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kitkatscabinet · 1 year ago

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Soap, Suds and the Scouser

John Price x MacTavish! reader

Summary: Due to shitty neglectful parents, Johnny's older sister had been forced to take him in and raise him as her own. As such, she's fiercely protective of him, not that he minds, at least not until she screams at his Captain.

Word count: 4.4k

Johnny doesn’t remember much of his life before you. All he remembers is feeling cold, and not understanding love until you swept into his life. From the moment you had swept into his life the dull greys had morphed into an array of colours, his unrelenting loneliness and misery chased away by the light of your affection.

He doesn’t have a ma and pa like most other kids, and sometimes they tease him for it but he doesn’t mind, because he’s got something better. His big sister is the coolest person in the whole world! You tuck him into bed and read him bedtime stories every night. If he’s been really good he even gets to visit the base where you work sometimes. (He doesn’t understand until he’s older why you suddenly retire from the coolest job ever.)

You never yelled at him and even seemed to get upset when he wouldn’t let you know he was hungry. He cried when you scolded him for that, begged you not to send him back to the house with the angry people who sometimes forgot to feed him. He’d been surprised when instead of getting mad at him you’d started to cry, squeezing him tightly against your chest until he wriggled to be let go.

You hugged him much more after that, pulling him close whenever he was within reach and planting raspberries on his tummy while he shrieked in laughter. You keep it up even as he gets older and tries to escape from the kisses you’d pepper his face with.

He was fourteen the first time he snapped at you for it and the way your face had fallen would forever be burned into his brain. You pull away a little after that and Johnny feels sick with guilt, he hugs you a lot more after that.

Later in his life when asked why he’d joined the military he’d answer without hesitation, that he wanted to be like his idol. He wanted to be like you, wanted to make you proud. In a way, he wants to live up to your legacy. As a child, he hadn’t realised just how much of your life and career you’d had to give up to take care of him.

(You’d been on track for a promotion to lieutenant, and likely would have made captain in record time too.)

As you started to near 40 Johnny was determined to step up and take care of you for once. He makes it through selection easily, but to his surprise, you’d blown up at him. He can’t remember an instance where you’d been so furious at him, not even when he’d crashed his principal's car on a dare.

It’s the first time in his life you end up not being on speaking terms and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t exactly leave the army, wouldn’t even if he could because finally, it feels like he has a purpose. The men in his unit instantly pick up on his sudden 180 in personality but any inquiries are instantly shut down with a glare.

It’s the worst few months of his life, but he won’t apologise. He’s not a child anymore and he needs you to see that. He almost breaks when it’s time for his first deployment and you still aren’t on speaking terms, he’s been sleeping like shit and he misses you like a phantom limb.

He ends up not needing to when you show up on base, with red-rimmed eyes and hollowed cheeks. Johnny crosses the distance and lets you pull him into a crushing hug, not paying any mind towards the odd stares they receive.

“I’m sorry. Please be safe,” you whisper into the fabric of his uniform and Johnny doesn’t need you to elaborate. He doesn’t respond verbally, because there’s nothing else to be said, and simply squeezes you tighter against him for what will be the last time for a while.

It’s hard to be away from you for so long, he’s never done it before and he’s teased relentlessly for how often he calls you. Johnny just laughs in their faces when they pout and complain when he gets your care packages, he has many emotions about your bond but shame is not one of them.

When the plane lands on his home turf and the dust settles Johnny can’t wait to collapse into one of your hugs and he can practically taste your cooking and he wants to cry when he remembers he’ll have to wait another day. Only, when his boots hit the tarmac he only has to take a few steps before he sees you waiting for him, beaming grin as you open your arms. Dropping his bag, he closes the distance in a flash and he’s not ashamed when he pulls away and notices the wet spot he’s left on your shoulder. The next thing he notices is the uniform, his eyes widening and you laugh.

“Now that I don’t have to look after a brat anymore I figured it was high time I became active duty again.” He can’t seem to reign in his shock, gawping like a fish and you frown in faux anger, “What? Think I’m too old to do the job? I could still put you in the ground Johnny.” The look in your eyes promises retribution if he doesn’t agree so he simply nods rapidly.

He’s twenty-two when he gains the moniker Soap, you laugh when he tells you and his smile drops when you won’t explain what’s so amusing. (No matter how much he asks around the base all he gets is amused laughter.)

It’s not until he’s twenty-three, riding the high of being selected for an elite task force and returning home after the shit show that was Verdansk that Soap starts to learn more about the imposing history of his sister.

He doesn’t even make it to the debriefing room, still covered in grime when he spots you stalking towards him with concerning vigour, thunder on your face that usually indicated an impending ass-whooping.

Preemptively Johnny backs up, mouth opening to apologise for whatever he’s done, only to freeze as you march straight past him and round on his captain. “You John Price?” Soap recognises the tone and decides it’s in his best interests to stay still and silent, Gaz is openly gawking though the mask makes it impossible to gauge Ghost’s reaction.

His captain, in a terrifying show of no self-preservation skills, nods in a ‘who wants to know’ sort of manner, brow raised and arms crossed.

“I dinnae ken who the fuck ye think ye are - ” Oh dear. Instantly Soap’s mind blue-screened, white noise ringing in his ears. Your accent only ever got that heavy when you were truly angry, when he zoned back in you were still yelling, arms flailing to enunciate your point that had very likely become very lost in translation to his starstruck teammates. “ - Irresponsible!”

Your chest was heaving by the time you’d finished, perfect hair even a little dishevelled. “Laswell” you nodded your head in respect towards the woman, before smiling softly when you turned to Soap.

“Johnny, bring your teammates over for dinner when you’re free.” It’s said kindly enough but Soap knows it’s not a suggestion. You pat him lovingly on the cheek before disappearing back down the hallway.

When the shock fades and movement becomes a possible thing again, it takes some extra cajoling to get their captain’s attention and Soap is mortified that whatever his sister said, it had so profoundly shaken the unflappable man.

Unable to hold anyone’s gaze, Soap marches forward, resolutely staring blankly at the floor. If he’d taken more than a few seconds to gauge his Captain’s reaction, it would have been abundantly clear his frozen state wasn’t one of perceived terror but arousal.

From the moment John Price bore witness to the fuming Scotswoman stalking towards him with the grace of an apex predator he knew he was fucked. You were an absolute vision, truth be told he barely registered the venomous words you were screaming at him, in front of his men no less.

His dazed eyes flickering from your perfect pretty lips down to your tits, hips, thighs and back up. His brain was empty of all thoughts except for the stunning goddess and how you’d look sitting astride his lap, squeezing his cock as he mouthed at your -

He clears his suddenly dry throat, dilated pupils darting back up to flicker over your face once more as he desperately attempts to reel his focus back towards what you’re saying, to anything that’s not the aching erection begging to be freed from the confines of his tactical pants.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably he watches as you pat Soap on the cheek lovingly, forlornly wishing that was him instead. Watching your ass sway with your departure, holding back the groan building in his throat.

Vaguely Price was aware of the wide-eyed looks exchanged behind his back as he stomped towards his quarters, little mind was paid towards them however. His focus solely on reaching the privacy he needed, slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary as his other hand fumbled for his belt. He doesn’t bother with his pants beyond freeing his flushed cock, leaning back against the door with eyes closed to help better produce an image of your likeness in his mind to match the voice that still rang in his ears.

Although you weren’t in any capacity attached to the 141, couldn't be due to your conflict of interest, you still shared a base. It was large enough that logistically you should have been able to work without ever seeing any of the 141. Key words being should have, because all of a sudden John Price seemed to be everywhere you turned.

At first you’d simply assumed he was just another man in power, irritated that you’d so thoroughly dressed him down in front of his men but John Price quickly proves you wrong. He brings you tea, hustles to hold doors open and more than once you’d walked into your office to find flowers. You want to think he’s just trying to get into your good graces, trying to smooth things over with one of his teammates siblings, the denial doesn’t last long.

You try not to be so taken by his blatant courting attempts even if you are a little confused. Nobody has ever given you this much blatant effort and it makes you feel like a little girl with her first crush instead of the grown woman you are.

It’s embarrassing, but it’s the most romantic, the most tender that you’ve been treated pretty much since you first took in Johnny. You’d given up on several potential relationships before they could even start over the years, not willing to let him suffer from any potential breakups.

Still, when you arrive to your office at 4am to find a bouquet of sunflowers you can’t help the way your heart hammers relentlessly against your ribcage as if trying to escape, to jump out straight into the arms of John Price.

To Soap’s surprise, it’s his Captain who clears their schedule, getting on his sergeant’s case about the promised dinner he’d nearly forgotten about himself. When Johnny walks apprehensively through the front door of your home the anger is apparently gone and you greet them all eagerly, planting a kiss on his cheek as you ushered them all inside and towards the table.

“Smells heavenly, thanks for having us lass” Price smiles charmingly, moving into the kitchen and swatting your hands away as he finishes setting the table and commanding the boys to help him, insisting that you sit and rest.

Soap, who is still somehow unaware of his captain’s affections, feels like he’s entered a new dimension for a few seconds. The perceived tension he’d expected nowhere to be found, though he quickly decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, simply happy that everyone was getting along.

(He’ll look back on this moment down the line and wonder how he was so blind.)

The food is great and you’ve even bought Soap’s favourite beer, something you don’t drink and Johnny lets himself relax as he witnesses you joke around with the team and even start to mother Gaz and Ghost.

“How is it you know Laswell?” Price asked, seemingly hanging on your every word as he sat down next to you on the couch. Soap paused his conversation with Gaz to listen in as all ears and eyes were suddenly on you, you’d always been notoriously quiet about anything to do with your career.

“Classified” you smirked, laughing as Johnny groaned dramatically and slumped back down in his seat. “I will say we were both very young,” you look into the bottom of your glass with a nostalgic gaze, but there’s something on your face that looks far too close to the time he’d walked in on you-

“Oh my god! You fucked Laswell!” He shrieked and Soap thought he could be forgiven for the girlish raise in pitch. Price choked on his bear, froth spilling from his nose as you reached for a washcloth to pat his shirt dry, the man having to bite back the groan at the feel of your hands against his chest.

You don’t give a verbal response but you do turn back to Johnny with a mischievous grin whilst wiggling your eyebrows. When the situation calms a little you surprise him by volunteering even more information, “she was the one that started calling me Suds.”

There were a few seconds of silence as the information was processed before Kyle started to laugh, and Johnny frowned a little, “wait…” he trailed off, shooting you a somewhat betrayed look as you started to laugh too.

“What was it you told me? They call you Soap cause you clean house? Na little brother, you’re named after me.” Johnny’s face was hysterical as he pouted, his teammates teasing him as laughter filled the house.

At some point, you’d meandered outside as the boys had started to roughhouse after a game of cards had devolved into a lighthearted screaming match. You sat on the porch with closed eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the feel of the cool night air on your skin.

A creak behind you alerts you to the presence of another, the wind carries the scent of scotch and cigars and you open one eye to watch as Price sits next to you. “Needed a break from the peanut gallery?” your brows raise in amusement as he huffs at your words, reaching for a smoke and placing the end in his mouth, hands patting down his pockets for a light when you gave silent confirmation that his actions were ok.

You giggled a little as his frustration grew, reaching over with your own lighter, holding the flame out for him. “Cheers love,” his gravelly voice sent a shiver down your spine. His breath hitting the back of your hand and you watched slightly mesmerised as he inhaled the smoke. The conversation dwindled and you sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the company as your arm lightly brushed his jacket-clad one.

Silently Price handed you the cigarette, and though you didn’t usually smoke you found yourself accepting, acutely aware of his deep blue eyes boring into the side of your face as your lips clasped around the filter.

“Sorry for going off at ye earlier” you apologised, suddenly realising that you’d failed to do so. Continuing to stare straight ahead as you passed the smoke back his way, knuckles brushing against his slowly.

“S’alright lass, you’re just looking out for what’s yours, it’s admirable really. Sexy too” he growled, voice a whisper on the wind. You’re not sure if the shiver that runs through your body is from his words or the cool night air. Regardless, you lean just a little bit closer into the captain’s warmth, a contented hum escaping your lips when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

You’re not ashamed to admit that over the past few weeks you’d been oogling the Captain, it was hard not to when the man flaunted his body so shamelessly in front of you. Looking, it quickly became apparent, was hardly comparable to touching and its impossible to ignore the way your body sings in delight at the feel of him against you.

Up close you can better detect the hints of his cologne, spicy wooden undertones accentuated by the faint whiskey you can smell on his breath as it caresses your forehead. From any other man the scent of cigars and alcohol paired with the scratch of a beard aginst your ear as he leaned his head against yours would have been a turn off, but it was so quintessentially him, so John Price that you couldn’t help but love it.

It’s the rusty squeak of the screen door, alerting you to the presence of another, that forces the two of you to part. Ghost, no, Simon, stands silently at the threshold, watching the scene before him with appraising eyes.

“Johnny’s looking for you.” His words cause you to sigh, throwing an apologetic glance Price’s way before you all head back inside, brown and blue eyes boring into the back of your head.

Your little brother ends up simply wanting to whine to you about how Kyle has to be cheating, it’s the only possible way the man could have won so consecutively. You want to throttle him for that, for so thoroughly cockblocking you, instead you settle for scuffing him over the back of the head and forcing him to help you with the dishes.

You work together in practiced tandem, cooperating with silent ease the result of years attending to each others needs. It’s the first instance during the night that the two of you have a moment alone together and you allow yourself to enjoy the peace and monotony of the task, silence accompanied by the soft spray of water.

“Been meaning to ask, what’s it that got you so barmy with the captain.” His words are lighthearted, teasing, though you can’t help the way your hands still suddenly as you were reminded of that day. You pull yourself together as quickly as possible but Johnny has already undoubtedly picked up on your sudden change in behaviour, the clinking of the ceramic plates in the sink alerting him to the fact your hands were shaking. Although Johnny’s not sure exactly what’s upset you, he’s aware that he has and quickly tries to backtrack but you cut him off,

“He put my baby brother in what was very avoidable danger” you whispered, eyes never leaving the now sparkling clean plate you’d been scrubbing for the past fourty seconds. Johnny doesn’t answer the shaky confession, but he does bump his shoulder against yours, lightly pushing you out of the way and completely taking over the task.

Ever since the dinner at your house, something had shifted between you and Price. It was un unspoken tension, crackling through the air every time you so much as laid eyes upon one another, but one you both felt.

Lingering gazes turned to light touches, fingers brushing against yours, large hands cupping your hips as he passed behind you and the like. It was driving you insane, every night you’d return to the sanctuary of your bed, fingers exploring the expanse of your body as you imagined it was Price touching you instead.

The two of you were a powder keg waiting to explode, waiting for the single spark that would light the whole thing. It was an inevitable reality, and one you both knew was coming. You’re not sure who snaps first, what exactly lights the powder, though you find you care very little in the face of his lips against yours.

You push him against the door of your bedroom, hands tugging at the roots of his hair as he lets out a sinful groan, only for you to swallow it with another open mouthed kiss. With one of your thighs between his legs and pushing against his thick erection, you grind frantically against his own muscled thigh.

The drag of you’re already soaked cunt slowly drenches his pants as well, you’re so focused on planting kisses and bites down the skin of his neck and chest as you rip his top off that you barely notice the way his dilated gaze watches your every move.

“Fuckin hell darlin, that’s it, take what you need baby.” He sounded wrecked, his words of encouragement causing your rhythm to falter as your hands continued to paw at his chest needily. As much as Price wanted to continue watching you use him to chase you’re own pleasure it would have to wait another time, at this moment he needed you now.

A squeal leaves your lips as your back is suddenly on the mattress and Price tugs your pants and underwear down to your ankles in one aggressive move, his hands keeping your thighs spread as he stared intently at his prize.

The groan that leaves his throat at the sight is guttural, the praise he mutters is nearly indistinguishable over the blood pounding in your ears as his tongue swipes over your swollen clit. John Price eats like a man starved, lavishing your thighs in bitemarks when his fingers replace his tongue. He makes you cum like that twice, your juices coating his beard and neck while you tug harshly on his hair.

“Price please, s’too much, need you now” you sobbed, pulling him up into another bruising kiss and wrapping your shaky thighs around his waist to try and coax him to where you wanted him most. Any other day he’d probably tease you for being so needy but Price was just as aching with need as you, cock flushed and dripping as he lined himself up with your fluttering hole.

“I know darlin’” he cooed, dipping his mouth down to place reassuring kisses over your chest as you finally stripped your top half bare. His left hand cups one of your tits, forhead resting against yours as he slid into you with one smooth thrust. The pace he sets is relentless, you’ve both been waiting for this moment for weeks. There’d be a time for tenderness later, but right now it was sheer animalistic need fuelling your movements. Your nails rake down his spine as he grunts, whines reaching a crescendo that lets him know you’re quickly approaching your climax once more.

His own rhythm starts to falter, the sensation of your warm walls squeezing him so tightly nearly too much for him to bare. He refuses to cum first however, thumb swiping over your clit as he grumbles against your collarbone, “come on love, nearly there, be a good girl and cum for me yeah?”

You are so worked up, so desperate to please the man bringing you such pleasure that you obey with a high pitched keen, thighs clamping his waist in a vice as your walls milk his cock. Price swears at the sensation, unable to pull out from how harshly you’’ve locked your ankles over his back and is filling your womb with thick ropes of cum before he can stop himself.

Shaky arms unable to hold his weight up anymore collapse, though you don’t seem to mind, snuggling up to him and wrapping your arms around his houlders to keep him in place. He falls asleep tangled in your arms, face nuzzled into your neck as your fingers play gently with his hair.

When Price wakes the next morning to an empty bed and cooling mattress he frowns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and lumbering out of your bedroom, still naked from the night before. He quickly finds you in the kitchen, standing at the counter wearing only panties with his shirt.

Immediately the sight stirs something primal in him, chest rumbling with pleasure as he plasters himself to your back. You hum happily, turning your face so he can plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “Morning darlin.” His voice is still hoarse with sleep and you feel the way it rumbles through his bear chest against your back.

“Morning” you let out a moan as he pressed his hard cock against you. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as one of his hands dips below the hem of your underwear, both of you sighing happily as his calloused fingers make contact with your still tender pussy.

Any reprimands are banished from your brain at his touch, your worries evaporating into nothingness as the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit. Just as you’re about to cum there’s a screech from behind of “My eyes!” And you whirl around just in time to witness your little brother run face first into the wall behind him in his haste to escape.

Johnny hits the floor with a heavy thud, hands still covering his face as he continues to scream about the atrocity he’s just witnessed. You think he might even be crying, whether from the pain or the visage of his captain’s bare arse you aren’t sure.

You should be beyond mortified, and a large part of you is. Still, you can’t help the belly laugh that escapes you as your brain finally catches onto what’s just happened. Your legs collapse from under you as your own tears of laughter stream down your cheeks. Johnny’s also crying and writhing on the floor whilst Price looks to be contemplating murdering the both of you.

Still giggling you manage to stand once more, pulling the captain down into another sweet kiss before spinning him around and ordering him to get dressed. You do give him a smack on the ass before he leaves though and the sound sets Soap off into a new cursing fit, one hand shaking an aggressive fist towards where he thinks his captain is while he keeps his eyes covered.

While you’d have liked to have kept whatever it was you had with the Captain a secret for a little longer, liked to have kept him selfishly to yourself, you had to admit that scarring your little brother so badly was worth it. Though given the stink eye he relentlessly stared at Price with you’d probably have to give him a little more time to adjust. Even if unbeknownst to you, the wedding had already been planned out in the Englishman’s mind.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @Skotchi @juvenillia

#x reader #cod mw x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #cod john price

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 2 years ago

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Interview with the Omnitrix

@floralflowerpower Wanted to make sure you got to seeee Find it on ao3 buds!

With the Hybreed defeated and a new playlist of aliens to figure out, Ben let himself enjoy the parties going on at home and gave Ken the pout of his life when he was denied any alcohol. “If I’m old enough to save the galaxy from genocide, I think I’m old enough to drink.” Apparently, it didn’t work that way, but Mom agreed with Ben and he got a whole 8 ounces of some fruity blend of stuff. He was dizzy the rest of the night on into his sleep.

When the celebrations were done with, Ben found himself sitting in his room, staring down at the Omnitrix.

“We saved the whole galaxy because you can alter genes on the fly. Can you… can you answer me if I ask you questions?”

In his own voice, the watch responded, “Affirmative.”

“Would’ve been great to know but that’s my fault for not checking I guess. So, the way that you returned the DNAliens back to human form, would you be able to fix Albedo back to his original form too?”

“Affirmative.”

“Well, that’s on the list I guess. Ben 10,000 mentioned putting a lock on you, is there a way to make sure other people can’t transform me without my consent?”

“Affirmative, morph lock currently disengaged. Would you like to engage the morph lock?”

“Oh my god, yes! Engage morph lock, please.” The watch beeped twice, then clicked, and Ben pumped his fist in the air. “Awesome! Okay, what else… hey, how come back when I was a kid you turned me into the wrong alien and timed out at random?”

Ben swore he felt judgment that wasn’t his hitting him from all sides. “During referenced time of 2004 A.D. to 2005 A.D. Omnimatrix Model 1.00 was far more delicate and susceptible to glitches and damage. User Ben Tennyson only activated the primary transformation function properly once: the very first time.”

Ben sucked on his teeth with a wince. “Is slamming your dial the problem?”

“Transformation countdown was randomized with each excessively forceful activation. Morph randomization is a result of built-up damage and errors typical of any prototype. Morph randomization has since been fixed, and morph duration reliant on charge.”

Ben tilted his head, scratching his neck. “Alright, that brings me to another question that paying attention in science class and going on adhd spirals on the internet has had me confused about. Nothing comes from nothing, so where do you get your charge?”

“Original power source: pocket dimension crafted by First Thinker Azmuth, to which an increasing number of black holes lead, filling it with white holes. Current secondary source: user Ben Tennyson’s excess mana, which would otherwise damage User Ben Tennyson’s body.”

Well shit.

“Elaborate on the mana part.”

“User: Ben Tennyson produces large quantities of previously unknown energy, now classified as mana. Other sapient beings are observed to produce varying quantities of mana, the smallest being found in Galvanic Mechamorphs. User’s human body is insufficient for containment of natural mana production. Previous glitches involving excess mana generation include manifestation of consciousness within ectonurite genomorph.

“Reference: Verdona Tennyson of Anodine indicates failure to regulate User’s excess mana production will result in User’s human body becoming a mass of mana charged plasma, similar to the revealed true form of Verdona Tennyson.” late User’s excess mana production will result in User’s human body becoming a mass of mana charged plasma, similar to the revealed true form of Verdona Tennyson.”

Ben took a deep breath in for 4 seconds, held it for 4 more, and let it out over the course of 4 seconds.

“Asking Grandma about that is also on my to do list, at the top probably. I just need to figure out how to contact her.” Ben rubbed his temples and considered whether or not he could handle more answers to his questions.

“Hey omnitrix, are you able to change my human body?”

“Affirmative.”

“… Have you changed my human body in the past?”

“Negative.”

After a moment of making the kinds of changes most teenage boys would when presented with that kind of opportunity, Ben furrowed his brows in thought.

“Hey, Ship remembers all of the things he’s upgraded, so how come when I was Upgrade I never kept the blueprints for all the stuff I upgraded?”

“Galvanic Mechamorphs are completely mechanical entities with nanites in place of cells. The Galvanic Mechamorph stores consciousness and memories very differently from how a human being does. Maintaining a record of your memories and consciousness during the disassembly and reconstruction of your brain is no small task.”

Ben nodded, shrugging. “Too complicated to do when you’ve got more important things to prioritize, got it. So, before I go and figure out the new aliens you’ve given me, I’ve got one more question.

“If my excess mana brought Ghost Freak to life, are you alive?”

#rexy writes #Ben 10 #Ben 10 Alien Force #fanfiction #fanfic #Ben Tennyson #Omnitrix #Omnimatrix

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thecatinthepurplepants · 1 year ago

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so I have a headcanon for how John might look to someone actually able to see him and I, of course, had to decide on the headcanon that would make it damn near impossible to draw him (at least to draw him consistently) but I like the idea too much to let it go

I probably SHOULD put this under a read more since it got kinda long but uuuhhh... don't wanna lol

SO I feel like when John first attached to Arthur, back when he was still just "the entity", his appearance was very... malleable. At first he looks like how a lot of people depict him, a vaguely human shapped black shadow with yellow eyes pearing over Arthur's left shoulder, but as soon as they got out into the world he started seeing ✨️fashion✨️ in the wild that changed. Even though he didn't remember it, he's a piece of the King In Yellow, and I'm willing to bet that the ol banana monarch has a passion for adornment and a tendency towards vanity thats usually associated with royalty that John would unknowingly inherit (I mean, we already know this, he bitches about Arthur's clothes getting ruined often enough now that they got that nice new suit)

I think at first he sees some men wearing nice hats when him and Arthur step outside into the city for the first time and something in him just goes "ooohhh" and one just kind of appears on him, probably with a gold band or little adornments like feathers and shiny dangly bits hanging from the brim. I don't even think he'd be able to choose just one style, shifting from one to another every so often as he sees more around or mixing and morphing styles into looks he likes more (I think he'd be partial to structured hats, fedoras, homburgs, maybe even a skimmer hat but with the rim stretched out to be more of a structured sun hat for extra flare)

But of course his newfound sense of style doesn't end with men's fashion cuz he doesn't know what a gender is and I highly doubt thay anyone that can see him would care enough to try and impose gender roles on him

He sees women passing by on the street wearing makeup and suddenly he has gold lipstick and shimmering yellow eyeshadow over shining gold lashes long and full enough to make any Hollywood starlet absolutely sick with envy

He sees someone more eccentric who's absolutely decked out in gaudy costume jewelry and he can't just NOT have all that wonderful clinking, shiny treasure for himself so he's now draped in gold chains, necklaces and bracelets of huge chunks of polished stones in both simple and elaborate designs, amber, tiger's eye, citrine, anything he wants really but it will always turns some shade of yellow or gold no matter how much he would want it to be another color (I think the best he could do in way of colorful variety is turquoise with veins of gold running through it)

And the funniest thing?

He can't see any of it.

He sees through Arthur's eyes and even if he has a bit of an extra sense for being able to see supernatural shit he's still not visible to himself. All of the changes are subconscious decisions he doesn't even realize he's making, his metaphysical body altering to suit the person he's growing into. None of the other rare entities and people they've met who can see John commented on it, seeing how there's usually more pressing matters involved. Plus I highly doubt the Trader would be one to make observations on someone's fashion sense unless they were offering one of their accessories in trade, and only then if it actually had any value to him.

Tbh it would be funny if the King In Yellow, during his first in person meeting with the Jarthur unit, had stopped mid introduction just "You insolent fucking worm, you need to return what's mi- what... what the hell are you wearing??? No, I'm not talking to you, you fucking worthless mortal, silence- yes, YOU, whats- whats all... THAT??? I mean, it's not BAD but it's a bit... inelegant, don't you think?" and both John and Arthur are like "what the FUCK are you TALKING ABOUT???" while the Dancers are humming and nodding their agreement while they also quietly judging John's intangible outfit

Kayne would ABSOLUTELY comment on it though but only to either taunt John while confusing the shit out of him OR to toss him the odd (equally confusing) compliment about his fashion sense and how he's branched out from the Kings personal flare. BUT he's also a Stinky Bitch (affectionate) so maybe he just wouldn't let John know that he can see him at all because he thinks it's funny that he doesn't know what he looks like

I dont think it would remain unstable as it was when he was fresh out the book, though.

After Arthur's coma, the period where John was given (and accepted) his name and the foundation of his humanity, I feel like he'd settle in his appearance as his sense of self does. He'd change to fit his different moods but it wouldn't be as much of a chaotic kaleidoscope of fashions shifting and melding with each other as he was at first. Before it was very fluid, changing as he sees different styles or as he felt different from one second to another, so unsure of exactly who and what he was.

I think he'd stick with the hat, wide brimmed and still with little golden baubles hanging around the edge and a golden band, but I think the top would remain hazy and undefined because I dont think he'd be able to decide on which style he likes best. He'd definitely keep the chains and jewelry, maybe a shodowy imitation of the shape of a suit jacket or the plunge of a low v-necklined dress, depending on the day.

I think when he gets especially angry (usually at Arthur, because he's the only one who can really get him absolutely blistering pissed without even trying) the hat billows like its caught in a fierce wind, not like fabric, but like heavy smoke. The stones of his yellow jewelry glows like miniature sun's with the force of his emotions, chains tarnishing, and even his makeup turning bright neon, toxic yellow against the void of his intangible "skin" like the warning of a poisonous animal if he's mad enough

When he's scared, him and Arthur trying to hide from whatever horror or adversary they've encountered this time, the brim of his hat melts back several inches, the baubles blinking out of existence entirely like its trying to clear his line of sight, makeup and jewelry fading in their color and shine as his borrowed animal instincts scream at him to be small, be unnoticeable, hide hide hide

And in those moments (ones that happen entirely too often for John's comfort or sanity) when the worst has come again, Arthur's hurt, worse than usual, and it seems like he's fading fast from his injuries, the things that John's draped himself with as he's learned who he is start to fade away too. As John realizes he might be losing the only person he's ever had (again) he feels like he's losing himself, the person he's become in his time with Arthur. The panic sets in and he goes through the stages he always does, shouting at Arthur to keep moving, not to give up, begs him to stay with him, not to leave him alone, to stop fucking saying goodbye and keep fighting, his cobbled together sense of identity melts off of him like dust as his world crumbles.

But there are moments, few and far between though they may be, where he and Arthur get little bit of real joy. When Arthur's finally, fucking finally freshly washed, shaved, and fed a hot meal and John can actually feel him relax into a real bed. When they've bought a nice new suit and handkerchief (that Arthur let John pick out himself) and John can tell Arthur that he looks handsome in this cut and color. When John spots something he thinks is odd and describes it to Arthur in a way that gets a real, full belly laugh out of his human, even if he doesn't understand what exactly it was he said that was so funny. The yellows of his apparel and makeup shine and swirl together, the stones of his jewelry seem to dance around each other in their configurations while the colors swim inside them like a lava lamp or glitter inside a bottle of opaque liquid. The baubles along the brim of his hat rapidly change in shape and size, the brim itself seeming to bloom, stretching out even further like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam.

Anyway, tl;dr John's an eldritch entity and I just think he deserves to have a shifting appearance that he builds around himself over time like one of those bugs that sticks shit to its body to build a shell but in, like, a cunty way

And also I think John should be allowed to be incredibly expressive but in a metaphysical way that ties to his appearance itself

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #john doe #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #headcanon #john doe headcanons #malevolent headcanon #long text post #the cat in the purple pants chat #i kinda wanna draw this anyway even though i know its gonna be a pain in the ass to try and depict the way i imagine #I'd have to animate a few of them to really get it down how it is in my head #why do i do this to myself lmaooo

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softbutchthatlovesyou · 9 months ago

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Anyway (im high but whatever im saying this) I have seen black women unironically speak about how androphobia against black men is very much a real thing, because black men are forced to be black before they're allowed to be men.

Their androphobia isnt any less systemantic when the best encouragement they get to be allowed to be men is if they are willing to help racist white men to punch down on women. It just also doesn't help to like let em get away with misogyny. Or misogynoir just because they also face racism.

They are only Men to like, a shit ton of people when they get violent so why wouldn't they make boys think they're doing it right when they internalize that racist shit.

We try again and again to talk about how black boys are told they'll never be a real man if they can't fight for themsleves and how quickly that morphs into toxic masculinity against them, and it gets written off by white women who want every man to be their personal attacker ao they can claim they chose to be like this.

They are quickly degraded down to boy or something less than a person when they fight these systems.

I have watched respected black men call out systems and become completely rejected for not being a Man before he is Black or Kind. I've seen people say to them they're "not enough of a man to get that women don't need to be working here" (real quote btw)

Men can uphold the systems that benifit them yeah, but they have to be seen as men by the ones who most wants every one of us to stay down. Sometimes they do it all correct and they're slammed anyway, told off for an appearance that will never change to a racist.

A lot of you talk about gender like it's the center of all issues when racism has been shown to be time and time again also a pretty main fucking source.

If you ever actually read about intersectionality on somewhere that isn't tumblr or a twitter thread you'd know what the fuck it means, but you all personally wrote some random fucking definition that paints you as a perpetual victim in order to save yourself the trouble of thinking in anything but black and white. pun not intended

anyway this isnt fleshed out but here ive been dying to get this point off my chest even half done but if someone (whos not picking a fight) wants elaboration i can answer more specific questions probably

#meat for the dogs #androphobia #racism #Fungus.txt #since its heavy #but woof woof some of yall should eead it #gideons talking time

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jisungscaramel · 4 years ago

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vexation | hyunjin

❀ genre; smut, college au, enemies au ❀ pairing; hyunjin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 2.7k

[warning] strong language, explicit sexual content, dry humping, (mild) begging, hate sex

There it was: Hwang Hyunjin, name beautifully printed right above yours. You shuddered in complete disgust, not believing that you were paired with him of all people for your history presentation. There were 34 students in the class; that meant you had a whopping 97% chance of being paired with literally anyone else, but no. Your professor, Dr. Zhang, just had to pair you with him.

Overachiever: that was an understatement. He was the type to want all of the glory for the taking, the type to enjoy making others feel like they were dumb, the type who had no issue in forsaking common morals for his own gain.

You couldn’t fucking stand him.

Begrudgingly, you stood up from your original seat, trudging your feet to sit next to him - at your professor’s instruction, of course. You planned on at least being polite, and you thought for a second that he might do the same, but he didn’t even bother looking at you, staring through to the front of the room, eyes stoic. If he was trying to provoke you, it was definitely working.

You dropped your backpack to the ground, unceremoniously, sound drowning in the increasing levels of chatter in the small lecture hall, but clearly loud enough to make his composure teeter; his head jerked back a millimeter, a minuscule gesture but it was painfully obvious to you. And you let out an equally obvious slew of snickers before sitting back in the seat, neck meeting the old frayed fabric as you tilted your head back, arms stacking on one another as you folded them, woman spreading to occupy more real estate than you actually required.

You had to at least try to keep yourself amused.

Hyunjin began scribbling mindlessly on a blank piece of paper - still acting as if you were not even there.

He slammed the white sheet down on your knee, sending vibrations straight up your leg rather rudely.

Asshole.

Oh, baby, he hadn’t even started yet.

“Okay. We’re doing our paper on I-Hotel and… I’m gonna write it. All you have to do is find these books for me at the library.” He turned to look at you with a very aggravating smirk… maybe you’d notice the tiniest hint of flirtation if the feeling of overwhelming irritation didn’t encompass you.

But the chance passed when his countenance morphed into counterfeit concern, tapping his chin in contemplation for added effect, “although, I think the library’s computer system is down… I guess you gotta find them the old-fashioned way.” God, you just wanted to smack that smug grin right off his face. “I’d love to help you with that... but I’m just too busy…” It should’ve been illegal for intolerable people to be that gorgeous.

You blinked in complete confusion. “Ummm… excuse me?”

“I’m… sorry… do… I… need… to … talk… slower…?”

You gingerly picked up the piece of paper, promptly getting up from your chair, glaring at him. You made sure your backpack was secure on your shoulder before dramatically lifting the note in front of his face to tear what he wrote to shreds, scattering the bits over his laptop’s keyboard. “Stick a motherfucking cactus up your ass.”

You stormed out of that hall with your head high, not daring to look back despite your innate desire to see his response - you were sure it was priceless.

‘I’ll just have to do this damn thing on my own.’

Oh, if it could only be that simple.

The first thing that popped up on your laptop when you opened it from the safety of the library was an unexpected email.

Since you ripped up my list - rather rudely I might add - I’ve attached the list of the books I require. I will be at the library at four PM sharp. Please plan accordingly. Hyunjin

“Fuck.”

‘Plan accordingly,’ your ass, according to you, your plan was to minimize the amount of time you had to spend dealing with Hyunjin, and you had been 100% sure he had the same sentiment… so much for that.

Speaking of the devil, as soon as you decided to dismiss his outlandish request and settle in to get some of your research started, Hyunjin yanked your attention away from your laptop with merely his presence, almost as if your nerves were hypersensitive to his saccharine dipped aura, and most definitely not to the signature sway of his frame as he walked.

You didn’t dare grant him the luxury of your direct gaze. Instead, you kept a close eye on him in your peripheral, hoping you’d blend in with the people around you… but there was still at least a 92% chance he’d see you.

“Did you get my sources?” and now he was right in front of you, nothing but a measly table in between.

Your nostrils flared in an effort to not retort back at Hyunjin, eyes still fixed on your screen in a successful attempt to ignore him.

Then he pushed your laptop closed, hand planted firmly on the device rather invasively. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”

You gritted your teeth, tilting your head up in a menacing stare, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you want?”

God, you didn’t know his smile could get more fake than it already was. “I told you to get my sources for me,” his tone was exaggeratedly slow, “did you get my sources?”

You shoved his hand away from your laptop. “Get your own sources.”

Immediately his fake smile turned into a sincere snicker, rolling his eyes off to the side. “Uptight bitch.”

His words sank in for a moment. “You wanna say that again?”

He leaned over the table, face a mere six inches from yours. “Uptight,” you could feel your fists involuntarily clenching, digging into your palms what would soon be prominent crescents in a matter of seconds, “bitch.”

You almost raised your palm to gratuitously slap him across the face but the simmering mellowness in you kept a tight grasp of your boiling anger. You leaned back in your seat in an effort to widen the physical gap (or the lack thereof) between you. “Fuck off.”

<><><><><><>

“Hyunjin, y/n, can you both come down to the podium,” Dr. Zhang added at the end of his lecture, halting your plans to b-line straight to the library.

As the aisles began to empty, you made your way down the steps to the front of the room, purposefully standing at the side opposite of Hyunjin, frankly paying no mind to him for all intents and purposes.

Your professor glanced between you two, clearly noticing the oddity of the image but purposefully choosing to ignore it.

“I noticed that both of you submitted first drafts for your paper, and at first I thought it was an accident, until I opened both files and realized you’re writing completely separate papers. Care to explain?”

“Yeah y/n, care to explain?” What a fucking dicktard.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you wracked your brain for some feasible excuse. “Well,” but nothing came to mind… oh fuck it, “we’ve had issues working with each other.”

Dr. Zhang raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Elaborate.”

“We really don’t get along.”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Well you’re gonna have to try to find some middle ground. I’ll give you two a second chance to put a first draft together. If you can submit a collaborative piece by midnight, I’ll still give you full credit for that part. If not, it stays as a zero. Subsequently, you will keep getting zeroes for the following checkpoints if you submit them separately. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” much to your surprise, that was the first moment thus far wherein both you and Hyunjin were on the same wavelength.

“Good, that is all.”

You felt like two negatively charged magnets as you walked side by side up the aisle to the exit. “I’m not getting a zero for this,” Hyunjin spoke up.

You rolled your eyes. “At least we can agree on that.”

As the cold, crisp air of the outside refreshed your nerves, he lightly gripped your shoulder, swerving you to face him. “Look, I know we’re like oil and water, but I’m willing to at least try to get along for the grade.” His fingers trembled on your shoulder; his teeth lightly grazed his bottom lip, eyes searching yours for a sign of truce.

Needless to say, the sentiment from him was unexpected. You exhaled deeply, brushing his hand from you. “Fine.”

<><><><><><><>

But two hours spent alone in a library study room proved to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Trying to work together felt like pulling teeth - a true collaboration of absolute vexation.

“What about this passage?” You pointed to some text in a book you were sifting through.

He swiveled his chair around, only looking at your find for a solid half a second before, turning back around. “Nah, that’s not good enough to use as evidence.”

“What the fuck, Hyunjin? You didn’t even read it.”

“I didn’t have to. I assumed whatever you found was as subpar as everything else you’ve ‘found.’”

You dropped the book on the table with a loud plonk, partially in shock at what he said and partially due to a natural tendency to want to irritate him. “Well let’s see what you ‘found,’” leaning over the table in a relaxed manner, carrying a dash of nonchalance as you scrolled through his writing. “You call this good evidence?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh at his defensive tone.

“It’s obvious that you’re framing your own narrative by taking shit outta context. Not to mention all the ellipses and brackets are terrifically horrendous, visually. You’re taking literally all the credibility out.”

“What do you know? I doubt you even read that article,” he dismissed your legitimate critique in a manner you unfortunately predicted.

“As a matter of fact, I did… two. hours. ago. And you told me the article didn’t seem ‘reliable’ enough for you, but here you are… you must think I’m fucking stupid.”

The side of his lips curved up in the slightest smirk. “Not true, I think you’re annoyingly absentminded.”

You rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past minute, whispering, “fucking cockmaggot,” under your breath, diverting your attention back to your screen.

“What did you just say?” His tone suggested he wasn’t being rhetorical - he really didn’t hear you. There was something cute and innocent about his ignorance, the way his lips formed a subtle pout unintentionally, nose wrinkling in distaste. You mentally shook the image from your head, cursing yourself for thinking he was… ‘cute’ to begin with.

“Nothing, My Liege, nothing at all,” mocking sarcasm spilled from your lips as you parted them to give them a disapproving smack. “This is complete shit; we can’t submit this.”

Hyunjin slammed his laptop closed, standing up abruptly. The action took you by surprise, making your neck shudder in a startle. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Pent up rage was slathered all over his face, eyes twitching, eyebrows tightly knitting together, jaw unhinging from an excess of epinephrine.

His anger diffused to you, violently charging your nerves. There was no way you were just gonna take his shit sitting down. “Why do you,” you stood up, chair rocking back from the velocity of your limbs, “have to be,” you turned around and gripped his collar with both hands, “such an insufferable asshole?”

He was dumbfounded, wordless much to your satisfaction, but his eyes were unwavering, devoid of reaction. The time you spent stabbing each other with your unfaltering gazes felt like a goddamn eternity, tension coarse, sinfully tangible on your skin.

It was fucking stifling.

Before you even realized what was happening, your lips were latched together in a fervent frenzy, tension thickening for an entirely different reason now.

There was something so breathtaking about the way his lips tightened against yours - literally. It felt like he was siphoning your soul from your body - any thought that dared to grace your mind oddly dissolved into nothingness as Hyunjin molded your lips into submission, tongue colonizing your oral cavity in an authoritative manner that was so in character for him.

Not that you gave a fuck.

His hands aggressively tugged at your waist; the impact of your body crashing onto his sent pangs up your spine, and in seconds, your back thudded against the wall, maintaining the momentum. You had to grip his shoulders purely for support, and definitely not because you were immersing in the moment.

You felt his grip loosen as his hands roamed downward, playfully drawing patterns on your skin with his fingers en route. And then they constricted around your thighs, lifting them up to his hips, and you hooked your ankles around his back as if it was the natural thing to do.

The fabric of his pants became taut around the building frustration underneath, becoming oh so apparent to you when he started steady grinding against the thin fabric of your underwear - why did you have to wear a skirt today of all days?

You passed a reluctant whimper through his lips, wholly unable to deny the way your pulsing desire radiated heat through your core at the increasing friction.

You broke away from the kiss, gasping. “Hyunjin…” you whispered almost breathlessly, desperation filling you as he continued his tantalizing test of your patience.

“Hmmm?” There it was: that signature smug grin, but by this point, your senses were too preoccupied to even register it.

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“Is that so?” He lifted you off the wall, pushing your laptops to either side so he could lay you on the table, spreading your legs to give him clear sight of your dampening sex. He snickered. “You look much better like this…” While ghosting one hand around your inner thighs, conveniently avoiding the place you needed him the most, he undid the button and zipper of his jeans with the other, sliding them down to his knees.

You found yourself licking your lips at the silhouette of his bulge, now more prominent with less restricting fabric. Of course, he noticed; “so these are you true colors… I never would’ve thought you were such a dirty girl.” He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your underwear. “Where do you need me?” He pressed his thumb on your clit, “here?”

Your teeth pressed down on your lips in an effort to stifle a moan. “Yes…” and even though you were successful the first time, there was no stopping the sounds from seeping through your lips when Hyunjin slammed his clothed erection on you once more, picking up exactly where he left off just moments ago.

“Please, Hyunjin…” he pushed your thighs further apart, keeping them in place.

“‘Please,’ what?”

“I need you inside me, please.”

His sinister laugh filled the small room. “I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Fucking asswipe.”

“Now that doesn’t sound very convincing…”

You groaned in pleasurable displeasure. “Hyunjin… please, I’m begging you. I really can’t take this.”

“Don’t you care if someone tries to come in?” He raised an eyebrow, partially in curiosity, mostly in amusement.

You glared right into his eyes. “No.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he stood back. “Get up.” Any urge you had to defy him before was long gone; you did as he asked and he harshly turned you around by your waist, pushing you toward one of the windows.

While pushing you down against the glass with one hand, he reached in his front pocket with the other, grabbing a condom. He ripped the packaging with his teeth, skillfully sliding his boxers down to slip the vinyl over him.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you aided him by pulling your panty down leaving yourself completely exposed for his taking, and you quickly pushed your hands on the glass, bracing yourself for the next few seconds, but nothing could’ve prepared you for that stretch that came. Your wrist slid down on the window pane to bite back a scream.

“So tight.”

><><><><><><><

A/N I’mma be honest: I had a fucking field day coming up with all those weird insults

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persephones-wren · 3 years ago

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Assassination Masquerade | Act I (II) | Kaz Brekker x Reader

Warnings: swearing(?), threats(?)

Genre: Unclassified

A/N: I was not expecting the amount of attention I got on my last post- really surprised to see how many people liked it so I just decided to write the second part in one go as a little surprise thing? I dunno, but enjoy :)

Word Count: 1510

It was winter by the time Kaz had first acknowledged, perhaps even appreciated, your ability to think through things the way he had.

The air was crisp and dirty snow filled the streets, and his office was frustratingly cold as he tried to work on the plan to take the stunning set of pistols for bid at the auction house. His head hurt for the third day in a row, his leg throbbed more than usual, and nothing in the plan came together. Plan A, Inej dies, Plan B, Jesper would be in some deep shit, so on and so forth. He was close to running out of letters.

A knock sounded at the door, and he let out a harsh sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who is it?”

“It’s Y/N,” your voice called through the door. “I have tea. Nina insisted I give it to you.”

Nina. He had been sporting a headache for the past couple of days, and his mood had considerably worsened, not that he’d think anyone would’ve noticed. His mood was pretty static, and he didn’t talk much to others; there was a small chance they would have noticed his increased temper. Besides, he was always thinking, brooding. A headache didn’t change the way he was that much.

“Tell her to stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Even if you are fine, this still seems like good tea. Shame for it to go to waste.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then just leave it out the door, thanks.” “Yeah, sorry, can’t do that, Brekker. I know you hate being coddled, but she wants to make sure you actually drink it.”

“Tell her I will, and that if she doesn’t leave me alone about it, I’m going to go to her personally with more than just some kind words.”

Maybe headaches did worsen his mood noticeably, he mused. Threatening a Heartrender wasn’t above him, but he at least thought about it first.

“Well, I don’t really feel like bringing back the tea and pissing her off. I’d rather your rage later than Nina now.”

Really? That was certainly something he hadn’t expected. Him angry over Nina? What had she threatened you with, a comatose state?

You opened the door timidly and stepped forward, carefully holding the cup and saucer as you continued towards his desk. You pretended the scathing glare he sent your way had no effect on you, and set the tea next to the auction blueprints with a small thump.

“Forget Nina, it’s you who’s going to have a broken arm the next time I see you.”

You gave him a dry smile. “Oh, charismatic Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel and Leader of the Crows, would you please spare me some mercy from your vengeful wrath? What ever did I do to deserve it?”

What were you doing? Were you an idiot, were you trying to get yourself killed? No one sasses Kaz Brekker, especially not a girl he’s known for two months. You’re fucked in the head. He’s thrown out prized investments the moment they aren’t any use to him. You’re not even an investment, you’re a nobody. He could undo the protection he’d granted at any moment.

“I might kill you. You are, quite possibly, less of a delight than Jesper is.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” a corner of your mouth tips up. His scowl deepens, and you smile sheepishly. You glance over the plans at the desk. “Sorry, sorry. What are you mulling over?”

He chooses to say nothing, sipping the tea and leaning back in his chair, watching you wait for an answer.

Hopefully you’d leave him alone. He was only half kidding about the broken arm.

“Very helpful,” you bite out, and you glance at the plans, running through all the different buildings you know close by. He wouldn’t choose somewhere far, not in the winter. “This is the auction house just a bit outside Ketterdam. You’re planning to steal the pistols. To sell, or for Jesper?”

“What do you think?”

“Probably not to sell, considering if something goes missing at the auction house, it’s high profile,” you conclude. “So what part of the plan are you stuck on?”

“The guard rotations.”

Your face morphs into one of surprise, he never admits where he’s stuck, maybe his headache really had drained him more than you thought. He says nothing more, and watches as the cogs turn in your brain.

The guard rotations. You squint at the paper. They cover all entrances and exits. They move throughout the hallways, and they’ll keep changing locations, meaning that if a rotation of guards doesn’t show up at the right time, the alarm will be raised. You’ll be caught, either in the room or trying to escape the halls.

“Do you know how they move?” you decide to ask.

“Of course.” He crosses his arms, still silent.

“Care to elaborate?” you prompt.

“Not particularly.”

“Alright,” you mutter. “Jackass,” you swear under your breath. He chooses to ignore you, instead looking at the window. Your eyes are still on the blueprints.

You can’t get out if the alarms are raised, meaning that the priority should be to stay undetected. Have Inej go to the roof, and camp out there. You could take out the guards and have two of the crew dress up as the guards. They move with the rotations. Take out the guards three rotations before the door, so that the crew guards the door when the auctioneer finally gets there. Delay, delay, and delay. That’ll give Inej the time to slip in and replace the pistols with shittier guns. Then wait until the rotation of the guards switches to the outside, where the crew could then flee.

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Go on, then. I don’t have time to waste, Inej is going to be here with nightly reports any minute.”

“Right,” you swallow. “Get Inej to the roof, on the wall where the pistols are kept. Take out two of the guards and impersonate them for rotations.”

“Can’t do that. They’d find the bodies in the auction room, and alarms would be triggered.”

“Don’t start at the auction room, then,” you reason. “Start three rotations back from the auction room. You can find some cover there, presumably. It’ll be easier to hide bodies there than in an empty room. Moving on,” you continue, “the point is to have two of you guard the door when the auctioneer is there. You can continuously delay and deny him entry while Inej swaps the guns with worse ones.”

“They’ll know the ones are fake,” he shoots blindly at your plan, but he already knows where this is going. He just wants to see if you get past his counters.

“That doesn’t matter. Even when alarms are triggered, rotations still continue. Two rotations from the auction house, you’ll be in the courtyard. Inej will still be on the roof, if you and Jesper are impersonating guards, then you’ll be outside. As long as you’re convincing enough, you can flee from the courtyard after it’s over, and Inej can meet you there.”

“And if we’re not good enough actors?” he points out.

“If you’re not? You’ve impersonated hundreds of guards. Don’t give me that,” you frown. “We both know that you’ll be a fine guard.” “Will Jesper, though?”

“I don’t know, has he done it before?”

“He has,” Kaz says slowly, “but he’ll need to be on transportation most of the night.”

“Okay, well then, uh…maybe you could take along someone else. Like Wylan.”

There’s another heavy silence as he thinks it over, before another voice rings out.

“All in all, though, it’s not a bad plan. Y/N would certainly be good to take along with us. She could be your second guard.” The shadows step forward, and Inej is there, wearing her signature cloak.

“How the hell do you do that,” you breathe out quietly. “Hi, Inej.”

“Does she know how to fight? And does she know how to act?” Kaz counters, and then their eyes are both on you.

“Scrappily,” you concede. “I’m not great, but I play underhanded. I’ll give you a great chance that I can hurt the guards. Undetected though? Most likely not. And as for acting- I can’t lie to you and say I’m great, but probably passable. I stood guard for Vukovic some of the time.”

“Train with Jesper on how to shoot and Inej will teach you something on how to be quiet. The auction is in two weeks. I’ll finalize the details.”

“I’m going?” you ask.

“Crappy acting I can somewhat deal with. The rest? Depends on how good you are.”

“Okay,” you nod, but even you can hear the muffled undertones of anticipation in your voice.

“Right then,” Kaz nods. “Good that you can be of use. Now. Out.”

Even with his twisted way of saying thank you, there’s a brief look of appreciation from Kaz as you shut the door to his office, a small smile on your face.

#shadow and bone #six of crows #grishaverse #inej ghafa #inej #kaz brekker #kaz #kaz rietveld #kaz brekker x reader #soc #soc x reader #six of crows x reader #kaz soc #oh god im writing a series pt 2

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rantingwriter · 4 years ago

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Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) Finale

Trigger warning: strong language, long hospital stay, slight angst

A couple of months passed since that magical night out with Hawks. You noticed his visits after that became more and more infrequent. You weren’t too worried at first, he is a pro-hero he is naturally busy. Now...you just weren’t sure what to think. “Yo, [y/n], how long are you trying to make your scarf?” Hime catches your attention and you quickly realize you made a 7 foot long plaid scarf.

“Oh, shit...uh…” you start to work in reverse to shorten the scarf back up to a more reasonable length. Today was knitting day, but you managed to convince Yumi (the recreation therapist) to let you use your quirk instead of the knitting needles. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“No worries, but what’s got you spacing out like this?” Ayame asks, only making a potholder with her limited (but slowly improving) range of motion.

“It’s-” you quickly check your surroundings before quietly continuing. “Hawks, he hasn’t been by in weeks…”

“He is a top ten pro hero, from my understanding that means they are notoriously busy.” Ayame tries to reassure you, but you have been telling yourself that too much to believe it. “Do you have his number? Maybe you can call him.”

“I do have his office number, but wouldn’t that be weird? What would I even say?”

“Maybe, how’s it going? Just checking in? Hadn’t heard and wanted to see if you are alright?” Hime ticks off options on her fingers, she is doing some embroidery which is a bit easier to complete one handed. “Even just a text would probably help put your mind at ease.”

You nod and finish your scarf up, folding it up onto the table for Yumi to come see. “Maybe after the group,” you continue to converse with the girls and Yumi praises your work when she gets to you. After the group wraps up, you go down to the hospital payphone, your cell is dead and you don’t have enough patience to wait for it to charge right now. You call the number Hawks gave to you. “Come on…” You hold your breath as it rings, your heart sinking when you get an answering machine. At the tone you do your damnedest to stop your voice from quivering with emotion. “Hey! It’s [y/n], I haven’t seen you around and I figured I would check in on you. I know you are probably busy, but...well...I guess I miss you.” You feel a lump form in your throat. “Just give me a call back or, uh, or a text, my number is…” you recite your cell phone number and tell him to have a good day before hanging up. You lean your forehead against the slightly warmed phone as it hangs from the receiver. Your heart is aching, “damn it, why am I so upset about this?” When your landlord kicked you out 4 weeks ago, you felt fine. You had a plan and your friends helped you out. You haven’t been making much progress since that first step, you weren’t upset, frustrated? A tad, but not the same level you got to in your first month here. Hawks ghosting you...just hit differently. You wheel your way back to your room, hoping he was waiting there, but alas it was empty. You set your scarf on the little table and get back in the familiar bed. You go against your better judgment and turn on the news, the silence in the room is just too much right now.

“In other news, pro-hero Hawks has been reported missing after taking on the mission to hunt down the dangerous villain: Live Wire.” The news anchor continues to speak, but you can’t hear it. You drop the remote to the floor with a loud clatter.

Fumi suddenly bursts into your room, “[Y/n]!” Your head slowly turns to meet her gaze, her voice barely registering. “Shit, I was afraid you would see that…” She quickly turns the TV off. “Word traveled fast, Mayu is a wreck and I heard you tried to call him.”

You swallow dryly, “he can’t be missing, he just can’t be. Maybe he is laying low? Or the media is trying to throw them off the trail?” You were trying to think of any possible alternative, but Fumiko somberly shakes her head no. “He can’t be gone!”

“[Y/n], I need you to calm down, take a deep breath for me.” She tries to reach out, but you swat her away.

“There is no way! I refuse to believe it! I-I can’t believe it!!” Your voice is steadily rising in pitch, your breathing is growing too erratic for your own good. Your friend quickly calls for help and your room fills with nurses and a doctor. They have to administer a mild sedative to bring you down from your near hysteria levels of panic. It ends up knocking you out for a couple of hours, your friend returning to work with a note left on your table with the promise to return that night. When you come to, you feel numb, someone you have grown to hold quite dear is missing and you are powerless to do anything. A nurse comes in to check your vitals when your phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. You wait for the nurse to finish up before checking to see if it was an automated message or scammer preying on the weak again. Shock overcomes you as you read the messages.

Unknown: “Hey, it’s Hawks.”

Unknown: “Don’t respond, I’m not keeping this phone or this number.”

Unknown: “I hope you didn’t see that news report, but if you have, I’m okay.”

Unknown: “This mission is going to be a long one so I won’t be able to stop by. I’m sorry if I caused you any concern, but I was told not to tell anyone about this mission.”

Unknown: “I’m going to trust you to keep this between us ;)”

Unknown: “I promise to make up for my absence…”

Unknown: “When I return, I want to take you out on a date.”

Unknown: “And yes I mean a date date, not some half assed play date or anything that’ll leave you wondering where things are going.”

Tears pepper your phone screen, you felt so much relief and joy at just a few messages. Even if this was a sick, elaborate joke meant to make you think it was him, you held onto hope it was the genuine article.

Unknown: “Just know that I haven’t forgotten about you. I miss you...and I know it is incredibly selfish of me to ask…”

Unknown: “Please, wait for me.”

You nod as if he can see you, “I’ll wait, please just be safe.” You sob, your fingers clutching the scarf you made for him.

Unknown: “I have to go now. I want you to focus on your recovery, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

The last one was sent a few minutes ago, you bury your face in your knees and let it all out. Fumiko comes by like she promised and you have feign ignorance about his whereabouts. You do your best to follow his last request and focus on your recovery. He was working hard, so you would too.

Two more months go by, no news of his whereabouts and no more secret messages either. Mayu hasn’t been herself since the announced disappearance, but she was powering through for her patients sake. You on the other hand have made great progress, you are finally walking. Actually walking! Granted you still need support to maintain balance, but you are able to move your legs again. You still utilize your wheelchair to get around the hospital, but you are doing your best not to rely on it too much now that you are regaining mobility.

After a couple of weeks of steady improvement, they are talking about a possible discharge date. You aren’t sure how to feel, you are ready to be back out and about and get back to your life. Yet at the same time there is still so much to take care of that you can’t help but feel overwhelmed. Rika tries to help by apartment hunting in your stead, now that a release date is on the calendar, but you still need to ensure the job offer is still in place with Best Jeanist.

Before you know it, you are walking without support and you are preparing to leave the hospital that has become your home for nearly a year. Hime and Ayame are so excited for you, both are still stuck for a little while longer, but you promised them to visit as often as possible. You thank all of your therapists, the ones who have been there the whole journey and the ones who only made occasional appearances. Your bags are packed, your prosthetic is in tip top shape, and your transport is all ready to go. Tomorrow, you are going home. You feel more melancholy than joy about the occasion. Part of you hoped Hawks would be back by now to see you off or at least hear some type of news on his whereabouts. You turn on the news right before bed, a new ritual just to see if there have been sightings or anything at this point. Expecting the same old news, you leave it on as background noise and busy yourself with something else.

Breaking news! Flashes across the screen and the news anchor fervently announces, “Hawks has finally returned after being off the grid for nearly 6 months. The villain known as Live Wire now confined to the maximum security prison of Tartarus!” You feel your heart swell, he is finally back! A loud ding of your phone alerts you to a new message.

New number: “Come to the roof.”

You quickly get in your wheelchair and wheel your way to the roof. You throw the door open and you feel your heart skip a beat. It’s him! It’s really him! He turns to face you as soon as he hears the metal door. His face is beaming, “Hey there kid.” The sound of his voice washes over you like a refreshing breeze on a hot day. “You look great, how are things going with treatment?”

You smile brightly, rising up from your wheelchair, you make it look like you have simply mastered standing. When you start running towards him, his face quickly morphs to one of shock. You leap at him, throwing your arms around his neck as he effortlessly catches you. You can hear the smile in his voice as he shouts out, “Holy shit!” He tightens his hold around you. “Holy shit!!” He lets go of you and pushes you back to look at you, his hands still firmly on your shoulders. “You are walking! You-you are running!!” He is a sputtering, excited mess.

“I actually leave tomorrow, I finally did it!” You cheer with him, lightly jumping as his wings puff up and expand outwards.

“I’m so proud of you! I wish I could’ve been here to see you,” his wings start to droop, but you quickly gather him back up and just embrace him for a minute.

“You are here now,” he returns the sentiment, burying his face into your shoulder. You both stay like that for a long time, relishing in the closeness and warmth. You finally break the silence, whispering in his ear. “So, still planning to take me out on a date?”

His breath tickles your skin as he chuckles, “of course,” he leans back his arms still firmly around you. “I wanted to talk to you before this mission, but...shit happens.” He starts to caress your cheek, halting his efforts to tug the glove off with his teeth. His warm hand has a much more welcoming feeling than the rough texture of the glove. “I really like you, more than I’ve ever liked anyone. I know we had a rocky start and things haven’t been the easiest since we met, but…” He hesitates, unsure how to continue when you throw the scarf you made him around the back of his neck and yank him close enough to press your lips to his. He jerks back initially, it takes him a few seconds to register what just happened. When the lightbulb in his brain lights up, he grabs the side of your face and crashes his lips into yours. You can’t help but laugh at his actions, wrapping your arms around his neck to solidify the connection. You are first to break it to catch your breath.

“I like you too, you goof.” You affectionately rub your nose against his and he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m glad, I was more scared of this conversation than I was facing that villain.” You both laugh as you step back to properly wrap the scarf around him. “What’s this?”

“Something I made for you...think of it as a gift to cover the holidays I missed.” He smiles as he feels the material between his fingers.

“Thank you,” he takes your hands in his and lightly swings from side to side. When this all started, you couldn’t see a future, you felt lost, alone, and just empty. Now, you’ve made new friends, you felt like you’ve regained control of your life, and now you have a boyfriend; bonus points! The fear of leaving the hospital felt so small now, you were ready to get back to living.

#reader insert #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami #pro hero hawks #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #slight angst #fluffy fluff #long shot #part 6 of 6 #tw: hospital

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viking-raider · 4 years ago

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Of Truth and Justice - Part VI *FIN*

Summary: The battle of the Mother Boxes and the future.

Pairing: Clark Kent/OFC

Word Count: 12,314

Rating: M - Justice League!AU, Language, Violence, Nightmares, Visions, Death, Fluff, Angst, Dark themes, Dirty Jokes

Inspiration: The Snyder Cut and DCU

Author’s Note: It was fine while it lasted, thanks for all the love and support on it! As always, thank you to @wondersofdreaming for inspiring me and doing her best to help keep my manic muse in order.

Clark and Calea didn't go back to sleep, they sat on the porch swing and watched the sunrise over the flat fields of Kansas, Clark's arm slung over her shoulders and her head laid on his arm. The screen door beside them creaked open and Martha peeked her head out, smiling softly at the two.

Clark took a deep breath and turned his head towards her, smiling back at her.

“Mornin'.” She greeted them, Calea looking up at her.

“Morning, Ma.” Clark replied, calm and relaxed, even though his mind had been whirl-winding around the realistic nightmare Calea had during the night.

“I got breakfast on the table, if either of ya want it.” She invited them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kent.” Calea answered, feeling her stomach rumble like an earthquake.

Martha smiled brighter at Calea, softly shaking her head. “Just call me, Martha.” She told her, with a nod of her head, and disappeared back inside.

“See.” Clark grinned at her. “Told you she'd like you.”

Calea chuckled, blushing softly. “You did.” She nodded, kissing his cheek and stood, heading inside the house with him, the amazing smell of breakfast beckoning her to the table. “This is delicious, Mrs.--Martha.” She complimented her, smiling at her across the table.

“I'm glad.”

“I'm going to take a shower.” She whispered to Clark, as they finished washing up the breakfast dishes for Martha.

“All right.” He nodded, but his brow was creased at her, sensing something was off with her, but didn't want to push it. “Ma said there was something acting up with her car, I'll check that out, while you do.”

“Sounds good.”

Calea smiled, forcefully, pushing up on her toes and kissed his cheek, before quietly going upstairs to his room, stopping by the still broken bed, half an embarrassed smirk tugged up on one corner of her lip, while a frown of conflict pulled down on the other side. Shaking her head, Calea entered his small bathroom and stripped, stepping into the shower stall and cranking the tap, the shower head came sputtering to life. She wasn't even sure what temperature the water was as it washed over her, a throb rolled up her spine and burst through the base of her skull, like fireworks through her brain.

“Ah.” She whimpered, pressing her hands to the shower wall in front of her, squeezing her eyes shut and tried to ride it out.

She panted heavily, trembling, as the pain only intensified, rocking wave after wave through her body. Flashes of an almost desolate place flashed in her mind's eye, searing the picture of some sort of force field forming over it, like the exposed insides of a leaf, slowly blanketing a dome over it, sealing the rough and darkened buildings inside.

“No, no, no!” She whined out, beating her palms against the wall, creaking the old and worn tile.

Stumbling out of the shower, water still running, she scoured Clark's bedroom for her clothing, dripping wet and all.

“Calea?” Martha frowned as Calea charged down the stairs, storming by her. “Is everything all right, hon?” She asked, concerned.

“No, no no.” Calea replied, thundering towards the front door, nearly blowing it off the hinges as she rushed out of it, needing to find Clark, needing him frantically.

“Whoa, easy.” He startled as she grabbed the back of his shirt, colliding with him. “What's wrong?” He asked, holding her by the shoulders and searching her eyes. “Calea, what is it?”

“It's the Boxes, Clark.” She gasped, eyes unfocused, and trembling. “It's the Boxes, they're charging up. He's starting the Unity.” She told him, between deep swallows of air.

“Steppenwolf has started them.”

Clark's face fell at her words, his own anxiety and alarm spiking. “Are you sure?”

“I have to go.” She whimpered, shaking her head. “I have to go to them.”

“No, Calea.” Clark shook his head at her, cupping her face in his hands. “No, we need to get back to the Hall and inform the League, we need to warn them and get them together. Then, we'll go find Steppenwolf and the Mother Boxes.”

“They're calling to me.” Calea replied in an eerie voice. “I have to go to them. They need me.”

Clark's stomach twisted at the sound of her voice and the expression on her face. He pushed her head back to look up at him, but her eyes wouldn't focus, she no longer saw him, or even the farm, all she saw were the Boxes morphing and humming, slowly twisting to meld together as one, while trying to entice her into joining with them, fulfilling her greatest power and potential.

“Fight it, Calea.” He bolstered her, shaking her by the shoulders and trying to get her to snap out of it. “Calea!” He barked, hands squeezing her shoulders.

Calea blinked several times, taking deep breaths in and out, trying to push back against the hum of the Boxes inside her head. Letting out a painstaking groan, she looked up at Clark, gulping thickly.

“We don't have much time.” She rasped, feeling them gnaw at her mind to get back in.

Clark got suited back up and took off with Calea back to the Hall of Justice.

“Where have you two been?” Arthur asked, eyeing Clark and Calea as they came into the hall.

“Where's everyone else?” Clark asked, ignoring the Atlantean's question and look.

“They're down in the lab.”

Clark took Calea's hand, unwilling to be without her, afraid that she would start losing control again. They made their way down to the lab, finding Victor and Bruce leaning over a table. The pair looked up as Calea and Clark came in, instantly knowing something was wrong by their body language.

“What's happened?” Bruce asked, pushing off the table and studying them.

“Steppenwolf's started the Unity with the Mother Boxes.” Clark replied, squeezing Calea's hand.

“We know.” Bruce replied, frowning. “We got the signal forty minutes ago.” He added, sensing something was deeply off with Calea.

“Is she all right?”

“They're calling to me.” She replied, struggling to fight back the gnawing pressure of the Boxes in the base of her mind. “They want...need...me to go to them.”

“Then, it's out of the question.” Bruce shook his head, folding his arms.

“You can't stop those Boxes without me.” Calea told him, bluntly. “I'm what stops them, once and for all.”

“She's right.” Victor nodded, he felt the pull and call of the Boxes as well. “She's the Father Box and the Unity Key. Without her, they can't reach their full power or be destroyed.”

“Look at her!” Arthur snapped, coming into the room. “She's barely holding back from submitting to them already. What happens, when she gets close enough to destroy them.”

“I either destroy them, or they end up destroying me and the planet.” Calea growled at him. “Which gamble do you want to take, Arthur? My life for the world, or the world's life, because you were too much of a chicken shit to take a risk to save it?”

“It's not even your planet.” Arthur huffed, glaring at her. “Your people ended up becoming Darkseid and Steppenwolf's lackeys, that same weakness lives inside of you.”

Calea snapped to Arthur, pinning him up against the wall, teeth bared at him. “I have no weakness.” She hissed. “Unlike you, Arthur Curry; and the Mother Boxes exploit one's weakness.” She whispered, pressing her palms into his collarbones, the blue tint lighting up her eyes as she dug into Arthur's mind and picked out his weakness; the feeling of abandonment from his mother, that caused his reluctance for commitment.

“Calea.” Clark snapped, pulling her off Arthur. “We don't need to be going at each other's throats. It's what Steppenwolf and Darkseid would want; to fracture us, so we were too divided to fight him.”

“Clark is right.” Diana agreed, coming into the lab with Barry and Alfred. “We need to stick together.”

“Do we have any idea where Steppenwolf and the Boxes are, and how it is Calea's meant to destroy them?” Bruce asked, looking around the room, meeting everyone's eyes.

Victor and Calea looked at each other, they knew exactly where the Boxes were, with Victor being brought back with a Mother Box and Calea being the Father Box, they were in tune with the Boxes, and to a degree, each other.

“Yes.” Victor finally replied, looking away from Calea and bringing up a map. “It's an abandoned nuclear site in Russia.” He said, showing it to them. “The amount of radiation it had would be perfect for what he's doing.”

“Wouldn't you run the chance of growing an extra leg out of your neck, with that level of radioactive materials?” Barry asked, concerned.

“Ordinarily, yes.” Victor replied, troubled. “But, the force field Steppenwolf is building around the Mother Boxes, and the Boxes themselves, have absorbed the radiation in the surrounding area.”

“It's relatively safe.”

“Relatively?” Bruce echoed back, lifting a brow at him.

“That's not accounting for the army of Para-Demons he has at his disposal, and the Boxes uniting.” He elaborated, frowning back at Bruce.

Calea whimpered, pressing her fingers to her temples, flashing spots in her eyes. “We need to do something now.” She whined, gripping Clark's arm as she wavered on her feet.

“We're losing time.”

“We need to formulate a plan.” Diana said, leaning against the table and studying the map Victor still had up. “Can you show us what this force field looks like?” She asked, lifting a brow at him.

Nodding, the map hologram changed to a live view of the strange dome that was pulsating over the abandoned city, para-demons swarming all over it. “We need a way to get inside of it.” Victor said, scanning the protective dome for any possible weak points.

“What about some good old fashioned fire power?” Bruce asked, chewing on his lip as he studied it. “Blast an opening long enough to slip through, then try taking out whatever it is keeping the thing up?” He suggested, glancing around the table.

“It might work.” Diana nodded slowly, brows pinched with concentration and worry.

“Only one way to find out.” Arthur chimed in, a similar expression on his own face.

“Let's go.” Bruce said, turning on his heels. “Everyone get suited up and meet on the ship.” He threw over his shoulder, before jogging upstairs to get his Batman suit on.

The team scattered to get ready for the fight, while Clark stayed with Calea, both of them already suited up and ready to go. Clark felt antsy about Calea going with them to confront Steppenwolf and the Para-Demons, especially after her nightmare the evening before and the way the Boxes were affecting her at this distance. She felt the same, but wasn't going to let it stop her from trying to stop them from allowing Darkseid onto Earth.

“It'll be all right.” She whispered, looking up into his face, Clark never bothered to hide what he was feeling from her.

“We don't know that.” He whispered back, cupping her face in his hands.

Calea smiled up at him, despite all the agony she was in. “I know that.” She told him, softly. “You said it yourself, the hardest things have a reason for happening.”

“Not like this.”

“Is Superman scared?” She teased him, gripping his wrists.

“Of losing you,” He stared into her eyes. “More than anything else in my life.”

“You won't lose me, Clark. I'm not going anywhere, especially not without you. So, we'd both have to die, for that to happen, and I don't intend on dying.”

“Do you?”

“Once was enough for me.” Clark laughed, pulling her into his arms.

“And I'd rather not try it myself.” She giggled, locking her arms around his waist.

“You two love birds ready to go?” Bruce asked, coming back into the room.

“Yeah.” They both replied in unison, breaking apart and following Bruce to the jet.

The flight didn't take long to make, but it was tense and filled with uncertain anxiety of what they would find and experience once they arrived at the site; and the closer they got the more agitated Calea became, waves of pain continued to ripple through her body in increasing strength, making her break out into sweat as she paced the ship's loading bay, her head throbbing and sick to her stomach. The team was forced to watch her, like she was some sort of wounded and caged animal, waiting for the right moment to burst through the bars of its prison and attack the first thing it could get its claws on.

“The stronger the Mother Boxes become in their Unity and the closer we get to them, the more she's going to suffer and be affected.” Victor said, feeling the same tingle of discomfort, but not nearly the level Calea did.

“She's in a deep battle of wills with them.”

“Let's just hope her mind and will is stronger than them.” Bruce commented, frightened.

Clark nodded, anxiously, as he watched Calea pace, pounding the sides of her fists against her pounding and sweaty forehead. He felt as useless as the rest, “I'm Superman, and the one superpower I don't have is to ease the pain you're in.” He whimpered, stopping her and folding her into his arms. “If I hadn't died, none of this would have happened.”

“It's not like you died on purpose.” Calea mumbled into his chest, locking her arms around his waist.

“But, I knew it was a very big possibility with how close I was to the Kryptonite spear.” He replied, nuzzling the top of her head.

“It's still not your fault, Clark.” She whimpered, pressing her face against his chest as a fresh wave of pain hit her. “None of this is.”

“We've arrived.” Victor informed them.

The craft landed some distance away from Steppenwolf's base, wanting to give the team as much of an element of surprise as possible, since the Boxes undoubtedly knew Calea was close to them, and would soon give that signal to Steppenwolf and his demons.

“Calea, you're going to stay here and wait until we take out as many of the Para-Demons as we can and get the shield down. That way we don't run the risk of them capturing you.” Bruce said, laying out the plan.

“And the farther I am from them, you think the less likely I am to submit to them?” She replied smugly, between clenched teeth.

“It's for your own good.” Clark told her, resting his hand on the small of her trembling back.

“And, the team's.” Bruce added, before continuing. “I'll take the jet and punch a hole in the shield, then locate the tower that's keeping it up. Once the force field is down, the rest of the team can get in there and start smashing heads.”

“I'll see what I can do to help you destroy the boxes.” Victor said to Calea.

“Good, cause I don't have much of an idea how to do that on my own.” Calea chuckled, shaking her head.

Bruce stepped back onto the jet, closing the bay door behind him and got behind the controls. Taking a deep breath in and out, Bruce pulled the aircraft off the ground and started towards the field, praying that his idea on how to get inside was right. The team watched, tensely, as the thrusters on the jet came to life, rocketing the craft towards the glowing orange ward.

Flipping a switch on the control stick, Bruce fired a blast at the dome and let out a semi-relieved breath, seeing an opening appear in the fabric of the ward's makeup, but it only stayed open for a moment, before closing up again, causing him to miss his chance to get inside.

“He's not going to make it.” Victor shook his head, watching Bruce bring the ship back around and start to fly head on into it.

“Is he going to ram it or something?” Barry fretted, shifting uneasily on his feet.

“No.” Bruce replied over their communication wave. “I just need a little more fire power.” He growled, and opened up on the shield with all the guns and bombs the craft had on it, blowing a massive hole in it and flew right through the fiery plume it left behind.

“I'm in!” He snapped, adrenaline really pumping. “Get ready, I'm about to bring down the tower.”

A moment later, a large explosion sounded from within the ward and it started to crumble, like a leaf burning away to nothing. The team jostled themselves, waiting for the last of the shield to vanish before jumping into action, Diana, Victor and Arthur taking off and soaring towards the defenseless city, and with a crackle of lightning and a strong breeze, Barry was gone in a red blur. But, Clark didn't move from Calea's side as they watched the rest of them jump into action.

“Go.” She told him, jerking her head towards the action.

“Are you sure you'll be all right up here, by yourself.” He frowned, reluctant.

“Hey, if I can't have some fun kicking Para-Demon ass, you might as well for both of us.” She told him, gripping his hand in hers, forcing a smile for him, that didn't quite make it.

“Go. I'll be here, ready and waiting.”

Clark looked between her and the sounds of the battle that the League had gotten going without them. “All right.” He sighed, kissing her gently, then took off with a boom of the sound barrier breaking behind him.

Calea frowned after him, antsy and annoyed, she wanted in on the action, but knew that getting any closer to the Boxes too soon could possibly have dire consequences for the team, the planet and her. So, she paced the ledge that overlooked the city, seeing the blue zigzags of Barry zooming about the place, the glittering effect of Bruce shooting at Para-Demons from the Bat-mobile he had brought with him and flashes of things from Clark and Victor, heat vision, arm cannons, the occasionally hyped yell from Arthur, and the few times Diana connected her gauntlets together, letting out a harsh, ringing shockwave.

It wasn't five minutes after the battle began that a sharp and icy cold spike speared through her mind, driving her to her knees with a yelp of pain. She moaned, fingers digging into the debris filled soil, trying to fight the ever increasing call of the Boxes, the images they keep flashing through her mind and the whispers that kept taunting and enticing her to join them. She took deep and gasping breaths, trying to push them out and ignore them, but it was getting harder for her to fight them off.

She groaned and coughed, before throwing up into the dirt and sat back on her heels. “You won't win.” She mewled to the Boxes. “I am stronger than you and everything you throw at me. There is nothing you can do that will make me submit to you.”

“Not even your greatest fear?” The Boxes rasped back inside her mind.

“I have no fear, no weakness.” She growled back, feeling their pressure on her brain magnify, making her eyes water and blur. “There is nothing in me you can exploit. I came to terms with them long ago, they are useless for you.”

“You think that, princess.”

A bubble of strong energy swept across her face, nearly knocking her backwards with the force. Wiping the dirt and tears out of her face, Calea's stomach dropped, the entire city was leveled and nothing stirred inside of it. She struggled to her feet, scrambling to the edge of the ledge and scanned the area, not picking up any heartbeats.

“Clark.” She whimpered, then launched herself off the top of the cliff, racing towards the city, in hopes of finding any one of the League alive and unharmed. “Barry.” She gulped, finding him laying under a pile of rubble, dead.

She picked her way through the city, finding Diana, Victor and Arthur's bodies, all of them dead. Pain and grief ripped through her as she reached the center, where the Mother Boxes were still alive and humming, almost completely one Box, Bruce knelt before them, severely injured, but somehow still alive, holding on by a thread.

“Bruce!” Calea cried out, rushing towards him. “Bruce, look at me.” She huffed, cupping his bloody face in her hands. “What happened? Where's Clark?” She demanded, trying to get him to focus on her.

“He turned on us.” Bruce moaned and coughed, droplets of blood spraying from his lips.

“What?”

“Touch them, Calea.” Clark's voice called behind them as he landed on the long walkway leading up to the Boxes. “Touch them, so we can be one.” He told her with a sweet smile, that didn't reach his eyes. “This is our destiny, why we were brought together. Why we are the bridge between the universe and Earth.”

“Don't.” Bruce rasped, shaking his head at her. “It's a trap. He's been working with Steppenwolf and Darkseid, the whole time. He was luring you into this, lying and manipulating you into completing the Unity.”

“Don't listen to him, Calea!” Clark roared, growing dangerously angry, his eyes glowing red hot. “He's keeping you from your potential, your true purpose in this world.” He barked at her, stepping closer. “He's jealous of us, he wants you for himself. Take my hand and we'll be together, forever.” He enticed her.

Calea looked between Clark and Bruce, confused and conflicted on what to believe, but shook her head. “No.” She barked back, standing up. “No, this isn't real. This isn't true. You're both lying to me!” She screamed, turning in a circle. “This won't work!” She yelled, looking around her, knowing it was an illusion by the Mother Boxes.

“It's real.” Bruce hissed, suddenly jumping to his feet.

“No!” Clark roared, as Bruce leveled one of his gadgets at Calea and fired, hitting her square in the chest and sent her stumbling backwards. “Calea!” He cried, rushing towards her, catching her as she fell to the ground. “No, no. Please, no.” He gasped, watching blood bubble out of her chest. “Why didn't you listen to me! Why didn't you just give them what they wanted!” He berated her, clutching her to his chest, a tear dripping down his cheek.

“Please, I love you.” He whimpered at her, feeling and hearing her heart start to slow. “You're my world, don't leave me.” He begged her as she stilled and grew quiet in his arms.

Clark let out an ear splitting scream that echoed outward, his heartbreak and angry ringing out across the Universe.

Calea clawed at her chest, still able to feel the pain of Bruce's weapon, but found nothing, not a drop of blood or a single scratch. “Oh, you bastards.” She hissed, still on her hands and knees.

“This is what will happen, if you do not Unify the Boxes, Selian. They will all die, as will you.” The Boxes growled back, like nails on a chalkboard. “If you do not do this, this world is doomed, and your love will be lost, an aid to Darkseid, his greatest weapon and General.”

Calea stayed in place, debating on whether or not she should go to the Boxes, what if they were playing her again, they surely were, but there felt like an element of truth to their words and visions as well. Taking a deep breath, Calea pushed herself to her feet, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment to regain her balance and center of mind, before a static-y aura sizzled around her and she snapped from the ledge to down in the city. She appeared just as Bruce was ejected from his wrecked Bat-mobile and caught him mid-air, setting him back down on his feet, but as their bare skin touched and a strong pulse thumped between them, tapping into something deep in Bruce's mind.

She gripped onto him tighter, wanting to see it clearer.

It was the same apocalyptic world she had seen in her nightmare the night before, Clark, dark and evil, working for Darkseid, his greatest weapon. Bruce was one of the last Justice League members, trying to survive the desert wasteland. The deaths of Diana and Arthur left only Bruce, Barry and Victor together, followed and grouped with several others, another Atlantean, by the look of her clothing, a man with a white Mohawk and a missing eye, and a long haired man, wearing a SWAT vest and strange make up. The struggling resistance against Darkseid and the world that Steppenwolf and the Mother Boxes had created for his arrival. The group argued about something she couldn't hear, but they suddenly became afraid and out of the sky someone landed ahead of them.

Clark.

His expression was maniacal, the energy he gave off, even through the dream or vision, was far worse, unhinged and diabolical. He wasn't the man, the Kryptonian, that she knew, that either of them knew. He had lost his ability to care, his compassion and empathy dried up and gone. He glared at the group of survivors, his heat vision warming up, turning his empty and angry blue eyes a glowing red.

“Clark, please.” Bruce begged him, putting up his hands in desperation. “Don't do this! This isn't who you are!”

“Who I am, Bruce?” Clark hissed back, tilting his head at the Bat. “You would know about who I am, wouldn't you?” He taunted him, taking a step closer to him. “You knew who I was once, before you took her from me. She is what made me who I was. She was the only thing that mattered to me, she was my world, my reasoning.”

The searing hot beams of his heat vision burst from his eyes, melting through everyone behind Bruce, killing them.

“But, you got her killed, and I promised her, I would make you pay, and I will.” He growled, grabbing Bruce by the throat and taking off into the sky.

The vision didn't stop there either, she caught the glimpse of Barry appearing to Bruce through a wormhole he generated, coming back in time. “It's her.” Barry said in a watery voice. “She's the key, she's always been the key.”

“Calea?” Bruce's voice broke through to her. “Calea!” He called again, yanking his hand out of hers, recalling her to the present. “What are you doing down here, we're not ready for you yet.” He scolded her, concerned, as she shook her head, trying to dislodge the images that coincided with her dream and what the Mother Boxes were showing her.

“I have to do this, or we're all doomed.” She whimpered, stepping away from him. “Clark, especially.”

“What are you talking about?” Bruce frowned, shaking his head at her.

“The dream you had, about Clark turning bad and working for Darkseid, because of my apparent death.” She told him, meeting his eyes. “I've had a similar one and the Mother Boxes have been showing it to me as well.”

Bruce froze, taken aback by her words. “So, it is possible?”

“It could be, if I don't get to those Boxes and stop them.” She replied, her eyes looking over to the abandoned nuclear tower that Steppenwolf had set the Mother Boxes up in.

“Wait, we're almost done here!” Bruce called out to her, as she started in the tower's direction.

“So are the Boxes.” She replied, before bounding closer to the tower and out of earshot of Bruce.

“We have a problem.” Bruce barked over communication, just as a pair of Para-demons showed up to fight him. “Calea is heading for the Boxes.”

“That's not good.” Barry reported back, zipping around his own Para-Demon problem.

“I'll go and check on her, you guys keep fighting.” Victor replied, powering up his thrusters and headed in that direction.

Calea landed on the walkway that led to the center of the nuclear tower, finding Steppenwolf there with the Mother Boxes and a small swarm of Para-Demons. The pull of the Boxes were a hundred times greater inside the tower than outside of it, almost making Calea dizzy and numb to everything around her, but them. Steppenwolf turned, as the Para-Demons twisted their heads to look over at her, and smiled smugly, seeing her standing there.

“Ah, Princess, so you've decided to join us after all.” He chuckled at her. “Or should I say, Queen, being you would have succeeded your parents after their needless deaths.”

“I haven't come to join you.” Calea replied, sneering at him. “I've come to see you and Darkseid. I won't let you destroy this world or the people in it.”

“Your concern for these puny humans is laughable, Selian. Wasting your potential and power on these mortals, instead of basking in the glory that could be yours.”

“There is no glory in commanding a wasteland.” She hissed back, body tensing against the growing battle of the Boxes and the fight that was about to happen between herself and Steppenwolf.

“If you won't join us willingly, then you will be forced to!” Steppenwolf barked, then hissed at his Para-Demons. “Bring her to me.”

Screeching, the Para-Demons started after her, but Calea stood her ground, growling at him as they neared her, but before they could, she slapped her cupped hands together, sending out a massive shockwave that ripped through the pursuing demons and knocked them backwards, obliterating their insect-like wings at the same time, causing them to drop out of the sky and crashing to the ground below. Steppenwolf growled at the disposal of his minions, gripping his axe tighter in both hands and advanced on Calea himself, raising the weapon above his head.

She was ready and waiting for him, looking forward to battling the monster that had killed her parents and destroyed her home, so many people's homes. She side stepped his downward swing of his weapon and punched him in the side, making him grunt and fly sideways, then advanced on him, hitting him again and sending him back farther.

“Coming through!” Victor yelled, sailing over Calea's head and collided with Steppenwolf as he recovered.

“You think I'm letting you have all the fun!” Calea called back, joining in with him.

Calea and Victor fought back and forth with Steppenwolf, dodging and blocking his blows, while returning them. Steppenwolf tossed Victor off of him and halfway across the tower, before grabbing Calea by the shoulder, picking her up off the ground, her feet dangling as she struggled with him.

“You were never meant to defeat me.” He hissed, steadily squeezing her shoulder more and more, the bones underneath creaking and protesting the pressure.

“Good thing she's not alone!” Diana's voice called back as she and Arthur joined in on the fight.

“Damn right!” Arthur cried in agreement, banging the end of his trident on the ground, three times, before charging Steppenwolf with Diana.

“Hm.” Steppenwolf huffed, tossing Calea over the side of the walkway.

Calea cried out as she landed on her back, all the air leaving her body. She laid there, painfully wheezing as she watched Arthur sail towards Steppenwolf, his trident held out in front of him, ready to stab him through with it, while Diana descended upon him, her sword poised above her head to come down on him. A crackle of energy popped in the air for a moment, before Barry skidded to a stop beside her, kneeling down.

“Oh my gosh, are you all right?” He asked, hands poised above her, but unsure if he should touch her or not.

“I'm f-fine.” Calea wheezed back, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Go help th-them.”

“Right.” He nodded and was gone again.

Calea pulled herself up, panting and shrugging at the soreness of her shoulder and arm, her eyes going to the unguarded Mother Boxes. Catching her breath, she pushed off the ground, jumping up to the landing beside them. Their strength was almost nauseating at this range, but she pushed through it, moving to stand beside them, sparks jumping between the slowly merging Boxes. She reached out to them, the sparks jumping to the tips of her fingers.

“Calea, no!” Clark's voice rang out as he landed on the other side of the Boxes. “Don't touch them.”

Sighing, Calea looked across at him. “It's the only way, Clark.” She replied, feeling it now, the call between her DNA as the Father Box and the makeup of the Mother Boxes.

The only way for her to stop the Unity between them, was for Calea to become one with them, destroying them from the inside out.

“It's the only way.”

“No, there's has to be another way.” He tried convincing her, looking over his shoulder to the team, still trying to keep Steppenwolf occupied. “Let us deal with Steppenwolf, then we'll figure this out.”

“It'll be too late by then, Clark.” She cooed back at him, smiling at him softly. “I love you.” She whispered, before pushing her hands into the active Boxes.

Calea gasped as the Boxes grabbed a hold of her, physically and mentally, her back arching as they all surged together. Clark started forward, as a blast from Calea and the Mother Boxes knocked him and everyone else away, like it wanted to keep them from stopping what was about to happen. The worn and uncared for concrete and steel rebar structure of the tower around them groaned, cracking and flaking, running debris down all around them. Calea tried pulling back from the Boxes, but they only pulled her in farther each time she did, from her hands, all the way up to her elbows. Electricity surged and crackled between her and the Boxes, sending out huge bolts of lightning to strike every surface in the tower.

Her eyes glowed bright blue, brighter than they ever had in her life, as the League watched in awe and frightened disbelief, Calea's strength and pain mounted, reaching an all new fevered-pitch.

“My god.” Victor gasped, mouth dropping open as the Mother Boxes slowly started to shrink in size.

“What's happening?” Diana asked, slack jawed as well.

“She's absorbing them.” Victor replied. “Or they're absorbing themselves into her, I can't tell which.”

The Mother Boxes vanished and Calea swayed on her feet, her chin dropping to her chest as her head throbbed and felt heavier than anything she could describe, then fell to her knees, eyes falling shut. Everything was still and quiet for a moment, no one daring to move, scared that if they did, it would only speed up what was brewing around them.

“Yes.” Steppenwolf finally hissed, standing up and smiling at her, excited for this change of events. “It's completed.” He chuckled, looking to the League. “You've failed.” He laughed at them.

“Calea?” Clark called out, pulling himself up onto his feet.

Her head lifted at the sound of his voice, tilting slightly, as she opened her eyes again, they were still bright blue and alive with the electric power that was stored inside of her, but they didn't stay that way. It was like dropping midnight black ink into water, slowly spreading and clouding until there was nothing left, but darkness. Her glowing blue eyes turned a solid black, but lost none of their charged properties.

“Oh no.” Diana gasped, realizing the Mother Boxes had managed to take full control over Calea, turning her dark. “Calea, no!” She called out, watching Calea rise to her feet, like she was being pulled up by an invisible string.

“Yes!” Steppenwolf yelled back. “Open the portal! Let Darkseid and his forces rule this world!” He declared, gripping his Electro Axe tighter in his hands.

Sparks of energy weaved their way around her fingers and up her arms, like teeny electrical caterpillars. She turned her hand palm up, an orb of blue energy pooled in her hand and then the other one, where she pushed them together and pulled them apart again, like kneading and stretching dough. She turned on her heels and took several steps towards the edge of the central platform, hands wide apart and the ball of energy the same size, before flicking her wrists sharply, throwing the bubble of power out of her hands to suspend in the mid-air to continue spreading.

Within moments the web of energy she created turned into a massive portal between Apokolips and Earth, revealing DeSaad and Darkseid waiting on the other side of it, with an even bigger army of Para-Demons.

“Now!” Steppenwolf roared, a feeling of accomplished victory in the pit of his stomach, his redemption and restorative to his former glory and power. “Kill them!” He ordered her, pointing to the League, behind him.

Calea turned her attention to them and every member of the League tensed, making her smirk at them. She advanced on the first of them that was closest to her, which just happened to be Barry. He tried to charge himself up to get away from her, but as he started to run away, Calea matched his speed, grabbing onto him by his homemade suit, before spinning on her heels, still moving quickly, and let go of him, sending him spinning and spiraling across the room and crashing through the wall on the other side. Shrugging her shoulders and cracking her neck, Calea continued, her eyes locking on Diana and Arthur next.

Diana took a deep breath, not wanting to hurt her friend, but she knew she would be forced to defend herself against Calea's attack.

“I'm sorry.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“Not like you will be.” Calea hissed back, darkly.

Diana raised her hands to bring her gauntlets together, but Calea jumped forward, bounding over the space between them and grabbed Diana's wrists, yanking them apart and pulling Diana closer to her, while lifting her bent knee, driving it into Diana's stomach and knocking her back into Arthur. Victor tried sneaking up behind her, but her head snapped sideways, slapping her hand on his metal chest and stopping him, like a mac-truck smashing into a solid brick wall.

“Weak.” Calea growled in a voice that was not her own. “You were created from us, but you are weak, a failure. We do not abide by failure.” She sneered, pushing her hand harder into Victor's chest.

A burst of cold air hit Calea, Clark blowing a long stream of it over her, gaining her attention. She didn't react like she had the first time he blew his frost breath on her. Tossing Victor aside, Calea turned towards Clark and took a deep breath, sucking the icy air into herself, until Clark stopped. His eyes went wide as she let all that cold out through her nose, like the angry breath of a bull. She was completely unaffected by it, and everyone else's attempts to stop her.

“Kal-El.” She chuckled, her force still disembodied. “Last son of Krypton. Join us, reach the same level of power and potential your world has.”

Clark's brows creased and drew down over his eyes, a voice echoing in his head. 'The Mother Boxes exploit one's weakness.'

“I'm your weakness.” He whimpered, the reality punching him in the gut.

“That's right, Clark Kent.” She replied, grinning at him. “Almost six thousand years and the only weakness this Royal Prime Selian has is...you.” She threw her head back and laughed, the sound of it echoed. “Who needs Kryptonite, when we have Calea Stormborn to destroy you, and when she's done killing you, Superman, she will end up tearing herself apart, with the dark and painful memory of killing the alien she loves more than herself.”

The moment she finished the sentence, she was colliding with Clark, sending them both flying backwards. They tumbled to the ground, Clark managing to get the upper hand, pinning her down to the dirt, staring into her pure black eyes, like they were a pair of black holes.

“Fight this, Calea.” He growled between clenched teeth. “You are stronger than this.” He barked, slamming his fists on either sides of her head.

“I am stronger.” Calea hissed back, before striking Clark across the face with her elbow, sending him flying off of her, and got up, to advance on him.

“Hey!” A voice rang out, with three distinct, metallic bangs.

Calea turned, just in time to watch Arthur throw his trident at her, like a javelin. Tilting her head at it, she simply raised her hand and caught it, by the middle tang, then shifted her grasp on it. Holding it by the handle, she regarded the long weapon and twirled it, before grasping the handle in both hands, met Arthur's eye again, and snapped it over her knee, like a toothpick. Arthur's mouth dropped open as she tossed the two pieces to the ground, smiling smugly at him. Her attention now on Arthur, she forgot about Clark, but before she could reach him, something tight wrapped around her arm, tugging her sideways, making her growl in annoyance.

“You need to calm down.” Bruce said, tugging on her with his bat grapple again. “Remember why you're here.”

“This is so much worse than Pet Cemetery.” Barry wheezed, watching the two of them.

Growling, Calea wrapped her hand around the wire of the grapple and started pulling back. “I know why I am here, Bruce Wayne. Why are you?” She inquired, a murderous smirk on her face. “To die, I suppose.” She chuckled, reeling him in, his boots sliding in the dirt.

“Calea Stormborn of Selion.” Diana called from the other side, spinning her lasso above her head and flicking it out towards Calea. “This is not who you are.” She said, her lasso wrapping around Calea's waist, like a golden snake.

Calea groaned as the lasso squeezed around her middle and the power of the lasso whispered around the voices of the Mother Boxes. “No.” She growled, shaking her head, gripping the lasso with her other hand, pulling on both Bruce and Diana.

“Stop.” She barked, the light in her eyes faltering.

“Calea, you must fight this!” Clark called back to her, steadying himself on his feet.

“There has to be something we can do?” Arthur hissed, glaring down at his broken trident.

“I might be able to do something.” Victor replied, apprehensively. “I might be able to mentally merge with her and the Mother Boxes, we're all part of the same technology. If I can do that, I could help her through whatever mental turmoil they're putting her through.”

“Do it.” Clark implored him, watching Calea struggle.

“I'll need a charge.” Victor said, studying Calea. “She was able to click into them by the electrical charge she can naturally produce.”

“I might be able to reproduce the charge.” Barry chimed in, gulping. “I'll have to break my golden rule, but if I can run long enough and fast enough, I-I..I can do some pretty crazy things with the speed of light.” He explained to them, pressing his fingers into his eyes.

“Do it.” Bruce barked, gritting his teeth as his grip started to slip.

Clark snapped to Bruce, taking the grapple from him, owning his strength with Diana's to keep Calea in place. “Calea, you can fight this.” He growled, teeth gritted as he and Diana struggled to keep her restrained.

“Barry, you might wanna break that rule soon, she's only getting angrier and stronger.” Victor said, watching as Calea wrapped her hands around the wire of Bruce's grapple and the glowing strands of the Lasso, every muscle in her body tensing and flexing to yank Clark and Diana in towards her.

“Right.”

Barry nodded, took a deep breath, flexing his arms and legs, building a static charge, before dashing out of the nuclear tower and started zipping around the area in a wide circle, creating a barrier of blue and red as he succeeded in breaking the barrier. The harder Barry ran the harder it was for him to keep going, feeling the drag and pull of gravity, his feet slipping and struggling to keep traction on the ground.

“Victor!” He called out, trembling. “I've reached it.”

“All right!” Victor replied, readying himself behind Calea. “On one, Barry!”

Calea tried to twist around to swipe Victor away from her, but couldn't quite make it with Diana and Clark's hold onto her, making her growl and thrash with angry agitation. “No! She's ours!” She roared, planting her feet in the dirt, tensing and rolling her shoulders, a loud, almost deafening hum filling the concrete room, emanating from her.

“Three...Tw-”

“No!” Steppenwolf howled, jumping down from the walkway above as he watched them try to keep Calea restrained and attempting to break her free from the influence of the Mother Boxes. “You shall not stop us!” He boomed as he landed.

Steppenwolf swung his axe, striking Diana square in the chest and sending her flying backwards, breaking her grip on her lasso, and Calea. Smirking, Calea turned her head towards Clark and gripped the grapple wire in both hands and yanked as hard as she could. Clark tried digging in his heels, but the dirt and dust on the ground easily gave away, dragging him closer and closer to her.

“You can't hurt us, Kryptonian.” She hissed at him, as Clark raised a fist. “If you hurt us, you hurt her.” She taunted him, grinning and laughing at him.

Clark hesitated, it was true, whatever they did to stop the rampage the Mother Boxes had set Calea on, they would be harming her as well. He sighed and shook his head, knowing it was a double edged sword, hurting Calea and the Boxes stalling them with that fact.

“I have no qualms about that.”

“Ryder!” Bruce gasped, watching him stride over to Calea.

Ryder reached Calea and drove his fist into her stomach, doubling her over with the force. “I can't believe you'd be so stupid.” He scolded her.

Calea straightened up, her pitch black eyes narrowing at him, the markings on her body started to glow and the hum coming off of her only grew louder. Her arm shot out, striking Ryder in the chest and launching him backward, before advancing on him.

“Victor, I can't maintain this!” Barry's distorted voice warbled through the group's communications, his grasp on his speed slowing.

“We need to get her and Victor together.” Bruce said, watching Arthur and Diana try to help Ryder hold Calea off.

“I might be able to help.” Diana panted, grabbing her shield from the ground and dropped to a knee. “Victor get into position.” She told him, lifting her arm and slammed her gauntlet down on the edge of the shield, just as Victor lined up behind Calea.

The shockwave from Diana shoved Calea backwards, leaving deep trenches in the ground from her feet. Victor reached out for Calea as she was pushed back into him, giving Barry the signal to come as well, bringing his massive charge with him. Steppenwolf hissed as he saw what they were doing and tried to intercept them, but Clark put himself between them, Steppenwolf's axe connecting to Clark's shoulder, but it only made him chuckle, the sharp blade of the weapon not even leaving a mark on his regeneration suit.

“Not impressed.” He said, blowing a stream of icy cold breath over the axe, making it cold and brittle, then shattered it with a swift punch.

Steppenwolf gasped, taking several steps back as his axe crumbled to nothing. “No.” He mewled, blinking at his empty hands.

“You're too late.” Bruce added.

Victor's hand touched Calea's tense shoulder and a millisecond later, Barry's charged up hand touched Victor's own shoulder, a strong electric current passing from Barry's fingers and body, coursing through Victor and passing to Calea. It felt like a snap between Calea and Victor, both gasping at the sudden feeling, eyes wide as the two of them mentally became one, merging together.

Victor blinked, looking around at his new surroundings. He was some place he had never seen before and quickly understood it was another planet altogether. Scanning the area, Victor started off to the East of his current location, glancing up at the sky, a mix of midnight blue and black, the air was cool and sweet smelling, but a low humidity blanketed everything, had Victor been more human than Cyborg, he might have broken out into a light sweat as he moved through the tall, emerald green blades of grass and foliage, following an odd point of crystal blue light in the distance.

“Calea?” He called out, seeing her shadowy figure.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice replied, turning to face him, holding the shimmering light Victor had seen.

“Looking for you.” Victor replied, frowning at her. “What is that?” He asked, motioning to the glowing object.

Calea smiled down at her hands, caressing the smooth and silky petals. “It's a Moon Blossom.” She answered, lifting it to her nose and smiled at it, it was sweet and creamy, then held it out to Victor, who gently took it from her. “They only bloom on a full moon.” She told him, looking up at the mostly shield moon, through the leafy canopies above them.

“Dove!” A voice called out from the dark.

“It's all right.” Calea said, gently touching Victor's cool, metal arm. “Over here, Papa!” She called back, grinning. “It's my father.” She told him, chipper and excited as the tall figure of her father appeared between two trees, a bundle of Moon Blossoms in his arms.

“Who's this, Dove?” Calien asked, looking Victor over with a suspicious eye.

“This is my friend, Victor.” Calea explained to him, the smile never fading from her face. “I met him on Earth.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.” Calien replied, the suspicion never left his voice and eyes.

“You as well, sir.” Victor answered, recognizing Calien's hostility towards him.

He had no doubt the Mother Boxes were projecting themselves as her parents and Calien's hostility was them trying to keep Victor from pulling Calea away from them. A rustling to their left produced Calea's mother, and Victor was struck by how much mother and daughter looked alike.

“Look, love! I found a large cluster of Moon Bloss--?” Solea started, a smile on her gorgeous face, but stopped seeing Victor, her eyes darkening.

“Victor, I'm a friend of your daughter's.” Victor told her, knowing that would be next.

“Are you?” Solea replied, lifting a brow at him.

“Yes, ma'am.” He nodded, trying to be respectful, so nothing happened.

“Do you want to pick Moon Blossoms with us?” Calea asked, smiling up at Victor.

Victor licked his lips and looked between the three of them, calculating his options. “Sure.” He nodded, meeting Calea's excited eye.

“Excellent.” Calea grinned, bouncing on her toes, then took his hand and followed her mother to where she found the cluster of flowers, Calien following behind them.

“Mama!” A small voice rang out.

“Hey, buddy!” Calea called back, dropping to a knee and opening her arms to the little boy running head on for her.

“Nana found a bunch of flowers!” He said, hugging her arms around his mother's neck.

“Did she?” Calea chuckled, hugging him back.

“Do you think we could take some back to Daddy?” He asked, looking into her eyes.

“Of course!” She nodded, letting him go. “He'll love them.”

“Yay!” He cheered, then ran back off to pick the glowing flowers with his grandparents.

“Who is that?” Victor asked as Calea stood, brushing dirt off her skirt.

“That's Eric.” Calea replied, smiling proudly at the little boy, watching him and her parents bond over the flowers.

“Who's his father?”

Calea laughed and grinned up at Victor. “Did you hit your head?” She asked, amused and concerned for her friend. “He's Clark's.”

“And where is Clark?”

“Back on Earth, silly boy.” She chided him, shaking her head. “Eric and I are here visiting my parents. You know Clark, he worries about being too far away from Earth, Superman has to watch over the Earthlings.”

Victor glanced at Eric, Solea and Calien, seeing them distracted, then took a hold of Calea's hand, staring deep into her eyes. “Calea, this isn't real.”

“What are you talking about?” She chuckled, her smile slightly faltering as she looked up at him. “Of course this is real.”

“No, Calea.” Victor shook his head at her. “The Mother Boxes are trying to trick you into thinking this is real, while in reality, you're destroying the League and Earth.” He tried explaining and convincing her. “This is a dream, Calea. The Boxes are showing you want you want, not what is real.”

“They’re showing you your dream to have your parents alive again, to have a life and family with Clark.”

“But, we destroyed the Boxes, years ago.” She shook her head at him, dread filling her. “Everything was put to rights.”

“It's a lie.” Victor spread his arms out, motioning all around them. “This is a lie! Steppenwolf killed your parents, he decimated all of Selion and it's people, leaving only you. Your son, Eric isn't real either. Maybe one day he can be, but it's not this day.”

Calea squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head and trembling. “No.” She whimpered, gulping. “No.”

“Yes, Calea.” He nodded, shoulders slumping as he watched her start to crumble.

“Then, what are you doing here? Why are you here? How are you here?”

“I came to help you.” Victor replied, tilting his head at her. “With the power of the Boxes and the Unity Key combined together inside of you, you've become incredibly strong. You've outmatched everyone on the League and opened the portal between Earth and Apokolips. Darkseid and his army of Para-Demons are on their way, and the only way to stop them, is for you to pull out of this lie the Boxes are feeding you, to keep you controlled and doing their bidding, or they and you will kill everyone.”

“Including Clark.” He added as a last ditch effort push.

“Calea, are you alright, love?” Solea asked, approaching her and Victor.

“What did you say to me, before you sent me to Earth with the Mother Boxes?” Calea asked her, opening her eyes.

Solea smiled at her daughter. “You know what I said, Dove.”

“I don't remember.” Calea replied, shaking her head, brow creasing. “Remind me, mama.” She cooed at her mother, sweetly.

“I told you, I loved you and I would miss you.” Solea replied, reaching out to gently caress Calea's cheek.

Calea tilted her head into the touch, sighing gently. “It's funny.” She whispered softly.

“What is, dove?” Her father cooed, stepping up beside her mother, Eric hugging his grandfather's leg.

Calea looked deep into her mother's eyes, eyes that mirrored her own. “That you have so much access to my life, my past memories, my present and my future, but you couldn't dig out something so apparently vital, that I only now understand.” She said, her eyes started to glow.

“'You are the bridge.'” She quoted the last words her mother ever said to her. “That is what she said to me, before I left, and I am the bridge, between Selians, Kryptonians and Humans, a bridge across the universes.”

“What has he poisoned your mind with?” Calien hissed, looking to Victor.

“The truth.” Victor replied, turning to face them.

Calea pressed her arms to her sides, wrists bent and palms facing the ground of grass and glowing Moon Blossoms. “I am done.” She hissed, bolts of electricity crackling up her arms, flashing between her fingers, her eyes glowing brighter than the flowers at her feet.

“Calea, honey?” Solea called to her, but her mother's voice was no longer her own, it was foreign and alien.

“I am tired of people telling me what I have to do, what I should do. What I can and should or shouldn't be. My whole life.” She growled, static filled the area around them, making the hairs on everyone's bodies stand on end.

“Not. Any. More!” Calea barked, as a massive surge of electricity and lightning pooled out of her palms and into the ground, electrocuting everything around her, the world around her blurred, like a pixelated glitch on a screen, everything, but Calea and Victor, the two real things in the simulation the Boxes had created around them.

“Look!” Barry called out, pointing to Calea and Victor.

Everyone looked to them, seeing the pulsing currents weave around Calea's body and affecting Victor's, the inky blackness of her eyes slowly changed into the bright blue color of her mighty power that resided inside of her.

“She's gonna blow.” Barry gulped, watching the tentacles of electricity surged out from her feet and across the ground to vanish.

Calea screamed out, a blue rippling wave rocketing out from her body, knocking the team and Steppenwolf backwards, before dropping to her knees, breathing heavily. Calea blinked several times, trying to clear her vision and shook her head, her mind felt like it was wrapped in thick cotton that had been statically charged. Her body was numb and tingly, but she could feel everything around her, hyper aware of the way everyone was breathing, their hearts beating like drums in her ears and against her skin, the chilly air, the smell of energy and lingering radiation in the air, the scent of blood, sweat and strong emotions plugging up her sinuses.

Coughing and clearing her throat, she stood, her equilibrium tilting and swaying as she accumulated and returned to normal, no longer under the control of the Mother Boxes, she was now in control of them. Creaking her neck and flexing her shoulders, Calea turned her attention to Steppenwolf as she pushed himself back up to his own feet.

“Steppenwolf.” She hissed, teeth bared at him.

“Impossible.” He hissed back, looking her over.

“Nothing is impossible with the Unity.” She replied, grinning at him, feeling the jitters of adrenaline and power course through her body, enjoying the rush it gave her. “I've waited five thousand years for this moment to happen.” She panted, licking her lips.

“And I'm going to enjoy it.” She laughed, the sound echoing, as she blinked across the gap between them, using the velocity to give weight to her punch as her knuckles connected to his face, sending him through the wall of the nuclear tower.

“Calea!” Clark shouted as she followed after him.

She looked towards Clark and grinned at him, then continued on, stalking after Steppenwolf. Bounding through the opening his body made, she found him still laying on the ground and grabbed his foot, spinning quickly on her heels and let him go, throwing him back through the tower wall, a section of it crumbling in his wake. As Steppenwolf fell from her last throw, Calea suddenly appeared above him, driving her feet down into his chest, causing him to slam into the ground and leave a massive crater around his landing.

“Jesus.” Bruce gasped, mouth hanging open. “She's almost, if not even stronger, than you now, Clark.” He commented, looking at his friend.

Clark half smiled at him and Calea, mesmerise by her new show of force and strength against Steppenwolf and Darkseid.

Jumping into the crater, Calea grabbed Steppenwolf and jumped up to the now unstable walkway where the portal to Apokolips was. Looking at each other, the League scrambled into joining her. Darkseid, DeSaad and all of their minions stared back at them. Calea tossed Steppenwolf down and looked straight into Darkseid's eyes.

“Darkseid!” She roared, pressing her foot down on Steppenwolf's ankle, keeping him in place and making him howl in pain. “Destroyer and Conqueror of worlds across the Universe.” She called out to him.

“Uxas.”

Darkseid growled, turning his glowing orange eyes on Calea, acknowledging her. “Selian.” His voice echoed back through the portal.

“Your uncle, your General and herald.” She applied even more pressure to Steppenwolf's ankle, the crunch of bone echoing in the air. “Your greatest betrayer, has failed you once again; once and for all.” She sneered down at Steppenwolf with deep disgust, bending down and picking him up by the metal fingers of his armor.

“Your stay on this plant has reached its end, Steppenwolf.” She hissed at him, seeing the League move restlessly from the corners of her eyes.

Smirking, Calea shoved Steppenwolf away, throwing him backwards towards the portal as Diana drew her sword from behind her and jumped into the air, letting out an Amazonian cry, before letting her sword slice through his outstretched neck, like a knife through butter. Steppenwolf's body fell to the floor and slid across the platform, stopping just short of the portal, while his head, his face permanently in an expression of shocked disbelief, kept going, crossing through the portal and skidding to a stop before Darkseid, who stopped it with his foot, crushing it under his mighty boot.

“Your attempt on this planet is null and void, Darkseid.” Calea told him, the League stepping up behind her, showing their support in her words and Earth. “You will never conquer Earth, so long as any, and all of us, live.” She told him, pushing her hands out in front of her, the portal blinking and wavering as she did.

“We will see, little Selian.” Darkseid rasped, just as Calea clapped her hands together and the portal collapsed, breaking the connection between Earth and Apokolips, for good.

Clark quickly wrapped his arms around Calea's waist as her knees wobbled and she started to go limp. “Are you all right?” He panted into her ear, chin resting on her shoulder as he hugged her against his chest.

“I'm fine.” She sighed back, head resting back against his chest. “Just spent a lot of energy.”

“That was fantastic, I mean...wow!” Barry giggled, glancing around, thrilled by the excitement and relieved that it was all over and everyone was alive. “You scared us. I literally thought you were going to erase us, like it was the Matrix or something.” He chattered, goodheartedly.

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head and smirking. “Is this over?” He asked, looking to Calea.

“It's over.” She nodded, supporting herself now, but Clark's arm remained around her waist. “Unless Darkseid uses the old ways and commands his armada of ships to come traverse across the universe to knock on Earth's atmosphere.” She mostly quipped, but her voice held an edge of concern and worry that he would.

“Let's not think of that now.” Diana said, wiping Steppenwolf's blood off her sword's blade. “For now, we have a victory and should enjoy it.”

“I agree.” Arthur replied, then trained his eyes on Calea. “You broke my mother's Trident.” He informed her, holding up the two pieces.

“I am so sorry.” Calea frowned, surprised at her unruly behavior and hurt, that she had allowed the Boxes to take such control over her. “If there's any way I can repay the slight..”

“You paid for it already.” Arthur replied, glancing over at Steppenwolf's headless body.

“But, what about the Mother Boxes?” Barry asked, holding up a finger. “Where are they?”

“In me.” Calea replied. “They, the Father Box and Unity Key will reside inside of me.”

“Is that safe?” Bruce frowned, shaking his head.

“I'm one of the only people that can control and maintain their power.” She told them, flat out. “Other than Victor.” She turned to him, resting her hand on his arm. “Thank you.” She whispered softly. “Thank you, for righting me and showing me the truth.”

“What truth?” Clark frowned, blinking at her.

Calea touched his cheek with a trembling hand. “Don't worry about it.” She whispered, pushing up on her sore toes and kissed him, gently. “Everything is all right now, and that's what matters.” She told him, squeezing his bicep.

“I think Calea is right.” Diana spoke up. “It is clear that with the boxes as physical forms it's too risky and tempting for those seeking their power. If Calea can safely maintain and command them as she is now, then it's for the best.”

“We clearly saw what she can do, when she's controlling them.” Victor added, looking around with a lifted brow. “I think anyone would be mad if they tried taking her on.”

“Anyone is crazy for trying to take her on, with or without the Boxes.” Ryder's soft voice added behind them.

“We all would know that now.” Arthur laughed, feeling a sore spot on his back.

“What are you doing here?” Calea asked, surprised to see Ryder decided to fight among the League after the initial regret of introducing her to the others in the first place.

“You think I would pass up the opportunity to get in a good old fashioned fight?” He chucked at her. “Not in a million years. Besides, I am a member of this world, have been as long as you have. So, what about Steppenwolf's body?” Ryder asked, surveying it.

Taking a deep breath, Clark let Calea go and approached the body, his eyes slowly glowing a bright, cherry red, before letting out two laser beams into Steppenwolf's disfigured body, setting it on fire. Within seconds, there was nothing left of Steppenwolf's body, but a black charred spot on the concrete walkway.

“Well, that solves that problem.” Ryder commented, chuckling as he looked around the group. “Do we have any other reason to be here?” He asked, meeting everyone's eyes.

“No.” Clark shook his head, looking around at the group too.

“Back to the Hall?” Barry asked, biting his lip.

“Yes.” Bruce nodded, feeling the soreness of battle creeping into his body.

With that, the aching and exhausted members of the League set about getting back to the Hall the best way they could and focused on healing and recovering from the third battle and war for Earth.

It was almost a month after the battle and most things had returned to normal.

Barry got a job, with the help and connections of Bruce, in a crime lab; it was a low position, but it would hopefully become something more as time passed and he gained experience and a reputation in the field.

Diana returned to her job as a museum curator at the Louvre, in Paris.

Bruce returned to his nightly crime fighting as Batman in Gotham and running his various businesses.

Victor worked on becoming more comfortable about what he had been turned into after the accident that had technically killed him and had actually took his mother's life, helping people in various ways, and even accepted a job in Star Labs.

Arthur went back to being a, supposed, lone wolf, but helped people that were in danger at sea and on land. He was even able to have his mother's trident fixed back in Atlantis, Vulko have his tricks and Atlantean Technology.

Clark returned to the Daily Planet, working on his journalism and stories for the paper, Perry mostly assigning him to sports related articles, much to his chagrin and annoyance, while still being the glorious and loved Superman; saving people from burning buildings, floods, earthquakes and every other manners of danger.

As for Calea, with the help of Bruce and his money and influence, became a World History Professor at Metropolis University, while she also worked on getting a proper History degree, being both the teacher and the student. Luckily, Calea had five thousand years of historical knowledge, knowing things not even the absolute best scholars knew about various events that happened on Earth and in the Human's timeline.

Even Ryder got a job, working in Wayne Electronics, helping Bruce and his company create and maintain their current technology and come up with new ones, showing them many of the technological wonders of alien advancement.

Each of the members of the Justice League made sure to carry a small beeper-like device on them, so in a moment's notice, they could come together and face whatever it was, usually being set off by Alfred, who was always watchful. But, the biggest turn of events and development happened in the middle of the night in Clark and Calea's new apartment that they had found in Central Metropolis, close to both the university and the Daily Planet.

It was a quite night in Metropolis, minus the noise of the traffic on the street below their bedroom window, but Clark and Calea had long learned how to ignore such things. They were spooned together under the light blankets of their bed, when suddenly, in the still quiet of their room, a thump sounded.

At first, neither of them acknowledged the sound, figuring it to be something on the street below or the neighbor to the side of them. But, when it came again, stronger and more steady, Clark stirred from his sleep, blue eyes searching for a moment, then felt it against the palm of his hand, becoming steady, strong and rhythmic. Calea's eyes popped open, finally recognizing the sound for what it was and turned onto her back; Clark's palm glued to her lean stomach.

“Clark?” She whispered softly, not wanting to drown out the sound with her voice.

“Calea.” He smiled back, an excited giddiness filling him with each strong beat of the tiny thing nestled inside of her. “A baby.” He whispered, shifting and laying his head on her stomach, his eyes closing.

“Our baby.”

“Our baby.” Calea cooed back, stroking his hair and closing her own eyes, listening to the almost synced beats of all three of their hearts together, in their dark and peaceful sanctuary. “Our son.”

Clark turned his head, keeping an ear on her stomach. “You think, we'll have a boy?” He asked, grinning like mad, already thrilled about the idea of being a father.

“I know we'll have a boy.” She replied, caressing the side of his face. “I've seen it so many times over the last several months. Between my dreams and the Boxes...”

“You've seen this?” He asked, his brow creasing.

“I did.” She nodded, touching the pad of her index and middle fingers to his creased brow, caressing it smooth again. “I didn't say anything, because it didn't necessarily mean it'll happen. I saw a lot of things in those moments that haven't and didn't happen.”

“Why did you never tell me?” Clark pressed, concerned.

“I didn't want to worry you about such nonsense, Clark.” She told him, honestly, her own brow creasing. “You worry about me too much already.”

“Well, apparently this isn't nonsense, Calea.” He replied, turning his head and kissing her belly.

“No.” She sighed, smiling and chuckling softly. “He certainly is not.”

“What else about him did you see?” Clark asked, curiously.

“He looks just like you.” She told him, bring up the image of the little boy. “We named him, Eric Jonathan.”

Clark smiled, warmed at the tribute to his adoptive father. “I like it.” He whispered, eyes gently closing, lulled by the sound of their hearts.

Both of them fell asleep like that, Clark's head pillowed on Calea's stomach, her hand still in his soft curls, thumb stroking them mindlessly, and eight and a half months later, Calea birthed their beautiful baby boy.

“You certainly have some strong seed.” Arthur quipped as she and Clark took their newborn to the Hall of Justice to meet everybody. “Getting her pregnant the very first shot.”

“It helps, when my womb certainly doesn't have any Kryptonite in it.” Calea gibed back at him, gently bouncing the baby in her arms as he fussed. “Clark and I are the bridge between our worlds and this one, and our son is the first to cross it.” She said, staring into Eric's sweet face.

“Hopefully, there will be more.” Clark replied, kissing Calea's cheek and resting a gentle hand on Eric, hinting at more than one thing.

-- END --

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duuhrayliegh · 4 years ago

Text

watch your six - part seven

pairing: bucky x reader

warnings: violence? (not much though), knives, bad crying

word count: 3545

a/n: this is part seven!! i have no idea where this is going, so we’re all being shocked by the events occurring :) i’m proud of this one

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

watch your six series m.list

ray’s m.list

“Okay, just lay back, this might be a bit jarring for you, so sorry in advance.” This woman couldn’t have been much older than you. You were still a bit fuzzy on what exactly was going to be happening, despite her already explaining everything.

Your eyes passed over the group around you. Tony Stark was behind a clear topped table with tools scattered over it, tinkering with his suit helmet. He was muttering about how he hated HYDRA blasters while the eye slits of his faceplate flickered between blue and a lifeless gray. Natasha Romanoff was sitting next to Clint Barton. Natasha was speaking to Clint, her gaze not leaving your form. Clint was oblivious to what was going on around him as he began reloading his quiver.

Steve Rogers was in the corner with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Steve was standing facing away from you, arms crossed over his chest as he spoke with Sam. Bucky was leaned against a table, sharpening a knife that he held with his metal hand. Honestly, the action made your jaw clench every scrape. You locked eyes with his steely blue pair, he didn’t blink, attempting to assert dominance or whatever an alpha male would do.

Fingers snapped in front of your face which brought your attention back to Wanda. “I need you to lay back.” A deep breath passed through your lungs, exhaling heavily through your mouth. Swinging your legs onto the table, you straightened your body, settling your arms at your sides. “I’m going to place my hands at your temples and then we’ll begin, okay?” You were thankful that she was making sure you knew what was going on. Nodding in response, you closed your eyes at her instruction and she began counting backwards from three.

Streaks of red danced behind your lids and you could feel your eyes trying to follow them. You swallowed harshly as a memory jolted to the forefront of your mind. You were thrown head first into the recollection.

Gemini stared at you, snapping her fingers in front of your face like Wanda did. “Hello? Are you with us or not?” Her black hair swayed against her shoulders. “Libs, I’m going to need you to quit drifting. If you do that on a mission, it could be life or death.” She berated you, walking to her half of your quarters. Your head shook back and forth, mouth moving with the memory.

“Yes ma’am.” You snickered at her, sticking your tongue out at her shocked expression. “When do you think they’re going to assign me a mission?” You were practically bouncing off the walls at the thought alone. Unbeknownst to you, this wasn’t all in your head. Wanda could see the memory in real time, but the others could hear your end of the memory as well. You couldn’t stop your mouth from voicing your half of the conversation.

“You know, I don’t know the answer to that, Libby.” Gemini pulled her desk chair out, straddling it backwards, resting her forearms on it. “You just need to have some patience. It’ll come, just give it time.” You groaned and raised your body into a sitting position, leaning forward with your palms on the edge of your bed.

“I don’t like waiting, Gem. Part of the reason why I fast tracked through the training program.”

“You fast tracked through the training program because you were naturally good at everything we threw at you, Libra. No other reason than that.” She laughed at your facial expression. The Avengers around you were confused as to why your face morphed into one of annoyance.

“That may be the case, but I still got into the Virago. And on top of that, I’m the youngest of the Zodiac.” A proud smile stretched across your face. “Plus, I got teamed up with you and let’s be honest, that’s the real accomplishment here.” She shot you a look and you both giggled. A ping sounded from the sound system in the ceiling.

Zodiac meeting in ten minutes. Be in the conference room and ready by the time I get there or there will be consequences.

“Oh, looks like you might be getting a mission sooner rather than later, Lib.” Your eyes widened at the possibility, excitement rushing through your veins.

“Or they could be just calling us in to yell at us again for sucking it up in training.” Your body shuddered as you thought about a few weeks ago. Your CO had hired help from some elite company to assist with the Zodiac training. It didn’t end well when you didn’t meet their standards. “Let’s hope it’s a mission, that would be way better.”

Your body jolted and you fell off the table, quickly catching yourself before you completely face planted into the concrete floor beneath you. Pushing yourself to sit your ass on the cold floor, you looked around the group. Confused faces were spreading, Natasha and Bucky seemed resigned, as if they had more knowledge. Wanda helped lift you onto your feet, checking to make sure you were okay.

“I’ve had dreams about that place before, about those people.”

“You didn’t think that was important to tell us?” Tony sassed from behind his table. “If you had memories resurfacing, then that means you went through something to suppress them. Like Tin Man over there.” He jerked his head to Bucky, who had a solemn look on his face. He had stopped sharpening at some point, and now he was talking to Steve about something.

“You have something you want to share with the class, Barnes?” You were so done with secrets being kept from you. Everyone around you seemed to know what was going on with your life more than you did. Steve stared at you from beside Bucky, hands on his hips, accentuating his Dorito shaped torso.

“I remembered something about the Virago.” Was all he replied with. You were waiting on him to elaborate on what he meant.

“Wonderful. What did you remember about it? I’d really like to know what the hell is happening.” You started towards the man across the room. He had information that he wasn’t giving the room at large to work out. “And if you’re the thing that’s preventing me from going back to my normal life, we might have a problem, Barnes. So, if you would oh-so-kindly, provide all of us with your newly discovered knowledge, that would be greatly appreciated.”

You had made it about the halfway spot of the room when Bucky silently unsheathed his recently sharpened knife and aimed it at you. Time slowed as you watched the blade spin through the air. You moved your upper half to the right, dodging the slice and catching it with your left hand. Your body continued without your guidance as you rushed Bucky, pushing the blade to his throat. Blinking brought you out of your dazed state as you recognized that you were now pressing the sharp object hard enough against his neck to draw blood.

Retreating quickly you dropped the knife to the ground. A resounding ring reverberated through the now silent room. Your hands shook and tears gathered at your waterline. What the fuck was that?

“The Soldier was tasked with training the Zodiac, current and future.” Bucky’s rasp was the only noise beside your exaggerated breaths. “I knew you were going to catch it, by the way. It’s instinct for you.” He leaned his weight back against the table, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Wanda was the next to speak.

“You realize you just scared the shit out of all of us, right?” You weren’t quite sure if she was referring to you or Bucky, but you guessed it didn’t really matter. You swallowed harshly, biting back the need to cry. Who the fuck am I?

“I’ve heard of the Zodiac.” Natasha was next, still sitting comfortably atop the table next to Clint, legs crossed underneath her. “They were like the Americanized version of the Red Room’s elite. It started out as a SHIELD organization but that didn’t last long. As soon as HYDRA found out, they figured out how to take it over. I think their first plant was a woman named Bianca?”

“What else do you remember?” Steve was commanding the room as you thought he would. It wasn’t until he placed a hand on your shoulder that you realized he was talking to you. “We need you to walk us through your dreams, Y/N. Just so we can get a clearer picture, it’ll probably help spark Bucky and Nat’s memories too.” He shifted his hand to hover over your lower back, guiding you back to the hard table. Climbing up, you closed your eyes and recalled the other two dreams.

“Um, I remember getting my first mission assignment? Actually, it might have been my only mission assignment.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it didn’t end well?” You said in a duh tone, gaining your confidence again. You had no reason to lose it before, you just found out that you were kind of a bad ass. “The whole group was tasked with getting some data from this Louis Richardson guy? He was a part of the Svengali, that was what Suits kept asking about. Supposedly Richardson was a high up guy because they put all of us on that one.” You shook your head, trying to clear up the memories. “It was my first assignment, so clearly I was excited to prove myself a useful addition to the Zodiac.”

“What was the mission exactly?” Tony questioned from his spot.

“Half of us were monitoring the party, making sure if there was a fight that the public didn’t cause a riot. The other half was Plan B. We sat outside the safe house Richardson was allegedly using if his drop went south.” Your breaths shuddered again, recalling what happened next. “Of course, it did. We were only supposed to monitor it, but Gem decided that the info was too valuable to let it slip by us. So, we went in and everything went to shit.”

“My instructors talked about that. They said that they killed everyone though. How did you manage to slip by?” Natasha asked, shooting you an inquiring glance.

“Obviously, she didn’t because they had to wipe her memory, like Manchurian Candidate.”

“Gemini and I were the last ones left and then she sacrificed herself so I could escape, get back to headquarters, those were her orders. Stop drifting, watch my six and run like hell to HQ.”

“Well, that’s how they were able to wipe her.” Bucky added quietly, his mind elsewhere.

“If HYDRA had already taken over the Virago, then they would’ve been able to take her without question.” Natasha finished Bucky’s thought as she watched you on the table. Steve stood next to you, squeezing your shoulder as a comfort. You glanced at him and saw a motherly expression had taken over his features.

“Why would they wipe everything though? They still could’ve used her?” Wanda questioned from her position next to Tony. “I mean, if you were a natural like Gemini said that you were, then I’m sure HYDRA would’ve found something to do with you.” Bucky walked out of the room quickly, leaving the rest of the occupants stunned as to his sudden departure. Steve jutted his head at Sam who followed Bucky. Tony was working through all the facts tumbling around in his head. He began talking to Friday about gathering any information she could find on Louis Richardson and several other things. You sat in silence, continuing to sort through half broken memories and dreams.

**********************************************

Bucky had to get out of that room and away from that woman. Sensory overload was overwhelming him, increasing his need to evacuate. He stepped outside, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass. He dropped his head into his hands, sinking to his knees on the ground. Bucky despised being vulnerable in front of people. During his time as the Soldier, vulnerability was punished harshly. He was used to swallowing his emotions, shoving them into the dark corners of his mind. Now being free of HYDRA's grip on his mind, he still struggled with displaying his emotions. All he wanted to do was shout until his throat was raw and his voice scratchy.

“You okay, man?” Bucky had figured it would be Sam. An almost neutral third party with experience in counseling veterans, plus Steve was busy dealing with Y/N. Bucky continued to inhale deeply from his crouched position, not responding to the man behind him. Sam took his increasingly calming breaths as a sign that he wasn’t about to keel over. He came up next to the man, stretching his hand out to Bucky for him to grab. “Come on, old man. Talk to me, what’s going on in that cyborg brain of yours?” Bucky shot the man a weak glare, while pulling himself to his feet, resting his hands on his hips. He brought his right hand up to rake through his dark hair.

“I remembered something else, Sam, and I just couldn’t be in there with her anymore.” Sam hesitated to ask, almost afraid of the answer that he was going to receive, but he knew he needed to.

“What did you remember, Bucky?” There was a heavy pause hanging in the air between the two. They both knew what Bucky had remembered, but it needed to be said out loud to be real.

“Her screams.” There were tears gathering on Bucky’s bottom lashes, threatening to spill over. Sam outstretched his hand to Bucky, not offering pity to the man on his knees. Sam knew what it felt like to be pitied, not a feeling that he wanted to bestow Bucky with.

“You’re going to be okay, man. It’s going to take time, but it’ll happen.” He faltered before continuing, “You know you’re going to have to talk to her about it, right? If you remember, she will too eventually. Especially if she keeps working with Wanda, they’re going to get to that point. It’ll be better to hear it from you than for her to waltz in there unprepared.” Bucky nodded solemnly, bringing his right hand up to scratch his stubble.

“I know.” His voice shook slightly. “But how do you tell someone that you didn’t do anything while they got tortured and experimented on?” Sam’s eyes searched Bucky’s for any sign that he was forgiving himself. What Bucky did when he was under HYDRA’s thumb wasn’t his fault, but this was going to set Bucky back.

“Look, you know that was the Soldier who just stood to the side because you, Bucky Barnes, would’ve done something.” Sam reassured the man with silent tears tracking down his face. He placed his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder before giving it a squeeze. “Damn it, I can never remember which one it is.” They laughed at his comment, Bucky knew it was for his benefit but he was thankful for it.

The pair entered the compound again, hoping to avoid anyone for a few minutes so Bucky could recollect himself. They weren’t that lucky though seeing as how when they walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, the whole team plus one was gathered around the granite countertops. If any of them noticed Bucky’s red-rimmed eyes, they chose not to say anything, thank fuck for that one.

“We’ve decided that Y/N will be staying here for the foreseeable future.” Tony piped up, breaking the silence that hung over the group. “She’s going to continue to work with Wanda for her memories.”

“I still don’t like this Tony.” It wasn’t often that Steve openly disagreed with Tony, so when he did, it turned heads. “She shouldn’t have to go through with this for us.” Tony opened his mouth to reply when Y/N spoke first.

“Excuse you, Captain. She’s right here and she can make her own decisions.” Her arms crossed over her chest defensively. “You seem to be forgetting that there is a whole part of my life that has been stolen from me. I want it back. If I have to do this to get it back, then that’s what I’m going to do. Helping you is secondary, I just want to make that clear.” A smirk formed on Bucky’s lips, no one stands up to Steve, mostly because he’s usually right.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Tony turned to leave, probably going to his lab to tinker his anxiety away. He pointed a finger at Y/N on his way out. “I like you.” A satisfied grin spread over her features, she’s proud of herself. The first thought that popped into Bucky’s head was that she was being adorable, but he quickly squashed that idea. Not happening, you let her get hurt there’s no way that she’s going to want you. Bucky didn’t sense Steve approach him, too lost in his head.

“You good, Buck?” The man wanted to say no. He wanted to have his Stevie back with the couch cushions on the floor and the newspapers in his shoes. He wanted to go back to 1941, before he got drafted. He wanted to go back to his Ma’s cooking and playing with Rebecca. Hell, he wanted to go back to pulling stick-man Steve out of back alley fights. However, Bucky knew that wasn’t how it worked.

“Yeah, I’ll get there.” Bucky knew that he had it good now. The Internet, less boiled things, no Polio, this unfortunately was a good time period to be stuck in. He just hated that he missed everything else. He missed Rebecca graduating high school and walking her down the aisle, it hurt his heart to think about all the things he wasn’t involved in.

“Where am I staying, room-wise?” Y/N’s voice cut through Bucky’s thoughts, allowing him to refocus on the matters at hand. He needed to figure out how to tell Y/N what he remembered, and that he was sorry, but that will come later.

“There’s an empty room next to Wanda and Vision, I think?”

“Yeah, that’s not a good idea, they’re loud.” Clint cut in, then leaned towards Y/N. “Pillow fights.”

“Okay, well then there’s one next to Sam’s.” Natasha replied, making a face at Clint’s comment. Bucky stiffened as he pictured their room’s hall. The first door on the left was Steve and Bucky’s was next to his. Across the hall was Sam’s room in front of Steve’s and the empty room was opposite Bucky’s. He wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, but he also wasn’t going to argue with Natasha, not after what happened the last time he did.

“Sick, will someone show me where it’s at?” Steve volunteered, needing to get something from his own room anyway. Bucky sighed heavily at Sam who was wearing an encouraging expression.

*********************************************

“Okay, so this is my room and Sam’s is here.” Steve held his arm up to pick out each room. “This is Bucky’s next to mine and then this is you.” It did make you feel a bit better knowing that you were surrounded by some of the most skilled fighters ever. “Bucky has an apartment in the city, so he’s not usually here. He uses this room when he’s here for missions or check-ups, but Sam and I are always here. We’re either training recruits or out on a mission.” You bobbed your head in acknowledgement.

“I’m going to have to get some of my stuff from my apartment, clothes and shit like that. Those bastards took my laptop so I’ll need to go get another one of those, too.” Steve faltered.

“Why do you need a laptop?”

“I do still have a job, Steven. Not all of us are superheroes or world class assassins. I’ve got to make a living somehow, and that somehow is actually-- oh my god.”

“What? Is everything okay?” Steve became concerned so easily.

“Yes, I just realized that I need to call my boss.”

“Look, Y/N. You’re going to have to take a leave of absence or something. Just while we figure all this stuff out. If you’re posting things online or you’re talking to people over the phone, then you can be easily tracked back to the compound.” Steve placed his hands on his hips. “It’s just easier for everyone, if you just lay low for a while. No work, no outside communication.” Your jaw clenched.

“That’s fucking ridiculous. How am I supposed to make a living, Steve? I can’t just live in constant fear because of this. I want to be able to carry on with my life.”

“If HYDRA gets ahold of you, you won’t have a life to carry on with.” Steve had taken steps closer to you. You gulped causing him to back up. “You’re going to work with Wanda and follow our rules. This is for your own good, Y/N, I swear it is.” Nodding numbly, you opened your room door and flopped onto the bed as soon as you saw it. How the hell did I get myself involved in this?

**********************************

@indigo123789 @austynparksandpizza @zozebo

#watch your six #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james barnes fanfic #james barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan

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shera-dnd · 3 years ago

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And we're back again with some high quality knight's and magic shit. I put my...girl?...boy? Let's go with girl for now, anyways I put Weiss through a lot, but I let her cut a fireball in half so I think we're even.

The sky was beautiful that night, not that it did much to improve Weiss’s situation, but laying on the ground like she was, watching the night sky was the only thing she could really do. Of course she had rid herself of the roots and vines already, but she simply lacked a reason to rise from the ground anymore.

Perhaps in the morning Lady Blake would return and find her still laying there, unmoving, then the knight would ask her what had happened, and Weiss would have to explain everything to her. Weiss...did not look forward to that. Maybe she should have let the roots drag her down.

No, if she did that then people would start searching for her, and if they found out what happened to her then they’d hunt down Lady Ilia.

Oh, Weiss, you fool.

Even after everything you still want to protect her.

Of course she does. Of course she wants to protect Ilia, she meant the world to Weiss, and she had picked this night to tell her so. But once again things did not go the way she planned. The worst part was that Ilia loved her back, she truly did, but that only made her resent and hate Weiss, as if she had somehow manipulated Ilia into loving her.

Weiss wanted to be angry, wanted to hate Ilia back, but she couldn’t. For all the years that her father spent trying to teach her to be as hateful as he was, all it took was a few days among people who truly cared for her, for her to learn how to love instead. Now she wished she didn’t, because no one told her that love could ruin her.

No, this was unlike her, she shouldn’t be letting something like this drive her to inaction. She picked up the broken pieces of herself and put them together long enough for her to at least have dinner and then collapse in her tent.

It took some effort to achieve this, a great part of it used simply to keep herself from thinking about how this meal was made for two, but eventually she managed to put enough food in her body that she would not starve, and began the long drag towards her tent. She did not expect to sleep much tonight, but it wouldn’t do to stay outside and become sick from the exposure.

“Weiss.”

She didn’t know when her eyes had closed or when sleep had taken her. She knew only that it was still dark outside and that someone had called her name. Or perhaps not, perhaps that had been just part of some half forgotten dream. It had felt real enough to wake her up, but now that she was awake she questioned that it even happened.

“Weiss.”

That got her to stand. She stepped out of the tent and began looking around. It still felt strange, as if she had imagined it, but it was still louder and more real than before. Was this also a dream? It was infuriating that she couldn’t quite put a finger on what was happening.

“Weiss!”

Now that was real. A terrified wail, a helpless cry. Someone needed her help. No, not someone, it was Ilia. That was her voice, calling her from within the forest. Weiss didn’t question it, she didn’t stop to think, she had to help her now. She grabbed her sword and quickly dashed for the woods without a second thought.

“Weiss! Weiss!”

Her voice continued to cry, the wind carrying it an impossible distance as Weiss followed its call. It was Ilia’s magic, she thought, she was calling the winds to carry her cries for help.

She didn’t know of the other fae in these woods.

She didn’t know they had played this trick before.

Even then would she really stop to question it? Would she really risk it when the woman she loved called for her help? No, she wouldn’t. So she ran through hidden trails, and down non-existent paths. She leaped from shadow to shadow, through roots and branches, until she reached a place humanity had never touched.

And then the sound stopped.

All sound stopped. It was as if the forest had been put under a spell, or perhaps as if Weiss had left the forest altogether, and this clearing was its own world, displaced from her own. She, unfortunately, wasn’t afforded time to question those things any further.

“Lady Weiss Schnee,” a voice greeted her from among the trees.

“It is so nice of you to grace us with your presence,” another followed.

Her hand reached for the hilt of her sword instinctively, though she did not draw it yet. Cautiously she studied the woods around her, trying to find the origin of their voices.

“You wouldn’t draw iron upon your hosts, now would you?” The first voice taunted.

“And our little sister spoke so highly of you,” added the second.

“Ilia!?” She exclaimed without thinking, “where is she? What have you done to her?”

The voices cackled, their laughs melding into each other, into a single discordant sound that echoed through the once silent woods.

“Ilia?” The first voice mocked, “I don’t recognize that name, brother.”

“Do you know who that is, sister Amitola?” The other asked.

“That’s me,” came a weak response from behind her.

Weiss quickly turned around, finding that where once was a tree, now sat the bound form of Ilia’s true self. Her arms and legs were tied, her wings had been charred and burned, and her skin glowed a depressive blue.

“Ilia!” She called, rushing to her side and releasing her as fast as she could.

“Weiss,” she replied, her white eyes now full of hurt, “please go away.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Weiss insisted.

“This is a trap, you idiot!”

As soon as her arms were freed she grabbed a hold of her savior and pulled her down, both of them rolling out of the way of a jet of flames. When Weiss managed to regain her composure she was greeted by the sight of the most terrifying creature she ever laid eyes on.

It towered over the both of them, a mass of orange and white fur, with a maw that still let out smoke. Its four eyes scanned the clearing, each pair of them moving separately from the other, before they all focused on Weiss and Ilia on the ground.

It opened its mouth and the first voice spoke, “I thought you wished to help us, sister Amitola.”

Ilia flinched at that name.

“All you had to do,” the second voice spoke through that same mouth, “was lay down and let you both die.”

Flames spilled out of the fae’s mouth and Weiss barely had time to draw her blade. Iron struck against fire, and the magic that sustained it was ripped apart, killing the flames before they could do them any harm.

“I will not let you hurt Lady Ilia any further,” Weiss declared, sword pointed at that fire breathing monstrosity.

“Look at you, so eager to die for her,” laughed the second voice.

Weiss took the offensive, jumping forward with a stab of her blade. The fae dodged aside and swiped at her, but she had already retreated to Ilia’s side. They had range on her, but she had speed and iron on her side.

“She tricked you,” taunted the first voice as they sidestepped another attack.

Stab.

“Lied to you.”

Slash.

“Betrayed you.”

She split another fireball in half, anger rising in her with every word of her assailants.

“Why risk death in her name? A name that isn’t even her own,” the voices taunted together.

“Because I love her!” She shouted, slicing forward. It was as if her own words had spurred fate to her aid as her sword finally connected, burning an arc across the fae’s arm. “And I will defend her with my life if I have to!”

She heard a gasp coming from behind her, but she could not turn to see what Ilia’s reaction had been, she could only hope it wasn’t more hurt. Meanwhile the gestalt being scurried back and growled in anger. The sound was horrifying, two voices joined together, only growing more unsettling as it morphed into laughter.

“You love her?” The voices laughed and mocked, “and you think love will save you? You think this is some sweet story of knights and princesses? You think yourself some galant hero?”

Though they cackled, Weiss stayed resolute, sword firm in her hand and gaze locked on her foe. This was, perhaps, her biggest mistake, as it left her blinded to the spell the fae had weaved around her.

“We know what you are, Weiss Schnee,” they spoke, that name sounding like poison in their tongue, “you’re no hero. You’re just a pathetic little princess, playing pretend.”

Now that made her snap. She launched forward with wild abandon, swinging and stabbing without a hint of caution. The fae, for their part, only cackled louder and louder as they evaded every blow, their amusement only feeding into Weiss’s anger. Her reckless assault only came to a stop as she felt something snag under her and tripped her.

She cursed as her body hit the ground with force, her sword escaping her grip. She turned back to see what had caught her, and for a moment she worried she might have hit her head too hard. Her boots had been turned into heels, her pants and shirt had disappeared, replaced instead with an elaborate blue and white dress, and her vest had given way to a light shawl bearing her family’s crest.

Unnerving couldn’t begin to describe the feeling of seeing herself like this.

After being allowed to live her dream for weeks, to have herself forcefully dragged back to that gilded cage, it unsettled something deep within her. She felt panic rise as her breathing grew more uneven. She had to calm herself, she had to control herself or her and Ilia would be dead.

It was unfortunate then, that her foe planned to grant her no such reprieve.

“What is wrong, princess?” The voices mocked, a massive paw landing between her and her sword.

No no no, this wasn’t happening. She--She was a knight, she had trained her whole life for this, she was meant to fight people like them. She wasn’t weak, she wasn’t helpless, she wasn’t a princess!

Fire spewed from the creature’s maw, bathing the ground in it. Weiss barely had the time or awareness to roll away, her mind still caught in a spiral of ever growing panic. And those accursed fae could only laugh as they watched her suffer.

A large claw swiped at her, though it barely scraped against Weiss’s skin as she jumped away, the wound it left still bled and the force still sent her face first against a nearby tree. A second strike soon came to finish what the first started, but it was stopped short by a cloud of glowing butterflies.

Dozens of the magical insects swarmed over them, forcing them back as the fae swiped uselessly at them. Before they could even begin to deal with the swarm, a smaller fae had tackled them to the ground with all her might. Ilia had freed herself and had come to Weiss’s rescue.

She slammed her hands to the combined entity’s chest and urged the earth to take them back, calling upon the roots to bring them down with them. For a moment it had worked, but then the twins opened their mouth and fire engulfed both insect and root alike. Ilia had been lucky to escape this uncinged.

“After everything you still choose this human?” The voices growled as they stood back up, “the Schnee girl who saw you as nothing more than a tool for her redemption? Is this who you choose to die for, Amitola?”

“Yes!” She shouted back, “now be quiet!”

She had nowhere near their physical strength or destructive power, but this fae still had claws, and she wasn’t gonna let them hurt Weiss any longer. She jumped at them, climbing onto their back and clawing at them with a rabbid fury.

The twins growled as they were sent stumbling back. Though she caused them both severe pain, Ilia was still much smaller, her claws weren’t made for taking down something that size. A hand that was easily bigger than her whole head, grabbed at what remained of her mangled wings and slammed her forcefully to the ground.

Their mouth opened again, ready to reduce the smaller fae to ash, but were brought to a stop by a large branch striking the side of their face with enough force to crack it in half. They howled as they backed away, rage was clear in their eyes, but the gaze they made was unflinchingly resolute.

Weiss stood tall, even in that stupid dress, her shawl had been ripped appart and wrapped around her hands, and she held what remained of that branch as if it was the noblest of blades. Even in the guise of a princess, she stood like a knight.

“You may insult me, humiliate me, you may even question my honor,” she declared, gaze unwavering as she approached the hulking creature, “but you’re a fool if you think you can harm Lady Ilia in my presence.”

The fae cackled, insults ready to spew out like their flames, but Weiss was quicker and she had no more patience for their trickery. The branch sliced at their eyes before the first word could escape their mouth.

“My lady was right,” she added, “you two should stay quiet.”

Were there any bards to witness this battle then they would have certainly sung of Weiss’s bravery, of her resolve, and of her devotion to both her love and her cause. They would sing of how she bested the fae with unmatched skill and unparalleled wits. Though the first part is certainly accurate, in truth Weiss’s skills hardly applied to this situation, and there was only so much anyone could do to something that big when armed with nothing more than a particularly sharp stick.

Still Weiss was set on besting Ilia’s assailants or dying to buy her time to escape, and that seemed more than enough to keep her fighting on.

She plunged the branch into one of the fae’s four eyes, causing it to howl in terrible pain. Though a victorious thrill ran through the knight’s body, she was promptly reminded of her foe’s sheer might and size as a large claw slammed against the side of her body, launching her against a nearby tree with terrifying force.

Once again fire began to spew, ready to engulf Weiss whole, and once again it was Ilia who saved her.

“Catch!” She shouted as she tossed Weiss her sword, and the magical inferno was unmade under the touch of iron.

Her blade sang and her feet drove her forward, iron met flesh with a deadly puncture, but the fae still stirred. They grabbed hold of her side, claws digging into skin as they tried to force her back. But Weiss was undeterred, she took one last step forward, driving Myrtenaster into their heart, like a nail into a coffin.

And so they slumped to the ground, black smoke escaping their wounds.

Weiss fell to her knees not long after.

“Weiss!” Ilia cried, as she rushed to her side, holding her before she could hit the ground.

“Ilia,” she muttered, weakness taking over her body as the adrenaline left her, “are you hurt?”

“Am I hurt?” Ilia asked with a nervous laughter, “Weiss, you’re bleeding.”

“But are you well?” She insisted.

“Yes, you absolute fool,” she answered, worry and exasperation in her voice, “I’m well.”

“Good.”

Ilia was safe, that was all that mattered. Not her wounds, not her blurring vision, and certainly not her blood loss. What mattered was that her love was safe, and nothing else.

She closed her eyes and, with a smile on her face, was taken away to the land of dreams.

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #medieval au #fanfic

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mimithings97 · 5 years ago

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How to Make Him Cum 101 (M)

Summary: You’ll love each other in sickness and health, hungover or hangry, sexless or… well, it’s becoming a little harder for the pants to stay on despite the calls of ‘let’s take this slow’ on the first date.

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N

Genre: University AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst (tiny bit), Crack

Warnings: (Plenty my friend) Handjob, Fingering, Squirting, Sex without protection, Tongue fucking, Jungkook being whipped, Chocking (brief), Dry Humping, Jungkook cumming in his pants, lots of swearing, lots of alcohol consumption, consumption of weed

Word Count: 15k (it was meant to be 10k, but I fucked it)

A/N: I love Jungkook in this, he’s a sweetheart who has no fucking idea what he’s doing. Took me way too long to write this and I’m sorry if it drags, but I split it into little scenes to make it more manageable. It’s also pretty casual - no real storyline. Enjoy and suggestions always welcome x

“I swear to fuck, if he throws up my £2000 bourbon...”

And by some miracle, neither the end of Taehyung’s sentence nor the £150 shot Namjoon halfheartedly threw back makes an appearance.

“Nah big man can handle his shit right Joon,” is the mere drunken support offered by Jimin. It’s also accompanied by an all-too heavy hand to the back that has the elder spluttering on air, the shot well and truly burning a hole in his stomach by now.

You observe from the distance of the kitchen, fortunately barricaded from the testosterone fest by the island and several misplaced sofas. It was Jimin’s idea to upgrade the sofa scheme to one that was more ‘drinking and smoking friendly’ so he liked to call it, taking a sufficient 30 minutes just to manoeuvre several pieces of furniture into a circle that centred around all too expensive liquors and cheap weed - the irony of the contrast had most certainly dawned on you.

Your unexpected appearance to the gathering was on the account of boyfriends hazy state. He was all ‘come save me’ and ‘i’m dying’ over your texted conversation but upon arrival, the boy was all over that tequila bottle like he was downing chocolate milk.

Despite your best intentions of remaining inconspicuous and merely Jungkook’s driver for the night went to shit when Jimin, unapologetic and somewhere between happily stoned and confident drunk demanded you join their escapades.

“Booze or bud but not neither Y/N.” Nothing like a typical Taehyung to welcome you to the action.

“Well you didn’t say I couldn’t have both,” is your reply that’s laced with a brazen tone and paired with a smirk.

You’re met with Taehyung tonguing his cheek.

“That’s my girl,” Jungkook shouts mid-laugh and gives you a smack to the ass for good measure. You find comfort in the gesture, so following his drifting hand to the point that you settle in his lap.

Jungkook must have drunk his weight in alcohol because it’s all touches from behind you, cold hands finding their way under cloth and onto warm skin, lips clamping down on your neck and teeth unforgiving on your ear lobe. Your boyfriend’s a modest guy even at worst, so his provoking actions are met with raised eyebrows on your behalf.

Slowly but surely, with the burn of smoke in your lungs and the even harsher burn of rich whiskey (because £2000 bourbon is a harsh no), Jungkook’s hands roam freely.

“Jesus mate, if you’d have fucked her the second time you would’ve had that pussy on hold, swear down.” Somewhere between your silent touches and unauthorized smoking of all of Namjoon’s weed, the conversation had delved into the topic of Jimin’s overly privileged sex life.

“That’s exactly what I said but the bitch pussied out,” Hobi pipes up from the corner where he’d faded away from being too legit faded - boy never could handle his smoke.

“Fuck off did I pussy ou-”

“Nahhh she had you whipped babe, that second shag wasn’t even on the cards,” you mouth speaks for you. Or more like your high speaks for you at this point.

You feel Kook smile into your shoulder from where his head was perched.

“This’ll be good,” it’s under Taehyung’s breath but not inaudible.

“Fuck do you mean, ‘she had me whipped’, she was all over me that night at Joon’s...” Jimin swigs mid-sentence, flushed from the buzz of liquor and his overly defensive tone, “had her wrapped around my little finger.”

… the opportunity was too good to miss.

“What little finger?” You refrain from laughing at your own remark for dramatic effect but Jungkook’s squeezing your sides and the lightness of your head betrays you.

Jimin’s eye contact with your falters as if his ego broken, and the others pass around comments along the lines of ‘fucking brilliant’ and ‘unlucky mate’.

You take a final drag before passing it behind you to the already seeking hand of your boyfriend who’s still amused by your smart-mouth.

“Jimin, I’m just saying,” you elaborate in hopes of restoring his cracked masculinity somewhat, “from what Stephanie told me, Mina had four guys on hold at that party and wasn’t inclined to let any of them stick in on her cos she’s got a full-on guy waiting for her away from uni.”

He huffs, throwing himself and his bottle backwards onto the sofa, causing it to slosh around and out. You peer over at Taehyung, waiting for the boy to morph into an expression of disgust because god knows, this sofa cover costs more than your rent, but he never does - eyes glazed and a small smile instead.

“Fucking brilliant, I was fifth on a girls ‘need to shag’ list.” You almost feel bad for the sod, but one thing Jimin could never do was keep his mouth shut when it needed to be. “At least I’m doing better than you, Y/N, you can’t even get a fuck off your boyfriend and you’ve been together for months.”

Taehyung’s smile drifts, Hobi shifts in his seat and Jungkook stiffens from behind you - the air dries up.

“Jimin, mate, come on,” Joon tries to reason, but as per usual Jimin keeps his mouth moving.

“I said what I said.”

Yeh, he sure fucking did. And if one thing was known to be uncharted conversation between the lot of you, then that was your and Jungkook’s abstinence. But in true style, Jimin just had to pry.

----------------------------------------

“Fuck it, maybe we should just have sex,” he finally says as you stall over wiping off your eyeliner to laugh at his exasperation. Jungkook wasn’t insecure but he was easily influenced when something hurt his pride - and you could tell, from Jimin’s comment, throughout the awkward air that lingered in the car, to just now, that he had been stewing on the dent to his ego from the moment it was spoken.

You want to tell him with all the sarcasm in the world how ‘romantic’ he’s being about it all, but you refrain to save further damage.

“Kook-”

“Nah, seriously Y/N, I’m tired of this shit…” you want to diffuse his state, but he persists, “and- I don’t really know what I’m waiting on now.”

“Baby,” you finally get a grip on his attention as he lets out a huff and welcomes you onto his lap. “You’ve had your reasons to wait on this, I’ve always respected that. But…” he groans and you lean into him as a warning to let you finish, “buttt, I’m not gonna respect any shit when you’re letting Jimin decide for you. Just cos the boy can’t get his dick wet doesn’t mean you have to.”

You feel him snicker against your shoulder as he lowers his head in frustration.

“You do this on your own time. Not mine,” you weave your fingers through his locks and anchor him to you, “not Jimin’s, not anyone but yours,” and finalise your sentiment by situating your lips on his temple.

With eyes fluttering shut into your touch and a heavy breath out he indulges in his insecurity. “I just can’t afford to lose you.” And you know it takes his booze-filled conscience to let you in.

You have to admit that there was some level of hurt you managed to hide at this point. That even after relishing in one another's company for 5 months, Jungkook still couldn’t find it in himself to trust you in that way. It was a mental thing, an emotional instinct of too many failed relationships where he was a victim to being cheated on, left after being used for sex and prayed on for good looks and unfortunate vulnerability. You knew within yourself you would never and could never do what so many have done before you. Fuck, you couldn’t even see yourself being sane and capable without him, ever, period. For that, you respected his decision - whilst frustratingly prolonged - because you knew he was worth the wait.

“I need you just as much as you need me.” You sense the slump in his shoulders, the heaviness of too many pressures and burdens weighing them down. That and his drug-induced state causing unwanted fatigue. “Hmm?” So you lift his chin and search his eyes till they meet yours, passing on a reassurance that he finally accepts with a curt nod.

“Yeh, I know.”

You press a kiss, or two to his lips and lean back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Now are you gonna keep sulking to yourself like a bitch or let me make you cum?” His instant response is his eyes blowing out in shock of your statement before laughing into your chest. You know him well enough that he is using your chest to hide the blush in his cheeks but you don’t mention it.

Instead, you wiggle your hips with no subtlety into the twitch of his groin that seeks your mouth so desperately, laughing when he grabs you at the cheeks and pulls you away to say, “You’re fucking mental.” But against his lips you can’t help the, “-Nd you love me for it,” that is mumbled.

Yeah, this boy was definitely worth the wait.

----------------------------------------

Weekends seem to roll around at a quickening pace when you have a needy boyfriend and even more demanding party schedule to fill the gaps. And by some freak of nature, you hadn’t managed to drop your education off a cliff in the meantime - in fact, you had begun to make a living off having beer in one hand and highlighter in the other.

University wasn’t a walk in the park, but you’d been enough of a devoted intellect in your first two years of it to allow yourself to drop off the map a little. So, after becoming a co-captain of the swim team somewhere into your second year, it was only a natural, human instinct kind of reaction that your fellow captain, the hunk of abs who graced poolside, would slip a few too many flirty remarks at you before you called him your boyfriend. He’d pined and you’d fallen - simple as.

He came with baggage though. Six boys and a whole lot of booze and weed. You were no saint before Jungkook, hell, you almost weren’t allowed swim captain because you’d slept in one too many of the guys beds. But as soon as you’d said ‘yes’ to the going out for drinks invitation he offered, you had also said ‘yes’ to the party on Saturday at Hoseok’s, and the one on Sunday down at the river, and for every weekend for the next 5 months. And slowly but surely, it was no longer, ‘this is my girlfriend’ as an introduction, but you asking the familiar face around the party with all urgency where the nearest bottle of tequila was.

It’s also how you’d landed yourself filthily hungover in your Monday lecture, listening to Professor Snape (nah, it’s his real name and all) with a noticeable shake in your hand and last nights mascara somewhere down your face.

“If you look that shit, then what the hell does Kook look like.” Mina, the best friend, the only one allowed to hold back your hair whilst you would throw up in a second-floor bathroom, and the roommate who made student life just a bit more bearable than the shit show it was.

She takes the seat next to you, her question probably rhetorical but you make the effort to reply, all the same.

“Still asleep in the bathtub I reckon.” Ah, yes, the boyfriend. At somewhere between 1 in the morning and blackout drunk you, Jungkook and your infamous competitiveness called for beer pong - minus the beer, add the vodka. So it was only gonna be a certain amount of time before both you and him were pushed into a cab on top of one another and drafted back to his flat so he could throw up in his bathtub.

“Jesus,” Mina mutters with a laugh, probably just relieved someone ordered your taxi to go to his and not your shared apartment - like hell was she listening to Jungkook throw up at 5 in the morning.

“Honestly, why does Yoongi host that shit on Sunday,” you groan into your laptop, turning down the brightness because you can already feel the afternoon hangover headache arising.

“He doesn’t have a 9am like the rest of us.”

“Fucker.”

Good host though, Yoongi. A postgrad, with his own two-storey apartment and too much time on his hands. You’d known him before the boyfriend too, working shifts with him in your first year at a music production company, both in the catering section because you had time to fill and tuition to pay and he was hoping to find his break into the industry. He fucked it though and has ended up with some crazy paid apprenticeship at a financial branch in the city centre.

“Oi, Bob’s this weekend?” Mina poses the question as the lights brighten in the lecture room and everyone starts shutting laptops - yours was shut ten minutes ago when you stopped listening and started wallowing in self-pity.

“Bob’s?” Bermuda Bobs. A club in the centre of town, and somewhat of a regular for Friday nights, when Hoseok had had just about enough of hosting. “Yeh. Yeh, I can do Bobs.”

Mina’s up and off before you can even open the zip on your bag, something about she’ll miss her lift to training, but you mumble that you’ll see her at the apartment later before you can see the back of her head.

All you can think as you conquer the steps to the exit of the hall is how much of a blessing a shower and a cup of tea would be - ‘so easily pleased’ Mina would say. So, when you look up from your phone to see Jungkook opposite where you walk out, a cup of tea in hand, you might just believe in fate.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, throat hoarse as he takes you bag from your shoulder and places the coffee into your welcoming hands. You laugh at him, a snort because it’s ironic considering the bloodshot eyes and beer-stained hair he sports.

“You were passed out in the bath legit an hour ago,” his hand finds yours despite your teasing and when you finally take the first sip of tea as you walk, anyone would think the noise you made was nothing short of an orgasm - Jungkook certainly takes notice. “Did you bring the car?”

He snorts, “Like fuck did I bring the car, I’m still drunk.”

“Babbbyy,” it’s a whine as you throw your head back and pull his hand to make your point into a tantrum.

“It’s literally a 5 minute walk babe, suck it up.” He continues ahead, but you go full 5 year old tactics on him, stopping in your tracks and whacking on your face the biggest pout your lips will allow.

He merely rolls his eyes and kisses it away before presenting his back to you, arms out, legs bent and you hop onto him like the spoilt girlfriend you are.

“You’re a brat, you know that.” Is all he says as he starts the walk out of the building and towards his, so you kiss behind his ear.

“Mmm, call me that again, it kinda turns me on.”

“Fucking filty,” but you see the crinkle in his eyes that lets you know that he loves you for it.

----------------------------------------

Friday nights roll around quicker than you know when Bob’s is calling. They start earlier than most nights as well - lecture leads to swim training, swim training calls for afternoon drinks at Warehouse and then Warehouse blurs into Pre’s that blurs into Bob’s.

So with beer curdling in your stomach, trying to flick the wing of your eyeliner and failing for the fifteenth time is as funny as Jimin’s pinkie to you and Mina.

She is, of course, ready. Has been for almost 2 hours, so whilst you struggle to slip into your dress, she finishes your eyeliner for you.

The buzz of your phone has both of you looking to the vibrating device in confusion, having to double-take with each other because the taxi isn’t supposed to be here until Jungkook is and he isn’t supposed to be here for another half an hour.

Your fumbling with a zip so it’s Mina who reaches for it, and when the screen lights her face, her features go from confused to ‘for fucks sake’ in less than a second. She turns it and that god awful photo of Jungkook and his swimming goggles on lights up the display.

“I’ll get the door.” She’s exasperated. He’s early and she can’t stand that - all it took was him showing up at the wrong time on a Wednesday whilst she was naked on the sofa with a girl between her legs that caused the ‘come when you’re fucking asked to come’ attitude - poor boy didn’t even know she was gay.

You do a once over in the mirror before the door swings open, Mina has a scowl but your boyfriend has a lime in one hand and tequila in the other, so you don’t care.

“Shit, you look hot,” Fuck, so does he, but he’s pressing a kiss to your lips before you can drink him in fully, “s’that dress new?”

“I did the makeup, thank me.” Mina was always loud, and speaking at the wrong places and in the wrong conversations.

“Kindly fuck off, you did the eyeliner and shit all else.” You turn back to Kook, now leaning against your wall, eyes still trained on you, or at least, your legs, and he looks fucking thirsty that’s for sure. “And yeh, got it when I went in the city the other week.” He replies with a nod and a smirk. Those damn bedroom eyes, they hold your gaze, as you fiddle with the clasp on the side of your dress.

Mine pipes up from the sidelines, “God, it’s like I’m watching a fucking mating ritual or something.” Jungkook scoffs and his shoulders ease as though he’s calming himself down, “Well, I’m ready so shots it is.” She grabs the bottle of tequila from Jungkook’s hand and is off into the kitchen without looking back.

“Who put a foot up her ass then?” He only says it once the door is closed, knowing he’ll get a whacking if Mina heard him, so you scowl at him, albeit through a smile.

“Oi, watch it,” you’re in front of him now, leaning into the arm he stretched out to embrace you in.

“Sorry,” and he means it. He genuinely likes Mina, you’re sure of it, but they go at each other like cats in an alley when you’re not there to referee it.

He’s warm around you, his shirt with buttons undone at the top so that the cologne he’s wearing goes right to your head - and to your core - either one. The proximity does the same to him as he takes a handful of your ass, groping so that when you gasp and try to pull away, he administers a slap.

You can’t deny you’re horny for him, and the way his trousers frame his bulge perfectly - you lick your lips subconsciously at the thought - but you can almost hear the sadness of Mina pouring and downing Tequila shots by herself.

“Fucker,” you whisper and lean out of his hold almost, only to see that fire in his eyes.

“I love this ass,” hands now sneaking underneath the fabric of your dress - like it was covering much anyway, but that doesn’t change the way his cold fingers spread across your behind and almost make you moan out. It’s when he takes your bottom lip in his teeth and pulls back agonizing slowly until it pops back into place that the moan you were stifling releases, slowly, seductively, and his crotch stirs at the thought of you making the same noise around his dick.

But if Kook can restrain himself enough into denying you a fuck for 5 months, then you can be just as disciplined now - whether the wetness on your thighs tells you something different or not.

You toy with him though.

At a pace nothing short of tormenting, you lean your leg into the space between his, drag your lips across his cheek to his ear and let your fingers draw a line from the gap in his shirt, underneath and across his chest, “But you know what’s better than this ass, baby?” You play the seductress with you voice, and you know it does bits to him.

Your question was rhetoric, but when he doesn’t reply, you can’t help but grab at his belt with a hand and tug his crotch into your leg. He sputters out breathily into your neck, “W-what?”

You lean back, wait for his eyes to open and gage the lust and excitement brewing within them before opening your mouth against his…

“...Tequila shots.” You smack his thigh, turn and are out the door before his erection can say ‘shit’.

Two can play at his game of denial.

Your all kinds of worked up despite your best efforts, but Mina’s got lime in her mouth and her face crinkled into an expression of disgust as you eye the empty shot glass on the counter, so it’s not like she’s gonna be sniffing out your hormones any time soon.

“Fucking shit, rancid, I hate it, don’t wanna drink ever, absolutely not,” you laugh at her outburst as you refill her shot glass for yourself.

“Lightweight,” you tease her as you throw it all back, wincing internally as you feel the hole burn in your throat, but suck it up for the sake of your competitive streak. She merely scoffs at you as the bedroom door swings open, Jungkook - still a fine piece of ass right now - tucking his shirt into his trousers. No way did he just finish himself off in that time, but your eyes travel down to his hard on that is very much still there. You can’t help the smirk.

“Kook, get your shot down you then we’re off,” Mina announces.

“Taxi here already?” he questions but she shakes her head as she now sports a wine bottle in her hand, and clearly a mouth full of wine as she fails to verbalise.

Shots are down, wine is drunk, and heads are well and truly dizzy when you reach the club. The cab was early much to Mina’s dismay, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the tequila bottle from Jungkook and downing a healthy portion of the liquid before collapsing in instant regret - ‘we’ve all been there Min’ was your only advice. As for Jungkook. Well, the boy never showed when he was drunk until he would take his shirt off and shout he was wasted, so the only way you could gauge his state was by the way his fingers dug into your thigh the entire journey - you just couldn’t work out whether it was the alcohol or his dick talking.

“Y/NNN!” you hear before see Jimin, despite the music that reverberates through the floor and up your body. As always, he has bottle in hand and a girl in the other, but he releases her to embrace you.

It’s a love, hate with Jimin, but he was Jungkook’s best friend, so there was and could not be bad blood between the two of you - much the same to Jungkook and Mina. Jimin swam as well, so you were no strangers to sharing situations that required great comfort with one alone - such as you in a swimming costume and him in his damn speedos. There was only one thing better than Jimin in speedos though, and that was Jungkook in speedos.

“Where’s your boyfriend, he owes me a fucking drink,” and you point to the bar, where he leans over the counter in all his glory and much to the fortune of your eyes. Jimin escorts himself and the girl he’s with over to the bar before you can catch her name - she’s pretty, though, which is no surprise with Jimin’s taste.

It takes the next 30 minutes, or possibly longer because alcohol tends to blur hours to minutes before you’ve made conversation with everyone there. It’s almost admin now, having to do the rounds when all the people from swimming go out - a swim captain apparently has certain obligations of seeing everyone had a drink in hand and a ride to go home in. Kook was doing the same too, across the club, slowly but surely making his way towards you as he talked to some of the guys. He’d winked one too many times at you for it to be coincidence, and the alcohol you’d been consuming was screaming out to you now to fuck the pointless conversation and grind on your damn fit boyfriend.

“Fuck Josh, Mel, the boy can’t even get it up, and you’re too much of a hot piece of ass to waste on him,” Mina’s on one of her motivational talks with the social sec, Mel - absolute sweetheart, heart of gold and awful taste in men. Also the subject of Mina’s subconscious flirting for the last hour or so, but you don’t have the heart to tell Mina to stop - she’s drunk and probably horny knowing her.

“Y/N,” you’re face first in your vodka red bull (double), to hear Mina, having zoned out from her pining after she started getting emotional. “Y/N!” You finally ease up on the drink when you hear her this time.

“Hmm?” mouth half full.

“Have you ever seen someone get eye fucked?” Her eyes flicker from you to something else, but you’re too caught up in the absurdity of her question to notice.

“The fuck?”

“Because I’m watching it happen right now,” and it’s a nod that finally directs your questioning gaze away from your best friend and to a figure at the bar, elbows tucked behind him, a bottle of beer at his side, legs to die for and eyes boring right into yours. He’s playing dirty tonight, is all you think. So despite the way your core tightens and the hair on your neck unknowingly rises, you feed into his game, the cat and mouse kind of thing he seems to be grabbing at, and put up your facade.

You're slow to get to him, but it’s deliberate. And instead of giving in to his gaze or his touch, you place your feet right beside his, leaning towards the bar and into the sight of the bartender.

It’s the raise of her eyebrows at you and the curt smile that prompts you to talk, “two shots of tequila please,” she begins to spin but you stop her, “oh, and plenty of salt and lime.”

It takes physical energy not to give in to human instinct - to touch and to grab him, to let go of the role play.

“Anyone would think you’re ordering for two,” his voice is gravely, and fuck if it doesn’t shoot straight down you. But his comment makes you smile, smirk actually.

“You say that as if I can’t handle my alcohol,” you raise an eyebrow to yourself, still feigning your confidence by not looking his way.

Two shots are lined up in front of you, limes perched on top, and a generously filled salt shaker to the left of them.

“Well tequila is a dangerous game to play,” you pick up either shot in your hand, and fight the urge to shiver as his words that are breathed against your ear. You round from the side of him, eyes finally lifting to his and filling some void that was there, but by no means lifting any tension between the two of you.

“Then let’s play dangerously,” you say, eyes sultry and him waiting on your every move, “the first one to have their salt, their shot and their lime gone first is the winner..”

“And what does the winning get?” Damn, he’s eager.

You lean in, but still don’t touch. “That’s for the winner to know, and the loser to find out.”

You can see a vague pick up in his breathing, a sheen of sweat forming against his brow and a vague smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. Lifting the lime off your shot, he almost proceeds to do the same, about to take the shot to his lips but you stop him, instead pushing your shot into his vacant hand. The only explanation offered is when you take your lime down the column of your throat and down to your cleavage, before reaching to the salt that’s behind him. You pour a small mound of it onto your finger and follow the path that the lime drew. He eyes you like artwork, and doesn’t lift his gaze from your cleavage where you nestle the lime.

You pour more salt onto your forefinger, and his eyes finally lift in an expression of confusion, but words evade him - hell, he hasn’t taken a solid breath for the past minute. Slowly, tourturningly, you lean into him, carefully avoiding his shot, and catch his breath hitching as you press the point of your tongue into the base of his neck, dragging it upwards until you meet his jaw. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from proceeding further, drinking in the salty taste of him and eating away at his sanity with your tongue - but you refrain, all in the name of dramatic effect.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he keeps his breath hitched, and you push your finger down the line your tongue drew, spreading salt southwards.

He almost looks tapped out when you take his lime from between you, eyes completely glazed, and fortunately for you they blow out even further when you tug the belt of his trousers and place your lime in the waistband - like his erection wouldn’t have held it up anyways.

Retrieving one of the shots from his grasp, where his knuckles had turned white against the glass, you hold his gaze.

“I think you should go ahead,” you’re more breathy than you realised, even despite it being your game.

“I-I thought,” he has to clear his throat, “it’s who can do it the fastest,” it’s barely even a question with how quiet he mumbled the words - you’re not even sure he knew what he was saying.

“Who said I wanted to win, baby?” And he lets out a moan, a full blown moan before he encases your throat with his mouth, and he’s almost animalistic in the way he growls against your skin at the taste. He bites down when he reaches just above the lime and your eyes roll back unconsciously before opening to see him throw his head back with the shot, not a single wince in his eyes because they are so driven by desire. The shot glass is slammed behind him before he dives into your cleavage to retrieve the lime, and in some display of masculinity that almost has you keening he rips the lime from his mouth and tosses it behind you, juice rolling down his face and onto his jaw to linger with the line of salt that glistens there.

You don’t even realise you're on his throat until the overly salty taste pricks your mouth and you can feel his jaw tense beneath you. You're almost in a haze when the tequila sets your throat ablaze but you become fully conscious of the way he grabs a fistful of your hair, pushes you to the floor until your dress bunches and has you sucking at the lime that rests mockingly above his hard cock.

By some miracle you find yourself back up at eye level, chests heaving to the point of almost touching, and if you didn’t have a lime in your mouth right now you’d either be swearing obscenely in some gesture of saying ‘your so fucking hot’ or your lips would be around his dick.

With a gulp and a tilt of his head backwards, he gains a level of composure that allows him to ease the lime from your lips with his fingers, letting them brush at your skin to have you shivering.

It’s almost comical the way you both pant, eyes ablaze in each others, and completely oblivious to the outside world and how many, way too many people have seen your display. But there is nothing but the burn in your bodies right now as he grabs your hand wordlessly and drags you as fast as your heels will allow.

It’s like a switch had flipped in him somewhere back there. Even if this whole thing was roleplay, at least you knew how to play it with your boyfriend back there, knew the way he ticks and what would make his cock twitch - Jungkook’s normally easy to read like that. But when he almost breaks the disabled toilet door down with his hand, there is no game left to play - the restraints are off and the fire of lustful rage is fueled.

“You-” he slams you back against the door before its even swung shut and you can get a single word in. It’s carnal the way he’s latching onto your mouth, grabbing your hands that try to clasp at his neck and throw them up next to your head, and shoves a knee between your sopping thighs.

“I almost fucking came in my trousers back there when you got on your knees,” you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low and rough before but it courses through you more than the heavy bass of the club music. “You had me stood there ready to fuck your mouth open, but you thought you’d fucking tease your way through it.”

He’s domineering and your completely and utterly keening for it. Even more so when the grip he has on your wrist tightens and brings it down to his crotch, forcing your latch onto the erection that strains sinfully, painfully in his trousers and you feel intimidated enough at his display that you don’t palm him, don’t give him a pleasureful squeeze like you normally would when you had more control of your emotions. But you're shocked and fucked out - beyond that even.

“You feel that shit. Fuck, I’ve never been this hard before,” you moan out lowly, finding it increasingly difficult to control your breathing, the nature of the lust in your body calling out for some friction on your body. But he stands there, eyes ablaze, panting his taunting remarks into your agape mouth. “You’re making it so damn hard not to fuck you.”

“Do it,” you whisper without even knowing and neither does Jungkook because the ringing in both of your ears is deafening.

“I’ve always wanted to see you fall apart around my cock… lose it as I fuck you,” his crotch starts riveting into your hand and you know he’s imaging what it would feel like with his dick nestled deep in your walls right now, “God I want to pound into you.”

“Fuck.”

Fuck, because never have his words been so dirty before.

“You’re so damn hot I actually can’t control myself right now,” and his dick follows his words. Your hand now acts as your pussy - in his head anyway - as the friction of his trousers begins sending him neck deep in pleasure.

You actually think you could come from watching it. How his head now bows into your neck and his teeth set into your skin because he can’t even control how slack his jaw has become. The way he’s getting harder and harder against your hand and his movements are constantly seeking more. Fucking hell, you’re both fully clothed, his dicks rock hard in his pants but he’s so pent up on you and the desire you’ve caused that he’s chasing an orgasm basically untouched.

“I- oh fuck.”

“Come on baby,” you feed him, words moaned against his ear and hand flattening more purposefully against him, “fuck me harder.”

“Argh- fuc-fucking hell,” he’s spurred on by the illusion you offer. His eyes rolled back in his head as he imagines the feeling of being balls deep in you.

“Think how good I’d feel. Fuck, you’d be so deep uhh,” you moan out at the end as the harshness of the way his hips snap into yours causes your hand nestled between you to deliciously rub on your clit.

You hadn’t realised that your dress had ridden up in the commotion of you sex driven states, that your ass was pressed up against the cool surface and gave you goosebumps despite the way you body oozes heat, that you panties were so wrecked by your arousal that your hand might as well be rubbing you raw. And with Jungkook’s quickening pace, the friction against your clit makes you all too driven to seek your end as well as his. It’s filthy.

“Ko-uh. Fuck, Kook, I need you fingers- ah,” your walls are throbbing at the thought, but his teeth remain deep set in the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips still thrusting up and into your hand, so you think you’re desire has gone unheard.

But all too quickly, he forgets the end he was chasing.

Suddenly, he backs away from you, leaving you untouched and leaning forward into the air, whilst his cock screams in the confines of his trousers. He growls at the way he had to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“Baby,” it’s a whine from the back of your throat that you had no plan to release. But the way your chest heaves and your thighs cross one another for friction just spells to you and him just how inflamed your body is.

His eyes move away from your desperate ones, and his neck reclines back as he swallows - trying with all his strength to keep it together, to not cum from merely watching your cleavage, drenched in his and your sweat, rise and fall with the way your breathing staggers. Watching him is torture for yourself, but you don’t want to miss the way his cock throbs.

You have no idea how long you’re there, him grappling at his sanity and you watching him.

“Baby, I-”

“Fuck, don’t talk,” his face almost contorts in pain and his head lowers into his chest to halt his urge to look at you.

But, you’re horny and you're a brat, so you persist.

“Jungkook, I need you right now.”

Silence falls for a mere second.

Like a man possessed he lunges back towards your body, and before you can react he’s on his knees violently pushing the thin fabric of your dress up and ripping your panties down your legs.

“What don’t you understand about shut the fuck up.” And with that he’s on your clit, hands shoving your legs in opposite directions and over his shoulders so you lose your balance and end up speared on his tongue.

“Kook!” It’s a cry that’s shouted into the air when your head is thrown back - a reaction to both the immense feeling that tightens at your core and a warning to the man below you that you might just crush him.

But he’s devouring your pussy whole. He’s no longer tending to your clit, but lapping his tongue up and down the entire expanse of your slit, letting the muscle of his tongue slip into your entrance making your stomach drop every time. He’s hellbent on making you cum that’s for sure, because no matter the tug of your hands at his scalp to let up even just a little, he’s growling into you and plunging deeper.

You want to pull away, to finally take a break from the intense pressure on your core or maybe to breathe for the first time since he decided to drop to his knees. But you’re feet don’t touch the ground, literally, and he’s suspending you on his tongue.

His hands push you down further onto him and he growls into you, vibrations coursing through you that almost makes you cum then and there. But he breaks away.

“Fuck,” he sounds fucked out himself, taking in all the air he can, because god knows he was eating your pussy like it was oxygen. “Baby, you gotta cum on my tongue, please.”

He was the one eating you out, yet you had him pleading. Boy always did submit in the end, whether he liked it or not.

“Fingers then. Use your fingers,” and he obeys, releasing your thigh in favour of thrusting two of his digits deep into you. All your weight goes onto his shoulders and the two fingers set so far into your womb that you were crying out in pleasure. It wasn’t until his mouth resumed sucking on your clit that you lost all control of your tongue and rambled into the air like a mad woman.

“F-Fuckkk Kook. I want ah- fuck I want your cum inside me. I want your dick so bad,” he’s moaning with you and with your words, being spurred on by the image you paint. He curls his fingers deep inside you, and you lose yourself on the feeling - being so stimulated that you miss the fact you’re grinding on his face, thrusting up as if his fingers were really his cock. He’s moaning at it, at the way your pace picks up on his tongue and you’re seeking your end.

“Don’t stop, oh fuck, oh fuck, please- don’t stop.”

You’re driving yourself deeper and deeper into him and fuckkk if the pleasure hasn’t taken over your senses beyond belief. Your stomach pulls so tight with the need to release that you’re grappling at the strands of hair on the back of your boyfriend’s head and using them to anchor yourself. He’s purely a mouth and two fingers to fuck yourself on at this moment and you couldn’t stop yourself even if you tried.

“Shit, fuckk,” his fingers start going at a rate, not even your hips can keep up with, and he’s so deep you almost choke like the pressure inside you has reached up into your throat.

“Come on baby, fuck,” his gravelly voice seeks out for you to come all over him.

“Holy fuckin-” the feeling comes on so intense inside of you that you struggle to warn him, your breathing constricted almost into nothingness. You feel like you’re about to cum with such strength that you might die.

“I can’t Kook- oh fuckk.”

“Give it to me.”

His teeth clamp down on your clit at the same time as his fingers curl against that spot inside you that suddenly has everything spiralling at once.

“Don’t stoppp, don’t stop, oh fuck,” you sputter into the air as a band snaps in your lower stomach, blood pumping everywhere and anywhere in your body so that your hips begin spasming and convulsing on top of his mouth.

He whines into you as his mouth keep fastening all too strongly against your bud. It’s when the pressure that keeps falling in your stomach and Kook is forced to pull his fingers out of you that you feel your juices spill and keep spilling all over you and him.

“Holy fuck baby… Y/N shit.”

You tumble further and further and miss the noises that are pushed from your throat. In the intensity of the pleasure you also miss the way Jungkook’s body, his tongue on your clit, his fingers on your thigh and the ones lodged deep inside you, all tense up.

Shit.

You wonder if you’ve blacked out when the slump of your body takes over, the eventual air you take in in one large breath making your senses begin to come back all too strong. You’re broken from the waist down, legs numb to the point you can barely feel Jungkook’s teeth tight on your thigh and breath glazing the skin strongly. Shit, you can’t even feel how wet you are yet.

You know the weight he’s bearing on his shoulders, but you can’t muster the strength to move, merely loosening your hands from how tight they were wound in his locks and instead soothing down to his neck with your trembling fingers.

Finally, the spin in your head stops and your eyes are open enough so that you can look down at the sight below you.

He’s breathless and wet. Wet from sweat and the way you’d just squirted all over his tongue, fingers and trousers - well that’s what you figure anyways. His eyes are sewn shut though in the aftermath of it all, and your thoughts begin to piece together.

“Baby, you good?” you’re scared he has too much literal weight on his shoulders. You’re also scared he’s still painfully hard. “Kook?” and finally a coherent mumble of ‘yeh’ against your thigh tells you, no, you didn’t just kill your boyfriend by cumming on his face.

It’s a slow process the way he lets your legs down, and you wince as he does so because you swear his fingers just split you open. You also forgot about the heels practically taped to your feet, stumbling a little one foot at a time as he lowers you off his shoulders.

His eyelids still hang low, and he makes no move to join you at eye level, instead, pressing his face into your thigh and running his ragged breath there for too long.

“Fuck, seriously, you good baby?” your pussy still throbs, but your boyfriend is too still for you to take notice.

And suddenly he’s laughing. Wholeheartedly laughing into your skin, back, that’s slicked with sweat, raising up and down as he does so.

“Shit,” is all he says when his eyes, crinkled in laughter and exhaustion finally meet yours, peering up from his squat. It’s infectious and has you laughing too, albeit half heartedly because your throat hurts and you’re not sure if your lungs can take much more unnatural breathing.

“You literally just made me cum in my pants.”

Fuck. You’re eyes bulge and pass between the look of disbelief of his face, to the, now, very noticeable stain on his crotch, and back again. Boy literally just came untouched because you can still feel the imprint of one hand on your thigh and you’re pretty sure the other hand was occupied if you remember correctly.

“What the fuck!” Is all you can say.

“Yeh, I know ‘what the fuck!’ Sorry but since when could you squirt.” His legs are still shaking beneath him. “It made me just fucking shoot my load on sight.”

You’re laughing, bending at the waist to help the poor boy up to his feet, and he accepts the help as he finally towers over you and meets your eyes - both looking at each other with warmth and a vague emotion of disbelief, because as if he just came in his pants!

“Seriously, don’t know what the hell you just did to me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be that turned on ever in my life again,” he’s sputtering out now like a boy charged on drained hormones and ageing drunkness.

You laugh at his state and the way his eyes still bulge, grabbing the skin of his neck that’s thick with sweat and push a kiss to his lips. It doesn’t linger because you’re too spent and oxygen is like gold dust to you right now.

“So you enjoyed yourself I’m guessing?”

“Fucking hell did I!” You both can’t stop the way your laughter spills at the situation.

You see his shoulders eventually relax, his breathing less frequent and the look in his eyes turns soft.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you.” Despite your heart still beating like it’s on steroids, you feel it skip a beat, equal to the way you can’t help the tug on the corners of your mouth.

“Cringy bastard,” you whisper next to his lips, a whole new warmth spreading through you at the way his eyes are filled with adoration.

“Only for you.”

“You make me sick.” But in your head, you’re saying the opposite, because you can’t fight the blush despite how generic his cringe worthy compliments hit.

With clothes vaguely realigned, you’re ready to join society once again, albeit hobbling, but your boyfriend refuses to break the bubble you’re in for just a second longer.

“Say it back.” And when you turn from the door to him, he’s actually pouting, eyes a little less bright as though you’re unspoken words have hit harder than you realised. “Please.”

Your relationship with Kook was built off backhanded compliments and competitive sarcasm, both equally easy-going people with a knack for not taking anything seriously. It was how you two worked. But there’s some things you can’t feign, and the way he said “I love you” with deliberate sadness was one of those things, because hell, you sure loved him too.

His cheeks nestled in both of your palms now as your soft eyes met his ones, vulnerable with the way he’d bared himself and pleaded after you, you spoke softly.

“I love you.”

---------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck you, Kook. Stop acting like you own me.”

“Then don’t try to sleep with the whole swim team.”

Dick.

This shit is rare. Fighting Jungkook is rare. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Because whilst you’re both too easy going for your own good and take most things on the chin, jealousy hurts like a bitch.

“Jesus you’re fucking testing my patience.” You settle yourself deep in his kitchen, long strides over there because his presence alone is making you want to rip hairs out of your skull. But he’s there soon after, leaning to try to get into your line of sight as you busy yourself with a glass and fuck, where’s that bottle of wine.

“Nah, don’t act like I’m pushing you. I asked you why Jimin’s asking to meet you, and you can’t come up with a damn straight answer or show me your phone.” You find the wine in the fridge, pretending Jungkook is background noise like the petty bitch you are, but his words are ringing in your head louder than you care for. “Don’t treat me like I’m delusional.”

You slam the bottle down a little too hard on the counter and his eyes jump to the sound. But your expression is dead set, angry, persistent, but he’d say stubborn.

“You’re actually dumb. The whole fucking issue is that I shouldn’t have to tell you why someone texts me or not.” His mouth opens to argue but you’re off on one, “Whether it’s Jimin, whether it’s my mum, whether it was your fucking maintenance guy, it’s my phone, don’t check it, and don’t pretend you’re entitled to.”

His eyes narrow and you almost think there’s something in him contemplating your words, maybe, just maybe trying to hear you out and understand where you’re coming from. But if you were stubborn, then Jungkook was competitive - he wouldn't stop until you thought he was right.

“Why the fuck did he text you.”

You want to scream. You want to smash his glass against the floor and scream fucking murder. But instead you find your body tensing and you face heating up with the need to cry. He’s getting in your head and you hate it, because he’s never like this. He’s easy. He’s such good company and probably your best friend but why is he making it so hard to like, let alone love him right now.

“Fuck it. Here,” you fish in your pocket, eyes still on his despite the feeling of them heating up and the wetness pooling. You unlock your phone and push it to his chest. “God knows, we were just trying to arrange something for your birthday without you finding out, but you and your fucking jealousy can’t take that, can they Kook?”

You have so much more to say. Your head is spinning with the need to empty your gut of all the words you want to throw at him. About how jealousy is certainly not a virtue in this case, about how you can’t bear that he doesn’t trust you despite all you’ve given up for him, about how damn unfair he is being right now. But you hit his shoulder with yours and are half walking half running to his bathroom before you can contemplate what you’re doing.

“Y/N, fuck,” and of course now he’s apologetic. Calling after you in a tone that screams innocence but to you, he is anything but that right now.

You close the door with haste and push your back against it even faster.

The worst part is you’re not even that angry anymore. The tears fall in sadness.

“Baby,” his knock rattles the door but only gently in an attempt to be sensitive with you. He’s fucked up and he knows that, but there’s a combination of not wanting him to see you cry and the need to be away from him for a minute that has you still sitting by the door, not making any attempt to open it.

“Baby, I didn’t know- I wouldn’t have.”

“Jungkook can you give it a rest for one minute,” you sound pained. You feel it as well. Maybe you’re overreacting, you think, as you hear him sigh and mumble an ‘okay’ before his footsteps peter out into another room.

You cry more and continue to do so as you begin to run the bath, and then more tears flow when you watch yourself in the mirror as you tug at your stained cheeks with a cloth. Your tears are still wet on your cheeks when you lower yourself into the warm water and become absorbed in the feeling of it, melting away until you fall into the slumber of sleep. It’s the same slumber that doesn’t cause you to be startled when the door creaks open, your boyfriend pausing to take in your state before he strips himself down to join you.

You know he’s there when he gently sinks into the water behind you, but you make no attempt to move out of the way his knees encase you. His touch is apprehensive and careful, and you can practically hear the thoughts in his head move at a thousand miles an hour.

You know Jungkook. You know all too well that right now, he’s cut up inside, thinking of every way possible to take back time and to undo the stupid shit he was spouting earlier. He’s thinking about how fucked up he was to let jealousy do that to him, to get the better of his, and he’s thinking of every which way to make it right to you. You know, because you’re the same. We’re all in the wrong at some point, and everyone is more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.

So you grab at his hands that still hover in the air with unspoken uncertainty and you pull them to yourself, tight, and on your neck there is a desperate sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” his tone is so apologetic you almost start crying all over again, but exhaustion and the need to forgive are all too strong. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-”

You know there are more words he wants to say, maybe to show you how bad he feels, maybe he’ll try and justify himself, but either way, you’re pushover ass forgave him before the argument even happened. You also simply like the boy too goddamn much to see him splutter in your neck because he’s scared he’ll lose you.

With your lips pressed to the back of his hands that you’ve encased in yours, you mutter, “Shhh, I know you are.”

The water sloshes in the distance somewhere as he pulls you tighter to him like you’re an anchor and if he lets you go he’ll be lost. Kisses are placed down your neck gently and you let your eyes flutter shut again because you can’t lie in that he is the most comforting place to you right now.

Silence falls but not uncomfortably, fingers brushing skin like its china and breathing soft as you both give into each others touch.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Maybe you are too forgiving Your mother always told you you were - ‘people won’t be so kind to your patience one day Y/N.’ - that’s what she’d told you. And she’s probably right that one day you’ll come to find that you’ve been used and abused for all the ‘it's okay’s’ and ‘I forgive you’s’ you’d uttered. But you didn’t use forgiveness as an easy way out, you used it when it was deserved. And Jungkook’s jealousy, whilst fucking annoying, was a human instinct - possibly more of a male instinct than female, you think - but it’s a natural reaction all the same. Compromise instead of conclusion.

“You have to start trusting me, you know.”

“I know,” a hasty response, maybe because he actually has realised he needs to trust you or maybe he just doesn’t want to prolong discussion. You hope and believe the first,

“You can’t keep this jealousy thing up. Particularly not with Jimin, I don’t want to be the reason your shit is ruined, it’s too good.”

The two of them best friends from the womb. But boys apparently will be boys and think any dick that goes near their girlfriend is aiming for one place and one place only, whether 21 years into friendship or not.

“I know.” The repeat of words makes you think he’s not listening to you, but then he sighs. “It’s just- I can’t- Fuck! He drives me up the wall, says all kinds of shit behind your back and mine about how fit you are because he knows it grills me.” This is new. “And then he sends you texts when I didn’t even know you had each others number and you won’t tell me what they are. It just fucked with my head and when you end up picturing the worst it’s hard to get that picture out of your head.”

It made sense, and he was getting angry with himself by the way his tone spiked, so you diffuse the tension.

“Hmm but if you weren’t so jealous your birthday wouldn’t have been ruined,” you feel his head slump and then he laughs, and you laugh, and then he’s squeezing you and forcing your eyes to his.

“You make me mental that’s why,” you’re close but he makes no move to kiss you, “and I’m sorry that I got like that when I had no reason to do so. I’ll change that I promise,” he sounded sincere, looked sincere, and you’re a sucker for the way he’s naked and so close his breath hits your smile that you’re kissing him before you can feign trust.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“You know you almost got me in big shit the other day,” the bell rings above your head as you and Jimin leave the cold in favour of the warmth of the bar. Thursday nights didn’t call for many people, so you found a seat easily at a booth, casual wear on and smile dancing across that idiots face.

“Kook told me.” Of course he did, “As if he got his dick caught between his legs because I sent you a text. Like does he really think I’d shag you.”

You scoff, “Cheers for that.”

“You know what I mean. If I got the chance I’d fucking take it, but Kook’s my brother,” and to be fair you did know what he meant. In fact it was a miracle Jungkook had been all calm and breezy when you’d told him you were meeting Jimin for drinks - maybe it was this new thing he was trying called ‘play it cool and let her do her own thing’ - even so, you liked it.

You end up ordering beers, after all, it is only a Thursday so that means no hard spirits, but it’s also the afternoon so that means alcohol.

“I’m glad to hear you’re not gonna pounce Jim.” He laughs, you laugh, thank god, because ever since you and Jungkook had shouted about the texting and Jimin issue, you were scared you’d have to keep a distance from the boy to prevent awkwardness. “How you been anyways?”

“Is that another way of saying who’ve I fucked since we last spoke,” his eyebrows wiggle like he’s got something to be proud about.

“Jesus, you only do think with your dick don’t you?”

“Come onn, ask me who I took home the other night,” he’s leaning forward with a smile that you want to smother, but you humour him for the sake of conversation.

“Which unlucky bird shared your bed the other night then?” You say it with a downward tone to express your distaste for the way your conversation has headed. You also nod a thank you to the waiter who’d brought beers over, pint on either side of the table.

“Well, maybe you should ask your roommate.”

Beer must fly out of your nose, mouth and ears with the way you choke. Literally, you’re spluttering everywhere and he’s laughing and you’re sure it’s a sick joke, but his smile says otherwise.

“She’s fucking gay!” That’s all you come up with. You know your roommate like the back of your hand, or so you think, and every part of you is wracking every part of your brain right now for some conversation where she said she’d shag Jimin, or shag a guy in fact. Nope, nothing.

“I thought so too, clearly she didn’t.” You’re angry at him by the way you scoff and take another long sip of your beer but you don’t even know why. Maybe you’re angry at her, but that also kind of feels invalid.

“As if she didn’t tell me.” He just shrugs. “... nah what the fuck man!”

“Listen, talk to her about it. I’m pretty sure I was mad drunk, so was she, and she left before I woke up so…” The last bit sounds about right, Mia was never one for sticking around for morning cuddles, but it’s all just wrong and it’s stewing in your head like a bad memory.

You're still questioning your entire existence it seems like when the conversation moves onto why you’re really here, or as Jimin says it, “So if the fucker knows we’re doing something for his birthday now, does that mean we actually have to do it?”

God, he’s hard to talk to. You find yourself for half your conversations with Jimin either saying ‘fuck off’ or your scoffing. You do the latter now.

“We were doing something anyway, don’t act like you don’t care. But yeh, he knows, so why don’t we just fucking put in money for alcohol and bud and hit up the beach or something at Hobi’s. Simples.”

Jimin downs his pint - it’s a Thursday and you don’t know why - and then nods, “Yeh, sounds like I can fuck with that. But let’s tell Taehyung cos he’s rich and loves weed more than the next person.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Like hell was there booze and weed. Taehyung had done the most, with Namjoon, and there was enough for 200 people to get fucked 10 times over, which with the 70 people that were apparently already at the beach, seemed like a mass death wish.

Hoseok, poor Hoseok, was hosting. You’d asked and he’d accepted like the selfless man he is and also because he loves Jungkook like a mother loves her child. It wasn’t his uni place, but his parent's beach house on the part of the coast where the beach stretched 20 yards deep and the water felt like the arctic on your skin, but even so, the parties out there were sick.

You can just tell by the boyish grin on your boyfriends face he knows exactly the way this route takes you, the taxi driver, however, keeps giving you evils through the mirror probably because this journey is long and you’re not even on a real road at this point. But the vodka already in your system means you don’t care and you hold Jungkook’s hand in full-fledged excitement.

You swear you’re not corny.

He keeps his hand in yours even when you pay the driver, and tightens it further when everyone around the back of the cabin rings out in a chorus of ‘surprise’. He even holds your hand when he’s handed both a beer and a joint, somehow juggling them both in his free one.

Somewhere along the line between sharing conversations and drinking yourself silly, he whispers a ‘thank you’ in your ear, and presses a grateful kiss onto your lips.

The sun had been low for a while, with the expanded horizon offering the perfect view to watch it set.

Still not corny, you promise.

But the smoke flowing through your system and the light hum of alcohol to accompany it just doesn’t allow for you to leave his side. Even through conversation after conversation, ‘happy birthday’ handshakes that made him switch which hand he was holding you with just so he didn’t let go, and even when the boys attempted a birthday bumps, you were there, glued tight.

“Fuck it, I wanna skinny dip!” Oh Jimin, oh that poor poor boy and his utterly delusional brain.

“Mate, that’s the high talking, leave it out.” You’re glad your boyfriend speaks sense when intoxicated because Tae’s there behind him clapping his back, encouraging him.

“Jim, legit 5 degrees right now, your dick’ll fall off if you go anywhere close to the sea.” And Namjoon, also ever with the straight head. Ah, you say that, but when you turn to the geez he chucks the small end of a lit blunt in his mouth and then swallows it down with beer - I guess his head will be going sideways now, in T-minus 5 seconds.

“You guys are pussys, my dick’ll just shrivel a bit…”

“Fucking rancid, don’t wanna hear it.” Throwing your half empty beer can also seems to do the trick of shutting him up about his dick as he hangs his jaw that’s dripping with beer, warm from being half finished.

“Bitch.”

“Oi! None of that, Park.” Jungkook’s tone is serious but he’s smiling all the same, content in the setting he’s in, not despite of but because of the deluded conversation, the weird dynamic you guys all have, the way he’s just himself, and the fact you’re there too, with a vice grip on his hand.

It’s all breathy laughs and the occasional pressing of lips on your neck from where you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap, as the conversation delves from somewhere between Jimin’s sex life (surprise surprise) to what Hoseok would look like on steroids - the mutual group decision, so, so, wrong.

“Baby, I wanna get going.”

“Hm?” You were caught in laughter and didn’t think you heard him right, so you turn in his lap to throw an arm around his shoulder, all eyes and ears for your man.

“I kind of wanna get going home.”

You’re surprised, looking through the glaze in his eyes to see if he’s too stoned or not having a good time, but you just see him content gaze, boring adoration into yours. Leaving now would also make you the first to leave, and it was his party.

“You wanna go like right now, right now?”

“Mmm,” and there’s something you can't pinpoint in his expression, apprehension maybe.

“Okay, should I be worried? You’re good right?”

And his head drops to make you think ‘shit’, but then he’s laughing, shoulders shaking under your tense arms before he grabs at your face and places a kiss on either cheek. The blush creeps up on you before you can hide your face in his shoulder.

“I’m fine, so good.” It’s almost a shout of a confession as he throws his head back to demonstrate the emotion behind the words, but the way his smile lifts to his eyes tells you all you need to know. You’re still not quite getting why the happy boy you’re perching on wants to ditch his own surprise party, but each to their own, you think.

“Okay? You’re sure you don’t want to stay?”

Affirming you’re correct with a head shake, he leans in once again, squeezing at your sides ungraciously tight before smashing his lips to yours in a rough, open mouthed kiss that is neither something you were ready for or something you’re about to do with Jimin and Namjoon next to you.

So, you’re both laughing, him attempting to plaster his lips to your face and you swatting as his arm that fixes you in place to him.

“Kook fu- baby,” you begin to scramble away and he lets you, laughing out at the way you flatten your hair and fumble at you jeans as a means to compose yourself, “Time and a place, you dick.”

Stares and smiles are all you give each other as the ambient sounds of others continue around you. It’s like that with him - the world keeps buzzing around you but you’re not in that world, you’re somewhere too deep in his.

Please believe me, you’re not cringy!

“Come back,” hand out, legs spread wide to make room for you and you cannot help the way your feet appease his every word.

You’re eyes down on him, and his up at you, blown full with love, lust and everything in between and you settle in the warmth of his proximity and in the heat of his gaze.

“I love you.”

So you kiss him, because, “I love you too Kook.”

“Now order that fucking taxi, I wanted to go all of two hours ago.” And there he is, earning himself another smack to the arm.

“You bastard, you’re lucky I’m whipped.”

“Yeh you fucking are Y/N!” Jimin can suck a dick, the wanker. Throwing a final middle finger up to the offending boy and holding the other hand out for your boyfriend, you get onto the route home.

Silence is not always a bad thing. You’d told yourself that the whole way home. You especially knew how car journeys when inconceivably high and drunk could make the head spin and the voice mute, but neither of you were inconceivably high or drunk. His hand was still there on yours from beach to taxi, taxi to apartment, apartment to bedroom, but the smile was gone.

“Baby, what’s wrong, talk to me.”

“Mmm?” Playing it off, yet he still won’t look at you - the boy never could do confrontation or telling you what he wants.

He’s across the room, carrying the tea he’d made you to your side of the bed when you told him you’d felt a headache coming on. And you’re there just watching, the moping, the shrug and the way he now stops as you reach out your hand to tug at his shirt.

“Oi, look at me.” Eventually, and what looks like with effort, he does. “You gonna talk to me now, or what?” And you begin to worry at the way his gaze digs into your face, eyes pouring emotion that is scattered in so many different directions you can’t keep up. Is he sad? Nervous? Why would he be nervous?

“I love you.” There’s more to be said just in the way those three words come out, and it scares you.

“Okayy…”

“Like I really love you. So much sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

“Koo-” He grabs at your neck and finally takes control of his voice, no longer apprehensive and filled with mixed signals, but so affirmative that it takes every word from your mouth.

“You’ve waited for me Y/N. So fucking long. I’ve been shit to you as well recently. I just can’t fathom that you’re here and you’re mine and it fucking scares me, you have to get that.” Eyes well on both his and your side, as words unspoken, are finally spilt. Maybe it’s the occasion or the alcohol but you don’t care. “Everything about you is everything I ever want and what happens if I fuck it up and lose it. I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you.” It’s a mantra spoken by him on so many occasions, like if he says it, it’ll never happen.

“And what if I feel the same, Kook.” Forehead to forehead now and so deep into the caverns of his eyes, you’d give him your whole soul if he asked.

“You do?.. Feel the same?” You’re sure he knows you do. You’re sure he hasn’t been deaf to the thousands of ‘I love you’s’ and wholehearted confessions made by you. But he’s fragile to the extent that he needs to hear it. Needs to hear you say that you’re willing to lose everything here.

In a passing breath you whisper your confession, “yes,” and he squeezes at the hairs at the back of your neck that stand on end with every goosebump in your body.

The tears fall just as he puts his lips to yours and oxygen becomes gold dust with the way you’re so breath taken. But it’s the happy kind of breath taken, that feeling right before christmas as a kid when you know everything’s waiting for you on the other side of sleep, that feeling where the sinking dries up in your stomach and every fibre of you body buzzes uncontrollably, the kind of breath taken where you smile and laugh in full-fledged giddiness.

Pulling away, you do just that, laugh against his mouth, smile without thought, and despite the tears that drip onto your lips you keep kissing at him, peck after peck because he’s laughing and crying with you.

Fuck, this was the moment you were converted to cringe. You didn’t give two shits about it either.

“I thought you were about to fucking break up with me, you absolute knob!” He thumb scoops up the tears as he laughs at you, sniffling to himself in the emotion of the moment that you two were still somewhere swept up in.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe.”

Before the last tear is swept away at the motion of his thumb on your cheek, Kook ducks down and sweeps you up, over his shoulder and then with a not so forgiving thump to your back, you hit the bed - looks like he forgot his bed was made of fucking rocks, great for sex though, no squeak. And suddenly it dawns on you as hard as you just hit that mattress. That look in his eyes, now, earlier at the beach, the entire strung out fucking monologue he just gave you. All in the name of sex.

“Can we- you want to- do it.”

Fuck, it’s actually happening.

You suppress the butterflies with a laugh that surfaces from the way he stutters.

“Well, what the fuck dyou want me to say. We’ve waited 5 months and you want me to just say, ‘oi Y/N, let me fuck you’.”

But the laughing doesn’t seize.

“I’m sure fucking not saying I want to make love to you, because imagine that gettin relayed to the boys. Instantly my dick goes from a 7 on hard to a 5.”

“Aw babe, give yourself credit, you’re at least a 5 and a half.”

“Bitch.”

And with that he presses his full weight into you, smiling into the kiss that sucks deep into your lips, harsh but tender in all the right places. It turns you on the way he goes slow with you, maps outlines on your skin with his touches, and it makes you even hornier when his boner slowly grows into the meat of your thigh.

It’s a moan in response to him biting your lip that has him off you and flipping the position so you straddle him. But tight jeans don’t accommodate for being on top, the fucking inconvenient bitch, so it’s with the slow teasing pace, that he seems to be going for, that you take as the jeans come off.

“Fuck,” is whispered somewhere between you purchasing yourself right on his crotch and the way you raise you crop top over naked breasts.

This is not uncharted territory. The two of you aren’t nuns who have abstained from everything and anything in your relationship. No, you’re far from holy. But the way your boyfriend gapes, eyes blown and breathing sharp, he’s like a virgin on steroids.

When you lean into his body, claiming his lips once again you notice the shaking, the way his body uncontrollable shivers underneath you despite the perspiration that soaks through his shirt.

“Baby, you’re shaking,” you whisper into his mouth, and he simply nods a frantic ‘yes’ against you. “Kook, calm down, relax, baby,” and after grasping gently at his chin to pry his lips off yours, you find his gaze, eyes blown in lust and fear.

“Okay? I’m all yours,” you take his hand and lead it to your breast, then ushering it towards the steady beat of your heart, felt beneath trembling fingertips. “All yours.”

Running your hands over the tension in his biceps, you attempt to put him at ease with the roll of your hips. His bulge hadn’t gone unnoticed for a second and it was perfectly place with the tip resting on your clit, that you could probably both go to town like that - who said romance was dead!

“Fuck Y/N.”

“There you go,” you push him on, sucking into the rift between his neck and his shoulders and strong arms now scoop over and round to your ass. The squeeze is convincing, hard enough that you don’t fight back the moan and hard enough that your hips move that little bit harsher.

Breaths are heavy in your ear as you find yourself slipping deeper into the pleasure of the moment, but you know he’ll never take the initiative and make the first move.

“You’re so hard Kook.”

A groan in all he responds as you hit that spot just on his tip that he loves so much.

“I want you so bad.”

“Fuck, me too,” and desperation for more than the slow grind you opted for overcomes him. Lips latch onto yours in a harsh display as he flips you once again.

You can’t help but smirk to yourself, pure filthy excitement taking over the fibres of your body as he stares down at you now, hungry and horny.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this so bad for so long Y/N you have no idea.”

“Off,” and he gets the message with how his shirt is off and somewhere across the room without his dick leaving its place nestled in your crotch.

“I’ve been dying to have you, all of you.” His teeth are clawing at the skin of your neck as he pants out his dirty confession to the rhythm of his hips.

“You’ve been dying to fuck me, Kook?” It’s a teasing tone, but there’s no hiding the breathiness behind your voice.

“Fuck yeh.”

“Then go ahead and fuck me.”

When his gaze meets yours, his eyes are wide and disbelieving. But you’re more focused on the stain of his lips from sunken teeth and the way his hair sticks to his face from sweat. You also haven’t failed to miss the bare, toned torso pressed neatly onto your chest - abs to die for and v lines that leave the eyes wandering an unholy amount of southward.

“You want me to go in raw?” You feign laughter at how giddy he looks at the prospect.

“Birth controls a saint innit.”

“Fuck, I’m scared I’ll come in two seconds.” Great turn on. You think, you don’t say.

His trousers are off fast but when it comes to your panties, he’s calculated in the way he lowers himself to eyes level with your core, breathing haphazardly in his lust induced state into the material that he proceeds to run down the length of your leg and off at your feet.

Eyes trail up your body as he crawls his way back to your now exposed core, “Jesus, you’re so sexy.”

“Jungkook! What would God say if he heard you talk about his son that way!”

His head literally drops and he groans, as if the turn off button hadn’t already been switched when he told you he’d blow his load as soon as dick met pussy.

“I literally have no words Y/N.”

“Well, you better put that mouth to better use then baby.”

“Bitch.”

But his tongue is darted out and into your folds, no matter the reluctance, and he soon finds that same taste, bitter and sweet all at once that draws him in every fucking time.

“Fuck Kook.” The reaction is instant, spine arched away from the mattress as his tongue sets to work inside you, darting in and out so fast that your hips couldn’t keep up if they tried. It’s when he flattens it against your clit and the hand once pinning down a thigh pushes two fingers in so fucking deep that the moans spill.

“Shit that’s tight,” he mutters to himself more than anyone as his delving fingers reach that spot that has you stringing his name and curses into an aimless sentence. And the scene below you is even hotter than the feeling at your core, Jungkook, nestled between your legs with lips to clit, hand to pussy, and hips rutting desperately into the mattress. He’s a whole fucking view and it has you keening with your hands rooted in his hair that are telling him wordlessly not to let up.

When his eyes meet yours, you knows its game over, smirk overtaking his features as his fingers piston and fuck you open, thumb taking over the role his lips had on your clit just so he gets to watch you fall apart under him.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.”

“Holy fuc- shitt. Jungkook.” And your moans are the hottest things he’s ever heard as you tumble into a hell of a fucking orgasm. Shocks ripple through your body with the rate of his fingers and everything pulses as you cum, and keep fucking cumming.

Kook can barely help the way his cock seeks better friction against the mattress because of the bliss written on your face. And he almost forgets to let up on the frantic way his fingers still fuck you because your glistening chest lifting up and down in the light has his focus completely elsewhere.

“Kook, I can’t.”

“Sorry baby,” he lets up with one final kiss to your clit, the jolt of pain and pleasure causing you to whine briefly. His cock twitches at the sound.

“Y/N I’m so hard, please.”

You drag him up with the hand still woven deep in his locks so he’s eye level, and dick level with the place he wants it most. Wordlessly and still driven by the buzz from your orgasm, your hand guides him into you and fuck if the moan against your mouth isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Holy fuck.” Nestling his head into the crook of your neck with deep breaths to accompany it, you can tell he’s trying to hold back the feeling of his balls tightening and ignore the way you still pulse from your orgasm. It’s tight and it’s so fucking bare because he’s never gone raw before. Fuck, neither of you have had sex in six months so the feeling might just make you both combust on the spot.

“Slowly baby, it’s been a while.” You’d known he’d reach your stomach just from the way he fucked your throat every other day - his girth is nothing far from impressive and it’s stretching you without even moving.

Light kisses press their way from neck to jaw to mouth as he pulls out to the hilt and then back in, slowly, tantalising slowly so that you both moan into the other's mouths, breathy and completely consumed by the feeling of each other.

“Fuck I’m never gonna get enough of this now.”

“Mmm,” you really hoped he wouldn’t.

“God I love you so much, your pussy is actual heaven.” And you hate to say the way the praise goes straight to your core, but your boyfriend can most certainly tell from the clench you hold his dick in. “Fuckkk, so good.”

It’s slow and it’s deep and he’s hitting your g-spot and clit with every roll of his hips. Throughout the murmurs of affection and sex filled admissions, you grasp at each other's skin, his hands pulling your hair so your mouth meets his and your hands across the muscles in his back that flex under your fingers with each thrust.

It’s when he drags one hand to your throat and grips at it to balance his sped-up movements that you’re finding yourself teetering towards the edge again, spilling words never spoken and sounds never heard but he’s saving every one of them to memory.

“Faster baby please,” and he obliges instantly as he dives into you hard and fast, “babyy oh shit.”

“Y/N you’re clenching so fucking hard right now,” but he’s left you breathless to the point of no reply.

Several punishing slams that also attack your clit have eyes rolling and you biting down into his shoulder, suppressing the scream that surfaced without your consent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He keeps pounding away, forcing you deeper and deeper into a spiral of pleasure, until his lips are on yours and he ruts a final few times, grunting and moaning into your mouth. “So good, so good,” and he repeats this until he’s still above you and finally the hand wound into your neck lessens it’s pressure so the throb in your body and up to your head dies into a tingle.

It’s the most content and blissful silence, post orgasm, wrapped in the warm and wet body of your boyfriend. That is until he begins mumbling inconceivable words into the shoulder he decided to rest on.

“What baby?”

“I said,” lifting himself to eye level, and he’s a fucking sight for sore eyes. “Worth the fucking wait.”

And with a tired, fucked out smile, light kiss to his lips, you can most certainly agree.

Worth the fucking wait.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #BTS jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook smut #BTS au #jeon jungguk #jungkook drabble #bts jeongkook #jungkook things

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izukukuzi · 4 years ago

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the thing that's getting me about the whole "izuku sucks bc he doesn't care about villains" take is that, with the exception of dabi (who is actively trying to MURDER IZUKUS BEST FRIEND among others), izuku just,,,, doesn't know the villains' tragic backstories? like, he doesn't know the trauma that shiggy or toga or twice or spinner went thru. all he knows is that these ppl are responsible for the deaths of THOUSANDS of ppl and MANY heroes. 1/3

2/3. and its not like he's never been sympathetic to villains b4, yk? like, remember with gentle? where he saw that gentle was trying to save la brava and was peacefully turning himself in after losing? and izuku was like "yeah, we had a disagreement, but its fine" instead of "no he was trying to break in so I stopped him" or whatever. ig you could argue thats bc he didn't want the fest to be canceled, but I still hold that he understood what gentle was doing and played along.

3/3. idk it just really irks me that people forget that just bc WE know something, doesn't mean the CHARACTERS know. (and also, that just bc a character has an actually tragic, horrible, and traumatizing backstory doesn't excuse, you know, LITERAL MURDER???) I also just wish ppl would remember that the story isn't over and that we're in the middle of a scene where shit is still happening. like, just be fucking patient and wait for the story to unfold. THEN get mad if it doesnt work for you. jfc

okay but I'm glad you mentioned this cause it made me think about some panels from another recent chapter (and I'm sure someone has probably talked about this before, so I'm sorry if I'm highlighting Old News udndjdjdd)

(I'm on mobile so i have no idea how long this is, so i put the read more JUST TO BE SURE!)

sooooo, something that i really, reaaaally liked about bnha 286 was the moment in the vestige realm. when izuku morphs (transitions? teleports??? whatever) into this other dimension, the first thing he sees is all for one being his Creepy Controlling Self with shigaraki (as shown below)

and, when he sees that shiggy is resisting and fighting back, izuku's immediate response is to try and intervene to help shiggy

of course, as nana points out, the boy can't really do much with his body, but he was ready to give it his all anyway because he saw that shiggy needed help (and it didn't matter that they're on opposing sides. izuku moved with the intention of helping depsite the fact that he and shig were literally just fight each other a second before) and i just.... waaaaaah, this kid, you know?

so i wanted to point this out because, along with the example you given (and I'm sure there's more to be said about this but sudjsjjd), this makes me feel like izuku caring is a given. funneling that ability to sympathize into actually saving villains, though, does become a bit complicated when we consider the points you mentioned (like, having to keep a villain from killing those around them if that's what they're into didndjd; not having the prior knowledge needed to know why they're feeling what they are or what drives them to act as they do; as well as the balance needed to address the villain's needs and the consequences that are sure to follow whatever things they've done wrong).

here i am, getting scatterbrained again sjdndjd but yeah, i agree with you! like, on one hand, i think it absolutely makes sense to be upset that the league and other characters like them were/are neglected when they need(ed) help the most (though i think touya's situation will allow the narrative to begin highlighting how that issue exists and persists within hero society) but... i dunno. it's a balancing act, you know? these issues are very blurry and gray (as opposed to being just clear-cut, black and white, or easy to assess and judge as This or That), so i definitely feel your frustration BUT HOPEFULLY, canon elaborates on it all more so that we can have productive conversations about it in the fandom!!

#imbeccablee #I'm so sorry this is sooooo late #i saw the asks last night and was super excited to answer them this morning #but then i had to go Do Things Outside The House #:/#but #i hope this makes sense #i honestly think my brain is just... turning to goo #but you made some excellent points in your ask and i appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me!!!#ask #midoriya izuku #bnha dabi #todoroki touya #bnha 293 #tags?????

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cno-inbminor · 5 years ago

Text

immergo

a/n: i recently watched haikyuu and i’m absolutely hooked. to help get it out of my system in time for final papers and assignments, i’m procrastinating by writing this out. hope you enjoy!

featuring: oikawa tooru x fem!reader & some OC’s + iwaizumi

genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff, slooow burn, some cliches to make people suffer

summary: tooru is as constant as the stars and as real as the earth beneath your feet, yet even for you, he still manages to slip away. and when it’s all too late, only then does he attempt to come back.

word count: 21.9k (this is a monster)

playlist: i wanted to try making one so here's a playlist on spotify: immergo

edit: now crossposted onto AO3 here!

You are five years old when you first meet him.

He’s got a terrible bowl cut and sand particles smudged on his cheek. A plastic, ocean blue shovel is dug deep into the sand before being lifted up with a load, then precariously dumped into a matching bucket. A teetering sandcastle threatens to fully collapse, yet somehow still sporting a little plastic yellow umbrella that some other kids might’ve left behind. You’re clutching your mother’s hand, a clenched fist brought up to your mouth to hide the trembling of your lips from the nervousness of approaching new people. The sandbox is a part of the playground, but you want to be there alone. You want to be in your own little world, too terrified to face the unknowns, but after the last two weeks of coming by, this boy is always in the sandbox.

Your mother somehow convinces you that you can make new friends. ‘But don’t boys have cooties?’ you ponder. There’s only a week left until kindergarten starts, and your mother thinks it would be nice to try to meet someone so you’ll at least have some semblance of familiarity. Just when you think you’re brave enough, you almost yelp in renewed fear when another boy comes into the scene and plops down next to the other boy, his own pair of a bucket and shovel dyed a bright, firetruck red, and is ready to start digging up sand. You watch him eye the falling castle, grumbling something to the other boy before attempting to patch it and stand it back up. The other boy stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth before morphing his face into a childish, happy grin. And immediately, you think, ‘Oh wow, I like his smile.’

Not only is it bright and wide, but there’s a certain feeling of gentleness. None of this is eloquently elaborated in your brain, but there’s a comfort that settles into your mind. That smile is what causes you to (though still hesitantly) let go of your mother’s hand and slowly wobble to the sand box, pause, before you step up and over the wooden border. The two boys have ceased their castle-building duties to stare at you, who’s now sitting in the sand and looking towards anything but them. Your head scrambles to remind yourself on how to say hello, and it must’ve done something correctly because before they can ask questions, you quietly ask, “Can I play with you guys?”

Both boys look toward each other, giving a look, before the boy with the red bucket shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you don’t mess up my castle.”

Bowl-cut tyke flicks sand at him, causing him to splutter and yell in protest. “Don’t be so mean, Hajime!” Bowl-cut scolds before turning back to you with that earlier grin. “I’m Oikawa Tooru and he’s Iwaizumi Hajime. Wanna help me with my castle?”

And ever since you moved to this new city until now, your mother has never seen your eyes so bright.

You are ten years old when Oikawa, with a better hairstyle, receives his first love confession of sorts (because you’re ten).

It takes until fifth grade for you to be finally in a class with both him and Iwaizumi. Other years either had one or neither of them, but you were still able to reconvene during recess. The three of you are attached at the hips during those 30 minutes, either running around in a game of tag, swinging as fast as you could across the monkey bars, or seeing who could swing the highest.

On days when the swings are particularly busy, the three of you would take turns pushing each other, trading off once one of you had your fill. “Higher!” Oikawa would always yell happily, his voice blending in with the rest of the screams and laughs in the playground. With your own laughs leaving your lips as you attempt to push the swing, Iwaizumi would instead yell back at him, “Use your own legs, idiot! That’s what they’re for!” To which Oikawa would whine, but eyes would still crinkle in childish delight as he approached the sky.

But Oikawa notices a lot of things, more than the average fifth grader does. Then again, it isn’t hard to spot the group of giggling girls under a tree’s shade nearby, evidently gazing at him in wonder and affection. He feels his heart soar at the attention and in turn, pumps his legs even harder, almost reaching perpendicular height to the ground. Oikawa admits that he is a bit of a show-off, he wants to be the best, and without warning, releases his hands from the chains and jumps off from the swing.

Both you and Iwaizumi gape at him with a mixture of horror and awe. If you could put this moment in slow motion, you would see Oikawa suspended in mid-air, yet somehow seeming to soar like a bird. His jacket flows behind him as his arms lift up to give a sense of balance, legs stretching out to get ready to meet the ground. You wonder what the expression on his face is like, yet the terror manifests itself into your shriek of his name, pitch and tone overpowering a similar call from Iwaizumi. But Oikawa is Oikawa and he lands on both feet, knees bent and almost touching the ground before straightening back up. You’re about to start running towards him, feet already moving, until you stop because he’s twisting himself towards you and Iwaizumi, V-sign held up and that same, big grin he always has. The sun casts a halo around him and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your feet stay rooted on the mulch and you watch as Iwaizumi stomps over to punch Oikawa in the arm, yelling about how he could’ve broken his legs and who would he play volleyball with then, leaving you to spot the aforementioned fangirls huddled like they’re coming up with a grand plan.

At first, you think nothing of it. It isn’t until after school as the three of you are walking towards the entrance when you wish you were more perceptive like Oikawa. One of the girls from under the tree has gone up to him, quickly bowing while introducing herself, grabs one of his hands to slap a folded piece of paper into it, and almost sprints away. Oikawa doesn’t have a chance to say anything, but he can only give himself a few seconds to register what just happened and unfold the ripped notebook paper. Inside in pretty cursive is an email address (because none of you have cellphones yet), which causes Oikawa to put on a shit-eating grin. He just basically received a love note, a confession, and his ego has just been fed a meal fit for a king.

He brags and boasts the whole way home, causing a permanent frown to settle on Iwaizumi’s face from pure irritation, and you find yourself only able to stay quiet, pondering and contemplating what this small nasty feeling inside your chest could be.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are fourteen years old, nearly fifteen, when you receive your first love confession, which ends up being a little more refined than a hastily torn piece of notebook paper possessing an email address.

Their afternoons and early evenings are occupied by volleyball. While you had been at Lil Tykes from the ages of 6 to 10, mainly due to a massive fear of missing out and wanting to spend more time with your new best friends then, you didn’t have as much talent as those two and decided to pursue other interests. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had protested vehemently when you broke the news to them one evening over dinner at the setter's house, their mouths full of rice and chicken curry yet somehow still managing to speak over the food. Oikawa’s mother had seen you shrink further and further into your chair before slamming her hand on the table, causing the two boys to startle and cease their yelling.

“Respect (y/n)’s interests! I did not raise you,” she spoke pointedly, directing a finger at her now ashamed son, “to be so rude. If she doesn’t want to play volleyball anymore, then she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to keep doing something she doesn’t want to do just because you two said so. Now, both of you apologize to (y/n) and finish your dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” and “Yes, auntie,” both quietly left their lips. You wanted to hug the woman right then and there, tears nearly forming and spilling over at the fact that she was on your side. The two boys had put their spoons down and waited for a few seconds before Iwaizumi finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. We’re just gonna miss you a lot,” he apologized, tone sad and soft. Oikawa was still chewing on his bottom lip when Iwaizumi elbowed him to say something. “Apologize, you idiot,” he hissed.

“Ow! I know, geez. I’m sorry, too. Mom’s right, I should respect what you want to do. We’re gonna miss seeing you, like this meanie said,” Oikawa jabbing a thumb in the direction of his male best friend. Their eyes are still downcast until you let out a small giggle.

“Apologies accepted, you dummies.”

You still found time after your new art classes to go watch them play volleyball with either Iwazumi’s or Oikawa’s mother picking you all up and heading home. The three of you still lived near each other, and the two boys were happy that they could still see you somehow. Lil Tykes after school evolved into official middle school volleyball practice, yet you were still commonly found in the bleachers finishing homework or doodling in a sketchbook, patiently waiting for your two best friends to go home with you.

A teammate by the name of Wakeda had taken notice of you, had seen your interactions with the best players on their team. He had seen how nice you were with your classmates, yet still unafraid to give Oikawa and Iwaizumi shit for the smallest things. Your aura is pleasant and raw in a genuine sense, only fueling his budding, burning crush on you. He decided he wanted to be confident and bold, hoping that you would give him a chance.

The Friday afternoon starts off like any other -- Iwaizumi and Oikawa head off to volleyball practice with a greeting and a wave, receiving one from you in return as you make your way towards the math club. The art classes from late elementary school only served to show that you only possessed some mild talent for drawing and painting, but not enough for you to continue paying money for classes. The passion and drive didn’t exist for you there, not like it does with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in volleyball, and it only became something that you enjoyed in your leisure time. Instead, you eventually find yourself balancing math club and chess club -- math is on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons while chess is on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but they never run as late as volleyball practice.

As tiring as math club can be sometimes, you usually somehow still find the energy to finish the bulk of your homework before heading home. When you walk through the bleachers and settle into your normal seat, the team spots you and gives you a casual wave. You smile and wave back, setting your stuff down before you clamber towards the edge of the rail and look down to spot the manager. On time, she looks up and greets you with a matching smile, ones that you return. The team is coincidentally taking a quick water break, giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi enough time to quickly chat with you from below (and escape their coach for a hot second).

“How was math club?” Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa subtly observes you as you shrug. To both him and Hajime, the mental exhaustion is evident on your face and figure, yet they always find themselves asking, waiting, watching.

“It was okay,” you respond, fighting back a yawn. “Practice competition round was a bit brutal. How’s practice?” You quickly digress, noticing Oikawa was about to jump in and ask for some details.

“This crappy guy over here keeps pushing himself too much. You know, the usual,” Iwaizumi speaks before, once again, Oikawa can say anything. The latter turns to him and lets out an indignant “Hey!” before quickly attempting to defend himself.

“Iwa-chan is being mean, I’m not--”

“All right, let’s get back to work! Everybody back on the court!” The coach yells and Oikawa can only drop his shoulders and sigh, slightly trudging back into the bounds of the court outline. You stare after him worriedly -- both he (mainly out of stubbornness) and Iwaizumi (mainly out of friendship and loyalty) had been pulling late extra practice sessions and the dark eye circles were starting to become more and more noticeable. As if he could tell what you were probably thinking, he turns back and gives a thumbs up with a grin, tongue slightly poking out. You can only roll your eyes at his antics, returning to your seat in the bleachers and pulling out your science homework.

The minutes tick by as the sun slowly begins to set, rays streaming through the windows of the gym in a harsh blood orange. The coach takes a look at his watch before blowing his whistle, signalling the end of practice. The sound of volleyballs hitting skin abruptly stops, except for one last jump-serve that Oikawa sneaks in. The coach berates him loudly, only causing Oikawa to sheepishly smile and rub the back of his neck. All the players bow and announce their thanks before moving to complete their respective clean-up duties. By this time, you gather your stuff and make your way towards the ground floor. Even if your best friends were going to do some extra practice, it’s better for you to sit at their level against the wall.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor increases in volume as you approach the court. But before you can make your way towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa on the other side of the net, Wakeda calls out your name. You turn towards the left to see him pick up a volleyball not far from you, and Wakeda is counting his lucky stars that he was provided with an excuse to be near you.

“Aoki-san,” you greet him by his last name. “How was practice?”

“It was good, but Coach really worked us to the bone today,” he nervously replies, hands subtly clenching the volleyball in his hands. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a second? In private?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’ve never really had much interaction with him outside of volleyball practice, and even then it was very limited to pleasantries. Perhaps it’s about Iwaizumi and Oikawa running themselves to the ground, and nothing to do with you. “Sure,” you agree, looking around before gesturing towards the door of the gym. “We can talk out here, if you’d like.” Wakeda quickly nods and follows you. At this time, the other boys have retreated towards the locker room except for one. One who narrows his eyes at the retreating backs of two people making their way out of the gym.

He puts the last ball in the ball cart, ignoring his friend’s confused look as he jogs towards the entrance of the gym and leans against the wall out of sight. He knows it's wrong to eavesdrop, but he just has to know about what could be unfolding.

The two of you are only a few feet away from the open door and you can only look perplexed as Wakeda begins to look more and more bashful, stumbling over words and anxiously tossing the ball side to side between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” You ask worriedly, trying to maintain eye contact until you can because he’s looking straight down towards the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as you start to fathom what might be happening.

“I’m sorry, I just -- I like you. I think you’re really nice and cool, and I would like it if I could take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned into silence. Never has anyone expressed any semblance of romantic interest in you, nor has anyone confessed. You’ve never been in this position and the first thing your brain starts to unravel is the puzzle of how to turn someone down. It’s not that going on a date with Wakeda would be terrible -- you just don’t know enough about him. You don’t want to bring his hopes up, but you don’t want to bring him down either.

On the other side of the wood, the boy’s eyebrows are furrowed. His arms are crossed and a foot is perched against the wall, legs making the shape of the number four. His eyes are burning holes into the window across from him and he can’t figure out why a feeling of protectiveness is washing over him. But what he can’t figure out even more is why his mind is instantly screaming, “Please say no please say no please say no don’t say yes don’t leave us don’t leave me--”

“I’m sorry,” he hears, ears straining to catch your voice as you softly apologize. You watch as Wakeda’s shoulders slump and the volleyball is finally kept still between his hands. You gently put a hand on his upper arm. “I can tell you’re a nice guy, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Wakeda lets out a long breath before mustering up his best smile for you. “It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it." A hand reaches up to run a hand through his hair in embarrassment and he’s trying to think of what to say next. Be bold, be confident, his inner self reminds him as he stands tall again. Wakeda puts up the cheekiest smile you’ve seen on him so far. “But I’ll be waiting, if you ever change your mind.”

The statement only makes you smile first and then chuckle. Wakeda basks in the sound for as long as he can before he shyly joins you. The laughter isn’t meant to demean him in any way, but it’s the only reaction you can feel yourself make. It’s all so foreign to you, but you’re glad that your first interaction like this is with someone as kind as him. You trust Oikawa’s teammates.

“Thank you though, it must’ve taken a lot of courage to do this. To be honest, this has never happened to me before and I just don’t know what to say,” you ramble a little, now wondering if you’ve said too much. Wakeda begins to look a little more comfortable before making his way back to the gym with you following.

“Would it be cheesy to say I’m glad I was the first?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I know now that I’m never changing my mind.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wakeda exclaims, only causing you to laugh. “You gotta leave some room for chance so--”

“Oi, Wakeda,” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your eyes spot Oikawa slowly making his way from the other side of the gym, walking towards you two with a hand in a pocket and another hand in the air, waving. But it’s perplexing because his chest is heaving like he just sprinted his fastest around the court. “Is that the last ball?”

“Ah, yes, sorry senpai!” Wakeda apologizes before tossing the ball into Oikawa’s awaiting hand. It quickly gets thrown into the ball cart. When you two are standing right in front of him, your friend pats Wakeda on the shoulder. “Go ahead and clean up, you deserve a break,” he says before smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes or even match his eyes. His chestnut orbs have another emotion burning in them, far from the light they would usually glint when paired with a genuine grin. Wakeda quickly lets out a “see you around” and you wave back at him. Once the boy has disappeared into the locker room, you direct your attention back to Oikawa. That earlier fire in his eyes has dimmed a little, but you want to know what it is and why it’s there.

A word barely leaves your tongue when strong arms hug you to a sturdy chest. They intertwine around your shoulders, the squeeze becoming more and more constricting. Your chest tightens and you’re not sure if it’s your heartbeat or his that you’re feeling beat against your chest. In a movement of instinct, you hesitantly wrap your own arms around Oikawa, hand linking to hold onto your own wrist behind his back. Your face is pressed into his shoulder, your nose catching the lingering scent of his deodorant mixed with his sweat. His chin is perched over your shoulder momentarily before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen.

It’s not that Oikawa has never hugged you before. There have been plenty of hugs with the two boys over the last nine years, but something is different about this one. There’s an underlying intention hidden in the muscles of Oikawa’s arms, hidden in the way that he breathes in your scent. Something heavy is unspoken as a sense of intimacy falls over the two of you like a soft blanket. You can only gently grasp the back of his jersey, his grip somehow tightening even more, and finally find your voice to speak.

“Tooru,” you murmur, fighting the sensation of your heart caught in your throat. Very rarely do you ever say his name in that tone, one so gentle and full of friendly affection (but did he want it to be just friendly?), so caring and drowned in empathy. “Is everything okay?” You continue and ask. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to scream it through his mind, hoping it’ll somehow miraculously meet yours. But even he doesn’t understand what’s drawing him to do this. All he knows is that as soon as Wakeda was out of sight, he needed you here in his arms. The non-verbal pleas of worry and want from earlier have substantially settled, now morphing into thoughts of “It’s okay, she’s here, she isn’t leaving us, she isn’t leaving me--”. It must be the stress from wanting to become the best, from the stress of Kageyama Tobio’s looming ascent to the top, from the general stress of classes. It must be those. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies into your neck, sound muffled but just as quiet as yours had been. You can only feel your heart sink at how strained those words came out. Everything was clearly not fine. Your hands unlink and move to his waist, putting some force into your palms to try to separate from him so you can see his face. But Oikawa quickly protests a soft “no”, once again pulling you as close to him as possible with an arm around your waist and the other soon joining. He can’t handle distance from you right now, some budding anxiety from your attempts at separation quickly subdued as you’re pressed fully against his chest again. “Just give me this moment,” he thinks and pleads to some unknown force.

“I’m just...stressed,” he says before letting out a long breath and disentangling himself from you. But he doesn’t move far, the tips of both of your sneakers just centimeters apart from touching. He straightens his back and lifts his head to momentarily look into your eyes, your own face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze. But before you can decipher the emotions in his eyes, his head tilts down to lean his forehead against yours. Though his eyes are closed, yours are still open in muted astonishment. If the hug wasn’t very new, then this action was definitely new. The tip of his nose barely grazes yours, causing your breath to hitch, once again feeling your heart stuck in your throat. You struggle to breathe, especially when his lips are so close to yours. Somehow your thoughts drift to thinking of what would happen if you elevated your feet just a little bit, what would it feel like if your lips softly met his--

“There’s a lot going on,” he interrupts your (silly, silly) thoughts. “I keep getting reminded of how I’m not good enough, and maybe I never will be. But I want to be the best, you know?” For how tall Oikawa is, you’ve never heard him sound so small before. Your eyes can’t help but flutter closed as you relish in the sound of his voice. You try to understand what he’s feeling, the frustration, the stress, the insecurity.

“I hate knowing there’s someone better out there. I hate that there’s someone out there, right here, who’s got the pure talent and prodigal level that I don’t have because I keep getting reminded of how I’m not the one who has it. It’s just not fair, (y/n), do you understand?”

“But I know you’re here for me. And Iwaizumi. I know you believe in me and in us. You're right here with us. You always are,” he continues before you can affirm and acknowledge him. His fingers ghost over your skin, up from your wrists, to your elbows, then your shoulders, lastly lingering at the sides of your neck. Goosebumps break out in the wake of his tender trail and you fight the urge to shiver. You so badly want to open your eyes and drink in this moment of vulnerability from Oikawa, but you’re afraid that you’ll do something rash, something you’ll regret. You’re then given all the more reason to keep your eyes shut when his hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs on your cheeks, the other fingers softly splayed down your neck. He inhales sharply, then daring to slant his head down just the slightest distance, your noses firmly touching now. Your heart is now thrashing wildly against your ribcage -- you have no grasp on what is happening.

“Promise me you’ll never leave us, (y/n),” he implores, raw desperation laced and building in his voice. You can’t help but recognize the tears uncontrollably forming behind your eyelids. Nothing else around you matters -- it’s only you and Oikawa in this impenetrable bubble that you two have created. You’re too far in now, sinking and drowning into this body of water that is him, entangled and rooted in this web that he’s so quickly and craftily woven. He could ask anything of you and you would do it in the blink of an eye. How he made you feel this way in just a few minutes, from the door of the gym to the embrace of his arms, is completely beyond you, but you can’t seem to find the complaints within you. ‘How cruel of him,’ you despondently think, still unable to find it in yourself to be mad. ‘How wicked of him.’

But then Oikawa deals the final blow with a shaky breath. He lays out his last trap, one that you can’t escape. It’s the final straw, the last pull into a heartbreaking world that you will never be able to escape from for as far into the future as you can see; desperation, yearning, beseeching.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

Nothing, nothing, can stop you from whispering what he so deeply desires to hear, fall delicately off your tongue.

“I promise.”

And his lips crash onto yours.

You and Iwaizumi are fifteen years old when Oikawa falls to his lowest.

The kiss was a one-time thing. It had lasted no more than a few seconds when the sound of the locker room door swinging open had you two jumping apart and turning away from each other. Oikawa found it easier than you did to compose himself, though internally he was berating his actions. What was it that made him do such a thing? What was it that pushed him to cross the line he never thought he’d cross? What was it that made him want to spin back around and continue what he had started?

“Iwa-chan!” He had hollered across the building, waving over said male who had smartly refrained from changing his clothes. “Help with some tosses? Serves?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi had muttered under his breath, grunting his affirmation loud enough. But in his peripheral, he had spotted your figure hunched over your things on the bench, had squinted at the way you seemed to be shaking, shivering. He had noticed the look, almost a glare, that Oikawa had directed towards Wakeda before imperceptibly shaking his head to focus on the extra task.

And it wasn’t until weeks later that Oikawa breached the subject during a walk home, sans you because you had late night practice with the math club to prepare for some upcoming Olympiad competition. You were insistent through text that they didn't wait for you and that one of your teammates would help walk you home. Oikawa argued quite relentlessly against it until you threatened to block him from the group chat (though it wasn’t the first time you threatened such a thing) and Iwaizumi decided to take his phone away.

While much wasn’t being said, mainly both preoccupied with their popsicles that they had stopped at a convenience store for, Oikawa broke the silence.

“I kissed (y/n).”

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his popsicle, spluttering and struggling to find the right words to say. Yet the best he could come up with was, “So are you two...dating?”

“No.”

“What the fuck? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re best friends, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know when to tell you though, thought you’d get mad at me,” Oikawa said, pouting childishly.

“So...well, you can tell me what happened before it later. But what happened after? And when did this even happen?”

“Everything just went back to normal. We never spoke about it. And it happened a few weeks ago in the gym after practice.”

“But why?”

“Hmm…” Oikawa had pondered for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Not sure. I was just really stressed, and I was scared that she’d leave us.”

“Us? How am I included in this? And where’d you even come up with that thought?”

“Because it’s always been us three, and it’s always gonna be us. We can’t be apart.”

“We’re eventually going to be apart, you know. It’s not likely that we’re all going to end up in the same city.”

“No,” Oikawa spoke obstinately, hands harshly crushing the wrapper around the now empty popsicle stick. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to stick together wherever we go. We’ll play for the national team and (y/n) will find a job in Tokyo. We’re always going to be near each other. That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi had nothing to say about that, except for, “We’ll see.”

In the month or so to the blossoming age of fifteen, things don’t change very much. Oikawa becomes more physically affectionate with you and Iwaizumi. You try not to notice how often and how casually Oikawa tends to sling an arm over your shoulders. He does the same with Iwaizumi, though the latter is more likely to shrug it off in mock annoyance and causes Oikawa to lament about lost friendships. But even if physical distance has shortened, Oikawa begins to dig a mental wall between you two. His face becomes more hardened during practice, rarely ever putting up an earnest smile with his teammates. The late-night practices run even later, each serve hitting harder, each toss against the wall getting stronger. The nights when you leave him on his own slowly increase in frequency, going back home with only Iwaizumi. The third leg of the triangle missing feels so adulterated, so wrong. Oikawa is digging himself towards a hell that he won’t be able to return from, but how can you lift him back up? How can you dig your heels into the earth and pull him back out?

“I’m trying my best,” Iwaizumi attempts to comfort you one night. He sees how often you turn back to look at Oikawa as the two of you reluctantly move to leave the gym. Practice had been rough on him, getting switched out with Kageyama Tobio. You had watched his defeated body collapse onto the bench, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run down and snap him out of whatever mental spiral he had created. One serve after another slams into the ground, his figure hunched and panting yet pushing itself to the limits.

“He’s going to kill himself at this rate,” you whisper morosely, turning back to peer at the dark sky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“You know there’s no one more stubborn than that idiot. He’d have to pass out for you to drag him out of here.”

“Please teach me how to serve!” A young male voice calls out. Both of you pivot on your feet to see the source, eyes focusing on the scene of Kageyama Tobio requesting a seemingly simple task from a senpai.

But you can only watch as Oikawa’s eyes lose any semblance of emotion, instead only darkening with what seems like rage entering his body. He begins to tremble, and Iwaizumi must’ve seen something shift because no sooner than that does he bolt at top speed towards the unsuspecting pair. You can only watch in horror, shell-shocked, as Oikawa begins to forcibly swing his right arm, the back of his hand aiming straight for Tobio’s right cheek.

A horrible screech unearths from your throat in the form of a piercing “NO!” and slices through the air, just as Iwaizumi is able to stop Oikawa’s assault on the poor unsuspecting underclassman. You’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so ready to intentionally commit an act of violence against an innocent person. Your ears pulse with your heartbeat, barely registering Iwaizumi apologizing to Tobio and giving Oikawa the lecture of his life.

The latter is reminded of the purpose of having a team, is scolded for having been so selfish in his pursuit for excellence. You start sprinting over when Iwaizumi headbutts Oikawa in the nose for his insolence, tossing your bag down as it only decreases your speed. You don’t care for the trouble of cleaning out blood stains from towels when you begin to clean his face, his eyes still furious and full of anguish but somewhat softened when he sees your tears. He continues to let Iwaizumi teach him a lesson while you pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head back. Like handling a doll, you have to lift his arm so he can keep the towel in place himself. You then scurry off to find the first-aid kit, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself. Only a couple of minutes later, the three of you are sitting on the ground and you’re dabbing ointment on the emerging bruise right in the middle of Iwaizumi’s forehead. Iwaizumi is a little calmer now, though he’s still verbally punishing Oikawa for even thinking of purposefully hurting a teammate.

Oikawa thinks the three of you are all fine and okay. He’d be ridiculously thickheaded if he wasn’t able to catch onto how quiet you are on the walk home, how instead of walking between him and Iwaizumi, you’re now on the opposite end. There’s a tug at his heartstrings when he plays with the idea that you’re attempting to put distance between you and him, but he refuses to believe it. His actions were a momentary lapse in terrible, awful judgment, and you had forgiven him. Why else would you have tried to help with his nosebleed? There’s no way you’d let something like this drive a rift in the trio.

There’s just no way.

“You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

There are times when you forget that Iwaizumi can be just as perceptive as Oikawa. For the last two weeks, you would, more often than not, avoid them during lunch. You attempt to show up at their volleyball practice as late as possible, saying that your club activities went longer than usual to prepare for upcoming competitions. You still walk on the opposite side from Oikawa on the way home and only give the bare minimum answers to any of his questions, leaving very little room to continue conversation. The atmosphere is heavy and awkward, tension so thick that Iwaizumi would need a chainsaw to cut through it.

This time you’re on the roof of the school. It’s cliché, so cliché, but the weather was too hard to ignore. Mostly cloudy with a slight wind, the perfect temperature without feeling too hot or too cold. You loved being outside during these days, and you had weaved as fast as possible through the emerging crowd of third years, up the stairs, and onto your personal sanctuary. Your bento is half-eaten when Iwaizumi makes his presence known. You should’ve seen this coming.

“He’s worried about you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“He misses you.”

“I know.”

“...he wants to know if you’re avoiding him because of that incident.”

“...which one?”

“The kiss.”

You whip your head in his direction, giving Iwaizumi an incredulous and affronted look. Instinctively, Iwaizumi throws his hands up, signaling that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. God, Oikawa could be such a clueless buffoon sometimes. You scoff and nearly snort. Iwaizumi looks about ready to tear his hair out.

“So the great king thinks that I’m avoiding him over something that we haven’t talked about that happened a few months ago?”

Iwaizumi can’t find the words when you slam your bento box down on the ground, chopsticks thrown haphazardly on top and almost rolling off the edges. Iwaizumi catches them as you stand up in anger and begin to pace in front of him.

“Who does he think he is? He’s got a decent following of fangirls to help stroke his ego, and I’m sure some of them are more than willing to worship the ground he walks on. His teammates practically idolize him -- sans you -- but he thinks I’m losing sleep over some kiss we had months ago? It would make much more sense if this had been a couple of weeks after that, but we’re talking months right now! How is it," you stop in your stride, bottom lip beginning to tremble as you look down at Iwaizumi. "How is it that he’s one of my best friends who’s known me for almost 10 years, a genius in his own way, but still can’t tell that I’m avoiding him because I’m scared of him?”

This time, Iwaizumi is confused.

“You’re scared of Oikawa?” He asks, trying to confirm what he just heard.

You let out a long breath, forcing yourself to simmer down and keep a cool head. Part of you feels guilty, yet another part feels justified for your actions. You were only protecting yourself; it was only natural.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” you begin, gingerly sitting back down next to him. The comfort of your best friend that you’ve been denying yourself of is granted as you rest your head on his shoulder. You link an arm around his as well as you begin to curl into a familiar position. Iwaizumi only naturally rests his head on top of yours, hands folded in his lap and legs stretched out.

“I’ve never seen him look so angry, even when that one kid in second grade tried to make fun of you. Or even when someone took the shit talking too far at an official game last year. But he was ready, Iwa-kun. He was ready to displace Tobio out of sheer anger and spite. I know he knows better now. I’ve seen how much better he meshes with you all on the court and attempts to bring the best out of everyone. But it’s hard to look at him sometimes and forget what he was then. What if he gets mad like that at us one day? What if he tries to hit you?”

What if he tries to hit me? is left unsaid, but they ring loud and clear in both of your heads.

“The idiot knows that I could take him down in a fight if it ever came to it. And since it’s apparently not obvious, I’m just letting you know that Shittykawa would rather throw himself off a cliff before ever laying a finger on you like that.”

“But how can you guarantee that?” You argue back, lifting your head up to look him square in the eyes. You want to see if the same hesitancy is reflected in his orbs, the same uncertainty that had been slowly building up in you as an ugly beast. Instead, his eyes are steady and full of promise, never straying from yours as he ends the debate.

“You can trust me. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll do anything to make up for it, though the chances are very, very low. They’re practically non-existent.”

And if Iwaizumi says so, well…then it probably is so.

“...I trust you then,” you comply, your head leaning down to rest on his shoulder again. “You better be right.”

“I know I am.”

Silence.

“If you’re not going to eat the rest of your bento, you should give it to him. He’d be happy to see you.”

A few sighs later, a couple of stretches, some steps down the stairs, you find yourself stuck at the door of their classroom. You can see him with his jacket on, head buried in his arms on his desk and turned towards the windows. Iwaizumi gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Somehow you find yourself demurely sitting in the empty desk chair in front of him, hands clutching your bento box and chopsticks. Iwaizumi stands by you and watches as you quietly gulp.

“Tooru, wake up.”

Oikawa thinks he’s dreaming. More often than not, you had plagued his visions in sleep, often ending with you attempting to wake him up, but it had been spoken by his mother. He would be disappointed that it wasn’t you by his bedside trying to goad him out from under the sheets.

“Tooru, wake up. I have food.”

This is different. His eyes are bleary and caked with exhaustion, vision catching the light that peaks from under his elbows. Her voice is so close -- he has to give in and just look. Oikawa lifts his head and stares in front of him. He blinks once, then twice, then multiple times, and you’re still there. This is not a dream, he concludes. This is too good to be a dream.

You watch him warily as he attempts to gather his bearings. In the meantime, you open your bento and grab the last onigiri. When Oikawa begins to form the sounds for your name, you quickly stuff the rice ball into his mouth, causing him to give a muffled protest and use one hand to prevent the food from dropping. You watch with muted delight as everything begins to hit him all at once: the food in his mouth, you in front of him with a close-lipped smile, Iwaizumi leaning on the desk next to you two, the sunlight beaming through the windows.

His eyes slightly water, choosing wisely to not say anything for now. Oikawa dutily finishes the rice ball before you place the bento in front of him with chopsticks neatly arranged to the right of it. His hands shoot out to cover yours before they leave the bento, squeezing gently as he looks at you with apologetic puppy eyes. You can’t stop your smile from widening, and only then does Oikawa happily let go, thank the food, and begin to chow down with a gusto that had been missing for the last week.

Things are going to be okay. Unless that group of fangirls seething at you over in the corner is an indication of something otherwise.

You turn sixteen when Oikawa gets his first, real girlfriend.

It’s your first year at Aoba Johsai and Oikawa has captured the hearts of many people from around the area, be it still from middle school, or even some of the upperclassmen. Those who are engrossed in school volleyball were surprised to hear that he didn’t matriculate into Shiratorizawa. And because Oikawa keeps most everyone at arm’s length, only very few people know the reason why. It wasn’t that he was good enough to get in, that’s for sure -- it had mainly been him refusing to “serve” Ushijima. The Herculean boy can criticize his choices all he wants, but Oikawa will never step down from his pedestal willingly.

What no one knows besides Oikawa himself is that Ushijima was only 70% of the reason. The other 30%? He was not going to be the one that separates the trio. What a hypocrite he would be if he had left after having so passionately convinced Iwaizumi that the three of you would always be with each other.

Little do the two boys know that you had seriously considered going to Shiratorizawa. They knew how smart you were as you consistently placed in the top 5 of your class throughout middle school. What they didn’t catch onto was also how well you did in math club and chess club -- to be fair, they knew you excelled, they just weren’t sure of the details. Inquiries about your competitions were always answered in team format: we did well or we placed pretty high. The same existed for chess competitions -- you weren’t a national champion by any means, but you were still somewhat recognized. But again, the same answers were given: we all did well. Math club and chess club never had the public presence that other clubs did. Very few cared, and much less was said.

Before Oikawa pointed out how disgusted he was by the idea of going to Shiratorizawa, you had studied for their entrance exams in your spare time. You didn’t play any sports, so those scholarships were out of the question. It’d all have to be based on merit and you were ready to prove yourself. You had gotten past the first two rounds of exams without them knowing, and your nights only became longer and longer as the material increased in difficulty. But then the two boys talked about going to Aoba Johsai together since they were invited anyways, and not long after, you found yourself at the entrance of the testing center with Oikawa and Iwaizumi on either side, putting Shiratorizawa to the back of your mind.

Things are more brutal in high school. Subjects are more difficult, classes take more time, after-school activities often extend past the sunset. There are physically not enough hours in a day to spend nearly the amount of time you used to have with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The fangirls increase, Iwaizumi’s irritation becomes more exaggerated, and Oikawa becomes too nice on the fan-service.

He’s the triple threat: smart, kind, an amazing volleyball player. You and Iwaizumi can only roll your eyes as he plasters on his fakest grin for the crowd of girls huddling around him, demanding his attention. A part of him is thankful that so many seem to admire him. As much as he won’t return the affection, he welcomes the non-stop stroking of his ego. It does wonders at keeping his insecurities at bay, even if he knows that everything is superficial and surface level. They think they know him, but only a handful of people truly understand his personality.

So when Oikawa announces on the train home that he’s taking a girl out on a date, you and Iwaizumi can only passively nod, thinking that nothing will come of it. Then the second date happens, the third, the fourth, and then the stamp of the label between the two.

“I have a girlfriend now, guys!”

“Like actually? Sounds fake to me,” Iwaizumi scoffs, Oikawa taking offense.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for, a heartless player?”

“Somewhat,” you jokingly supply, eyes still trained on your notes from your biology class. You don’t need to physically see him to know that he’s pouting and threatening to stick his tongue out at you. “Who’s the poor girl?” You ask, not really expecting much.

“She’s in your class, actually. Tachi Misaki?”

Your eyes stop registering any of the text that you’ve written. How did you miss that? How did you miss the fact that the girl he’d been dating was sitting only two rows away from you?

“Well,” you reply, clearing your throat. “All I can say is that you’re shooting above your level.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, plus she’s really smart and pretty. She seems kinda low maintenance, pretty chill. Makes pretty good cookies. You think I could get her to learn how to make milk bread? But only if she has time.”

A heavy sigh leaves you as you stick a pencil between the pages and snap the notebook shut. Iwaizumi looks deep in thought before asking, “You think you’ll be able to handle her?”

“I mean, I’ve been going out on dates with her up ‘til now. She seemed fine and said she knew how busy my training schedule was. Like I said, she’s chill. Doubt she’s ever going to be super clingy or anything like that.”

By this time, you’ve all arrived at Oikawa’s house. He waves goodbye as he enters the front door, leaving Iwaizumi to walk you home.

“I give it three months, max,” you tell him. It’s mean, but you know Oikawa. He’ll be the most caring boyfriend in the beginning, but then he’ll get too comfortable, too complacent. He’ll unknowingly rely on the other person to comply with his needs rather than continuing to compromise to meet theirs. It’s only a matter of time before Misaki realizes that.

“I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt...maybe he’ll finally wake up, y’know. He’ll have an excuse to stop putting in extra practice or do something other than watching Shiratorizawa matches ‘til 2AM.”

At that, you cast a disbelieving look at him, his eyes catching yours. It isn’t long until you’re both failing to keep your laughter in. Oikawa Tooru? Ditching the opportunity for extra practice? Over his dead body.

Your estimation comes to fruition when Oikawa lightly dunks his forehead to lay on top of yours during the train ride home. The three of you had been standing near a pole, your own arm linked around it for some balance as you review and scribble some extra things into your notes from class. Oikawa is hanging on by a handle while Iwaizumi is grasping the part of the pole above your head.

“Misaki-chan broke up with me,” he spoke, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear as well.

“Did she say why?” You ask, unable to move your head as you stare at the flap of his jacket.

“Becauseimtooobsessedwithvolleyball,” he mutters quickly.

“Say that again? And louder?” Iwaizumi teases.

Sigh. Straighten. “Because I’m too obsessed with volleyball,” he repeats a little bit louder, looking slightly ashamed and embarrassed that he, the great king of the court, the sole subject of so many girls’ affection, was ultimately dumped. The other part of the embarrassment masked the guilt he felt inside, having taken advantage of Misaki’s affections for him. Your eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, knowing that the conversation from months ago wasn’t said for naught. The sad, inevitable truth was there, and someone had to say it.

“It’s okay, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi nagged, patting the bachelor’s back. “You gotta make compromises, too.”

“But she knew! And we went on dates. That’s compromises, right?” Oikawa bemoaned, stubborn and petulant as ever. “It’s not like she wasn’t warned…”

“How many times did you guys go on a date?” You ask, attempting to get him to see reason. You know that the truth is there. He’s just fighting against full acceptance.

“Mmm, three times. No, four.”

“Three times in three months? Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay okay, um, what’d you guys do on the dates?”

“(Y/n)-chan, are you jealous? You wanna go on a date with me?” He teases, a pointer finger poking your cheek. You squint at him before (gently) slapping the back of his head, causing him to rub the area out of mock pain.

“Ya, do you want to die?” You threaten. “I will throw you off this train if I have to.”

“Can I help?”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you on her side?? Shit, I need new friends.”

“Good riddance.”

“Stoooppp!”

From then on, Oikawa swears off girlfriends in high school. Everyone is too busy, and no one is going to understand him and be okay with what he does. Volleyball is his passion and dream, why is that so hard to get through people’s heads?

(But he knows that as much as he protests, he couldn’t give Misaki what she wanted. He wanted to make it work, he really did.)

The horde of fangirls only grows over the years. He’d rather hold a torch for no one than to try again. Nothing mattered more than a victory against Shiratorizawa and moving on to nationals. The fangirls’ affection would make up for any lack of a love life and Iwaizumi can only shake his head as a trail of hopeful hearts are left in the setter’s wake.

There are times when Oikawa is incredibly thankful for you, that at least he has some sort of close female companion that’s not his sister or mother. Even if you’re busier than ever, you still make time for him and Iwaizumi, whether it be attending their late practices or making sure that they finish their homework over the weekends. They can’t play if they’re failing classes.

(Y/n)’s personality is what he wants in a girlfriend, Oikawa realizes one night. Someone chill, someone understanding of his lifestyle, someone who goes out of their way to spend time with him. Someone he feels a connection with no matter the distance, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to go to if they needed him, someone who would always, always be there--

But he can’t possibly date you. Why risk losing you when he already has you within his grasp? There’s no need to worry about making time or planning for dates, no need to worry about coming up with a gift for White Day (as if he already doesn’t). There’s no need to worry about you leaving him now when his ugly, petty side manifests from time to time because you’ve seen it all. You would never leave him, he reaffirms to himself. You will always be by his side no matter where he is. He can always count on you to be in the bleachers during games, front and center, with the rest of the school cheer crowd. He can always count on you to lend him a shoulder, to pick up the phone at 4AM when he’s woken up anxious with thoughts going at a million a mile, to hand him two slices of milk bread on the weekends from their favorite bakery, to keep him in line with Iwaizumi.

Why risk voiding himself of all that, of so many memories, just to pursue the chance for some more intimacy?

And as Oikawa’s fingers hover over his lips, his mind reeling with flashbacks on how that kiss with you felt even two years later, the last thing he registers before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep is the painful tightening of his chest.

Oikawa is seventeen when he is reminded of how easy it is for him to lose you.

The three of you are sitting on a checkered blanket on top of a hill that overlooks the nearby area. A plastic bag holds a mix of canned beers and hard ciders, some empty and others waiting to be consumed. You’re taking it a little farther than you usually do, typically sipping one through the night. Yet you’re on your third and the two boys can only look at you with slight concern.

Your finals were particularly difficult -- part of you had still been recovering from the vicarious loss against Shiratorizawa, knowing how hard your two friends had taken it. It had only caused Oikawa and Iwaizumi to spend even more time in the gym after practice, a ferocity and drive in their muscles that you had never observed before. The amount of time and energy it took from you to forcibly change and drag them away from the court was substantial. Sleepless nights were dedicated to thinking of ways on how to lift them back up from whatever mental hell they created for themselves. In a sense, those nights paid off, but not without a price.

The alcohol tingles through your bloodstream and seems to slow everything down. You’re not drunk, but you don’t think you could appreciate the scenery before you as much as you are now if you were completely sober. Oikawa is going on about the constellations in the night sky, Iwaizumi teasing him relentlessly, and you can’t bother to fight the lazy smile that stretches across your face. Would you still have these nights with them if you had gone to Shiratorizawa?

“Did you know,” you softly interrupt them, unable to keep the secret any longer. It’s been two years, surely it couldn’t hurt. “Did you know...that I would’ve gone to Shiratorizawa if it hadn’t been for you two?”

The sound of cicadas has nothing on the sudden pounding of Oikawa’s heartbeat. Iwaizumi has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, searching your own as you pull up your knees and rest your chin on top of them. The lack of a verbal response only makes you chuckle, reaching down to grab your can and take another sip.

“Evidently it didn’t happen,” you drawl and then giggle. “Be-because I’m obviously at Seijou--”

“That’s not funny,” Oikawa interjects, voice hard and stern. “That’s not funny, you don’t get to say that and expect us to laugh it off. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?”

“Why does it matter so much?” You mumble, suddenly desiring for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “I clearly didn’t go, okay? Jesus--”

“No!” The setter yells, his face morphed by rage. “You were going to leave us? Why would that ever get into your brain, I mean, did we do something? Did we do something to push you to do something like that?”

“Hey, dude, calm down--”

“Don’t you get it, Iwa-chan? She was going to leave us and go to fucking Shiratorizawa of all places! She--”

“I thought you guys were going to accept their invite, okay?!” You interject, exasperated and frustrated. Evidently, you made a mistake in bringing this up now. “I didn’t realize how much you guys hated Ushijima’s guts and immediately changed plans once Aoba Johsai was on your agenda. So just stop, alright? It was two years ago and nothing’s gonna change.”

Oikawa pauses and attempts to reign in his anger. Why hadn’t you talked about it with them at the time? Why can’t he stop thinking about you donned in their maroon and white uniform, sitting casually in the bleachers of the gym, and instead of waiting for him and Iwaizumi, you’re waiting for Ushijima? Why can’t he stop thinking about how wrong that image looks, how much he’d like to be there and snatch you away because you’re his, you can’t abandon him--

“I’m sorry,” you apologize so mousily. Oikawa glances and sees the glisten of unshed tears, immediately relaxing and feeling guilty for being so hot-headed. It was the alcohol, for sure, he rationalizes before he turns to face you, scooching as close as possible to you. You’re still sitting in a fetal position as he slides one arm behind your waist and another wedges between your stomach and thighs. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your body welcomes the familiar heat and continues to relax as Iwaizumi lays his head on your shoulder. Instead of tears of sadness, you can only bask in the realization of how lucky you are two have these two doofuses in your life. The tears spill over as you sniffle, overcome with emotions that could only be so pronounced under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you guys,” you blubber. Oikawa’s grip tightens for a second as a tacit return of affection. “And I promised, didn’t I? I promised that I’d never leave you two, so you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t wanna leave, even if you made me try.”

That’s right, Oikawa remembers. You promised -- and you would never go back on your word.

Oikawa is eighteen years old when he begins to truly understand the extent of your selflessness and how much of a selfish monster he can be when it comes to you.

It’s the night of their loss against Karasuno High, their last chance at defeating Shiratorizawa now gone and irreversible. Though tears had been shed towards his teammates, an overwhelming amount of gratitude and pride to have gone down fighting their hardest, the regret was eating at the two boys like nothing else.

Oikawa’s mother is working late -- you met them at the doorstep when they returned from the team dinner, saying nothing but holding up a bag of their favorite desserts. Minutes later, the three of you are a tangled and cuddled mess with the television quietly airing some old rerun of a child’s cartoon. It’s only when the boys’ cries have dwindled down into occasional sniffling do you dare to speak.

“I’m so proud of you two,” you begin but already feel yourself choke up again. “You did nothing but your best. I know how much this meant to you guys, but this isn’t the end. Time doesn’t stop here and you’re gonna go on to be even better players in uni. So don’t give up, okay?” You ask, hands squeezing whoever’s arm or arms you might be holding on to.

“Don’t give up when there’s so much left to fight for.”

They know you’re right. You’re always right in times like these.

Iwaizumi leaves about an hour later, eyes brighter and a small shit-eating grin on his face after about 13 brutal rounds of Uno. He won the majority of them, thankful that there was something to distract him for now. Oikawa promises to walk you home soon since it’s so late, earning a glare that could only mean “You fucking better, you shithead” and waving him off. Such a worry-wart. But when the front door clicks closed, the silence takes over once again.

Oikawa stands from the couch and stretches, gives a few twists before turning to look back at you. You’re curled up with your phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. “Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds out a hand. Don’t do this, he tells himself. “There’s something in my room that I need to return to you. Come with me?” Only delight fills his veins when you nod and set your phone down on the couch before sliding your hand into his. They stay linked as he leads you to his room, only separating when he lets go and you take refuge on this edge of his neatly-made bed.

As childish as he can be, you forget how tidy Oikawa is with his room. The books on his shelf are meticulously arranged by last name, photo frames strategically and aesthetically placed in empty spaces. His writing utensils are carefully arranged in a row on the side of his desk, and his drawer looks much of the same. Stapler, tape, sticky notes and tabs are all methodically placed, somehow speaking true to his leadership abilities.

Your observations are cut short when Oikawa sits down next to you with a book in hand, one that you had lent him months ago. To be honest, you completely forgot that he had it and you make it known to him.

“But did you like it?”

He nods with a small smile, yet his eyes are staring at the wall with a faraway look. He’s contemplating something, drawing plans in his brain, and after a couple of glances towards you, Oikawa gives in.

Much like that Friday afternoon four years ago, he leans his forehead on yours. A wave of deja-vu crashes over you as you’re once again plummeted into the dark ocean of his eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, searching for any kind of resistance. He needs something that only you can give him.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he whispers. You can feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the heaviness in his voice. “But I don’t know who else to ask. I don’t know why I can’t think of anyone but you.

“So can I please kiss you?”

What?

“But why?” You ask, the confusion so obvious in two words. Oikawa can only sigh to himself before carefully maneuvering you to straddle him, facing no objection from you. It’s just a kiss, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss that he wants with no strings attached to help with the emotional turmoil that only you could begin to understand. Your heartbeat feels like you’ve been swimming against the current for hours, your body betraying you as you let him bring one of your hands to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he languidly nuzzles into your palm, lips placing the softest, most intimate kiss there.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Your heart aches and aches. “I swear that all I do know is that it can only be you. Please, please let me have this.”

And you can’t help but nod.

Unlike last time, Oikawa doesn’t surge forward. He instead bides his time, lips only barely ghosting over yours as he holds onto your waist. The contact becomes progressively fuller, more purposeful, as he completely slants his mouth over yours. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in the strands at the base of his neck and he finds himself drawing you closer to him, arms now completely wound around your waist.

This is a sin, he has to remind himself. This is a sin that only benefits him -- he is taking, he is stealing, he is feeding on an elixir at the cost of your soul. But his desires only overpower his guilt because as devilish as he may be, the sin feels like heaven. A paradise made by you created solely for him.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth before gently sucking, eliciting the most delicate moan from your throat. The sound only flips a switch in his head as he applies more pressure, desperate to hear it again. Mine, he thinks as he begins to litter kisses down your neck, teeth catching skin to leave marks on you. Mine, he screams to himself as his hands peek under the edge of your shirt, skin on skin.

“Tooru--” you pant, trying to lean back and gather your thoughts. This is too much to handle. If you’re not careful, you’ll unlock the only thing that you swore you’d take to your grave, the three words that could ruin everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps before diving in for another quick kiss. “I’m not asking for sex. I just need you,” he confesses, pecks littered between his words. Oh, how you wish this were under different circumstances. How you wish that you could utter those three words without a care in the world and know that they’ll be reciprocated. Your lips meet his again and it feels like the earth has stopped on its axis.

Both of you are unaware of the amount of time that passes. Fervent kisses slowly diminish to a languid pace until it comes to a complete stop. Oikawa can only lean his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and chest heaving with you in a similar state. Neither of you have enough energy to find the right words. His arms only draw you into his chest and he can’t help but marvel at how perfect of a fit you are for him.

“I should probably head home,” you whisper. Being the man-child that he is, he shakes his head vehemently and momentarily refuses to let you escape his embrace.

“Do you have to?” He tiredly grumbles, reluctantly loosening his grip with a sigh as you slide off his lap. You nod and bend forward to give him one last kiss, the separation causing him to whine. You make your way towards his body-length mirror, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and fix your hair. Oikawa hugs you from behind, his limbs wrapping around your shoulders.

“We’re okay, right?”

You nod. Don’t we have to be?

And that’s when Oikawa Tooru begins to slip through your fingers.

It’s a combined effort, really. Everybody’s trying to wrap things up, all the big competitions are jam packed into the last remaining weekends, and making room for last-minute college entrance exams. If people weren’t already at their wit’s end, then you can barely fathom the amount of anxiety and stress coursing through the halls of the school.

You use this to your advantage, finding yourself unable to go home with the boys, unable to visit them on the weekends, unable to respond to text messages frequently. You begin to learn to look past Oikawa rather than at him, not bothering to spare a second glance when he’s caught in the hallways by a group of infatuated admirers. You fail to see the way his eyes follow your passing figure or how he slows his pace when walking by your classroom, hoping to get a glimpse of you. You fail to see the disappointment on his face when your spot in the bleachers is empty. So he falters, redirects, and lets the distance increase.

The only time you reconvene with the two is after the graduation ceremony. Your mother would kill you if you left without a picture of you and your best friends, and clearly their mothers are thinking the same thing. Outside in the courtyard, the women spot each other, your mother almost dragging you behind her. They’re trying to find their respective sons, though it doesn’t take long because the sudden clambering and screaming of girls can only serve a few purposes. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are craning their heads before they’re able to finally spot the frantic waving from their mothers.

Soon, they’re in front of you, both individually giving a hug. “Congratulations,” you tell them with as much happiness as possible. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see them -- you’re all attending the same university. They thank you and return the festivities. It’s hard to miss how your hug with Oikawa lasts a little bit longer than normal, even more so when his hands trail down your arms before slyly slipping a small object into your hand. As you unfurl your fist, a shiny circular object is gleaning back at you. You spot a stray thread from his jacket and it hits you -- the devilish fox has given you his second button. You’d like to pretend to be unaffected, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“And if I don’t accept?” You challenge. For a second, Oikawa is genuinely taken aback. It’s obvious he didn’t expect you to consider rejecting the button and stumbles over his attempts to come up with a comeback. When he spots you fighting to contain your laughter, his embarrassment only pushes him to lightly shove your shoulder.

“For being my best female friend,” he elaborates. You deserve an award for containing the pain and bearing through it, pretending that his words don’t faze you in any ways. Iwaizumi only shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy -- what is he thinking?

“Oh I’m sorry,” you apologize in a mocking tone, pretending to bow. “Should I be groveling at your feet now like the other girls back there? Oh great king?”

“Why yes, I am indeed the great king--”

Smack. “You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi reprimands. The recipient of the hit pretends to bawl, resuming his childish antics once again.

That’s how high school ends, with two aching hearts and three families of laughter, all making way for the start of university.

Oikawa somehow makes it possible to balance his love life, volleyball, and his business major. Both he and Iwaizumi blend in nicely with the university team as your words from before ring in their brains. They could and are becoming better players -- high school suddenly seems so casual compared to the stakes at the university level. Teammates are constantly being scouted and the two begin to strive for the national team. Despite the fact that they barely see you anymore, Oikawa still dreams of his ideal future: he and Iwaizumi playing for Japan in Tokyo, with you having a job there and supporting them in the stands.

Sometimes he’s able to spot you on campus -- the building for the pharmacy program that you’re enrolled in is relatively far from the business building. Most times you’re walking with your classmates, giggling at something or engaged in a heated discussion. He thinks about how beautiful you look in your white coat with your hair tied back, your face donned with some makeup for the natural look and a pair of dainty earrings. Part of him boils in jealousy whenever there’s a male acting particularly close with you, but he knows he has no right to think that way. The thoughts only fuel him during volleyball practice, which seems to satisfy his coach.

It’s easy for him to like someone, he figures out two years in. It’s easy for him to get to know someone and pick up on their quirks. As a social butterfly, it’s not difficult for him to get along with his partner, but when it comes to developing deeper feelings...it just doesn’t happen. He wants so badly to reciprocate, especially considering how much effort some of his past partners have put in. But something stops him every time -- unwillingly, he’s become a master at letting people down easy, that he’s truly sorry he can’t reciprocate their love. On the other hand, Iwaizumi is pretty successful in his current relationship, going strong for the last year and a half. Oikawa seeks his advice at the club one night, keeping an eye out to see if there’s anyone he'd be willing to take home (not that he ever does).

At this point, Iwaizumi wonders how he’s still friends with him. Yes, he’s fiercely loyal and has been by Oikawa’s side since the beginning, but if the guy was going to do nothing but continue his descent into idiocy, there was very little he could do for him. (Y/n) had the same problem as Oikawa except you figured it out much, much faster.

“You idiot, you’re in love with another person.”

“...say what now?”

“That’s all it is. You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.”

“If I was in love with someone else, wouldn’t I know?”

Yeah. Oikawa Tooru is a big, bumbling, messy pile of denial.

“You know what,” Iwaizumi sighs, setting his drink down before paying the tab. “You’re right. You’re in love with yourself.” Oikawa knows that he’s joking. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- he’s always dedicated himself to the happiness of others. That’s the role of him as a setter and captain: to bring out the best of his teammates’ abilities, but he can only do that if he’s at his best as well. His eyes cast another look into the dancing crowd. He downs his drink as someone catches his attention, also moving to pay his tab.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Iwaizumi only gives him a lazy wave as he makes his way to the entrance. Oikawa is sliding his way onto the dance floor and when Iwaizumi spots who he’s wormed next to, he hopes that one day, Oikawa will really open his eyes.

Because he’s always going for girls who look wildly similar to you.

It’s hard to have an undefeated season. Some losses are harder than others and during the first two years, you, sweet, sweet (y/n), always managed to find him.

He needed you most on those rare days. Even after weeks of limited texting and quick passings on campus, there was a level of comfort that solely existed by being with you. He would attempt to joke and tease with you to put up a facade, but when you would lead him to his couch and leave your arms open, the veil would drop as he cried into your shoulder. He would then pick up his terrible, terrible habit of giving into sin (as long as he wasn’t dating anyone), selfishly knowing that you would never say no. He’ll ask you if this is okay, and you always say yes. The two of you never cross the line of anything more than making out, yet the kisses become less lust-ridden and more tender over time, laced with something much more meaningful.

(And with each time, it becomes harder and harder to refrain yourself from confessing.)

Oikawa reveled in being able to sigh against your lips, stealing your breaths from your lungs and even convincing you to stay the night. There were mornings when he truly felt that there was nothing better than waking up with his arm around your waist. He could squeeze you to his chest and wish for this all day. Sometimes, you woke up earlier than him and silently admired how peaceful he looked compared to the haggardness just hours before. With his hair so delicately splayed across his forehead, the ends curling up to defy gravity, a tiny scar dusting his right cheek, you would be painfully reminded of just how much you love him.

The last time you woke up next to him, you thought to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

In the beginning of the third year, you fight every cell in your body to not go to him. Instead, you call him up and ask how he’s doing -- he doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand that you come see him. If there’s something preventing you from visiting him, he won’t ask about it. Even only a call brings him the warmth that he usually craved from you, though he knows nothing can satisfy him like your physical presence. The routine continues, volleyball practice becomes longer, and Oikawa thinks he’s finally getting used to this. This is the farthest you’ll distance yourself from him. There’s no way that you’d ever be more than a train ride away.

“are you guys free for coffee this weekend?” The text reads in the group chat. (Y/n) knows they don’t have a game, one of the rare breaks they get. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have the same schedules, so when Iwaizumi texts back “yh, where at?”, it’s for both of them.

“our favorite cafe restaurant by the bookstore okay? 1pm? my treat?”

“sounds good. see you then.”

“see you guys xx”

They think nothing of it -- it’s just a rare moment that everyone is free and able to catch up. Both dress up in their best casual streetwear, Oikawa even donning the glasses that you like so much. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement at finally being able to talk with you and have you within arm’s distance. Everything is normal when they walk into the cafe, spotting you in the corner booth. You’re quick to match their grins and give them both hugs, watching in delight as their eyes take in the milk bread, agedashi tofu, and a few other shareable dishes. They’re starting to think this is a bit of an apology meal for not having seen them in forever. It’s nice that whenever the three of you are together, there’s no awkwardness and everything seems to be back to normal.

Like how it’s supposed to be. But all good things must come to an end, right?

“It’s so nice being here with you two,” you laugh as you lean back against the vinyl leather. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“We need to do this more often,” Iwaizumi agrees. “We don’t have as many classes since we’re juniors now. Practice is still always the same so we should have more time to meet up. What about you?”

“Same here. Actually,” you pause, hesitant and scrambling for words. You’ve even rehearsed what you’re about to tell them, yet everything has been forgotten.

“I’m...I’m applying to doctoral programs in America.”

The boys look like two deer caught in the headlights. Oikawa is immediately filled with a sense of dread and fear -- his worst nightmare is slowly transforming into reality, unearthing its ugly head. A train ride is one thing, but a 13 hour plane ride? Time differences? A whole different country on the other side of the world?

“That’s...wow. That’s um,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “That’s a big move. Why did you decide on America? I thought you wanted to start working after?”

“I’m enjoying pharmaceutical research more than I ever thought I would. We just actually got back from an international conference a few weeks ago -- there were so many interesting topics and studies being done. And...I thought it’d be nice to travel somewhere, you know. Have a change of pace.”

And you’re not completely lying. You’ve never really been outside of Japan before. Part of you wants to travel and see more of the world, especially after the conference in Berlin. Famous structures and streets that had been mere images on your computer or phone screen were suddenly physically before your eyes. You wanted to gain a better grasp of what it could offer and what you’ve been missing out on.

The other part of you felt stuck here. You needed an excuse to end the never-ending cycle that was Oikawa. It was an infinite loop of running to him, falling into his arms, attempting to put an obstacle on the bridge between you two, but then crossing over it to fall back into his arms again. You were never close to being free of him, not that you wanted to, but you wanted to know who you could be almost nearly without him. You wouldn’t be you if you were completely void of Oikawa Tooru. He would always have a part of your heart and be a part of your soul, no matter what.

“When would you leave?” Oikawa timidly asks, his gaze directed towards the crumbs on his plate.

“I’m actually on track to graduate by the end of this academic year. If I find a research group that wants me and is willing to provide me with adequate funding...I’d probably leave pretty soon after graduation. Y’know, get settled, meet my group, and...yeah.”

Silence ensues as the two boys figure out what to say. Your leg is bouncing restlessly beneath the table, fingers quietly tapping the side of your cup. Iwaizumi seems to be taking it pretty well, but Oikawa...you can’t tell.

All emotion is wiped from his face. He’s choosing to pierce holes in the wall by your head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. He’s trying so hard to be mature about this and be happy for you, yet all he can register is the fact that you’re leaving. You’re leaving them, you’re leaving him, you’ll be gone forever and you’ll never come back, you’re going to find new friends, a new partner, a new bed that belongs to someone else to fall asleep in, oh how wretched--

“We’re gonna miss you,” Oikawa says, voice barely any louder than the tranquil music playing over the speakers. You feel like you’ve been transported back to when you were ten and breaking the news of quitting volleyball, hearing the same four words spoken in a very similar manner. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of their hands in each of yours. Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to give a friendly squeeze while Oikawa’s grip is only limp at best. But after a few seconds, it tightens and tightens until you understand the message: please don’t go.

“We’ve spent our whole lives together. I’ve told you two this before and I’ll say it again -- I’m so lucky that I have you guys. Part of me is able to do this because I know you’ve always got my back and I know that’s not going to change, even when I’m halfway across the world. So keep in touch? Please?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi reaffirms and Oikawa nods. You express your thanks and retract your hands, trying to ignore the way that Oikawa’s fingers linger for as long as they can without being too obvious. The three of you eventually leave, bidding goodbye to your waitress and cashier, and continue to amble down the streets. Time always flies when you’re with them, conversation never truly ending. Eventually Iwaizumi has to leave to meet his girlfriend for dinner and Oikawa, being the gentleman that he always is, ensures that he’ll bring you home safe and sound. As the two of you wave goodbye and watch him disappear into the crowd, Oikawa offers his arm to you. He sees the pleasant surprise on your face and can’t help the smile on his own as you wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.

The two of you continue to chat -- you fill him in on all the little details of your life that he had missed. In return, he does the same, eliciting so many different emotions from you. The pain in your heart increases when you realize just exactly how far away you’ve been from him. You choose to ignore that he’s taking the long way to your apartment, relishing in this rare time you have with him. Oikawa is the only person to make you feel like there truly wasn’t enough time in the world to spend with the one you love.

This must be what it’s like to date you, he realizes. Your hand is still wrapped around his arm, even when the limb became tired and settled for tucking his hand into his jacket pockets. He drinks in every laugh, every scoff, every grin, every gasp of surprise. Very few things bring him greater satisfaction than the way your eyes sparkle when he buys one of your favorite snacks off a food cart or when he points out something that reminds him of you. He never wants you to let go -- all he wants now is to collapse into your bed and wake up with his arm around your waist once again.

Before he knows it, they’re in front of your door, fiddling with your keys. He leans against the wall by your door as you locate the right one, but you hesitate.

“This was really fun. Thanks for basically spending your whole day with me.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he replies, unable to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this.”

“Yeah, it has been.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks with eyes full of hope. You’d have to be blind to not notice them, yet you would still be able to tell by the tone of his voice.

“Of course,” you reply with a small smile. “Until you get sick of me.”

Oikawa scoffs, but puts on a sincere face as he quips back, “Never.”

In all the years that you’ve been friends with him, nothing has ever sent blood rushing to your cheeks so fast. Your heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate and it doesn’t help as he begins to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face.

At the last second, he dips his head to the right and places a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. Before you can blink twice, he’s already walking backwards with the cheekiest grin on his face, a cute little wave towards you. He then turns on his heels and makes his way to the elevator with a bit of a skip in his step.

You don’t even remember unlocking your door and toeing off your shoes. Your entire body feels like lead, yet also buzzing with excitement. And as you’re collapsed on your bed, staring at the ceiling, all your brain can comprehend and tell you is that Oikawa Tooru is truly the bane of your existence.

Oikawa does his best to stay true to his word.

Even with fewer classes, there’s always something that he needs to finish: that project, this homework assignment, extra practice -- sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t been in uni. Or at least picked a different major. When he can, he tries to visit you on nights, sometimes sheepishly empty-handed, other times holding a bag of your favorite pastries. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” You joke one night before biting into your favorite flavor of macaron. “More to hold and hug,” he teases back, causing you to give him a light whack on his arm.

He’s there when you nervously submit all your applications. He’s there when you receive offers to interview. He’s there when you get your first official acceptance. And of course, he’s there when you make your final decision. There’s no hesitation when you jump into his arms after submitting your confirmation of acceptance to University of California – San Francisco, though he wishes you could be there forever. Weeks begin to roll by, much quicker than he’d like. The usual cheery and joyful chattiness of when he usually visits evolves into comfortable silence, both of you settling for watching some space documentary on Netflix most nights. Oikawa hates how the inevitable is slowly creeping up his spine and more often than not, he’s torn between wanting to either just rip the Bandaid off or try to stop time.

The approaching reality of you physically leaving him starts to take its true form when you ask him to tag along on the hunt for suitcases. You want to get at least one of those large suitcases that have to be checked in to try to bring as much stuff as possible. The whole time, Oikawa is half numb, though he tries his best to give his honest opinions on the suitcases you consider. He knows what a big step this is as he watches you eagerly pay for your final selection. However, nothing hits him harder than when he comes into your apartment a week before your graduation and there’s a wide array of empty, mismatched cardboard boxes in every room.

To drive the stake in even further, the recently purchased suitcase lies wide open in your bedroom with some stray objects already neatly tucked in. Yet the one that catches his eye is a picture frame placed in a bubble wrap sleeve. It holds the physical memory of you, him, and Iwaizumi at your high school graduation, each person with their own bouquet of congratulatory flowers. There’s a reason you have this specific shot framed out of all the ones between the parents combined; reason being the fact that Oikawa isn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather looking at you.

His eyes glinted with pride and care in that picture, a certain softness in his posture. The picture has always sat demurely in a back corner of your desk. However, some friends or recent classmates that have been in your room have taken note of it, excitedly asking you, “Is this your boyfriend??” It’s more painful when you have to tell them he’s not, only just a very close childhood friend. A very close childhood friend that you’ve kissed multiple times and will always give your heart to, but you leave that part unsaid. .

Oikawa spends the night with you, taking much longer than usual to fall asleep. You’ve already passed out next to him, mouth slightly agape and hands curled up near your face. Quietly, he adjusts his weight onto his elbow, leaning his cheek into his hand. His other hand gently tucks the strands of hair that have fallen over your face behind your ear. To him, you look nothing short of angelic. He hates that he’s only able to spend time like this with you as the clock is ticking -- he wishes that he made more of an effort to meet and see you during your first two years. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious at the thought of you leaving. Perhaps the two of you would’ve established something that would guarantee your return.

At this thought, Iwaizumi’s words ring in his head.

You’re in love with someone else, that’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.

They continue to ring as he finally falls asleep. They ring as he only wakes up hours later, settling on trying to quickly whip up breakfast for you. They’re loudest when you quietly pad up to him and rest your chin over his shoulder, nearly scaring the shit out of him. Even then, his body can’t help but relax from the feeling of your body pressed against his back.

Even as he prepares for his finals, you’re in love with someone else.

Even in the midst of presenting a final project for class, you’re in love with someone else.

All the way up until he’s parked in a seat, arms cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tucked between Iwaizumi and your mother at your graduation ceremony, you’re in love with someone else.

And when he’s cheering his loudest for you as you cross the stage, pausing to shake the university’s president’s hand and receive your diploma, his heart finally settles on the unshakeable truth that he probably knew all along.

I’m so fucking in love with (y/n).

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters to himself, but not quiet enough because Iwaizumi catches it.

“What’d you do, shithead?” He leans in to ask so your mother doesn’t hear. Oikawa only shakes his head, his leg subconsciously beginning to bounce anxiously. Iwaizumi takes a look at the leg, then a look at his face, and when he catches how Oikawa’s eyes follow you happily ambling off the stage, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. After years and years of living in pure oblivion, Oikawa has finally understood just how much he loves you.

“God, you have such shit timing, you dickhead,” Iwaizumi groans, fingers pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?” His girlfriend on his other side asks. He leans over to briefly kiss her cheek, murmuring a “I’ll tell you later,” in her ear before turning back to his best friend.

Oikawa feels like a nervous schoolboy with the way his face is construed, his hands grasping the flower stems like it’s his lifeline. He begins to think about how he should confess to you – should it be during a candlelit dinner? On the roof of your apartment under the stars? Should he take you to a park or by the beach? A million more scenarios run through his head as the rest of the graduation ceremony proceeds. He stands in a daze as the students begin to file out, the families in the stands soon following suit. His body stiffly stands to follow your family and creaks like a rusty robot, absolutely unprepared to face you with his new revelation. The only thing that brings him out of his head is when Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, practically choking him in the process. His throat coughs and fights for oxygen as he rubs at his neck, watching your mother disappear into the crows before turning to Iwaizumi with a pitiful and defeated look.

“What the hell was that for, Iwa-chan? Why—”

“You are not telling her right now, you hear me?” Iwaizumi threatens in a hushed voice.

“But—”

“She’s leaving. In a week. To America. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Can’t that be for her to decide? She can turn me down, but I need to tell her!” Oikawa cries out as the three of them do their best to stay out of other people’s way, pressing themselves to their seats as much as possible. People are casting them either curious or nasty looks for being obstacles in an increasingly heated argument, but they could also care less.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, then stabs a finger to his chest. “What you want, what you need…it’s always been that way for you when it comes to her. Have you ever stopped to consider what she wants?”

“Of course I have, what do you take me for?!”

“What do I take you for?! I take you for an idiot who spent years taking advantage of her!” Iwaizumi drives his point by jabbing the finger on his chest again. “I take you for an idiot who knew that she could never say no to you and you still used her whenever it was convenient! You think you’ve been such a martyr—”

“I didn’t do that! I—”

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi hisses. “Prove to us that you genuinely care about what she needs. You know what she needs right now? She needs us, her friends, to go out there, find her, and congratulate her with flowers. Then, we’re gonna go to our favorite place with her family and celebrate her. Today’s about her and her achievements. We’re gonna be happy for her because that’s what she needs today. That’s what she deserves.”

Most of the crowd have trickled towards the lobby by now, leaving the three of them with a few student workers running around to pick up trash and stray programs in preparation for the next ceremony. Iwaizumi sighs, seeking comfort in the way that his girlfriend slides her hand into his. Everything that he had been holding in is now out in the open.

“You think you can do that, Tooru?” He asks in a calmer voice.

“…yeah.”

Oikawa tries his best to keep his feelings at bay. They threaten to spill when your eyes drink in the bouquet he’s brought for you, a pure smile of delight as you lean in to catch a whiff of your favorite flowers. It’s even harder when you give him a friendly peck on the cheek, quickly moving to give Iwaizumi and his girlfriend hugs. He can’t stop sneaking glances your way during lunch, watching how happy you seem to be as you verbally recall the last three years. His mind does its best to stay involved in the conversation, yet it doesn’t cease to drift towards Iwaizumi’s words. It’s heart-wrenching because everything he said was true – he had knowingly taken advantage of your lack of resistance, had knowingly acknowledged that he was committing a certain sin in life, driven by greed and desire. He knew years ago that he could never get enough of you and would never be able to.

“…your plans after this?” He hears your mother ask you, her voice reminding him to be an active participant in this chat.

“I kind of just want to go home and get out of this dress, probably start up my packing again. I had to put that on hold with finals and everything.”

“We can come help you if you want.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I might even take a nap first.”

“You can take a nap while I help you pack,” Oikawa interjects without a thought. He just wants more time with you. You look skeptical and he puts on an affronted expression. “I’m a really neat and organized packer, thank you very much. You think I’m some poor slob who can’t properly fold a shirt?”

“It’s exactly what I think.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean! I’ll prove it.”

“Fine,” you say with a smirk widening. “But I’m kicking you out if it isn’t up to my standards.”

“Yes ma’am!” He replies like a soldier, comically saluting with two fingers. Iwaizumi shoots him his best warning glare as the table resumes chatting.

About an hour later, the two of you are walking side-by-side in the direction of your apartment. The pace is slow with your heels on, especially as they become more and more painful. Eventually, you let out a big huff and stop in your path to slip off your heels, picking them up by the straps and letting them hang off your fingers. Your gown, stole, and chords are draped over your other arm, the other hand holding onto the cap and flowers. Oikawa watches as you sigh happily and wiggle your toes before you continue the trek barefoot. He’s terrified that you’ll get a staph infection and stops you.

Without saying anything, he takes the graduation gown from your arm and fits it over you, thankful that the bottom of it nearly reaches your ankles. Your arms have a mind of their own as they slip into the sleeves. He crouches for bit and fiddles a little bit before pulling your zipper up, then takes your cap and fits it onto your head. Before you can question his actions, he sweeps around to lift you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp at the sudden motion. One of your arms is already swung around his neck, the other just trying to make sure your heels, chords, and stole don’t drop. Oikawa adjusts his grip a little, then looks down at you.

“You okay?”

You’re incredibly flustered, saying nothing but giving a few nods. He gently smiles before bringing you closer to his chest. Eventually, you place everything into your lap, leaving your other arm free to lie over the flowers on your stomach. You have an internal battle with yourself on whether you should link your free limb around his neck or not – do you want to come off as clingy? Would Oikawa mind? Would it make him uncomfortable? You soon decide, fuck it. You just graduated, you deserve to be pampered a little bit, even if it means treating yourself to indulging in one of your longtime fantasies with the man you secretly love.

Even though your face is already pretty close to his, by wrapping both arms around him, you’re practically nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells faintly of the cologne that you gifted him last year for his birthday. It brings you fond memories of your life with him so far, how even through all the pain of unrequited love, every second has been absolutely worth it.

“Thank you,” you murmur and tighten your grasp. “For everything. For being my best friend, for always being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he replies affectionately. “You know we love you, right?”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how much I appreciate it, that’s all.”

“…I’m so proud of you, (y/n). Look at you, finishing in 3 years and going to California for your PhD. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to convince you to stay in Japan, but I know you wouldn’t have been as happy. Is it too late to still try to persuade you?”

You unwind an arm to smack his chest lightly, playfully scolding him as you fully hold onto him again.

“Don’t even think about it. Of course it’s too late.”

“Well, then there’s no harm in still trying, right?”

“Tooru!”

“Okay, okay, fine~.”

Once you’re home, you grab random articles of clothing from your closet before heading into the bathroom to change. Oikawa offers to find a vase for the bouquet during this time, your ears hearing the clinking of glass and the snipping of stems. You didn’t realize you had grabbed Oikawa’s spare jersey he had given you the summer before your first year of university, only noticing after you begin to fit it over your head. The flush in your cheeks is subtle as you slip on a pair of pajama shorts, a giddy feeling filling your chest.

When you step out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, Oikawa’s back is facing you as he continues to arrange the flowers. Something about the scene feels comfortably domestic, as if Oikawa just returned home from work and decided to surprise you with a little gift, insisting that he put it together for you. You’re almost expecting him to give you a kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’m home, dear.”

In the midst of your thoughts, Oikawa is satisfied with his work, grabbing the vase and turning with the intent to let you see his work. He startles when he sees you leaning against the wall and staring at him, yet his heart fails to calm once he realizes you’re in his jersey. Part of you suddenly feels shy with the way he can’t stop admiring you, yet another part is filled with newfound confidence. Your feet softly pad towards him, relishing in the fact that you can render the great Oikawa Tooru speechless. He lets you take the vase from him, still frozen in his spot as you gently place a kiss on the corner of his lips. If he were more composed and more cognizant of his actions, he would have taken you up in his arms and kissed you for real. You take the vase from his fingers and place it on your dining table, appreciating the delicate hue of the petals. It’s a shame that you’ll have to get rid of them soon since you’re leaving in a week.

“Come on, Tooru. Time for you to show me how good your shirt-folding skills are!”

Progress in packing is slow as the two of you talk and laugh, the sound of The Good Place quietly playing on Netflix from the small TV in your room softly filling the room. Eventually, Oikawa refuses any of your help, practically ordering you to stay in your bed and leave it to him. In the familiar warmth of your comforter, you fight to stay awake as exhaustion from the morning events creeps through your body. Before long, you’re taking a last look at Oikawa’s side profile sitting on your floor next to a pile of unfolded clothes and falling asleep soon after. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that you haven’t said anything in a while, only chuckling to himself when he sees you slipped away to the dreamworld.

For the next hour or so, he folds and packs your clothes in silence. The pile dwindles and shrinks until there’s none left, though there’s still some in your closet that you’ll be wearing over the next week. You’re still asleep on your side – he can’t find it in himself to wake you, instead doing his best to climb over you and sit on the empty side of the bed without jostling you. Just as he finds a comfortable half-lying, half-sitting position against a pillow and the headboard, you unconsciously do a full 180-degree turn and snuggle closer to him. One of your legs twists around his, your arm slinging over his waist.

Oikawa’s heart almost wants to fly out of his chest. Had it really been over a little more than a year since you last slept next to him? Was this going to be the last time that he’d experience this?

Was this going to be his last chance?

He must’ve nodded off in the end. Your voice speaks to him in his subconscious, softly calling out his name. His body is curled up on the side where you were sleeping, arms stretched out as he finally wills his eyes to open. His vision is blurry and heavily veiled with sleep, needing a few blinks to register that you’re bent over with your face very close to his. He wants to be wakened like this every day, to the sound of your voice rather than an obnoxious alarm tone from his phone. With all the strength he can muster, his arm reaches out to grab one of your wrists and gingerly pulls you towards him. You giggle as you snuggle into the little space you have, his arms hugging you tightly to ensure you don’t fall over the edge.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, nuzzling into your hair. “Or we can go back to sleep, I don’t mind…”

“Tooru, we need to eat dinner though.”

“But I have you,” he mumbles without thought, clearly saying whatever first comes to his mind.

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“It makes all the sense in the world, silly (y/n)…come on, let’s sleep some more…”

“Even if there’s fresh omurice waiting to be eaten?”

“Mmm…did you make it?”

“Yes, I did.”

Oikawa sighs again before moving his hand from your back to rub his eyes. “Well, we can’t let your hard work go to waste then, right?”

“Not at all.”

You disentangle yourself and ignore how your body aches to lay with him again. Your hands take one of his own in your grasp, pulling him from the bed and towards the dining table where a fresh plate of omurice awaits them. Oikawa doesn’t forget his manners, pulling out a chair and indicating for you to sit in it. Like a true gentleman, he’s cognizant of how he pushes the chair back in to meet your sitting position, ensuring that you’re comfortable before moving to his own seat. The two of you say your thanks quickly before digging in.

Dinner is a quiet ordeal besides the occasional laughter. He tries to play footsies with you underneath the table, having full advantage with his longer legs. You threaten to flick rice at him if he keeps at it, but as time passes by, it’s clear your words hold no weight. Light banter continues when you bring the plates to the sink, refusing any offers of help from him. He settles for having an arm around your shoulders, leaning some of his body weight onto you. His eyes watch you with love and fascination as he berates himself for not figuring it out earlier. Things would have been different, and life would have been much better.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, tone solemn and heavy as you begin to dry off the dishes.

“I know. But I’ll be back in a few years, you know?”

“A few years sounds like forever though.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, Tooru.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

He’s still searching for words when you’ve put the last plate in the drying rack, folding the towel neatly on the counter. You turn to face him directly, causing his arm to slide off your shoulders. He delicately grasps your hands with his and plays with your fingers, eyes focused on them and unable to meet your own. Iwaizumi’s warning voice blares through his head – why, why did he always have to be so selfish when it comes to you? Why did he always give in?

“Tooru, what—”

“I love you, (y/n).”

He’s gone and done it now. His eyes are ablaze with passion as they attempt to convey the depth of his feelings, boring straight into your own shocked gaze. He means it more than anything right now. You have to understand that he’s serious, that he doesn’t mean this in a platonic sense. Without a doubt, he would do anything for you. Could you see that in him?

He begins to panic when you slowly detach your hands, your expression hardening before you turn to occupy yourself with something else. You search for something before heading towards your living room and start packing the decorations into a cardboard box that’s cradled against your hip.

“(Y/n), please—”

“You don’t mean it,” you bite out and somewhat harshly smack a book into the box. “You’re only saying it because—”

“I’m not saying it just because you’re leaving, I swear,” he vows, following you as you pack away more things. “Just look at me—”

“How could you?!” You say accusingly, slamming your box onto the floor and whipping around to look at him. Oikawa isn’t entirely surprised by the tears streaming down your face, yet his heart still breaks at the sight.

“(Y/n), I—”

“What were you expecting?” You ask hoarsely, throat choked with tears. “Did you expect me to just accept it and run into your arms?! We’re going to be on opposite sides of the world for at least four years, and you wanted to start something with me a week before I leave?”

“I can’t lose you!” Oikawa cries out. He watches you collapse into your couch, head buried in your hands to control your sobs. He follows and sits as close as possible in front of you on the floor, reaching up to remove your hands from your face. “I can’t lose you more than I already have,” he whispers dismally, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. Out of fatigue, he places his cheek on your knees, eyes closing as you lay your hand on top of his head.

“Tooru, you—”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he interrupts, striving to get you to see how much this is for him. “I never knew what it was until recently, but you have to know by now that I would do anything for you. You can call me up at 4 in the morning, ask me for my umbrella even when I’m 20 minutes away. You could even ask me to drop volleyball, and I’d do it. Just to make you happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you depressingly chastise as your fingers give in and demurely run through his hair. “I would never ask you to give up volleyball, and even if I did, you’d resent me til the day we die. Hell, you’d resent me in your grave for all I know.”

“You’d still be my everything.”

At his words, you choke out another sob. This had been everything you were dreaming of, except Oikawa’s timing was just so off. You would have to spend the first four years of your relationship without him, and long distance wouldn’t be easy. Even though he would do everything to make it work, you’d worry about burdening him when he has so much he wants to live for. Wouldn’t it affect his playing? His studies? Would he eventually get tired of waiting for you and leave?

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” You sniffle.

“The chance of a lifetime, that’s what I’m getting into,” he quickly replies. He turns to rest his chin where his cheek originally on, facing you with eyes of zero hesitation. His expression softens when he senses the doubt in your face and reaches up to remove your hands from his hair, grasping them softly and placing them on your thighs. “I’ve already wasted years not being with you, and I don’t intend to lose another second. So please, please give me this chance.”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. You need to think this out before diving in, no matter how much you want to comply right now.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You weakly propose. “This has happened all so fast and I just need some time to think it over. This is really big for us, and I just wanna make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” he agrees, then ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“You can’t see me until we’re at the airport though,” you add in, causing him to whine in objection. “I’ll give you my answer then. It’s just a week.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Of course, you big wuss,” you tease.

“Hey, I just confessed my feelings here, cut me some slack!” He cries, pouting afterwards. You somehow still have the energy to giggle at his antics, happy that some things never change.

“You need to leave soon, Tooru.”

“No,” he objects and wraps his arms around your legs. “I don’t wanna.”

“Tooru—”

“Only if you kiss me before I leave.”

You let out a sigh, yet still smiling. “Deal.”

He removes himself and gets out of the way, stretching as he stands when you push yourself off the couch. Even for the short distance from the living room to the door, Oikawa insists on holding your hand. He grabs every second he can with you, still holding on when he’s slipping his shoes on.

“I’m waiting for my kiss,” he says with a lilt in his voice. His eyes are shining and expectant, causing you to roll your own playfully. For the first time in 21 years, you’ll be kissing Oikawa with no feelings hidden, no motives unsaid.

He meets you halfway, softly cradling your cheek with his free hand. His lips against yours bring a wave of nostalgia – god, how you both missed this, the feeling of being able to lose yourself in another person. How you both missed forming that bubble again where nothing mattered but the two of you being there together. You can’t help but think about how much you’re going to miss this in America, how it’ll be months, years, before you can ever fall into Oikawa’s arms again.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to toe his shoes off and have you jump into his arms. He wants nothing more than to carry you to your room and show exactly how much he loves you, but it’s not in your wishes. Don’t be selfish, he reminds himself. You asked for time and space to think about your future with him – if he wants to make this work, thinking of solely his own desires needs to stop here. He must prove to you that it’ll be worth it, that there’s no reason to lose any more time than you’ve already lost.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologizes quietly.

“It’s okay. But consider this week as punishment, if you’d like.”

He pouts. “I really can’t come see you?”

You give a small grin, a pointer finger moving to tap his nose. “Nope.”

With that, he sighs begins to walk out the door, but not before stealing another peck. The action only makes you laugh and playfully push him over the door threshold, waving as he walks backwards with a pout. You don’t close the door until he’s turned the corner, nearly collapsing against it once the deadbolt is locked in place. Everything hits you all at once again, leaving you reeling and almost gasping for air. Your heart won’t cease its rapid pace, though it seems to come to a full halt when your phone chimes with a text message from him.

“Good night, (y/n). I love you.”

Yes, it’s amazing how lucky you are.

Without fail, Oikawa texts and calls you every day. He never fails to remind you that he loves you. Twice, he orders delivery to your door because he knows you need to pack your kitchen. A man who buys you food as a surprise and seems to always know what you’re in the mood for? It’s as if the universe is telling you to hurry up and marry this guy.

And Oikawa, trying to be the responsible person that he is, doesn’t see you until they’re sending you off at the airport. Your parents had offered to pick him and Iwaizumi up from his place, especially since it was a little early in the morning. A taxi drops you and your suitcases off at the gate. You hadn’t spotted them when you got in and made a move to go ahead and check your bags in. After you had finished dropping them off, you had turned around to wait outside of the check-in area and spotted the four of them chatting while waiting for you. Even with it being so early in the morning, you can’t help but break out into a smile at seeing them, speeding up your pace as much as you can with the carry-on suitcase lugging behind you.

“Thank you, guys, for coming all this way,” you express your gratitude while embracing Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn’t?” Iwaizumi asks as you move to hug your parents. Your mother keeps an arm around you at the end, already fighting her tears.

“Mom…”

“Do you have everything you need?” She interjects, voice choking up. “Phone? Wallet? Passport? Boarding pass? New SIM card? Emergency cash?”

“They’re all here,” you say, pointing to the locations of each item. “I’m gonna be okay, mom.”

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, ok?” Your father reminds you. “We’re only a call or text away.”

“I know. I’ll try to make it home on the holidays or something, but if not, I’ll be back in a few years at least.”

“What if you end up meeting someone and want to stay in America with them?” Your mother sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Well,” you hesitate, casting a quick look towards Oikawa. When his gaze meets yours, you begin to feel more confident about the answer that you settled on yesterday. You know he’s anxious to find out what you’ve decided. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen. Can I have a minute with Tooru please? Alone?”

Your mother’s eyes widen in realization before she’s quick to shoo off your father and Iwaizumi. Once they’re out of earshot, Oikawa looks at you expectantly.

“Do I get my answer today?” He inquires, removing his hand from his jacket pocket to hold one of yours. You take the initiative to interlace your fingers with his, giving a tight squeeze.

“Mmm,” you hum while fishing out your phone with your free hand. Oikawa watches anxiously as you tap and scroll through something, breath baited as your eyes seem to light up at finding what you need. You turn the screen to him and ask, “Does that answer your question?”

At first, he’s confused. Oikawa sees a contact page open and automatically notices it’s his number. It’s not until his vision drifts back to the top of the page where his name usually was. In the past, it had been “crappykawa” with a smiling emoji, but to his delight, it now reads “the boyfriendTM”.

His excitement prompts him to lift you from the waist and spin you around in a few circles. You shriek and shake with laughter as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to hold on, your eyes closed tightly until he puts you down. Even then, he doesn’t detach himself from you and leans down to kiss you sweetly, never wanting to let up. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving him in the next few minutes – he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

Minutes later and after more teary goodbyes, you walk through the line towards security. The four of them watch as you exchange pleasantries and answer questions by the guard checking your boarding pass and passport. Once you’ve been cleared, you turn around once more to give a final wave, before disappearing behind the gray walls. After you pass security and find somewhere to eat a quick breakfast, you check your phone. There’s a Snapchat from Oikawa that you immediately move to open. It’s a selfie taken at an angle where his phone would’ve been in his lap. He has his characteristic pout on his face and the caption reads, “i already miss you, my love.”

And at that moment, you know, you can feel it with every ounce of your being, that everything is going to be okay.

(epilogue)

Months after you moved to California, Oikawa received his invite to play for a professional volleyball team in Argentina. He consulted his closest friend, you, his coaches, and they all agreed on one thing: he’d be stupid to turn it down.

It wasn’t the Japan national team, but it was definitely an opportunity of a lifetime. He greatly admired the national Argentine team as a child, and that admiration never wavered. On the plus side, it would make the long-distance relationship easier with you, as the time difference would be cut significantly.

The relationship experienced its ups and downs. Some main recurring themes of contention involved his tendency to overwork himself and your frequent late nights in the lab, as well as your disregard for your physical and mental health during times of high stress. They were issues born out of love and care, and they were worked on to help each other improve. You’d always livestream his volleyball matches and he would attempt to stay up with you on a video call if you were in the lab or up late studying, reminding you to drink water and eat something nutritious.

Oikawa found time to visit you during rare extended breaks in the off-season. He’d always make sure that you two would video call Iwaizumi together, wearing a shit-eating grin when Iwaizumi would pick up the call and roll his eyes. In return, you saved up and visited him in Argentina, though only able to stay up to a week at most. The new life was a little difficult and strange, but he made it work. He loved his teammates, he loved you, he loved volleyball, and he couldn’t ask for more.

You finished your doctorate in four years, just as you had predicted. You already had a job lined up before graduation at an academic hospital in Tokyo, allowing you to practice pharmacy and continue research. Not only that, Iwaizumi also earned a position in the top volleyball team in Japan, leaving Oikawa to be ecstatic. His personal dream from so many years ago was finally coming together – the three of you together in the same city, and him and Iwaizumi on the same superior team, even if it meant playing with Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi. But he’d get used to it eventually.

When you first returned to Tokyo, you were happy to see that not much had changed. Oikawa had another couple of years in Argentina before he would return to Japan and join Iwaizumi on the team. A few weeks in, you were already enjoying your job immensely – the only thing missing was your boyfriend.

A year has passed, and you are currently sitting at home in front of the TV with a mug in your hands. You’re dressed down in your comfiest sweatpants and Tooru’s jersey from university days. A white gold chain holding a simple silver ring hangs daintily around your neck as a token and symbol of a promise. You check your phone and frown a little – Tooru hadn’t texted or called you all day, though he did mention he would be busy with preparing for an upcoming practice match. You’re now worried that Tooru’s overworking himself again, holding the device now to send a quick text reminder to take breaks and stretch afterwards.

You toss your phone to the side and try to focus on the humorous game show, picking up on how ridiculous some of the antics were. American game shows had nothing on the ones here in Japan.

Someone rings your doorbell. At first, you think it’s the postman dropping off a package you had been expecting and make no move towards the door. But the doorbell is rung once again, leaving you to hesitantly approach the entrance. You peek through the spyhole and spot a young man outside, hat slipped on backwards, glasses perched on his nose, and hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He’s looking away from you and has suitcases around him, but you can recognize that side profile from anywhere. Could it be?

You fumble with the lock and throw open the door as your heart threatens to beat out of its chest. The young man finally looks up at you and you gasp as tears spring forward to your eyes.

Oikawa Tooru is standing right in front of you with the most beautiful smile on his face that you have ever seen.

He’s ready to catch you when you squeal and run into his arms, dissolving into laughter as you blubber into his neck and attempt to make sense of what’s happening. Tooru spins you around a few times for good measure, relishing in the comfort of your body against his. It had been too long since he last held you, and luckily, he’d never have to wait that long ever again.

His invite came as a phone call not too long ago, personally from the coach of the team that Iwaizumi had joined. They were willing to wait for him if he wanted another year in Argentina as he had originally planned, but Tooru decided that it was time to come back. He had buzzed with excitement as he planned out his great return, wanting so badly to surprise you. It’d go down in the book as one of the best reveals of a major life change for the two of you, and he wanted it to be perfect.

“How—what—when—I have so many questions!” You stammer, hands reaching for his face to make sure that this is real. Tooru leans into your palm, eyes catching the glisten of the promise ring that he had gifted you two years ago. He was a little worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable enough (“I need people out there to understand that you’re spoken for!” “What are you, a prince of the medieval days?”), but he did appreciate how beautiful it looked when you wore it as such. The happiness he feels right now is more than he could have ever imagined, especially now when he can finally look into your eyes and say the words that he’s been yearning to speak for years to you —

”I’m home, (y/n).”

fin.

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