’m expanding our hetero horizons, we’re like one more shared ex-girlfriend from being an incestuous cult,” KJ laughs and slides completely into Kent’s lap

“You’re really enjoying that hetero exploration,” a man whose name Kent forgot catcalls.

“Guys stop! You’re gonna make him think we’re really narrow-minded gays.”

KJ laughs and wraps an arm around Kent’s shoulder, as the conversation ping pongs into another direction.

They stumble out into the street at about 2 AM, Kent thinks it’s the drunkest he’s been since college.

“My place is closer, let’s walk there,” KJ slurs and pulls him in that direction.

They’re arm in arm while they walk towards her place, it reminds Kent of the time KJ came to a hockey party and at the end of the night she begged for him to give her a piggyback ride home because she was so tired.

KJ fumbles with their keys and falls through the door with Kent on top of her when it suddenly opens. They both can’t hold back their laughs.

“Shh, shhhh, we don’t want to wake your roommate,” Kent tries to stop laughing.

“She’s working at the lab this weekend, we’re all good,” they start up the stairs after hanging up their coat.

Kent strips to his boxers and crawls into bed, he’s never gotten under the covers here. Just sat on top of the duvet with KJ like they were two teenagers worried a parent would walk in and assume the worst.

KJ comes back on wobbly legs, her hair piled on top of her head with a claw clip holding it in place, it looks kind of stupid. Their makeup is washed off and they’re wearing glasses that remind him of Owen’s, which is the last thing he wants to be thinking about right now.

Especially when KJ is crawling on top of him.

He’s about to say something when they move to hold his chin in place. Her thumb drifts up to his lower lip, nail pressing against the soft flesh. He sucks in a breath, their thumb drifts into his mouth.

KJ’s gaze is so adoring, he feels paralyzed by all the emotions going through his head.

She then brings a washcloth up to his face and gently wipes away the makeup. Kent hates that he has to close his eyes, like it’s breaking some spell that hasn’t finished casting.

When they pull the washcloth away, they tilt his head side to side, checking their work.

“Perfect,” KJ leans in close.

Kent has to hold his breath, tries to stop himself from being impulsive. Then KJ’s lips are touching his and he knows deep down it’s probably meant to be a quick peck, but he has to try or he’ll regret missing his perfect chance.

He grabs their hip with one hand and gently cups the back of her neck with the other. His grip is loose enough that KJ could break away if she wanted to, but instead they start to kiss back.

The washcloth slaps to ground while KJ moves to use Kent’s shoulder for stability. Their tongues meet in the middle and it all feels more intoxicating than any of the alcohol he had tonight.

Now that he knows she’s not pulling away he moves his hand at their neck down her chest. KJ hasn’t changed yet, and it’s easy to flick open the one button and expose their bare chest. He grabs a handful and she moans into his mouth.

KJ can’t seem to hold themselves up anymore. Pinning Kent’s hand between their bodies. KJ is soft and curvy everywhere Kent is flat and firm, and their bodies seem to mold together.

“I’m sorry, I’m drunk.”

Kent’s suddenly cold and KJ seems to have flung herself across the room.

He doesn’t know what’s the right thing to say, he doesn’t know why KJ is apologizing; he’s the one who started this.

She’s taking off her sweater and pants, changing into their pajamas and all he can do is gawk like a moron, until they turn off the lights.

“I’m drunk too,” he finely says, lamely late into the dark.

“Good night, KJ,” she whispers from the other side of the bed.

“Night KJ, I had fun,” he whispers back, a hand reaches across the bed and squeezes his, it might as well be squeezing his heart.

++++

He leaves the next morning before KJ wakes up; a walk of shame for his actions, for the conversation he doesn’t know how to have, for the things he’s not ready to admit.

Then he’s back on the ice for a full-contact practice and there’s not much time to think about it. It doesn’t stop the guilt from stewing deep down in his gut, but it’s easier to ignore when he’s back in the lineup.

Harder to ignore when he gets a series of texts from KJ:

ur game is on at this bar

saw you score 🍻😘

first game back baby 💖🥵💪

He knows he should probably invite her to a game now, make a peace offering that might make things seem normal. They’ve been texting like everything is normal, KJ sent him some pictures from the party. Maybe KJ is showing him mercy by ignoring what happened, maybe they don’t even remember.

He hearts the texts and talks about plans to celebrate with some of the guys.

They continue to live in ignorance while the guilt and confusion gnaws at his insides.

Then it’s shoved in his face at team’s Thanksgiving dinner. The first thing someone yells at him, “KJ where’s your girlfriend?”

He tries to play it off, making a joke about Fants who he carpooled with, it holds them off for approximately 10 minutes.

Zach’s fiancée, who had all of one conversation with KJ, asks him next, “Why didn’t you bring your girlfriend? Afraid of the full team interrogation?”

He doesn’t even know where to begin. That’s KJ isn’t his girlfriend? That they wouldn’t even be his girlfriend if they were dating? She would be his partner? Some other term he doesn’t even know yet?

“Um, she’s – they’re volunteering with some friends.”

“Okay, so not at the introducing to all the friends or spending holidays together phase, I understand,” she winks and walks away and Kent knows she doesn’t understand anything.

He gets a small reprieve with a week-long road trip where he feels so busy, that the plane-bus-hotel-practice-game-sleep repeat has never felt so good. And if he’s acting weird or aloof, no one comments. He takes it all as a win, even if they lose three in a row.

They lose the first game of the homestead; he wakes up to a text from KJ.

The washer in our building broke can I come do laundry?

It’s maybe the most innocuous thing they could have texted. He invites her over that night, offers to order dinner for them.

They come over in a pair of threadbare sweatpants and rainbow block M shirt, dragging a large rolling suitcase, pushing past Kent at the door to go to the laundry closet. They just start dumping things into the washer, pouring in soap, and ignoring Kent who doesn’t even know how to start talking. Even if there might not be anything to talk about.

She slams washer door and punches buttons until it comes to life, finally turning to Kent.

They cut their hair since he lost saw her. It’s almost as short as his hair, a choppy approximation of a mullet. It suits them.

“So, let’s sit down and talk about that kiss,” they come right out and say it, Kent chokes on his breath.

“You brought laundry for an ambush?”

“Our washer really is broken, so it was a good excuse. And I get free laundry done.”

He can’t fault her for that, let’s himself get pushed towards the living room couch to face the music.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts the moment they’re both sitting.

KJ bites their lip, her tooth gap barely peeking out.

“For what?” she says it so timidly, like she’s just as unsure about all of this as Kent.

Which can’t possibly be true, because they always know. They’re always so sure and headstrong. And Kent’s the one who misread everything, pushed himself on her without thinking about what KJ really wants. Only his own selfish desires.

“I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you when you were drunk, I know you don’t— you wouldn’t— I’m not—" he doesn’t know how to fill in that blank.

“You’re not what? My type?” Kent can only shrug, “and why’s that? Cause you’re straight?”

“I don’t know, I’m just confused,” he mumbles, can’t even look up to see what kind of expression KJ is making.

“Well having a crush on me does make you a little less straight,” KJ snickers and it makes him look up.

They’re giving him a sad kind of smile. He doesn’t know how to take it, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to be reprimanded.

“And that’s what that was right? You have a crush on me?” Kent purses his lips, doesn’t want to make the wrong move.

“Because, I have a little bit of a crush on you too,” she puts a hand on his knee and squeezes, it’s electric.

“But you stopped us, and then apologized.”

“Being drunk isn’t usually a great starting point for big monumental changes between friends and,” she takes a big breath, “and I’ve never actually had sex with um—” they gesture in the general direction of Kent’s crotch.

“What?” Kent cocks his head to the side.

“I mean, I didn’t even know I liked boys until college and by then I was pretty comfortable with the lesbian sex and—"

“Didn’t you have a boyfriend like a year ago?” He remembers seeing something on Instagram.

“He was trans so… it’s not the penetration part cause, trust, I’ve had my fair share of penetration. I’ve given my fair share of penetration,” they ruffle their own hair while they ramble, Kent’s kind of endeared.

“And like the one time I gave a blow job in college I was super drunk and threw up on his dick… so I went back to the lesbian sex because I’m good at that.”

He can’t hold back the surprised laugh. He’s not used to this squirmy KJ.

“So, the biological equipment is all kind of new to me; it’s soft and then it’s hard and then there’s a mess and—”

“KJ, shut up.”

Kent cups their face so she can focus on him.

“As much as I love you being the uncomfortable one for once, just shut up.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, waiting for his next move.

“Here I was worrying I forced myself on you and questioning my identity, and you’re having an existential crisis about my dick?”

Their eyebrows shoot up to their hairline, “you were questioning your identity?”

“We can circle back to that later,” he leans in to kiss them, before they can say anything else.

The first kiss was nice, but this one is great. There’s certainty behind it that makes Kent feel warm all over. He pushes KJ onto their back, her legs fall open and Kent slots between them.

After what feels like eternity, they come up for air. They tangle their fingers in his hair, keeping him from getting too far away. Her legs tighten around his hips, like she’s testing where the new boundaries might be.

The washer chimes that it’s done.

KJ kisses him once, twice then pushes him off to go to the laundry. His eyes follow her helplessly.

She comes back sans sweatpants, the t-shirt falling just past the tops of the their thighs, and stops at the foot of the stairs.

“I think your bedroom might be a more conducive learning environment,” she gives him a lopsided, shy smile.

He jumps over the back of the couch, scrambling towards them. He grabs their hips and pulls them back into a kiss, but stops before he gets in too deep.

“What if this ruins our friendship?”

“Eh, have other friends,” she has a wicked grin, Kent bites their lip in retaliation.

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