#opinions he has to loudly voice while drowning me out and telling me that I shouldn't argue because he's right

[corrodedcoughin]

He hides it as best as he can but Steve has a stutter. His parents sent him to all the professionals they could find but it never really went away. When he finds himself getting overwhelmed or tired he can feel the brain to mouth connection getting fuzzy and needing more effort. In these moments he just stops talking. Nobody has ever called him out on it, presuming it’s just Steve being bitchy. He’s not proud that he falls back on his old highschool persona to avoid the extended periods of time when he’s trying to force a word out and his usual techniques aren’t working.

Steve is tired of hiding but he’s left it so long now that he can’t be bothered with the aftermath of everyone knowing. Right now just Robin knows and that’s enough for Steve, he knows he’s got someone in his corner who won’t judge him for giving the silent treatment when it gets too much.

What Steve didn’t count on was Eddie munson, loud mouth orator extraordinaire. Eddie had been watching Steve for a while and he’s been picking up on a few signs he knows all too well. One day Eddie manages to get Steve on his own before they are due to pick up the kids for hellfire and ‘conveniently’ let’s his own stutter slip. At first Steve gives him the dirtiest look, assuming he’s just being made fun of, he’s ready to turn on his heel when Eddie pulls his hair infront of his face and says ‘me too stevie, you aren’t alone here’.

They end up have a long and exploratory conversation, Eddie never had the big money speech therapists to help him so he’s coped on his own. His flair for talking loudly and explosively helps him to get his words out and when he can’t his hair is a Great Wall to hide behind. He quietly tells Steve that he gets worse when he’s nervous or intimidated. Eddie also found out that he never stutters when he’s doing his DM voice so sometimes he just skips into voices outside of the campaign when he can feel his mouth betraying him.

Steve tells him about how sports helped Steve to hide, he never had to shout more than a couple of words and even then they’d be drowned out by everyone else. He was always scared for anyone in highschool to find out, what would that do to his king Steve image?! He’s found it’s become a much more unwieldy beast since the upside down. Some days talking can feel impossible. Eddie listens to it all saying he’s had trouble since vecna too, at the end his makes a promise to Steve. If he ever sees him struggling he’ll jump in to ‘save him’ (‘finally I get to be the hero harrington, alright?’) but he wants Steve to know that a speech impediment isn’t really that big a deal ‘I mean you don’t think about Henderson’s lisp do you? And your opinion of me hasn’t changed since this morning has it? I’m still your town freak with a heart of gold and a soul of obsidian right?’

Steve noticed Eddie’s speech pattern this time, rolling into some of his consonants, almost singing other words as he reassures Steve and gets closer to him, sharing his space. Steve, feeling bold, looks up at Eddie from under his eyelashes and almost whispers back ‘you nervous about something Eddie? Anything I can help with?’ Eddie’s head whips back, face red from his forehead down his neck and disappearing into his tshirt. They both get up smiling and blushing as they go to pick up the kids. Steve feels somehow more stable knowing that he’s not alone and maybe this something he can bond with Eddie over.

[soleilnomoon]

I love your la vie est drole writings sm, I'd like to request calla lily for law with slowly kissing down the body and the theme are 6, 38^^

ahh thank you, thank you!! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა that makes me happy that you like them, i've had fun writing haha! i love law sfm so thank u for requesting this <3

1.5k words, fem reader (no pronouns), nsfw - 18+ mdni, a tiny bit of angst (super tiny), some cute things like nipple play, law being a menace as usual, y/n is a brat but that's how life goes idk what to tell u

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖

starring: "surgeon of death" trafalgar law x reader.

calla lily (smut) with slowly kissing down the body; #6 & 38 (bath & shameless).

the polar tang is equipped for efficiency, not luxury — it’s something that law makes sure to tell you repeatedly every time you voice your opinions on the lack of comfort. where you were used to the freedom that island living gave you, he’s made his home with his crew inside the submarine. still, your incessant complaints, the whining he pretends to dislike, the way you can’t seem to just shut up over it, forces law to cave. you consider it a victory of sorts, although the lack of decor makes things worse somehow.

this, you tell yourself, is an easy fix. you take your time decorating, not wanting the new bathroom to feel as clinical and devoid of warmth as the rest of the polar tang. law doesn’t see the need for it, but lets you have your way. the others bombard him with questions — over whether they can use it and whether he’s going to allow you to always have your way like that. the latter part of their complaint rubs him the wrong way, but he doesn’t voice that opinion aloud. unlike you, he has a bit of tact with these things — although, that can also be interpreted as cowardice on his part.

another thing he won’t dare admit to openly, either.

the tub is large enough that you sit in it comfortably, the water hot enough to burn, but not enough to make you get out. you enjoy the pain, enjoy the way your whole body seems to be alive, and lean back comfortably, shoulders above the water as the rest of your body is submerged. the steam makes you light-headed, so you close your eyes and hum a nameless tune, completely ignoring the rest of your surroundings. 

it’s quiet, which means you’re either up to no good, or you’ve drowned in the tub. at times, law’s paranoia gets the best of them — this is one of those times — so when he bursts into the bathroom suddenly, brows furrowed, a frown permanently attached to his mouth. his long legs career him over to the tub, the heavy door shutting behind him loudly. you’re startled by his presence and very confused.

“what are you doing?”

law has the decency to look embarrassed, shame eating away at his pride, forcing him to take in your relaxed form, giving rise to various other feelings and thoughts. things that he tries to keep buried for reasons he doesn't care to get into. but you asked him a question, and he knows he needs to give you an answer.

you take in the sharpness of his jaw, the way his dark eyes reflect a quiet hunger — one that you’ve acquainted yourself with over the past few months —it makes you reconsider all the times you mouthed off at him unprovoked; you felt a small sliver of power, now not so much. law is so tightly wound, it’s a miracle he can think, let alone breathe and function properly. after peeling off his long-sleeved shirt and hat — he drops to his knees near the tub, chest pressing against the edge as he leans forward. he willingly crowds your space, disregards the way you peer up at him with those warm, yet inquisitive eyes, and wraps his large hand around your throat.

his thumb rubs against your skin, your pulse skyrocketing with his proximity — you shift underneath the water, a different kind of heat making its way through your body when law tightens his grip.

“you keep insisting,” he starts, words eerily calm despite his actions, “on disrupting my day with your bratty attitude.”

while you know you can feign ignorance, you won’t; his words ring true, you have been upping the ante lately, wanting to see just how far your captain will let you push his buttons before he snaps. you suppose five days of teasing him nonstop will do that to a man.

a slick smile crawls onto your lips, which only makes him squeeze your neck again, his patience wearing thin.

“captain, please,” you lick your lips, gasping once he loosens his hold, thighs rubbing against one another as you consider your words, “i’ve done no such thing.” he wonders if you’re a professional liar, or if you just get off on pissing him off.

he votes for a combination of the two. 

“is that so?” he doesn’t sound like he believes you, but it doesn’t matter, you know what’s coming next; you actively banked on getting him riled up that he would find you like this. if your mother could see you now, she’d disown you all over again. 

it’s not logic that propels him forward, and it’s not logic that has his lips capturing yours, but, most importantly, it’s definitely not logic that makes him give you feverish tongue kisses that effectively erase any additional sass you want to send his way. it was delusional of you to think you could have the upper hand; with law, everything is all or nothing. you’re so impossibly enamored with him, that your hands run along his chest, admiring the hardness of his muscles, the way his breathing seems to slow when you press closer, nails dragging across his skin when he sucks on your tongue.

because you never intend to tease him without any sort of resolution, you pull away and give him a heated look, one that has him carrying you out of the tub, water spilling onto the tiled floor. you pepper his face with playful kisses, your lips a welcome menace in his life. when he sits you on the counter near the sink, you spread your legs apart, water glistening on your skin under the light. if he were a poet, he’d be the obsessive sort — the one to craft line after line of prose, describing your uncanny ability to render him useless and the crafty way you cast your net around him.

if you were actually capable of such things, he really would be in danger. but, thankfully, you’re not; not really, anyway.

his hands roam along your curves, settling on your thighs, squeezing them, admiring how soft they are under his touch. he brushes his lips against the length of your throat, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his tongue coasting down the curves of your breasts, flicking and circling around your hardened nipples. your back arches, mouth falling open, a breathy moan escaping and making his cock twitch, his hardened length straining under the confines of his jeans, the denim pressing against it tightly.

he might not survive at the rate he’s going.

hands settling in his hair, you do your best to keep your eyes on him as he makes his slow descent down your body, his mouth licking and sucking and kissing, making your skin prickle with awareness, goosebumps popping up along your arms and legs. he makes it to your abdomen, a kiss on your hip making you jerk forward suddenly, his subsequent laughter — a dark, mocking thing — only makes you want him more. so you tug on his hair harshly and force him to look up at you.

“impatient as always, i see,” he says gruffly, although there is a hint of affection, one that he might possibly deny later. you don’t care though, all you care about is him getting out of his stupid jeans and taking care of that unbearable ache in between your legs. he drags a lone finger in between your slit, a shudder giving you away as your hips lift in reaction to his touch; he’s so fucking smug right now you could die. but you don’t. you stay very much alive, even when his fingers slip inside of you, his thumb lazily circling your clit as he angles his wrist to plunge his fingers in and out of you; you sound like a broken record with the way his name bounces out of your mouth, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

law likes seeing you like this — pliable, eager, a mess. your hair sticks to your face, and he presses a kiss to the side of your neck as you pant unevenly, thighs shaking as he scissors his fingers inside of you, your cunt hopelessly squeezing around him, encouraging his savagery when he flicks his wrist and curves his fingers in a way that has your toes curling, your chest heaving, and your nails clawing at his arms wildly.

“fuck,” you exclaim loudly, voice echoing, music to his ears, “y-yes, right there, right there.” he knows he has you, and when he slides an additional finger inside of you, when he sucks on a particular spot on your neck, you’re left breathless — the orgasm doesn’t just pass through you, it wrecks you. maybe it’s the steam from the bath, maybe it’s because your body tends to run hot all the time, you don’t know; but you feel like passing out, the pleasure is a bit much — not that you can fault him, no, if anything you’re much too happy right now.

he doesn’t slow his fingers until you’re softly begging, your body much too sensitive to handle whatever else he has planned for you. normally, he’d stop there, kiss your forehead, and go on about his day. but he’s much too invested now; so when he kisses you again, you know that he’s not finished with you, and that you might not be able to walk on your own if he has it his way.

🌙 credit to leafsea for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

[commandercoriandersalamander]

Welp, today is marked as a Bad Day and honestly this is on me, I should’ve known better than to mention mental illness treatment while my dad was in the house.

[yandere-sins]

i just binged-read all of your BNHA works and omg... 🥲 you don’t understand the rollercoaster of emotions i just went through! can i please request a story of Kirishima noticing that Bakugou has a crush on his darling. then when Kirishima confronts Bakugou about it, things get heated/physical? keep up the good work, i love your writings! 🥰💗

Thank you so much for reading through them, I am so glad you enjoyed them! :D And thanks for requesting ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

“I don’t fucking know either!”

Loud. Terribly loud were the two voices shouting at each other in your room, the little bit of safe haven you owned, entirely disrupted by the two men arguing. It was only made worse by the fact that they were arguing about you rather than anything else, their attention involuntarily always coming back to you after every sentence.

You had long ducked away, slipped into the area between the wall and your bed, the only place you had claimed as yours ever since you were forced to live here. It was barely spacious enough for you to breathe in, but it was too small to force you out of as well, which you always appreciated. On most days, Kirishima would treat you kindly and with a strange understanding despite the situation and relationship you two had.

But just as quickly did his mood change, his tendencies to demand more than you were willing to give being a constant point of stress between you two. Hiding yourself back here was the closest to some privacy you had, and now than ever, you just wanted to disappear from this pitiful existence. You didn’t even want to hear about what they were talking, let alone witness how the conversation would go.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned loudly, rubbing his hands over his face. “Of all the people...”

“Yes. Of all the people, it just had to be my partner you fell in love with,” Kirishima hissed back, equally angered. You couldn’t even pinpoint for how long the two had been discussing this topic, but it left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, as it seemed. Sighing quietly as to not draw more attention to you, you buried your head in your knees.

For the longest time, you had believed those two were good people. Sure, Bakugou was a hot-headed bastard sometimes, but together with Kirishima, who shone with his kindness, you three always had a lot of fun. When Kiri confessed to you, you had been so happy! What you thought was love probably was more like a deep friendship, but you didn’t say ‘no’ and went out with him.

But then the craziness started. It was subtle at first, and you confided in Bakugou, who told you, you were just imagining things. No one seemed to notice how Kirishima started to polarize your time constantly, how, when he wanted cuddles, he simply pulled you into an embrace even if you didn’t want to. How every problem was solved with ‘Just don’t go there anymore, you can stay here! I’ll take care of everything!’

You very quickly found out you had been wrong both with him being a good person and you being in love with him. But then, of all people, he still allowed Bakugou to come over! Where he kept you locked in his apartment all day while he played hero outside, he still allowed your friend to visit whenever. Seeing that Bakugou was not going to help you, no matter how much you pleaded with him to save you, broke your heart. It completely shattered you.

Honestly, you wanted to believe that you three had been friends once, but whatever happened to make the two into what they were now, it scared you. It frightened you so much that you barely slept at night, rarely managed to eat more than two spoons of your food, and rendered you unable to focus on anything if not ensuring you were safe when things got too much to bear. And now, your body shaking more than ever, you had to witness how even Bakugou seemed to have changed sides, and that scared you even more.

You thought he was just loyal to his friend by refusing to help you, but by god, he was the same as that maniac Kirishima.

“Look, I didn’t choose that either! But you knew I liked them way before you confessed!”

At that, Kirishima only clicked his tongue, unable to say anything in return to counter this claim. So it was right, Bakugou had liked you all along. All these things about Kirishima’s and your love life must have been so painful for him to listen to in this case. However, right then, as you overheard their conversation unwillingly, you didn’t feel bad for him even a second.

“I wish it was anyone else, but it’s them!”

“Well, are you sure?” Kirishima grumbled, and you kind of understood Bakugou’s frustration as his friend didn’t seem to want to hear the truth. “Yes, I am damn sure!”

“If that’s the case...” Kirishima sighed before you heard steps drawing closer. “[Name]? Can you come out? You know it’s rude not to show your cute face to our guest.”

Even if he spoke his words in a sugary voice, nothing about Kirishima could calm you. Slowly looking up at him again, you saw him reach his hand out to you, knowing fully well that he couldn’t get you out of that gap even if he probably wanted. The mood in the room was tense and full of heated tempers. Their back and forth had only made everything more awkward and uncomfortable as it already was for you.

Inwardly, you wanted nothing more than to stay in your hideout, hoping it would all quickly pass, but crossing Bakugou’s gaze briefly, you saw his brows only furrow more, and you wagered if taking Kirishima’s offer was better as long as he still asked nicely before either of them would lose their patience with you, too.

Slipping out of the space without taking his help, it wasn’t long before Kirishima picked you up anyway. The man had as much understanding about boundaries as you had about what even was wrong with him. He sat you down in his lap on the couch, waving Bakugou over, who reluctantly took a seat on the furthest armrest from you.

“Tell him, [Name]. You love me, right? You want to be with me, right?”

Opening your mouth, you wanted to protest, but Bakugou stole the words from you before you could talk.

“Bullshit! They’ve always been complaining because you suck at being a boyfriend! They could do so much better and be with me, right [Name]? Tell that idiot!”

You felt like a dog, with both owners screaming at their furbaby to chose them and go to the one it likes more.

Their back-and-forth continued, Kirishima swearing his love to you up and down while Bakugou praised his abilities to be better in... every way. Kirishima liked to remind you how much ‘fun’ you two had together and how much he did and would do for you in the future. Bakugou liked to argue with his friend, using insults and belittling comments about his plans. Neither made a very good impression, and their voices rose to a volume again, making you wish you had earplugs to drown out at least a little bit of their shouting.

Instead, you lifted your hands to your ears, cupping them as to drown out the sounds, hoping it was over soon. Why couldn’t they both leave you alone? Why did you have to end up in this situation, not once, but twice? Why did the two best friends you had turned out to be this crazy? Crazy about you?

There still were so many questions to be answered, and you curled into yourself as you spiraled down into overthinking everything that happened. From regrets you had, to disbelieve you still harbored, to the despair you felt as you couldn’t pinpoint when this nightmare would end.

You were so inside your own head, you didn’t notice how their voices slowly calmed down, their hearts breaking as they saw you so overwhelmed by the situation. Kirishima and Bakugou exchanged a few glances, and even in Bakugou’s serious and furious expression, there were hints of worries to find that only his friends could discern.

“How about you move in with us... and maybe they can make a decision then. Not that I’d just give them to you, but I can’t watch them being sad about us fighting. You always meant a lot to us.”

Huffing, Bakugou turned his head away, hiding the flustered red spreading on his cheeks. “I won’t share with you, you Dumbass! They’re mine. They love me much more than you freak!”

“Doubt it,” Kirishima chuckled as he brought his hand to your head, brushing over it comfortingly. He had never been afraid to say his opinion openly, a trait you had always found remarkable and remarkable stupid at the same time. “Whatever,” Bakugou grunted, standing up before storming out of the door without another word of goodbye, Kirishima sighing before he pulled you close.

“I hope this makes you happy,” he mumbled, not even knowing you weren’t listening anymore. “I’d do anything if it makes you happy.”

By the evening, a new roommate was sharing the apartment with you and Kirishima. They didn’t talk, neither at dinner nor before or after that. You didn’t mind the silence, but you did mind having to hold one hand of each as they decided to watch a movie, ever so often squeezing to gain your attention and giving you grins when you looked at them. As if that equaled making a decision which you liked better, just because they had a few seconds of your attention.

But even worse were the changes. The first thing Bakugou did was move the bed. Your hideout was no longer as he decided you didn’t need it. And where you had struggled to keep Kiri from you, you now were too scared to shove away Bakugou. Perhaps, you really had it nice with Kirishima. You pondered about it all night as you were squeezed between them, their arguing going deep into the early hours before they fell asleep, snoring away into your ears.

Would it have been easier if you had just chosen one of them?

Or would it be fatal to ever choose between them?

[the--sad--hatter]

Steam - Chapter 1 (Loki x Reader)

Warnings - Loki, Smut, Violence & Gore, Swearing, Death, Angst, Dark Humour, Crack Humour, Shenanigan’s, Mutual Pining

Pairing - Loki X Reader (Slow Burn Romance), Enemies to Frenemies to Idiots in Love

Reader Description - Female, No physical descriptions, Only referred to by nicknames & Petnames (No use of Y/N)

Description/Blurb -

“So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.

“Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”

It’s a tale as old as time, boy meets girl, boy tries to invade girls mind, girl sets boy on fire, boy turns into angry blue boy, they become sworn enemies.

When you suddenly become imbued with a power you have no idea how to control, Nick Fury picks you up and dumps you on The Avengers doorstep, deciding that they are best people to turn you from a wacky novice into a force to be reckoned with.

The power burning inside you has the potential to make you a hero, or destroy you completely, but your new fire based abilities are more than they appear, and in a stroke of spectacularly bad luck, The God of Mischief is the most qualified teacher to mentor you. With Loki guiding you, will you ever learn to control your power? Will you ever make it as an Avenger? Or will you crash and burn?

Only one thing is absolutely certain, when fire and ice collide, things are bound to get… steamy!

Chapter One - Ice Breaker

It was every bit as imposing as you’d imagined it would be, not that you’d ever imagined seeing it under these circumstances.

 “Are you coming?” Fury barked at you, breaking you out of your slack-jawed awe.

 You snapped your mouth closed and tore your eyes away from the legendary tower, looking at the doors where Fury was impatiently waiting for you.

 “Coming!” You squeaked, scurrying over to him, “It’s just when you said you were taking me somewhere where I could safely learn to control my powers, I was sort of picturing an underground bunker in the desert, not the freaking Avengers Tower!”

 “I utilise the assets I have, why would I send you away when I have a team of perfectly capable super-powered individuals?” He asked wryly, leading you across the lobby and straight past the security teams who did nothing to stop you both as you made your way into an elevator.

 “I’m just saying, a heads up would have been nice.” You muttered petulantly, crossing your arms over your chest and tucking your hands out of sight.

 You felt him look at you and studiously refused to meet his eye, staring instead at the numbers above the door as you were carried all the way to the top of the Tower.

 “Heads up, you’re meeting The Avengers.” He shot back.

You could say what you liked about the former director of Shield, he was true to his word, because the elevator doors wooshed open to reveal a waiting crowd of Avengers, all of them staring at the man next to you with varying levels of annoyance and/or distrust. You diligently pattered after Fury as he stepped forward to greet them, looking around the room reverently.

 The first person you laid eyes on was Tony Stark, Iron Man; the billionaire who had kicked off the modern age of hero’s, and next to him, Captain America, the first of the first, the OG Superhero. Stood behind the Captain was Sam Wilson, the Falcon and a personal favourite of yours, side by side with Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and poster-child for taking back control of your own fate. Clint Barton aka Hawkeye and the deadliest marksman in the world stood to the side with the Black Widow, deadliest person in the world full stop. In the back of the room two other figures were hanging back, emitting two very different aura’s. Doctor Bruce Banner eyed Fury with trepadition, and well-placed mistrust.

 It was the last person in the room that the majority of your attention was reserved for, the tall, imposing god who skulked in the shadows. Contempt and boredom radiated from him, and you couldn’t safely say it was directed purely at Fury. He was also the only one who spared you more than a cursory glance, and you slowed to a stop as you found yourself trapped in his curious gaze. You stared back, trying to reconcile the villain who once tried to subjugate the planet with the one you were locking eyes with. It had been months since he had joined the Avengers, but it never stopped being strange to see him standing with them whenever you watched footage of them taking on whatever bad guy of the week they were battling. However, he had been fully cleared of any wrongdoing in the battle of New York, apparently he had been mind-controlled. As to why he was helping the Avengers, nobody really knew.  

 Someone cleared their throat loudly and you forced yourself to look away from the stupendously tall god, glancing around the room to see that you now had all eyes watching you expectantly. Apparently you’d zoned out for the introductions.

 “’Sup?” You offered, waving in Tony Starks general direction.

 “So you’re Fury’s fiery friend, what has that got to do with us?” Stark sighed.

 “What, you think he bothered to explain his reasoning to me before dragging my ass up here?” You scoffed.

 “She’s here because she has abilities, abilities that she is more likely to learn to handle among similarly gifted people.” Fury explained in a tone that brokered no argument.

 Naturally, The Avengers argued.

 “We don’t have anybody with fire abilities.” You heard Natasha Romanoff point out, just before you took the opportunity to zone out again.

 You were absolutely certain that nobody cared very much what your opinion on the matter was, thankfully. You weren’t sure you had an opinion on the matter. It wasn’t like you had a lot of experience with these kinds of issues, and as far as you were away there wasn’t some superhero academy that you could enrol yourself in. Besides, you were much more interested in re-instating your staring competition with the god of Mischief.

 In the brief time you’d been distracted, he’d stepped away from the shadows and moved closer to you, staring at you with his arms crossed.

 You resisted the urge to inhale deeply, who knew ex-murderous gods would smell so nice? You looked up, and then up again.

 “How tall are you?” You asked incredulously.

 His gaze flickered down at you impassively, while you stared back and tried to mentally calculate his height.

 “I’m a Frost Giant.” He stated coldly.

 “Oh in that case, you’re kinda short.” You scoffed.

 You were flooded with immediate remorse but it was drowned out by amusement.

 “I beg your pardon?” He demanded, uncrossing his arms and stepping into your personal space.

 “Down boy.” Iron Man sniggered, stepping between you. “So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.

 “Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”

 “So you’re a baby.” He stated matter-of-factly.

 “If I say yes does that mean I can just sit on the floor and cry until someone picks me up and holds me?” You asked, fully willing to give it a go.

 It had been three days since your life had literally gone up in flames, three days of pinning your arms at your sides, afraid to close your eyes, afraid to let your guard down for even a split second, afraid to allow yourself to feel even an iota of emotion.

 “So how did it happen?” The Captain asked firmly, getting the conversation back on track before you could find out if anyone would volunteer a hug.

 “I, well, I kind of…” You trailed off and looked at Fury for help, but he just stared back at you, the bastard.

 All eyes were on you as they waited for you to explain, nobody offering any kind of help. You exhaled forcefully and slumped your shoulders, tucking your chin so you didn’t have to look at them anymore.

 “I ate a bomb.” You whispered.

 There was a very long beat of silence before it was broken by several voices all at once.

 “I’m sorry, what?” Stark demanded.

 “What did it taste like?” The archer wondered, looking at you almost giddily.

 “She didn’t eat a bomb.” Fury finally stepped in to clarify, “She absorbed the blast, after failing to defuse it.”

 “Why was a civilian defusing a bomb in the first place?” Captain Rogers asked sharply, glancing at you in concern before turning back to Fury with a hard expression.

 “I’m not a civilian, I’m actually an Agent.” You reasoned.

 “She’s an Agent-In-Training.” Fury rebutted. “It was her first mission in the field.”

 “Baby.” Stark reiterated, faking a cough and smirking at you when you scowled at him.

 That was true, and you still didn’t think it was entirely your fault that the bomb had gone off. Yes you’d failed to diffuse it, but you were supposed to be watching the perimeter when you’d stumbled across the explosive device. It had less than thirty seconds on the clock, and you’d stupidly chosen to spend those seconds trying to stop it detonating instead of running away.

 “And you put her on bomb duty? Were you trying to get her blown up?” The Black Widow demanded, and you almost laughed until you saw the serious expression on her face.

 “There wasn’t supposed to be a bomb there, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Fury shrugged, like it was inconsequential.

 To him it probably was.

 “She is still in the room, and I was exactly where you told me to be, when you told me to be there. If your intel was bad, that’s on you Mr Superspy.” You snapped.

 “Oh I see it now!” Stark briskly announced, “You’re trying to pawn her off on us because she’s too sassy for you.”

 “Precisely.” Fury admitted, surprisingly.

 “In the words of shortstack over there,” You hissed, gesturing at Loki “I beg your pardon?”

 “You don’t have the temperance to be an Agent.” Fury told you blankly, not bothering to soften the blow by at least telling you this in private instead of in front of the world greatest heroes.

 “I’d take that as a compliment.” Stark assured you.

 “You’re telling me I’m fired? Literally. Because I got blown up, through no fault of my own?” You huffed, clenching your firsts in an effort to keep your emotions from manifesting in a fiery inferno of rage.

 “Because you choose to try and handle a bomb you had no training to handle, instead of pursuing the target.” Fury amended, unphased by your distress.

 You bit back your retort because you knew it wouldn’t matter to him in the slightest. You couldn’t reason with him, couldn’t explain that you had made the choice not to pursue the target who’d planted the bomb, because you had to try and stop it exploding in a building filled with innocent people. Maybe Fury was right after all. Maybe you weren’t suited to being an Agent, because an Agent would have known that they couldn’t stop the bomb but they could stop the bomber. They would have let a hundred innocent people die and stopped the killer from killing a thousand more the next time. You weren’t an Agent because you’d chosen to die trying to save the hundred, and trusted in Fury and Hill to take down the Bomber.

 Of course, that wasn’t what had happened, and in the end nobody had died.

 “None of this explains how you ‘ate’ the bomb.” Clint Barton pointed out, and it was a good observation.

 “That’s because we don’t have an explanation. She went through the standard medical tests in her training, and all her bloodwork and scans indicated she was fully human. She walked into that building as a human being, and walked back out after absorbing a bomb, as who the hell knows what.”

 “So you’ve never done anything like this before?” Dr Banner asked you, speaking directly to you for the first time.

 “Not even remotely. I mean my eyes water when I eat chilli.” You shrugged.

 “Fascinating.” Banner muttered. “Inhuman?” He asked, turning to Stark.

 “Unlikely, she would have probably noticed going through Terragenesis.” Stark responded. “Mutant?” He shot back.

 “No, the mutant gene would have shown up in testing.” Dr Banner sighed, looking you over with a scientifically calculating eye. “Can you explain what happened in more detail?”

 “Sure, bomb went boom, I went AHHHHHH, and then it was all bright and hot and then the boom went away.” You told them.

 “So how do we know that it was you? What if something else contained the blast?” Someone asked, and you looked around before you finally realised it was Sam Wilson who had spoken.

 “No, it was… it definitely me.” You sighed.

 “How do you know?” Bucky Barnes interjected, backing up the Falcons line of questioning.

 That was the million dollar question. How could you be sure that you had anything to do with the bomb, that you had been imbued with fire power?

 “During the post-mission de-brief, there was an incident.” You alluded, side-eying Fury and taking a not-so-subtle step away from him.

 “Please tell me you tried to set him on fire?” Barton asked giddily, looking between you and your former boss.

 When Fury levelled you with a glare and you developed a sudden vested in the ceiling, the Archer sniggered joyfully. You chanced a look around the room and saw that Barton wasn’t the only one exhibiting mirth at the idea of Fury being set ablaze by your.. well, your fury.

 “He was yelling at me!” You defended, taking yet another step back when his glare intensified.

 “You’re lucky you had no aim and only managed to set fire to the table.” He snapped.

 “I think you were the lucky one.” Stark sniggered at Fury.

 “Do you want her or not?” Fury sighed.

 “Do I get a say in this?” You objected.

 “No.” Fury, Stark, Romanoff, and Loki said in unison.

 “I can run some tests to figure out what happened to you, if it’s reversible.” Banner offered comfortingly. “With your permission of course.”

 “I’m gonna go stand over there with him.” You huffed, making a beeline for the doctor and awkwardly hiding behind him.

 “Yeah, we’ll take her, should be an interesting riddle to solve.” Stark shrugged.

 Captain Rogers and his buddies glanced at you before appearing to have a silent conversation.

 “She can stay here while Stark and Banner figure out what happened, and we can go from there.” The Captain finally decided.

 “We’ll take good care of her.” Loki added with a charming smile.

 His eyes said something completely different, and you had a sick feeling that you were going to be made to pay for your short jokes.

 “Glad I meet your approval; I was worried I was going to fall short.” You sarked, immediately resisting the urge to punch yourself in the face.

 “Approval has nothing to do with it. Of all The Avengers, who do you think will be responsible for testing your abilities? You would do well to remember that I am more than mischief and lies, I am the god of chaos and fire.” He warned you cockily, visibly delighting in the way your grin faltered.

 You shot a pleading look around the room, but nobody was refuting Loki’s claim. In fact, they were nodding thoughtfully, or in Stark’s case; shrugging apologetically at you. You turned back to Loki, ignoring the deep sense of foreboding in your stomach.

 “Well Fe-Fi-Fo-Fuck.”

I have been trying to get back into writing for so long, and this is my last attempt. If this doesn’t work then I am out of ideas. 

I know this is a boring start but I have been re-working and rewriting it for days and I can’t improve it. If you enjoyed any part of this, please do tell me! If you didn’t, then tell me that as well. Just give me any feedback at all, I’d appreciate it so so so so so much. 

For those of you unaware (especially on AO3), I haven’t been writing for a while because my estranged mother passed away and it brought up issues that needed to be dealt with, but all that is over with now. Thank you to everyone who sent supportive messages and was patient with me ❤

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[justauthoring]

Lie Your Way To The Truth

Prompt: Ooh I have an idea - Bokuto being a bro and coming up with increasingly absurd heroic acts for Kuroo to impress the reader?? Like “saving” a child from “drowning”, bragging about him so on Requested by: anonymous.

A/N: I very much adore Kuroo, and want you all to know I listed to a Kuroo playlist while writing this fic cause I felt it was only natural. Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x F!Reader

“There she is!”

“Honestly, Bokuto, this is absurd--!”

“Shh,” there’s a resounding clap as his hand hits his chest, “this will work.”

Your eyes scan across the entire gym, easing when you catch sight of the group of boys you’d been sent after. After the managers noticed a select few still hadn’t come to grab dinner, they’d sent you promptly on their way after them (and specifically your team’s captain) without really letting you get a word in edgewise.

Nonetheless, you hadn’t had much to complain about. Because you were all too happy to have the chance to catch up with Kuroo. He had, of course, been lately busy with training camp going on.

You catch his eye, offering a bright smile as you make your way into the gym. All eyes fall on you at your intrusion, but Bokuto being the way he always is, continues on with his conversation with Kuroo, quite loudly if you were being honest.

“It’s honestly thanks to you, man,” he sends a jab to Kuroo’s side, “that that puppy is now safe and all warm and happy in it’s new home. Without you, it would’ve probably starved, maybe even to death, and--”

Sending a look Kuroo’s way at Bokuto’s words, to which the man only blushes, you come to a stop in front of the two, as the other’s gather around them. “Hello boys,” you greet warmly, tilting your head to the side in a greeting that has Kuroo’s stomach fluttering with butterflies of all things and he’s almost completely enamored by the presence of you.

“Y/N/N!”

At least until he nearly goes deaf at Bokuto’s boisterous greeting.

Kuroo straightens out the second Bokuto’s arm leaves his shoulders, letting out a small sigh at the relief it puts on his already tired muscles. But Bokuto seems all too oblivious, his attention now fully on you as the rest stare on in wonder. Well, at least, Lev and Tsukishima seem curious, Akaashi looks like this is a daily occurrence for him.

“I did not see you come in at all,” he adds, putting a little too much emphasis on his words.

You just seemed confused, baffled even -- which was a lot given that Bokuto didn’t really make sense most of the time. And Kuroo can’t help the small smile that curls onto his lips when you once again look towards him for some kind of guidance, to which he simply shrugs, and the two of you, in his opinion, share your own little moment.

“Ah, well, anyways,” you laugh lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and Kuroo shamelessly watches the movement of your hand with great focus. “I came to grab you guys because they’re about to put dinner away and start cleaning up for the night and I didn’t want you--ahh!”

A squeak leaves your lips as you’re all but suddenly swept up into a pair of strong arms, your feet leaving to comfortable ground beneath you completely. It takes you a moment, a blink or two before you realize it’s Bokuto whose got you all wrapped up in his arms, cheering loudly; “you’re an absolute savior, Y/N/N! I’m starving!”

Frowning, Kuroo steps forward; “put her down, dumbass. Before you drop her.”

Bokuto heeds, but the second you’re back on your own two feet, a little dizzy if nothing else, he’s sending a pout the boys way. “Moo... You’re so cruel, Kuroo.” But his sadness doesn’t last as Akaashi simply reminds him the two of them better start heading towards the cafeteria before the foods all gone, pointing towards the door Lev and Tsukishima have already made their way out of.

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto cheers, voice booming as he drags Akaashi along with him.

Kuroo and you watch the two run off, realizing a second later that it’s just the two of you left.

“Did you eat?” Kuroo asks you, pulling your attention on him as he moves forward.

You nod, smiling softly. “I ate with Kenma,” you explain, “and I put a plate aside for you.”

Kuroo’s eyes gleam. “How thoughtful,” he whistles, pressing a hand right above his heart before sending you a smirk. “I never thought you cared about me so much, Y/N/N.”

You flush lightly, “sh-shut up,” you huff, picking up the speed in your step. “I made one for Lev too, of course!”

But, in reality, you didn’t.

-

“Didn’t you save a kid from drowning once?”

It’s breakfast the next morning, and instantly you’re one sided focus on your breakfast is interrupted as Bokuto’s words drift towards you. Swallowing the food in your mouth, you look up from your spot across from the two boys, quirking a curious brow.

“You did?” You question, attention focused solely on Kuroo -- thus, you miss the sly grin that grows on Bokuto’s lips.

“Well, not--” He cuts off by a groan, Bokuto’s elbow hitting him directly in the gut and sending an unpleasant feeling throughout his entire body. Kuroo sends the boy a sharp glare, but he only responds with a harsher one, subtly tilting his head in your direction as if Kuroo was dumb.

Oh.

Oh...

so this was Bokuto’s plan? Come up with obscure heroic acts to brag about for the sake of impressing you for him... He had to admit it was a good plan, and not a complete lie. He had found a puppy once on the side of the street, but hadn’t necessarily nursed it back to health himself. And there was that one time his cousin had been drowning in the pool, but Kuroo had been too busy laughing at his misfortune to focus on saving him and oh-- what the hell.

Why not?

“I-I did, yes,” Kuroo nods, turning to you with a smirk. “My cousin.”

“That’s right,” Bokuto grins, clapping his hands. “Your mother went on and on about it that one time I came over. She wouldn’t stop gushing about how brave you were.” 

Kuroo eyes you and honestly, you seem a little skeptical if the narrowing of your eyes was any telling. But, you were smiling that cute little smile of yours and you seemed amused nonetheless -- not to mention your attention was focused on him, so, Kuroo felt Bokuto’s plan, despite how odd it seemed to compliment the idiot, was actually working.

“Well then,” you smile over at Kuroo, eyes twinkling with delight. “I’ll make sure to bring you along the next time I go swimming. I absolutely suck.”

Kuroo practically beams with praise.

“Of course!”

-

“Isn’t it kind of bad to... lie?”

“Nah, nah, see, my padawan,” Kuroo pointedly chooses to ignore that comment, “we’re not really lying. Just bending the truth a little.”

“It still seems wrong,” Kuroo frowns, “I don’t want her to be disappointed when she learns I’m not actually that amazing of a person.”

Frowning, Bokuto’s expression turns suddenly serious at that. He promptly sets his hand on his friends shoulder, squeezing tightly in what he’s sure is a reassuring way (but honestly, Kuroo is more weirded out then anything) and sends the boy a wistful look (he just looks like an owl) before nodding; “you aren’t.”

Kuroo blinks. Once, twice, and then all but rips Bokuto’s hand off of him; “what the hell man!”

“Don’t get mad,” Bokuto cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just telling the truth. We’ve painted you out to be some war hero or something--”

“Hardly.”

“--And you’re definitely not--”

“We don’t know that.”

“But fear not,” Bokuto grins, sending him a thumbs up, “my plan will work.”

And honestly, Kuroo figured it was too late to back out now.

-

“And then he pulled a itty-bitty-kitty from burning in a house--”

“Tetsuro?”

All falls silent as you speak, and Kuroo, wincing, turns to look at you. “Yes?”

Smile never faltering, you tilt your head to the side; “can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Um,” hating the way his chest tightens and everything seems to close in on him, Kuroo forces himself to respond. “O-Of course,” he nods, moving to walk in step with you but not without sending a pointed, somewhat panicked look back at Bokuto who seems plainly oblivious to the fact that they’ve been caught in their lie as he sends him a grin and a thumbs up.

This was so not good.

You don’t stop until the two of you are out of the gym, in the cool night air, away from any prying eyes or ears to listen in on the conversation. Kuroo finds himself uncharacteristically nervous and he almost feels like he’s going to vomit as he prepares himself for your lecture.

You’d have every right, and that’s something he can’t argue against, and he curses himself because he knew he shouldn’t have let Bokuto continue spouting these absurd stories that were so clearly meant to brag and--

“You know you don’t have to make up absurd stories to get my attention right?”

And Kuroo blinks but you seem so entirely not angry that he’s stunned silent.

“I mean, I’ll admit I believed them at first,” you laugh lightly, and the sound of it is so soothing to Kuroo. “But honestly, there’s no need to try and get my attention because... because--” and then you falter, and Kuroo blinks as he notices your gaze lower and your cheeks warm, as if you’re embarrassed--

“I already notice you. Just the way you are.”

Did he... did he hear that correctly?

Was that... was that meant to be a confession?

You’d just confessed to him, and Kuroo’s so completely in his own head with disbelief that he doesn’t realize with each passing moment you’re growing more and more unsure.

“Unless,” you squeak, causing Kuroo to blink down at you. “Unless I misread the situation and you weren’t trying to get my attention. Which if that’s the case, i’m so--”

But you never finish because in the next second Kuroo’s lips are pressed firmly against your own and his arms are slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against him he pours his absolutely everything into that kiss like he’s being dying to do since you walk through those gym doors three years ago.

“Yes, operation get-Y/N-to-notice-Kuroo a success!”

“What an original name...”

“Were you watching us?”

“Bokuto!”

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

Disaster.

JAVIER PEÑA. ┃ NARCOS.

❝ words: about 1.8k

❝ warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, mention of bodily fluids, language, soft Javi.

❝ summary: Never let Javier do the laundry.

❝ a / n: This is a writing for Javier that has four years or more, but I translated it to English. Dialogues are in spanish, but this work also contains the translations. As always, I hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated ❤.

Gif credits to the author.

MASTERLIST. ⎢ MULTIFANDOM TAG LIST.

The sunbeams through the curtains disturb your peaceful sleep, rolling tangled in the soft sheets to toss an arm over Javier's chest. But it falls over the cold mattress. Growling still not awake at all, you palm his empty side of the bed. Sitting up on your left arm, you glance through the door to the living room. No noise outside his dorm that makes you know he's still at his house. Lying on your back and tilting your head with a puff escaping your lips, your eyes land on a hand-written note on his nightstand waiting for you to be read. Kissing your lips, you stretch an arm to grab it. “Te quiero hablar sobre algo más tarde, me esperas, ¿sí? Te amo, pendeja”.

The first time he called you like that was the day you met him —or more precisely, the day you almost ran over him. You remember him with both hands on the hood of your car, screaming at you “¿qué pasó, pendeja? A caso, ¿no me vió?” You were focused on texting your boss, but when you raised your eyes and made eye contact both you and him fell for each other, a fact that surprised you when his partner told you he was a perro; every night with a different woman.

A goofy smile curves your lips, feeling yet the kisses Javier spread last night all over your skin, just hoping he has left some coffee for you when you decide to get up. Directing your steps to his wardrobe, fully naked, you pick one of his t-shirts impregnated with his heavenly smell to wear it. You don't have anything planned for today other than enjoying your free day and wait for him to come back, so when you see the mess his house is in your opinion, you settle on cleaning it.

After having breakfast como Dios manda, you start for the living room. Except for the documents and the archives from his job, you pick up all the trash around, before sweeping the floor and dust the furniture. Once it is done, you continue with the laundry. God, this man has clothes thrown throughout the house. Putting them inside the basket, you bring them to the kitchen, but you have to leave aside your task when you find the washing machine already occupied. You're starting to tremble. Javier is a disaster, and you don't need to be a genius to realize it. So, when you see a red shirt inside, mixed with your white clothes, you pray for everything you know.

Opening the small door, you confirm your suspicion.

“¡PUTA MADRE! ¡NO JODAS! ¡HUEVÓN MALPARIO'!”

(Shit! Son of a bitch!)

Music in Spanish sounds all around the house, with the kitchen as the epicenter. You're cooking something for dinner, wearing a short chiffon dress —that makes your legs stand out and that used to be white, now is some kind of pink—, stalling till Javier comes back. Oh, he's going to pay for what happened.

“¿Mi amor?” The front door gets closed while hearing his voice calling you. “¡Ya regresé! ¿Dónde te metis— whoa, whoa, whoa…”

(¿My dear? I'm back! Where are you?)

Your boyfriend stops in his tracks as his mouth drops to the floor. Taking off his aviator sunglasses, you find him ogling you with eyes widened. He gulps to wet his sore throat while licking his bottom lip.

“A ver, a ver… voltéate”. He whispers waving his index finger doing circle moves.

(Let's see, turn around).

In silence, you obey his petition in slow motion so he can delight with the views, drawing a gunny grimace on your face. When you face him again, he is crossing himself thanking God. Raising both eyebrows, you take some steps closer swinging your hips to provoke him a little more, having so much fun.

“¿Sí te gusta mi vestido, hm?”

(Do you like my dress, hm?)

He just nods his chin fascinated, not being able to speak.

“Está bonito, ¿verdad? Pero… pues más bonito estaba cuando era blanco”. You reply, lifting both arms at the sides of your body.

(It's beautiful, isn't it? But... It was perfect when it was white).

“¿Cómo así, mi amor?”

(What do you mean, my love?)

Javier doesn't understand what's going on when you practically drag him through the kitchen to the clothesline outside, pointing at your white clothes, now of a strange pink discolored, he has to swallow a giggle. Pressing his lips together, he scratches the bridge of his nose doing his best to not laugh.

“A ver, cuéntame el chiste. Así me río yo también”.

(Tell me the joke. So I can laugh too).

“¡No me estoy riendo!” He feigns to be offended raising his hands to his chest.

(I'm not laughing!)

“Seguro… ¿No es esa tu camisa favorita?” You ask making a soft and brief move with your chin.

(Sure... Isn't that your favorite shirt?)

Putting his brown eyes on the piece of clothing he's wearing, he doesn't have a chance to reply when you ruin it and all its buttons by a strong pull, making them fall to the floor. A proud grin curves your lips up, while Javier tries to babble something. But the response to your action is better than you could think.

Crashing his lips on yours, his fingers move faster than you can assimilate to undoing his belt and the zip of his jeans, as he devours your mouth hungry like a stray dog. His tongue fights yours in a battle for dominance, pulling down his clothes before forcing you to turn and face the counter. Javier ruins your thong as easily as you have ruined his shirt, causing you to moan when he obligates you to spread your legs for him.

Bending over the counter and sticking out your ass, hearing him jerking off his delicious cock, your boyfriend digs his hardness as deep as he can into your soaked cunt. You cry out his name inevitably. Javier spits an animalistic groaning onto your ear. It doesn't matter how many times you two have fuck, you always need a second to adjust to his length, but this time he doesn't give you the opportunity. Not losing time, he grabs your throat with his right hand whilst the other presses your body to the counter from behind. Javier rocks his hips furiously, back and forth, running out of air. Soon, your moans and your whinings fill the kitchen, as the dry noise his pelvis produces when it crashes your limits.

“Si querías coger… solo tenías que decirlo”. He hisses lost in the pleasure, thrusting you harder with every move.

(If you wanted to fuck, you just had to ask for it).

It's not like he's mad at you, it's more like he is trying to compensate you for what he has done. He knows to perfection how to worship your body, how to make you feel loved and desired; but he also knows to perfection that you prefer him to be rougher than gentle —pulling your hair, choking you, biting your neck, making you beg.

“Ah, Javi…”

“Sí te gusta que te… coja, ¿no?”

(Do you like how I fuck you, right?)

“Sí, sí… Más rápido, por favor… por favor”.

(Yes, yes... Faster, please... please).

Your right-hand wraps his wrist, securing a little more the grip on your throat before guiding his other to your legs, straight to your throbbing clit.

“Tan ansiosa, tan necesitada mi gatita”.

(So anxious, so needy my kitten).

His forefinger caresses your finger so softly that he could kill you, quite the opposite of his waist.

“Qué rico…” You gasp enraptured, arching your back and tilting your head to reach his lips.

The fight of your tongues continues, drinking each other's pleasing growls, while the pace of his finger increases too close to the orgasm.

“No pares… no pares, por favor”. You beg onto his mouth, trailing his lips after over your jawline down to your neck.

(Don't stop... don't stop, please).

Nailing his teeth causing you to whimper loudly, your legs start to tremble as Javier digs his twitching hardness into you once and once, not letting you breathe for a second and pushing you to the edge. You can't help but scream his name, just like he loves, feeling the tickles exploding within your belly and letting yourself go. Your boyfriend only needs some more pushes straight to your g-spot to come inside you with a delighted howl drown against your neck. His warm seed mixed with your wetness makes him sigh breathless, collapsing over your back as you need to rest your arms over the counter till recovering.

“Me vuelves loco, mujer”. Javier mumbles, placing gentle kisses on your shoulder before caressing it with the tip of his nose.

(You drive me crazy).

Slowly pulling himself out of your overstimulated cunt, stealing you a disappointed whining for the sudden emptiness, he puts on his clothes as you turn around to face him.

“Te ves bien bonita, así toda hecha un desastre”. His perfect and charming smile gives you goosebumps, leaning forward to you to pepper your lips with so much tenderness.

(You look beautiful just like that, messy).

“Qué chistoso”. You chuckle placing both hands on his neck.

(Very funny).

“¿Arrunche en la tina?”

(Cuddles in the bathtub?)

“Por favor”. You just reply before he lifts you on his arms in the most purest bridal style, making you laugh lively and satisfied.

(Please).

In barely a couple of minutes, your bodies are covered by warm water, relaxing every inch of them and making the tension disappear. Javier is lying back on your chest, smoking with both eyes closed as your fingertips gently roam his chest. You have missed him too much today, being something rare for you to not spend your days off together, but he has been through so much work lately.

“¿De qué me querías hablar?”

(What you wanted to tell me?)

“¿Hm…?” Expelling the smoke through his nostrils, Javier raises his chocolate eyes towards yours.

“La nota”. You add referring to the piece of paper you found this morning on his nightstand.

(The note).

“Pensé en que vinieras a vivir conmigo”.

(I was thinking that you could come to live with me).

That's it. No doubts. No questions.

“¿Vivir juntos? ¿Acá?”

(Live together? Here?)

“Sí, acá”. Javier says puckering his lips, moving his mustache funnily. “¿Qué tiene de malo, pues?”

(Yeah, here. What's wrong?)

“Nada, nada… Está bien, me parece chévere”.

(Nothing, it's okay, I like it).

“¿Te parece chévere?” He scoffs sitting up, turning his head towards yours.

(Do you —just— like it?)

“Sí, ¿qué pasó?”

(Yeah, what's up?)

“Pensé que… no sé… que estarías feliz”.

(I thought... I don't know... You'd be happy).

Raising your eyebrows not believing what he's saying, you roll your eyes moving your arms around his neck to push him back again.

“No seas pendejo, Javi… Estoy más que feliz”.

(Don't be an idiot, Javi... I'm more than happy).

Embracing him tightly to your chest, you sink your nose into his neck taking a deep breath from his scent, almost dizzying you.

“Mírate… de perro callejero a perro casero”. You chuckle close to his ear, biting softly his earlobe.

(Look at you... from stray dog to domesticated dog).

“Pendeja…”

[bellakitse]

I've got the remedy

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

+

Derek gets sick with werewolf flu, and Stiles is left to watch over him. Their mutual crushes come to a head.

“Werewolf flu?”

Stiles Stilinski looks at his friend Lydia Martin dubiously as she stands in front of the stove, heating up soup. She’d called as he barely crossed back into the town lines – home on break from school, with an SOS text telling him to get his ass out to the Hale house. That wasn’t the surprising part, even being away at Berkeley didn’t stop the wolfy emergency-related texts. However, he could admit that their dear Alpha had a better handle on things these days, and he didn’t get too many ‘the world is coming to an end; we need your google-fu, Stiles’ call these days.

Not that Derek was willing to call his impressive skills ‘google-fu’ in the first place, no matter how much Stiles insists. Just because the big guy had mellowed out over the years doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a sourwolf.

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, probably because she has explained twice, and he’s still not getting it. “Peter didn’t precisely tell us – “

“What?” he drags out sarcastically. “You mean Peter Hale was vague about something?”

Lydia shoots him another look, more annoyed than the last, and Stiles smiles delighted, riling her up is one of his favorite pastimes. “Yes, shocker,” she says, returning his tone. “And he didn’t call it werewolf flu, but that’s essentially what it is, and Derek has it.”

Stiles frowns, looking up at the kitchen ceiling like it’s going to open up and show him their Alpha. “Is he okay?”

Lydia rolls her eyes yet again, and Stiles is starting to worry for her eyesight if she continues this way. “Yes. He’s just more irritating, if that’s even possible. Werewolves barely ever get sick, so he’s handling it oh so gracefully,” she tells him. The aggravation in her voice makes him wince.

“Where is everyone?” he questions. He knows the pack arrived days ago, him being the last one to come back to town due to a late paper he had to hand in.

“Far away,” Lydia answers as she turns off the stove. “I called Deaton. He said that while rare, the werewolf flu is contagious to other werewolves, so I sent them away because I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with more supernatural whiny babies.”

Stiles snorts loudly at that. “Can’t Derek hear you right now?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Like I care about the big bad wolf?” she asks, her mouth quirking upward when a growl vibrates through the house. Stiles shakes his head, amused. It’s times like this when he remembers why he was in love with her for so long.

“Okay, so why did you call me?” he asks, instantly regretting it when she gives him a bright smile. “No.”

“Stiles – “

He shakes his head quickly. “No, you just said he’s moodier than ever – “

“He needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own snot,” she says patiently, and the house shakes again with another growl.

“His betas – “ he tries over the huff Lydia lets out.

“Will get sick if they come near him,” she reminds him. “You really want to deal with a sick pack?”

Stiles lets out a sigh of his own as he reluctantly shakes his head. Scott alone used to be such a nightmare when he got sick before his wolfy transformation. “What about Allison?” he questions desperately.

Lydia looks at him like he’s stupid, and he knows why. Even years later, Allison and Derek aren’t particularly close. She’s pack because she’s Scott’s mate, but she’d probably just end up putting Derek out of his misery before bringing him tea with honey.

“You?” he questions in a last-ditch effort, knowing it useless by the way she looks at him.

“What exactly do you think I have been doing the last three days when I should have been studying, Stiles?”

“We’re on break,” he argues.

“You don’t win a Fields Medal by slacking off,” she shoots back with a flip of her hair. “Besides, I’m not Florence Nightingale.”

“And I am?” he asks. “What makes you think that leaving me with a sick and, per your words, grumpier Derek Hale is a good idea? I’m just going to annoy him more than usual, which I’m sure is not going to make him feel better faster.”

Lydia gives him a look that Stiles has come to know as her ‘Stiles, you’re such an idiot’ face. He’s used to it, but he’s not sure what he’s said right now to warrant it.

“What?” he questions when she continues to look at him like that.

Lydia rolls her eyes because it seems irritation is her default setting for the day and starts to make her way out of the kitchen into the living room to gather her jacket and purse. “The soup is ready. Make him drink plenty of water, and there are these herbs Deaton gave us. It’s already brewed. He has to drink that too. Word of warning, he says it tastes like death, so he’s going to pout about it. Make sure he drinks it in front of you. The first day the big baby poured it down the toilet.”

“Lydia, please,” he tries again as she puts her jacket on and heads for the door.

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Proving that she can be even more unimpressed with him still, Lydia rolls her eyes in a way that makes it seem it’s with her whole body.

“I don’t have time for your panic, so let me lay it out for you,” she says, not waiting for him to speak. “You two talk over the phone all the time. When you and I talk, you end up talking about him, and you get stupidly excited about making him laugh. He softens around you like no one else. You like each other, Stiles, and while it’s amusing for the rest of us to watch this little mating dance of yours, it’s also tedious as hell. Now, Derek has been a pain in the ass the last few days, and I guarantee you that you being here will put him in a better mood. So, I repeat, go upstairs and take care of your man.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he tries to process the truth bomb Lydia just dropped on his head. Seemingly taking his silence as an answer, she smiles, pleased with the havoc she has just wreaked, and walks out of the house, leaving him alone with a sick werewolf.

“Right,” he says to himself after a moment, closing his mouth and the door. He heads back to the kitchen, working on autopilot as he serves the soup Lydia heated up, pouring some of the herb-tea Lydia mentioned that does indeed smell like death and some water, placing it all on a carrying tray. All the while, he thinks about Lydia’s comments and the truth behind them.

He and Derek do talk all the time, sometimes for hours, about nothing and everything. He does get a ridiculous amount of joy when he can make the man laugh, and he’d been looking forward to coming home and seeing him, hoping to see and hear that laugh in person. There’s also the undeniable fact that he’s had a crush on Derek since high school, something he thought he’d manage to hide pretty well, but if Lydia’s words were true, then maybe not so much.

He feels his face go hot at the idea that the pack might be aware of his feelings, or worse, Derek. Because even if by some chance he wasn’t aware of them before, there’s no way he’s lucky enough for Derek not to have heard Lydia now.

Every part of him is screaming at him to get back in his jeep and drive home where he could hide under his bed until it’s time to go back to school. Instead, he grabs the tray and starts to make his way up the renovated Hale house. He’s faced scarier things than his feelings since learning about the supernatural, and it’s not the first time he’s been interested in someone wildly out of his league.

It’s his M.O.

Besides, there’s no way he could actually leave a sick Derek alone to be miserable if he can make him feel better. Lord knows the guy has had enough misery in his life. With that in mind, he pushes the door to Derek’s room with his hip, ready to deal with whatever is inside.

What he isn’t ready for is how good Derek looks. Stiles hasn’t seen him in person in months since his last break, and he looks amazing. Leave it to Derek Hale to get some strange supernatural cold and still look like a GQ model.

Derek is sitting up on the bed, and except for an impressive bedhead and unusually flushed cheeks under his scruff, he looks as gorgeous as ever.

“Life is truly unfair,” he whispers to himself, getting a raised eyebrow in return.  “What? Of course you would look this good while sick,” he says with narrowed eyes. Frankly, he’s annoyed by just how beautiful Derek is sometimes. “Can’t be like us lesser mortals who look like death when we have the flu? Do you just have to show us up?”

Derek stares at him for another moment before giving him an impressive eye-roll of his hazel-green eyes. “Why are you the most ridiculous person I know?”

Stiles snorts. “That’s simply not true. You also know Scott,” he answers as he makes his way towards the bed, tray in hand, silently apologizing to his friend for the dig.

Derek’s lips twitch for a second before he schools his features, but Stiles still catches it and celebrates the win with an amused grin of his own. It softens a bit as he sits down on the side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table to get a better look at Derek.

He stands by his original opinion that Derek Hale is just way too gorgeous in general, much more for someone sick with a magical flu, but this close, he can see the bit of bruising around his eyes from the lack of sleep. His cheeks are rosy-pink from sickness, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out to press his hand against one.

Derek lets out a surprised sound at his touch that startles Stiles into realizing what he’s done. He goes to take his hand off the werewolf, ready to apologize for overstepping when Derek gives him a surprise of his own by leaning into his touch, his pretty eyes fluttering shut, a peaceful look coming over his face.

Stiles holds his breath as Derek lets out another lovely rumbling sound from deep in his throat.

“Your hand is cool,” Derek murmurs softly, his eyes slowly opening to look at him. “It feels nice.”

Stiles bites down on his lip, feeling his stomach clench when Derek’s eyes drift to them, and he licks his own.

Holy shit, Lydia was right. This whole time he had figured that this was just one-sided. That it was him once again developing feelings for someone who would never return his affections. But looking at Derek now, he sees the same want and longing he sees in the mirror every day.

“Oh, screw you,” he breathes out, tightening his hold on Derek when he tries to pull away. “Nope, you don’t get to retreat now, sourwolf,” he warns him with narrowed eyes, proving his suspicions real by the way he listens to him. “You heard Lydia earlier,” he challenges with a raised eyebrow.

“I have good ears,” Derek grumbles back.

“So you heard her when she said we have feelings for each other,” he says, his heart beating faster than usual with anxiety, and he knows Derek can hear that too. Derek’s almost timid, hopeful expression when he gives him a single nod helps ease that worry as he starts to feel hopeful too. “Only all this time, I thought I was the only one with feelings here.”

“I thought you were the smart one,” Derek murmurs, a small grin playing on his lips when he sputters indignantly.

Stiles huffs loudly, even as he’s unable to stop the silly grin that takes over his face.

“Your heartbeat sounds happy,” Derek tells him softly as he looks down to his chest.

“You like me back,” he answers, letting out an incredulous laugh when Derek smiles at him, not denying it. Instead, he looks at him fondly, causing Stiles’ heart to skip a beat at being the recipient of such a rare and special look. “I’m more than happy right now, Derek,” he shakes his head. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Derek smiles again, pushing off the mountain of pillows behind him, reaching out for him. Stiles does the same, placing his hands on Derek’s bare shoulders, playing with the edge of his white tank top. His face gets inches away from Stiles’ when he stops.

“Wait – “ he starts as Stiles already shakes his head.

“No, no waiting,” he whines, wrapping his fingers around the material of his shirt, leaning forward. He rubs the tip of his nose against Derek’s even as he tries to close the last inch of distance between their lips. “I have had a crush on you since like junior year, Derek. No waiting, no wasting any more time, kissing now.”

Derek chuckles slightly. This close up he can see Derek’s eyes shining with joy, and Stiles wants to be responsible for that from now on.

“I’m sick, remember?”

“Affects werewolves, not humans,” he mutters as he brushes his lips against Derek’s, sighing at the feel of their softness. His sigh turns into a low moan as Derek gives in, hauling him onto his lap, proving that werewolf flu or not, his strength is still superior.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck as he cradles him between his legs. He kisses him slow and deeply, thoroughly, it being such a long time coming. He sinks his fingers into Derek’s hair gripping it harder than he intended, pulling on it on reflex when Derek gives his bottom lip a bite. The pleased growl Derek lets out against his mouth vibrates down his whole body, making his spine tingle. He breaks the kiss to take a breath, only for it to turn into a gasp when Derek ducks to kiss his way down his neck.

“Totally worth the risk,” he gets out, moaning as Derek traces his moles with his tongue.

Derek laughs against his throat. He pulls back to look at him, smiling widely. “You say that now, but don’t complain later if you do get sick.”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders, not really worried or caring right now when he’s in Derek’s arms. “If it happens, we’ll stay in bed together until we’re both better,” he answers, his eyes lighting up as he speaks. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Let’s stay in bed.”

He waggles his eyebrows, grinning when Derek huffs, rolling his eyes at him.

“The most ridiculous person I know,” he mutters right as he rolls them over, ignoring the yelp Stiles lets out at the sudden movement.

Stiles blinks up at the ceiling while Derek throws an arm and a leg over him, settling around Stiles like he’s his own personal body pillow.

“What about the soup?” he questions even as he starts combing his fingers through Derek’s silky hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

“Mhmm,” Derek hums out, his face tucked into Stiles’ neck, already sounding half-asleep. “It will keep.”

Stiles laughs softly, but still, he wraps his arms more securely around the sleeping wolf, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead because he can now, closing his eyes too.

The soup can wait.

[asimpletroll]

Alpha!Shigaraki X Omega!(M)Reader

You.

You were his.

Why weren't you going to look at him, then?

Shigaraki growls lowly at you, staring into your cage as you bow to the floor in submission. You whimper, your cock dripping almost as much as your cunt.

"Omega." Shigaraki lets out a rutting growl, you whimper again, looking at the open door to your cage nervously. "Come here, Omega. Come now!"

You whine softly but wiggle along the cold, metal floor of your cage until Shigaraki can wrap his hands underneath your arms and pull you into the air. Only wearing a white mini-skirt, your short and thin dick was a telltale sign of your secondary gender - even if most people (Betas) couldn't smell you sweet scent that rolls out you.

"Do you know why you're here, Omega?" He growls to you roughly, eyeing your scent glands as they swell because of your triggered heat. "Do you know why you are here?"

"B-Because you w-wanted me to be." You mewl at him, he smiles darkly, and more slick drips down your thighs as he pulls you close to his chest. You stumble a little when your feet fit the carpeted floor of his freshly-cleaned den. "Alpha, you smell so good!"

He purrs, the sound deep and rough and a carnal and ancient call to something deep inside you. You go limp against him, your (e/c) eyes staring at him with wonder as he gently nuzzles your nose. Even with his jeans loose and heavy on him, you can feel his hardened cock straining.

"Tell me how good, Little Omega." He growls, his hands gently massaging your slim waist, you whine and buck against him, his four fingers not close enough to either of your genitals to sate you. "Omega, tell me."

You almost cry from want, but you babble and blubber about how you could smell him all the way in the car Giran drove you here in, how powerful he felt, how secure he made you feel. He purrs so hard he can barely hear you as you beg him to mate you, to knot you, to make you part of his power. You bawl about how he's so big, how he'll have to stretch you lots, but you'll be a good Omega, you swear.

Finally, he crashes his mouth to yours in a fevered kiss, your bodies heating up together as he forces you back, past your cage, until your butt hits the edge of his bed, and then he forces you back on it with his tongue between your teeth.

You yip in surprise when he Decays your skirt right off you, but he makes it good by wrapping a hand around your short, slim, weeping cock. You yowl like the bitch in heat that you are as he masturbates for you, he purrs deeply when you cum and cover his bed in slick. He rips his shirt off, an unnecessary display in your opinion then rips his pants almost completely in two to pull his much larger, much thicker, much prettier cock out, you drool a little as you stare at it.

"Like what you see, pretty boy?" Shigaraki purrs to you, you mewl as he lets it rest against your stomach as he adjusts you. He easily throws your knees over his elbows, grabbing your hips and teasing you by pressing his balls against your fluttering opening. You mewl and beg for him to touch you, take you, claim you! He presses two fingers deep into you, your walls already tight around even that little as he presses deep, then strokes back gently.

"That's an Omega, that's my Omega. Preen, my prince, preen for me." You obey without question, puffing up happily and preening beautifully as he begins to scissor you. You mewl and grind against his hand, your own hands timidly tangling in his hair. "Play with me baby - cause you won't walk right for a month when I'm through with you!"

You happily rake your nails against his shoulders and upper back, he taunts you and uses your own cum to add to your sloppy cunt. He manages to get a third finger in to scissor you before you come again, your weak biological excuse for semen splattering up his chest and making him prouder of what he's doing to you as you pull his hair and keen for his 'pretty cock, such a pretty cock.'

He growls lowly when you try to touch it though, you keen to him for it, and he relents for you to stroke it as he continues to slowly scissor you open. You happily jack him off, and he stills gently as you do, watching your horny delight as he twitches in your hands, then explodes with semen, his splatter reaches all the way up by your face, and you keen more and lick at it all.

"Enough play." He growls, taking his still hard cock and lining himself up. Just the head makes you preen and keen and plead for 'harder, faster, please Alpha, faster' but he knows that if he does this wrong, you'll get badly hurt.

That doesn't help his level of excitement.

You are small. The fact that he could lift you so easily says that much, but your walls were so tight, he sees stars and meets your cervix only halfway down his length. You mewl more, claw him some more, making pretty marks on his pretty skin, then you feel him start to stretch your cervix. Panic and arousal mix and clash, and you pull yourself against him tightly.

"Alpha! Alpha, please! I don't want to get damaged and hurt our pups!" He purrs at your worries, easily grinding against you just right to make you gasp and pant and sing him more praises as he slowly, achingly slowly, stretches your cervix to fit around the head of his cock.

Once he bottoms out, you're starry-eyed at the feeling of his cock head snug against your prostate, and you orgasm the minute he moves.

He doesn't stop for you though and pull out until his head is snug up against your cervix again, and this time he simply slams through it, causing you to scream in surprise and need.

Buildings could collapse because of his purr, and he ruts into you at a downright barbaric pace, easily bruising your prostate and cervix at the same time, his balls loudly slapping up against your slick-covered arse. You try to wrap your arms around his neck, cling to him, but he grabs both of your wrists in one hand and holds them up by the headboard as his other hand wraps around your throat gently.

"Omega, behave. Or no knotting tonight." He growls out, his voice velvety and warm from his heavy purr, but you burst into tears at the threat, and he squeezes your throat deliciously. You orgasm again, just from that, and he purrs so hard the walls rattle around your both.

Your slick pools and pools around you both, your watery cum not potent enough to impregnate anything, and mostly just existing to help slick you up more. It does help now, as Shigaraki's knot starts to grow, you plead and keen for him to knot you, you'll be good for him. Please knot you, you'll be such a good Omega for him!

He chuckles darkly, continuing to slam against you like a jackhammer, your cervix screaming in pain and your prostate numb.

He makes you orgasm nearly seven more times before slowing down enough for his knot to lock you both into place. He settles over you like a blanket, his hand still gently wrapped around your throat. He squeezes sometimes, just to feel your walls get even tighter around his knotted cock, you mewl cutely at him.

"A-Alpha," You have the airy fucked-out tone of a very pleased Omega as he turns to look at you, you squeeze him a little, obviously turned on by his eyes alone. "W-Was I a good Omega for you? Do I get more knots tonight?"

"Of course, silly thing, I promised I would make you struggle to walk for the next month, didn't I?" He also has the fucked-out tones of his gender, but it makes his voice deeper, his tone softer, and his chest sound barrelled.

It makes you squeeze him hard enough he cums. Even though his knot was already set, he cums hard, nuzzling into your neck and releasing your wrists in order to hold your hips up. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you keen the loudest keen yet, your warm, moist walls milking him for all he's worth.

He chuckles and squeezes your throat again playfully, your beautiful keen cuts off slightly as he does so, but he shifts his hips and you see stars again as his head settles on your drowning prostate. He grinds down on you, his knot pressing painfully tight against your entrance as he makes you mewl and keen and whine and preen all over again.

Soon, your throat is bruised so badly you can see his individual fingerprints, and his knot has deflated enough that you're feeling frisky.

"Alpha~" You sing in his ear, he opens one eye and smiles as you press against him, he rolls onto his back, and lets you bounce on his dick for a while, until he feels his knot starting to form again. "Play with me~"

"Frisky, huh?" He mutters, but flips you back onto your back, nuzzling into your neck and snapping his hips against yours, you moan loudly. He smiles and gently starts to lick your expanded scent gland, your taste of honey, milk, and caramel making him melt and cum again. You wrap your legs around his hips and lock your ankles together at the small of his back, he lifts your hips slightly, his knot slowly blowing again as he fucks his cum into you roughly. "Mmh!~ Omega, you taste like candy."

"My nipples taste even better~" You tease him, arching your back beautifully, he lets out a possessive growl and fondles one as he lowers his head a little. Your eyes roll back again as he sucks powerfully on the one he isn't fondling. He happily sucks on you as if you're already lactating, bruising your supple flesh with his mouth, and lathering his saliva onto it with his tongue. You can't help but orgasm a few more times, his snapping hips and sucking lips making your eyes roll into the back of your head as he cums again.

"Alpha! Alpha, you said more knots later!" You plead as he slows down, he slams back against your prostate like a battering ram, making you arch so far so fast, he has to hold you to him as he cums yet again and blows his knot for the second time. He lets out small, possessive growls as your vagina milks him for all he has. He admires his purple-hued work on your nipples, gently fondling the one he abused so severely as he licks and kisses and sucks his way back up to your scent gland. You babble incoherently at him, saying he's a good Alpha and you can be a good Omega if he wants you to, but you aren't afraid of spankies if he wants you to be a brat. He lathers some more attention and spit on your scent gland, grinding against you and holding you in the air with four fingers against each ass cheek.

"Little Omega, stay quiet a moment." He requests, his voice purring again and making you submit even more to him, he tests his teeth against your skin, his canines extending as he does so. He slowly feels over your scent gland as you lay in a submission, fucked-out, content pile as he selects a prime location to mark you.

[sinsbymanka]

Hello! I uh. Got so many Fenders prompts guys. Like. A lot. 

I combined three of them because I really wanted to try this ship and I really liked writing it a lot. I hope I did them justice! Thank you to @dalish-rogue​, @morganlefaye79​, and @wardenari​ for the prompts! This is for @dadrunkwriting​!

Title: Not What Was Intended Ship: Anders/Fenris Rating: T Word Count: 1561 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crimes & Criminals, Bathing/Washing, Sharing a Bed, Bickering, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Fenris doesn't mean to go to the clinic. But when he sees the windows smashed in, he has to check it out. He is not doing it for himself, he is doing it for Hawke. It's a good lie. Almost believable.

Read on AO3

Fenris does not mean to stroll past the clinic. 

It is nothing more than a momentary lapse in judgement. He is too used to walking these darkened streets so the chain link fences, the broken street lamps, they all weave a background tapestry he hardly notices. His feet drag him onwards down the path he usually walks with Hawke, despite the fact that Hawke is not with him. 

Fenris could have gone home. Instead he turns the corner to find the clinic’s windows smashed, broken glass littering the cracked sidewalk. Fluorescent lights flicker inside, although whether the bulbs themselves are finally reaching the end of their life or Anders has not paid the bill again, Fenris can’t say. 

He hesitates a moment, his contraband ammunition heavy against his chest where he tucked it inside his coat. If he is caught with it, the papers Varric somehow obtained will be useless. He’ll be back in Tevinter before he can blink, and for all Fenris knows Anders is about to be dragged out by the Templars kicking and screaming, blonde hair falling wildly about his face, eyes crackling…

That image forces him into movement. He ducks quietly through the ajar door, suspicious eyes darting into every corner. He tells himself he is there for Hawke, for Varric, for all those who for some reason believe the meddlesome doctor and his idealistic opinions are worth the wrath of the rich and powerful. 

Fenris almost convinces himself. It is a good lie. One Varric himself would approve of. 

But the truth shrivels it the moment Fenris slips past the abandoned reception desk and into the triage area. Because standing in the middle of the room is Anders, surrounded by debris and refuse. 

Something loosens in Fenris’ chest immediately. He crosses the wreckage of the clinic easily, voice dropping to a low growl. “What have you done?” 

Anders finally lifts his gaze from the trash littering the floor. Fenris expects a flash of irritation, a scowl to match his own, but it does not come. Instead Anders rubs his stubbled jaw and shakes his head. 

“Just what I needed. A lecture. Andraste’s pillowy tits. Could this day get any worse?” 

There’s a bitter thread of hurt in his voice that makes Fenris uneasy. He does not pull his gaze from Anders, jerking his chin to the destruction surrounding them. “You were raided?” 

“I wish,” Anders snorts. “I expect the Templars to fuck me over cause of what I’m doing. Who I’m helping.” 

“Varric pays the Coterie. And the Carta. This was not them.” 

“I’ve told him to stop but you know how he is.” Anders puffs out his chest in mockery. “Me? Annoyingly taking care of your problems? I’d never do something so blighted risky and-” 

Anders bends down, stumbling to stop in his impression as he picks up a long, ruined piece of unravelled gauze. He sighs hopelessly as he looks at it before he shakes his head and lets it drop in defeat. 

“You’re right, you know.” Anders looks up, a bitter grin twisting his lips into something monstrous and out of place on his warm features. Something that brings the dread from when he saw the broken windows back tenfold. “I’m down here risking all our asses and for what?” 

“Justice and the greater good, or so I’ve been told,” Fenris replies dryly. 

“So a bunch of kids whose bullet wounds I stitched up last week, no Templars involved, could come back and steal thousands of dollars worth of medical supplies and ruin even more. All while I was out doing home visits for a solid thirty hours.” 

Anders closes his eyes, agony breaking over his features, making him look three times his age. “Maker. I’ll never recover from this.” 

The statement rings too loudly in the heavy silence. It stretches on and Fenris waits for the other man to crack a flippant joke, but it doesn’t come. It is up to Fenris to fill it as best he can. 

“This is unnecessarily dramatic,” he sniffs. “Hawke will gladly resupply you.” 

“I’m not living on Hawke’s charity,” Anders snaps. 

“Then you’ll live on Varric’s. How long have you been awake?” 

Anders finally shows some sign of his own temper, straightening up. “Sorry, should I call you daddy or-” 

“Fasta vass, you are impossible.” Fenris surges forward and grabs Anders by the cuff of his coat. The other man is so dizzy from exhaustion it takes almost none of his strength to drag him from the triage area deep into the clinic.

Fenris himself has been stitched up in this location enough times to know it like the tattoos in his skin. He shoves Anders toward the showers with a growl. “You smell of disease and stale sweat. I will secure the clinic.” 

“You say the nicest-” 

Fenris slams the door shut behind the other man and turns grimly to the clinic to survey the damage. He doesn’t bother with the ruined supplies or the evidence of the ransacking. Instead, he begins the slow, methodical business of checking the exits. Securing the bolts. The windows are, of course, a problem. He drags clean sheets from the cupboards and pins them in place to keep out the wind and cold, but Anders needs new windows. 

And perhaps an alarm system. Or a dog instead of the fifty stray cats that linger in the alley. 

When he’s done what he can, he makes his way back to the bathroom. The water is running and Fenris thinks only to pop his head in and announce that he will return with boards for the windows. 

He’s stopped short, once more, by the sight of Anders. No longer standing, but curled into the corner of the shower. Knobbly knees are pulled to his chest, sandy hair plastered to his skin. His shoulders shake with silent sobs. 

Fenris should leave. 

Yet again, he doesn’t. 

He closes the bathroom door behind him and slips his coat from his shoulders. By the time Anders looks up, blinking water from his eyes, Fenris is laying it and his illegal purchases on the counter. 

“What are you-” 

“You are clearly incapable of taking care of yourself.” Fenis lifts the hem of his cotton shirt over his head, not daring to meet Anders eyes. He knows the other man is tracing the elaborate designs, a brutal reminder of his life before, and he doesn’t wish to see it. “If you drown in your own shower, I will have to explain it to Hawke.” 

Anders’ silence is more maddening than his constant babble. Fenris braces himself to turn, only to find that instead of staring at him, Anders is gloomily examining the grout in the shower. 

“I know you think I’m pathetic.” 

Fenris climbs carefully into the shower and grabs one tiny bottle of expired shampoo donated from a cheap motel and a limp sponge. “I have never said that is the case.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I do not have to justify things I have never said.” 

Fenris squirts the sickly sweet shampoo on the sponge and rubs it between his fingers. Anders’ eyes latch onto the movement quietly. Fenris thinks his words over before he turns to Anders. 

“I am envious of your desire to help others. I believe that is a part of me that is gone.” 

It had been ruined, as so many things had. Before he can think too much about his past or about the pale freckled skin slicked with water, he brings the sponge to Anders’ chest and swipes it over his collarbone. 

The motion is soothing. Dull. Repetitive. Soap beads on his skin and falls to the drain. Anders is silent, the only noise the lukewarm water streaming from above and the sound of their quiet breaths. 

“They should not have abused your kindness,” Fenris finally says, flicking his eyes up to meet Anders’. 

A moment of silence, fragile as the soap bubbles. Fenris takes hold of Anders’ thin, lithe arms and hauls him to his feet. He tries not to think of the way the other man sways on his feet, the brush of their chest together. He carefully does not look at the golden hair decorating his chest or the taut muscles beneath his skin. 

Fenris tries not to hear the soft whisper against his ear as he drags the sponge down Anders’ stomach. 

“They shouldn’t have abused yours.” 

Everything passes in a blur. He does not remember how he finishes washing Anders, only the brief tantalizing flashes of skin and warmth that are seared into his memory. But the other man is almost limp with exhaustion as Fenris drags him to a cot. 

Anders trips into it, taking Fenris with him. He curses under his breath and Anders chuckles, warm and real and so much better than the heartbroken man he found. 

“You can’t stay here,” Anders murmurs sleepily, lips twitching in amusement. 

“I have no wish to,” Fenris hisses between his teeth. 

The cot is soft, just barely big enough for both of them, and his arm is trapped beneath a man who is rapidly letting exhaustion overtake him. Fenris means only to rest there until he can free himself without waking him. 

He does not mean to fall asleep beside him, arm over his waist, face pressed into his shoulder.

Yet he does.

[arigatouiris]

remember... me? // nakahara chuuya x reader

Author’s Note: Being awol for so long could only mean I was drowning in Bungo Stray Dogs and am now a hoe for Chuuya and Dazai. No regrets. I’m on season three rn and I’m only going to go on and read the manga after this, so I’m just THIRSTY. Hope you like this!

Word count: 5k+

Pairing: Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

Summary: Ever since laying his eyes on you, Chuuya sensed a familiarity that almost suffocated him. The ever-growing sense of deja vu didn't disappear even as he had you locked in his arms, or even as he stayed away; there was no explanation to it, whatsoever. He wondered if love was an emotion that would constantly have him question every action, every thought, and every moment that occurred, but what did he know of love? But then again, what didn't he?

Warnings: angst to fluff, soft chuuya, mentions of sex, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of blood, swearing (because Chuuya ofc), slight amnesia? ah, you’ll see, ig that’s it? 

Even before you fell in love, you had always known that it was a bad idea. As unfortunate as you were, every time you felt a close connection with someone, it ended negatively. Whether it was the first boy you had ever kissed, who had broken your heart ruthlessly by kissing another boy a few days later, or the first person you thought you were in love with who had broken your heart by declining your proposal. Love had always left a remnant of displeasure and fear in your heart, and even without these experiences, you were certain that the concept of love was scary as it was. It wasn't as if Nakahara Chuuya was any different. Well, at least, he wouldn't be.

As soon as you opened your eyes, you noticed how the sun blossomed right outside your window. You knew from the telltale signs of dawn that it was your cue to leave; getting dressed would take less than 30 seconds, and heading out the door would take another 30. In less than two minutes, you'd be out of Nakahara Chuuya's hair, and live your life without the worry of any unnecessary attachment sticking to your psyche. However, for a moment, you lay there, admiring the lone tear that leaked out of his left eye, and you mindlessly wiped it away before it reached his cheek. You wanted to smile at his apparent softness, something you knew he'd try to hide with everything he had. You quietly got off the bed, careful not to throw the covers off his naked torso, and just as you were putting on your pants, your eyes darted to a very asleep Chuuya on the bed, obviously naked from the events of last night, before a thought crossed your mind—oh, how you'd kill just to linger around, but duty calls. A person so devastatingly afraid of love had no business to wish for fluff, it was just roll-call. A sigh exited your lips as you traversed on, mindful not to lay any loud step to awaken the sleeping beauty. To Chuuya, you were someone he had met just the night before, you weren't aware of his opinions on one night stands, but you were of the firm belief that they had to remain just one. Goodbye, Chuuya, you thought before sneaking out the door, almost as easily as you came in.

When Chuuya woke up, he smelt you. He felt a long-forgotten feeling at the back of his eyelids as if he had cried—but Chuuya stopped doing that long ago. He never cried again, he had seen and lived through too much even to consider letting his emotions loose. Yet, why had there been that feeling lingering behind that morning? His eyes searched for any sign of you but when he found none, his heart sank; he was familiar with one night stands, but he hadn't imagined that you adhered to such rules so stringently.

Ah, f*ck, he thought, as he sat up on the bed. He let out a shaky breath before feeling his eyes burn once more. His left hand reached forward and wiped off an incoming tear from his right eye before he frowned. What the f*ck? He thought before groaning. Something must've gone into my eye, he thought; desperate not to think of you. You had left behind your smell and as people say, memory and smell are intertwined. However, Chuuya didn't know that.

A short while after his shower that morning, Chuuya's phone rang indicating that he was needed elsewhere. The stupor that he had been transported into was over, and the feeling that he may have forgotten something had to be buried.

    "Yeah?" Chuuya grumbled, ignoring his aching stomach; he knew he was forgetting something, something almost vital to his existence and identity, but his common sense reminded him that post-sex emotions can be overwhelming.

    "Oh, rough morning, Chuuya-kun?" Mori's voice from the other end did little to ease his growing uneasiness.

    "What is it, Mori-san?"

    "I'm starting to worry about you. Chuuya-kun. You disappeared last night and just left. Regardless, your private affairs are your own, after all. I need you to look into something."

Took him long enough to come to the damn point, "What is it?"

    "There's a large collection of ammunition that the mafia's stored by the bay. Rumor has it that someone's discovered that location and is intending on... borrowing our merchandise. I can't have that happen, you see. It's our produce, after all."

    "Ah?! You can send someone else for something so small! Why can't you send the Black Lizards or something—"

    "Oh, Chuuya-kun! I'm asking you because I know I won't have to ask again."

Chuuya hated taking orders from someone else, but he liked to believe he held some amount of agency in these areas. Letting out a long breath, Chuuya ended the call once accepting what needed to be done. It was simple enough, considering he didn't have anyone to kill or torture for information. As long as this meant he could work alone, Chuuya was glad. His life had reached a certain blissful limbo ever since Dazai's disappearance, not that he was complaining. Walking over to his hat, which was gracelessly laying on the floor, he felt the familiar smell reach his nostrils again—your smell, to be precise—and he almost froze as he reached to pick his hat. A sense of deja vu burned through his veins; strangely, these moments were occurring far too many times for him even to count. Some days, Chuuya could sense mornings repeat themselves, and nights disappear. Days would sometimes come to a standstill and sometimes, he'd lose them entirely. Time was breaking itself down rapidly, and sometimes, it grew numb.

Chuuya then did what Chuuya did best and ignored the entirety of it before letting his legs carry him to his next destination; he had always been a journey first, destination later type of guy, but Chuuya had mellowed down through the years. He wasn't the same free-spirited, arrogant 15-year old—he was now a man.

On reaching the bay Mori had mentioned, Chuuya's eyes narrowed when he spotted members of the Port Mafia having already been posted there. If people are here, then why'd Mori-san tell me to come here? Chuuya walked toward them before tapping a seemingly large man on his shoulder and waiting to hear from him.

    "Ah, Chuuya-san! Thank goodness you're here!"

    "What the f*ck's the hold up? If our guns are here, then just relocate—"

    "We'd do that, but... there's a deranged person inside who's locked themselves in there! I think they've got an explosive and that could jeopardize everything! The guns, the dock, uh... Mori-san will—"

    "Shut up, will ya?" If this was already annoying him, Chuuya could only wonder what the rest of the task would do. "Did you take a look at this deranged person?"

The man shook his head, "N-Not really. They've been here all morning, in fact."

    "Oh? No one's seen this person get in?"

    "I don't think so—"

    "Tch, useless." Chuuya turned toward the entrance of the building and noticed how the shutters were closed.

    "Also, one more thing, Chuuya-san," the man admonished, "There was a letter that was slipped out of the shutter. It was addressed to you."

This got his attention. Addressed to me? That's why Mori-san sent me here. Chuuya took the slip of paper before opening it, and on it was written with a neat cursive — 'I'm willing to speak to only Nakahara Chuuya, not anyone else. You do not know my ability, so if anyone approaches the building apart from him, I'll blow this place up.' A smirk landed on his face at the seemingly suicidal note that this person had written, and half of his mind wondered if it was Dazai who had played this ridiculous scheme. Letting out a breath, he waved his hand before walking toward the building and standing right in front of the shutters.

    "Alright," He said loudly, "Open the damn shutters. It's me. Nakahara Chuuya!"

When the shutters did open, Chuuya stepped inside without a second thought; once he took close to six or seven steps inside, the shutters closed right behind him, keeping the light away. His eyes didn't waver, though. He had spotted the person in question's silhouette before the light left the room.

    "This is mighty stupid," Chuuya said, laughing, "Blackmailing the Port Mafia? You're some idiot, aren't ya?"

    "It isn't blackmailing, really," Came a familiar voice, and Chuuya froze. "It was a bad calculation, is all. I got a tip that there were illegal weapons here and I wanted to find out myself if that was true, but little did I know..." You stepped out of the shadow, with a sweet smile plastered over your face, "...that the Port Mafia was involved. By the time I could think of a justification, I trapped myself here and willingly gave myself to you."

It took him a couple of seconds to register what to say. He wasn't always thrown for a toss, Chuuya was sometimes quick-witted, but you seemed to have that annoying wit that reminded him of a certain suicidal moron. Your smile was infectious. But then again, so was the plague.

    "You're not very smart, are you?" Chuuya countered with a straight face.

You only tilted your head in that annoyingly sweet way and said, "It wasn't a problem last night, was it?"

Chuuya's face brightened at the sudden recollection of your interactions from the night before. He turned his face away from you, not before regretting the action since that caused you to laugh at his sudden change in behavior. Chuuya wasn't shy, he didn't have a shy bone in his body—but, Chuuya could be put in awkward situations that made him feel bashful. Once your laughter ceased, he noticed how sullen your expression got suddenly. A dim look of hesitance plastered all over your face and there it was again—the deja vu—he recalled someone having written in a book he had once read that deja vu was simply a remembrance of the future. But then why had your facial expressions struck a chord in him the way that it had? Letting out a sigh, he pulled his phone out of his pocket before dialing the one person who could end this.

    "Mori-san? Yeah, it's me. The issue's solved."

As soon as he placed his phone back inside his pocket, Chuuya chose to accept what he was feeling right then. Yes, it had been a one night stand with you, but something had been altered in the due course of time that he had spent with you. Ever since he laid eyes on you drinking alone in that bar, wine that he knew was cheap and low-class, ever since he had offered to buy you wine that you swore you'd love more than the cheap stuff you were drinking, Chuuya knew that interacting with you was a poison that he willingly swallowed, as if his life was dependent on it. Your quirky smirks, the way your eyes crinkled at the pressure of his gaze, the way you licked your lips after tasting the wine he had recommended, the way your eyes widened at the tenacity of the flavor, and the way your eyes met his, just a moment after, and a smile crawled its way to where a surprised look was—Chuuya was quite aware what this feeling was.

But, you had gotten out of bed hours before he could open his eyes. You had run away from the possibility of Chuuya getting to see those very reactions from you again. If you had denied him those experiences in the future, could Chuuya even ask them from you? It felt deeply insulting that you didn't choose to give them to him yourself, but for some reason, Chuuya didn't mind taking another step forward.

    "What is it? You want me to repay you for saving my life?"

Chuuya scoffed before straightening his posture. "That's right. You owe me."

Your eyes twinkled at the teasing tone of his voice, "Oh? And what is it that I owe you, Nakahara Chuuya-san?"

    "A date," He said, almost too quickly, knocking the air right out of you, "I want a date."

You were staring at Chuuya as if you were a blind person staring at the sun for the very first time. You weren't just surprised at his blatant honesty, but you were surprised that he had outright asked you out as if it were some demand. There was no hint of hesitation lodged in his voice, but that was Chuuya; he never hesitated before doing something he was sure would result in success. You had to give him more credit than that, honestly. You would have honestly laughed if your heart wasn't accelerating like a fawn running for its life, but at the same time, you were glad. More or less.

    "I'm... surprised."

Chuuya scoffed before turning around to leave, "Yeah, I don't like it when I wake up to an empty bed. If we f*cked last night, then I'd like to know it was stellar. Or I'd rather it doesn't happen."

If that's the premise, so be it, you thought, a soft smile etched on your face. A smile Chuuya had seen many times before but simply had forgotten. When you walked out of there, no member of the Port Mafia followed you or even gave you a stink-eye, you were left to wander on your own. However, a hand gripped your wrist just as you were about to leave—your eyes widened to see Chuuya's intense gaze burning yours.

    "Not a word to anyone about this."

It took you a second to realize he was talking about the ammunition and not him asking you out. When you blushed right then, you were glad he didn't spot it; or if he did, he didn't make too much of it. There was no need to say anything more, you knew when to meet him and what time as well. Just as the previous night. Chuuya never had to wait three days to know if someone was interested; Chuuya took what he liked because, for the most part, it definitely liked him back as well.

*

Unlike what most people believed about Nakahara Chuuya, he hated being angry. Even though he sported a constant frown across his face that he seemed to carry with pride, anger was quite rare for him to carry around with it. Anger made him feel vulnerable, dangerous—in a way that he didn't like; it deprived him of control, agency, dominance; it was a paralyzing emotion that rendered him helpless. He didn't need anger to get anything done—in fact, Chuuya was beyond that. However, that night, when he waited two hours for you to show up and you didn't, Chuuya felt a different sort of anger.

An ire born out of devastating humiliation was no ire at all. It was a rage nestled in a dark place, reminding him of the Corruption that he desperately wished to forsake. Chuuya not only felt humiliated for being stood up, he felt a deep, growing sorrow—a sorrow that didn't involve tears or screaming but silence, which was the worst indicator. Quietly, he left the bar where he had first met you and walked out only to notice that it was raining. One of the things he prided about himself was his ability to deduce things quickly—sure, he wasn't as witty as Dazai was, not that he'd ever admit that, but he was smart where he needed to be. Recalling details about you that most people would have forgotten seemed simple not because he was as talented as he thought he was, no, it was because you were impossible to forget. A drug that he just couldn't shake off.

His legs then carried him toward an area that seemed so familiar that he felt a wave of nausea itch at his throat. Chuuya clawed at his collarbones to stop the feeling from spreading but the nausea had reached his head and he felt as uncomfortable as when he had too much wine in a single night, on an empty stomach. Reaching a particular door that screamed at him for some godforsaken reason, Chuuya didn't bother knocking; the confidence bubbled inside his chest alongside the nausea. He spotted you on the couch, a bottle of wine in your hands—the wine he had recommended to you the night before—and your eyes widen at his sudden appearance.

    "Chuuya!?"

    "You f*cking stood me up—"

    "How did you remember where I lived?"

Perhaps it was your choice of words. He was always good at guessing what people meant from the words they use, it had always been a certain gift he carried with himself. However, Chuuya didn't care right then. The ire rendered him blind. He rushed to you and knocked the glass off your hands, having it spill all over the carpeted floor before grabbing your collar and pulling you close. He was seething but for some reason, just the sight of you—surprised and quite possibly drunk from the wine—burned down his ire as if it were embers sparking off a tree trunk on a rainy night. Your silky robe slid off his hands with ease as he let you go, before darting his gaze away from you.

    "Chuu—"

    "I don't f*cking understand it either, alright?" He said, eyes stuck to the spilled wine on the floor. "I don't understand what this is, I don't understand why I can't let it go. I've had sex with women whose names I don't even bother to remember, but I can't forget your stupid f*cking face, or your stupid f*cking smile or the way you annoy the crap out of me. I can't forget how you'd rather drink cheap wine at the store and drink the wine that I f*cking recommended to you in secret, so I know there's something there, alright?!"

    "Chuuya, I'm sorry—"

He looked at you with a deep frown, "What is it, then? Was the sex bad? Was it me—"

Your hands sprung to his face and it hit him again—the wave of deja vu—the feeling of your skin against his; it was intoxicating. He breathed in deeply, trying to recollect where he had smelt you before for it to have become so deeply rooted in his mind.

    "How is it..." You began to mutter something under your breath but Chuuya's hand lifted your chin and forced you to meet his gaze, "Chuuya, I... I'm sorry. It's not that. It's not any of that. You're amazing. You're... I love you."

His eyes widened. Words that he normally would have run away from suddenly felt like home—he swore he had heard them before. He had heard them, from you, a long time ago and the smell of it resonated with the way you carried yourself. Apricots and honey, a smell so utterly natural yet devastatingly intoxicating, Chuuya was certain that whatever it was had to be love; because if it wasn't, then he didn't know what love was. Moving in, Chuuya's lips captured your own, and your hands quickly reached his hair before pulling him closer as if your life depended on it. A lovely trick designed by nature, Chuuya used it to silence you from uttering words right then. There was no need for words when action spoke so loudly. It didn't take long for his hands to reach your neck, pasting your body to his; and for this to lead further to a place of no return. Not that you minded, of course.

When Chuuya woke up, he smelt you. There was no long-forgotten feeling, there was no remnant that he desperately needed to remember—there was just you. You were breathing beside him, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, looking as peaceful as he had ever seen you; a sight he believed he had seen many times before. The intensity of which made him wonder if this was what people meant when they said soulmates existed; perhaps, he knew you in a past life, and had reunited with you in this one. Whatever it was, he felt content. His hand reached to brush a strand of stray hair off your cheek before noticing you inch closer toward him, blinding him with your scent again.

As established before, Chuuya was good at guessing what people meant by the choice of their words. He instantly remembered something odd that you had let loose the night before, something that made him wonder if there was a reason why he felt so intensely for you. Reaching forward and placing his hand at the back of your head, he pulled you to his neck, feeling your arms wrap around his naked chest. Chuuya's gaze fixed at the wall behind you before trying to decipher just what you had meant by 'How did you remember where I lived?'

A second later, you stirred before looking up at him and he cocked an eyebrow at your emotionless stare.

    "God help me..." You said, "You're so pretty."

    "Don't call me pretty." He argued, and you swore he could kill you with his morning voice and you'd be glad.

    "Hey," He began, clearing his throat, "What did you mean by... what you said yesterday?"

    "That I love you? Aw, Chuuya... Don't you know what that means?"

   "No, you idiot. You asked me how I remembered where you lived. Why would you ask me that unless I..." His eyes widened. "Unless I somehow forgot..."

    "Wrong choice of words, I guess. Forgive me, I was down three glasses of wine before you got here."

Chuuya laughed at your words right then before pulling you closer, feeling more content with your explanation than the gnawing suspicion that raged inside his brain. He wondered if love was an emotion that would constantly have him question every action, every thought, and every moment that occurred, but what did he know of love?

But then again, what didn't he?

*

Blissful days were cursed, or so he believed; Chuuya noticed how quickly they passed. He could, on some occasions, watch the days as they passed, exiting his body and seeing himself interact with the everydayness of things. The only thing that brought him life was to return home to you. Even with the ever-growing blissfulness, Chuuya didn't malinger. However, he couldn't shake off the feeling that every word that exited your mouth was a red herring—something that you were deviating from a fact that he had missed. He hated feeling like he was missing an important detail, but each time you smiled at him or stole a kiss, Chuuya was taken back to the very moment he fell for you.

Suddenly, as if his mind was taking him somewhere else, he recalled something. He didn't know if it was entirely a made-up scenario or something that happened in a past life because if it happened in this one, he'd have remembered. He spotted you, stumbling in front of a broken wine bottle, the owner of the store screaming in your ear—and you were trying to sound convincing. Chuuya watched himself walk over to you, and turn to the owner of the store before quickly understanding what had happened. You had dropped an expensive bottle of wine, and you had no means to pay for it; it caused him to chuckle a tad bit before throwing some money (or more) at the owner, causing you to turn to him with wide eyes. "It's alright," he had said to you, "I've got money."

Chuuya watched as he walked away from you, but missed how you had removed one of your shoes and thrown it at the back of his head. He froze before turning to you with a deadly expression, but instantly blinked when he noticed how heavily you were blushing before thinking, 'Holy shit, she's cute,' before having you walk over to him and scream—

"What do you think you're doing, pretty face?"

Chuuya stared at you as you chopped onions without shedding a single tear; he had no clue how you had learned to art to do so, but boy, was he glad you knew how to cook. You reached forward before using your wrist to wipe off a tear from his eye, scrunching a bit before realizing the onions must have done it. You giggled before turning back to them, chopping them quietly. That wasn't it, Chuuya thought, narrowing his eyes. That wasn't how he met you. He met you at the bar, where he spotted you drinking cheap wine and he walked over to you and recommended something else. He didn't meet you in a wine store—he didn't have a shoe thrown at the back of his head. Yet... His hand reached the back of his head and his fingers grazed the area where the shoe supposedly landed, It feels like it actually happened.

He shook his head before entwining his hands around your waist, before kissing the back of your neck. He wasn't usually so affectionate, but you didn't mind. Every time Chuuya touched you, it left scorch marks that were welcome; it was passion breathing fire, reflecting the color of his hair, the aura of his heart.

    "What're you thinking?" You hummed, unaware of how intensely Chuuya was watching you.

    "Nothin'."

Blissful days were cursed, Chuuya knew this for a fact. He could watch happy days pass by with him barely breathing, existing, feeling; but the bad ones lasted ages. He remembered walking into his own home one day, drenched in blood, covered with soot and mud, the urge to feel human contact was strong just then. He knew he could call you, he knew that he could rely on you especially since you had said the words 'I love you' to him over and over again, despite him having not said it in return. He wondered if that bothered you, he wondered if that made you want to leave him but you made no sign so far that you were displeased. He watched you like a hawk, after all, with that growing suspicion that drowned him on nights like these. He rang you in a moment, before feeling the phone vibrate next to his ear, his eyes ghosting on a dark patch in front of him. He needed your hands, your body, the smell of your hair; he needed the familiar apricot and honey to cover his nostrils whole. He needed you, just before asking you why you lied.

    "Chuuya? It's 4 a.m., what's—"

    "I need to see you."

You were quiet on the other end, wondering if he had figured it out. He must've, you thought, a bitter smile formed on your lips.

    "I'll be there in—"

    "No," He wasn't going to risk it, "I'm coming to you."

*

Your eyes glanced all over Chuuya's bloodied appearance before hearing the sound of your heart break—it was a soft sound, like a twig snapping under the weight of a stone. Your heart fell as he gave you his hat and removed his coat before you threw it into the wash. You led him to the bathroom, having him strip, and let him sit aside while you filled the tub. You knew he was watching you, you knew he was going to tell you the very same thing he had always told you.

    "We need to stop this."

You didn't know why, but you laughed. Every single time that it had happened before, you had cried and asked him for an explanation, or even threw things at him—but this time, you laughed. This time, you desperately tried being away from him until he magically appeared at your home, shocking you to your very core at how your powers were slowly slipping off of him. You turned to spot Chuuya's eyes fixed at your form before a nasty frown formed on his face. You touched his cheek before whispering, "The bath's ready."

He sat in the water before letting out a groan, indicating that this was what he needed before he could reprimand you and leave you once again. However, just as you were about to leave, his hand gripped your wrist, another action that shocked you, and he stared at you.

    "Wash my hair."

You nodded wordlessly before following through with it, wondering where this was going. All the other times, Chuuya would leave instantly after saying those words. All the other times, he'd ensure that he wouldn't see you for another month or so—before realizing that he had never met you. You weren't a cruel person, you were just desperately in love, having uncovered an ability that you thought could save you from torment. Yet, it presented more than it took away. One of the things you admired most about Chuuya was his hair, of how soft and luscious it was despite it being coated with blood on many days. You admired how well he took care of himself on the days that he could, and how he'd managed to put on that responsibility to you as well. You only began taking care of yourself because of him; and in a way, he had saved you.

    "I..." Here it comes. "I didn't meet you for the first time at the bar, did I?"

You were quiet. But, silence at an occasion such as this was admittance.

    "I've met you for the first time an exact three times. When you broke the wine bottle, and when you were scrambling around during a case, that's when I learned you were a journalist. And then... And then the bar,"

You didn't answer.

    "I was chasing this guy, this..." He leaned his head over and sighed, "...this guy who ran off from the Port Mafia with some documents or some shit. He... He found you, and I... I thought I lost you," You couldn't tell if he was angry or just overwhelmed, "That's when I left you for the first time."

    "Chuuya..."

    "I left you one more time after. I can't remember everything..." His eyes met yours, steady and intense, "...and that's thanks to you, isn't it?"

    "Chuuya, I—"

    "You have an ability," He said, finally, "An ability to make people forget you."

You sat there, behind him, with your hands sunken in his locks. Your heart was rummaging against your chest and you bit your lip enough to draw blood; if he asked you why what could you say? Was there even a reason why you did what you did? Despite having him forget you for a total of three times, he had somehow magically returned, somehow asking for more and staying longer than he did before. It was almost a curse than anything else. The more you used your ability on someone, the less of an effect it would have each time. It was only a matter of time Chuuya figured things out. And now he had.

After the bath, he silently wore a change of clothes that you surprisingly had. He wanted to ask if this was from the first or second time he had met you, but he didn't. He turned to spot you standing a few feet away, before meeting his gaze.

    "You did that for me, didn't you?" He was expressionless. To see Chuuya this way broke your heart. "So that it doesn't bother me."

    "Also because I genuinely wanted you to stay away from me." You let out a laugh.

    "I didn't f*cking stay away, did I?" He demanded, taking a step toward you, "No matter what stupid trick you used, I kept coming back!"

    "You were the one who left first." You snapped, gritting your teeth.

Chuuya bit back his words for a moment before turning away. This action always melted your heart, when Chuuya turned away from you because you had stolen his words away.

    "Things are different now, aren't they?"

    "Yeah," They were different. He didn't leave. "Yeah, they are."

Silence followed a deep revelation such as this. His eyes didn't leave yours and you stared right back—it almost reminded him of the shoe-throwing incident. He chuckled before earning a frown from you.

    "For being played around like that, I should be the one glaring at you." He scoffed.

    "Chuuya, I love you."

It was at that second he remembered something. He believed you'd leave him because he hadn't told you he loves you or even bothered to say it back even when you had said it multiple times before already. However, at that second, he remembered that the first person to say those words between the two of you was Chuuya himself. I'm not going to leave, he thought before letting out a breath. He kissed the side of your head before wrapping an arm around your waist.

    "Don't f*cking do that again." He scolded you.

    "I could have stayed away from you each time, but you're like... a disease." You laugh.

He rolled his eyes before raising his voice, "Who're you callin' a disease?! If anything, you're a goddamn manipulator. F*cking stupid."

He rested his head on your shoulder before smelling the apricot and honey attached to your skin. It was just as intoxicating as the first time.

    "I ain't leaving so..." His voice was muffled with how his mouth was pressed to your shoulder, "...I love you too."

[freakynct]

warnings: 90s au, kinda toxic relationship, public sex, unprotected sex and hair pulling

the blazing summer heat of 95' had just arrived and not even your shorts and crop top could save you from melting under it. you had heard on the radio how this was the hottest summer since the decade had started and even if you loved the sun and being able to go to the public pool with your friends, there was so much you could take. the big fan beside your tv was on full blast, swaying away your hair and cooling you down as you struggled with your vcr. you cursed loudly at it as you pressed the buttons but nothing was working and the show had already started.

"need help with that?" you turned around to be met with your older sister's new fling, jaehyun. he had spent almost everyday at your house since your parents left to go visit your grandma a week ago and even if that's a thing a boyfriend would do, your sister still insisted that they were just having sex. in your opinion jaehyun was just way too shameless. walking around the kitchen in the morning in his underwear while you were forced to look at his toned body while you shoved rice krispies inside your mouth, constantly giving you flirty looks, brushing over your thigh when you were sitting down on the couch and your sister was too distracted crying over forrest gump for the fifth time and of course, now that you were forced to wear the least amount of clothing possible he couldn't take his eyes off you, more specifically your legs.

"i just can't get the stupid vcr to start recording friends and the episode already started." you responded annoyed and still slamming at the buttons in hopes that it would magically start working.

"let me see." jaehyun came closer, sitting down on the floor next to you, so close that your thighs were touching and you could feel the little hairs on his leg brushing against your skin. you didn't know why you started to fill tingles inside your stomach from it but you decided it was best to just ignore it. he took the cassette out of the vcr and checked if there was any problems with it first before blowing inside of the vcr and returning to put the vhs inside. he pressed one button and there it was, working like nothing ever happened and you got internely mad at how easy it was for him. in your head you were pretty sure that the vcr had some kind of personal problem with you.

"there you go, i guess it was just a little bit dirty." he smiled down at you and you wouldn't be rude to the point of not reciprocating, giving him a small smile back and a little "thank you". you kept sitting on the floor in front of the small square tv because it was the only place in the living room that the wind from the fan could reach and you rested your back on the coffee table behind you, laughing at some joke that was said on the sitcom. only after a few seconds you noticed that jaehyun was also still sitting on the floor in front of you, his eyes glued to you and your body squirmed from the intense gaze that he had on. 

but now that you were a little bit more distant from him, you were able to observe the white shorts he adorned, with a leopard print belt around his waist and a red tank top that showed off his perfectly toned and strong arms and legs. you could tell he had used some gel on his hair but it was still a bit messy, with a few strands falling over his forehead and this look was almost just as good as when he wore nothing but his boxers. 

"like what you see?" his voice interrupted your thoughts and you realized that you had been staring at him for longer than you intended. you shook your head and moved your body up a little, getting more comfortable in your seat, looking back at the glitchy tv.

"i could ask you the same thing." you talked back at him and heard him chuckle and suddenly he was moving closer to you again, your eyes slightly widening as he sat next to you, moving an arm to rest on top of the coffee table and around your back.

"in my case i do like what i see." he was so close to you that you were able to feel his breathing against your face and you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

"where's my sister?" you asked out of nervousness and you felt his body relax next to you, running his fingers through his hair and sighing deeply, changing his whole demeanor and acting as if he wasn't just flirting with you.

"she's listening to mariah carey in her room and i'm not into that kind of music so..." he shrugged his shoulders and moved his eyes from the tv to you, once again. "and you're a much better company anyway." you couldn't help but look at him as he said those words, a puzzled expression on your face.

"me?" you raised an eyebrow still confused as to why he was saying those things, i mean, at the end of the day it was your sister he was having sex with.

"yeah. you act hella moody around me but i know you like me." he smirked as his thumb caressed your chin and your reflex was to swerve away from his touch.

"as if!" you shot him a disgusted look and he laughed, leaning closer to you and starting to run his fingers up your bare thigh, causing your body to shiver and tense up.

"c'mon, stop lying. you know you want it just as much as i do." his voice was so calm and sweet, an obvious contrast to how hard and loud your heart was beating in your chest. "or are you gonna tell me you don't feel anything when i'm standing this close to you? hm?" your eyes slowly looked up at him, a little sparkle being evident on them, and you noticed how close his face was to yours at this point. you also realized how beautiful his eyes were and you felt like you were starting to drown in them, so much that you didn't even notice his lips approaching yours until jaehyun was brushing them against yours, so soft and sweet before capturing you in a deep kiss, suddenly releasing all of the tension in your body at once. he sighed deeply against your mouth from how long he had been waiting to do this and his hand settled on your hip, pulling you closer to him until you were sitting on top of him, legs straddling his lap. 

jaehyun was kissing you so intensely that you had to break it to gasp for air and he took the opportunity to attack your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses all over the surface of your skin while your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "w-what about my sister?" you suddenly felt a sense of guilt inside you and you knew that in a way this was wrong and she could walk in at any moment.

"she's not my girlfriend." he left one last kiss on your neck before bringing his head up to look at you. "and she has her headphones on, she won't hear anything over mariah's high notes." you felt the urge to chuckle but jaehyun didn't even give you time for that, immediately pressing his lips against yours, his tongue asking for passage and you granted it to him, moving your tongue against his. his hands were quick to remove your top and throwing it somewhere on the floor, your bra following the same path soon after. he caressed your breasts and you sighed against his mouth, your hips starting to move and grind down on his lap which consequently made a small groan escape between his lips as he tightened his grip on your hips. 

after a while of kissing and of feeling your lips getting numb and swollen, jaehyun finally broke the kiss, tugging at the waistband of your shorts. "take this off for me, baby." you wanted time to process what he had just called you but your body was telling you to hurry up so you got up and slided your shorts down as jaehyun observed from under you, taking off his tank top as well, showing off his toned abs that you had seen before but was still impressed by.

you sat back down, with your thin white panties still on, and your fingers worked on unbuckling his belt while his hands grabbed at your face, pulling you in for another deep and sloppy kiss. his hand reached inside his shorts and took his cock out, slowly stroking himself as he moved your panties to the side and lined the tip with your entrance. you gripped his shoulders tightly, looking over him to check if the coast was still clear and your sister wasn't creeping down the stairs to find you fucking her fling.  but your thoughts were brushed away as soon as jaehyun started sliding inside you, your eyes fluttering shut and letting out a small whine at the feeling of his cock stretching you out and you remembered you had only been with one other guy before so maybe you should have given jaehyun a heads up not to push so quickly inside you but there was no time for that as he was already completely in you and you heard him groan against the skin of your neck.

"you're so fucking tight." he gasped as you slowly started moving on top of him with the help of his hands that guided your hips in a perfect rythm. one of his hands came up to tug at your hair, pulling your head slightly back so he could devour your neck while you softly moaned his name. you knew it had to be quick, you thought you might just die if your sister walked in on you two and maybe you should've choosen a better place to have sex than on the living room floor but you were both young and the hormones couldn't wait. the heat of your bodies mixing up with the heat of the summer day was uncomfortable but being close to him wasn't and you decided to ignore the amount of sweat and stickiness that was starting to form on your bodies.

you slowly felt the feeling in your stomach intensifying and you could feel his cock twitching inside you, which just made you press your body even closer to his. you felt him start thrusting up into you to help you out as your legs started to get worned out and it didn't take long until your nails were digging into the back of his shoulders as your orgasm washed all over you causing your body to jerk forward and shake against him, trying your best to hold your loud moans inside you, only letting escape small little whimpers. 

you felt the grip that jaehyun had on your hair tighten and even though it hurt a little, it felt better when he shot his warm liquid inside you and it was such an incredibly attractive sight to see him throw his head back and softly moan while his orgasm hit him. but because you weren't exactly the luckiest person in the world you started to hear commotion upstairs and you quickly got off jaehyun's lap, not having time to clean up before you had to put your shorts and top on again as jaehyun did the same thing and it was just in time as your sister walked down the stairs and towards you and you could swear your heart almost jumped out of your mouth.

"why were you taking so long?" she stood next to jaehyun and he looked up at her smiling, getting up and wrapping his arm around her waist.

"we were watching friends." he came up with an excuse as you looked at the tv and remembered why you were there in the first place. 

"well c'mon. you're not here to babysit my sister and i wanna show you some new tapes i got." she quickly grabbed his hand and started pulling him away before jaehyun turned his head around and gave you one last smirk, walking off to your sister's bedroom.

you sighed in relief as she hadn't noticed anything weird going on but you knew the next few days would be a challenge, having to walk around each other like nothing ever happened and even if you told yourself that it couldn't happen again, you knew that it would.

[petite-ely]

Afraid // JJ Maybank

one - the five secrets of JJ maybank

Pairing : JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: language, mention of abuse and starvation, fear of storms and ocean, fear of losing sibling, mention underage drinking, very slight mention of sex

Description: first real chapter (yay!!!) JJ Maybank has secrets, just like anybody else, but his are very hard to keep. Especially when it concerns the girl he’s head over heels in love with.

Previously Next

Afraid masterlist

A/n: here it is!!! So sorry for the wait, I had things going on in my life and I had a huge block for a while. Anyways hope you enjoy!!!!

Song recommendation :

Gif found on internet all credits to rightful owner

JJ Maybank was like an open book. When he was surrounded by his friends, he would not hesitate to tell them what was on his mind. He spoke honestly about how he felt and always openly stated his opinions. It could be brutal sometimes or really strange, but no one really cared. That was just how JJ was.

Sometimes he would slip small secrets in conversations without realizing it, especially if he was drunk or high (which frankly happened often). But JJ was really good at keeping bigger secrets, his more than anyone else’s. He had collected over the years a total of five secrets that he had (and would) never reveal to anybody. Even his friends. Here’s what they are.

#1 He had his first real kiss at 14

He always told everyone that he had his first kiss at 11, with a ‘hot touron’ (his own words). He had lied to impress his friends - and others too - and it worked. His real first kiss had actually happened in a game of truth of dare, three years after the rumour was spread. He had wanted to tell the truth for a while, but he was ashamed of the story he had made up.

#2 His Dad was an asshole and often used his son as his own punching bag.

This one was the only exception. (Every rules have some exceptions anyways) JJ never wanted for his friends to find out about his abusive father, but they all eventually knew. The first to find out was John B. The two of them hung out almost every day. One time, John B simply asked where the bruises that decorated JJ’s body came from and the blond spilled everything. He was too tired of hiding this secret to himself. It was a huge burden for a boy like him. Not long after, he told his other friends. He didn’t want to hide it from them anymore. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but once it was all out, he was relieved they knew.

#3 He had once gone almost a week without eating.

It happened when he was younger, not long after his mother left. His dad had been so angry that he purposely deprived his son of any food. As a kid it was hard for him to find any food by himself and he was ashamed of asking for help. He couldn’t tell anyone. After five days, y/n had noticed that JJ didn’t have any food at lunch and she told her father. Big John, having known Luke when he was younger, had decided to take the boy under his wings. He invited him to eat at the château whenever he could and overpacked John B and Y/n’s lunch so that they would share with him. He was sort of a second dad for JJ.

#4 He had a mild fear of storms.

As a kid, he always compared them to his dad. The quick and bright lightning bolts represented his short temper and the loud thunder claps represented his anger and all the violence he could create. So JJ always made sure to be surrounded by his friends during storms. It brought him reassurance and peace.

#5 He was completely in love with y/n Routledge and she had no idea.

He had know for a long time now, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Instead he drowned his sorrow with alcohol and one nighters with tourons. She was his best friend’s sister and a fellow pogue. The rule was clear, no pogue on pogue macking. Besides she deserved way better than anything he could offer. She could never love him, there was no chance she’d ever feel the same. Right?

>>>

The wind was blowing harshly at this point, whistling as it travelled between the thick branches of the trees. Y/n felt a small shiver slide beneath her shirt and dance along the line of her spine. She tightened the blanket wrapped around her body, readjusting the grip on the book she was reading.

Well, reading wasn’t really the word to use. It was more like staring. She had brought her favourite book outside with her as a way to distract herself, but it didn’t quite work. You see y/n had a twin brother and as much as she loved John B, sometimes he could be really stupid. Like when he decided to go surfing right when a hurricane was hitting the island.

Y/n was absolutely terrified of anything involving the ocean, so at the moment she was practically shaking with fear. She tried to breathe as slowly as she possibly could. She hated being outside during a big storm like this, but she also hated the thought of her brother drowning in the wild waves. So she sat down on the old couch on the front porch of the château, with a warm blanket and a book, waiting until John B came back, hopefully in one piece.

She had always been an anxious person. As a child she would often worry about small things like speaking in public, different events coming up and a bunch of other stuff. She had been diagnosed with anxiety at 10 years old, after having a panic attack in the school hallway. She never received any treatment for it though. Doctors thought she was too young for medication and well therapy was expensive.

Nonetheless, she found ways to cope with it. Tips and tricks that helped her manage it. With time her levels of stress and anxiety lowered and the attacks were rarer. It hadn’t completely disappeared of course, but it was better.

After her father disappeared, it became much worse. It was like she suddenly had a hundred more things to worry about. She and John B had to find enough money to pay for electricity, water and also food. Plus she had to deal with DCS who threatened to send them to foster care. It was unbearable.

“Hey there,” a familiar voice spoke.

“JJ?” Y/n squinted trying to see the boy standing in the dark. “What are you doing, it’s raining you’re gonna get sick.”

He was drenched, completely soaked with water. She didn’t know how long he had been walking in the storm. The rain was falling down so heavily it could soak you to the bone under five minutes. She stuck her hand inside the open window of the living room and reached for a towel. Since they lived near a beach, there was always some lying around on the floor or onto the couch.

“Here,” she handed him a large fluffy towel. “ I can’t guarantee it’s clean, but at least it’ll keep you dry.”

“Thanks.” Y/n let her book fall on the porch.

“Are you okay? You seem, tense.” Her voice was tinted with worry. JJ was one of her closest and oldest friend, she knew perfectly how to read his emotions.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, I guess,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“JJ you- ” She was about to finish her sentence when the thunder clapped loudly above their head, making the girl flinch at the same time.

JJ was just as scared as she was - maybe a bit less or more he couldn’t really tell - but he didn’t show it. Knowing that she was sitting beside him completely terrified made him feel braver in a way. She seemed so small and vulnerable, he didn’t want her to feel unsafe. He knew that admitting his own fear would only make hers worse. So he hid it in a small box at the back of his mind, hoping he’d eventually forget about it.

“You know, John B might be an asshole sometimes,” he paused, ruffling his wet hair with the towel, “but he’s not dumb. He knows when to stop, when it gets too dangerous. Besides Pope’s with him, he couldn’t be in safer hands.”

“Thank you J. That, um, that made me feel better.”

Her hand was resting on his shoulder. Her touch was warm against his bare skin, sending small ripples of goosebumps throughout his body. A soft smile was drawn onto her lips, her cheeks slightly flushed by a sunburn and her eyes glinting in the darkness of the night. She was so beautiful, it was almost painful. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Do you mind staying with me?” asked y/n with a small voice. “At least until John B comes back.”

“Sure.” A smile stretched itself onto his lips. “Wasn’t planning on going home anyway.”

“So,” he got up from the couch, removing his dirty shoes, “wanna go in and watch a movie before the power goes out?”

“Can we watch Peter Pan?”

“Peter Pan it is.”

And as JJ disappeared into the warmth and comfort of the château, y/n’s smile grew even bigger. She was so deeply in love with him, how could he not see it.

Taglist

@drewswannabegirl @kaelyn-lobrutto24

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Clintasha Advent 2020 

Day two - Music 

(small trigger warning for brief mentions of red room abuse.) 

.

At first, Clint thinks Natasha just really, really likes music.

She is constantly listening to it- through the Bluetooth speakers she had bought for every safe house and apartment she had, through her laptop as she types away while doing research, through her headphones plugged into her cellphone. He even discovers she keeps a second pair of headphones in her pocket “just in case” the first pair dies or is somehow broken.

It doesn’t seem to matter what type of music, either. Her favorite seems to be rock, but he’s heard her playing everything from rock to country to EDM. Once he even caught her listening to the full soundtrack of Hamilton.  

He’s teased her about it several times since noticing it- poking at her and asking if she is making her own life soundtrack. But she’s never actually said much about the habit, usually just rolling her eyes or maybe flicking him off on particularly feisty days.

Sometimes it was annoying to constantly have her playing something, but it was easy enough to tune out and ignore. Usually.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Their mission had been hard and grueling, eleven days spent in the sweltering desert of Africa only to discover the intel had been bad at the last minute after engaging the leaders of the trafficking ring. There had been a casualty- an innocent bystander who had happened to wonder into the wrong place at the wrong place.

They’re sitting in the tiny room SHEILD had directed them to wait in while awaiting extraction. It’s nothing special- a small mattress on the floor tucked into a corner with some blankets thrown on, a Bunsen burner in the other corner, and a bathroom so small it might as well have been a coffin. All Clint wants to do is drift into thoughtless sleep, but Natasha has her headphones in, and she is blasting the music in them so loudly that she might as well have been playing it out loud on full volume.

He tosses a sock at her, hitting her square in the head from where she is sprawled out on the floor while writing a report. She glances up at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“MUSIC TURN DOWN PLEASE” he signs at her. Using his voice would be useless right now.

She stares at him for a second, and then signs a simple “no” as she goes back to her writing.

Clint is slightly taken back at first. Sure, Natasha often ignores him on things, but he didn’t expect a struggle over some songs. But fine.

He pushes himself up from the mattress, leans in closer to his partner and yanks her headphones out of her ears. She makes a grab at them, but his reflexes are faster and he snaps away his hand, the headphone wire still attached to the phone and dragging it away from her.

“What the fuck, Clint?”

“Tasha, please. I just need some quiet for a couple of hours, okay?”

“Give them back.” She growls, eyes fixated on his hand where he is wrapping the cord around the phone.

“I will in a bit. But you need to get some sleep as well. You haven’t slept since-“

“I don’t care! What I need is my music back.”

Clint’s brows furrow at her voice, the slight panic creeping in and the faint hint of desperation in the word need. That’s weird. She had never referred to the constant music as a need before.

“You don’t need it,”

Natasha swipes at him for her phone, but he catches her wrist and holds her still, not allowing her to pull away from him. “Yes, I do.” She says, breath hitching. “You have no fucking idea.”

“You’re right, I don’t. So tell me.”

Natasha struggles slightly in his grip for another second, before giving in to the exhaustion and heat and slumping against the wall, head dropping into her hands. “It never stops.” She moves a hand up to grip at some of her hair. “I can always hear them. My trainer’s voice every time I do something wrong telling me how failure is unacceptable. My ballet teachers voices constantly critiquing my body and my form and how im holding myself. The screaming of the girls when punishments were happening. Ivan telling me how special”- she spits the word- “I am every time I make a kill. They’re always there, I don’t know how to make them stop.”

She looks up at him, making eye contact as the moisture in hers threatens to overflow. “And I can’t stop thinking how I betrayed my country. How many innocent people I’ve killed. How many lives I’ve destroyed and didn’t even care.”

“The thoughts never fucking stop and the only thing that works is drowning them out and I can’t do that if you won’t give me my phone.” There’s a slight hiccup in her voice, something Clint has never heard from her before. His chest aches as he listens to her and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close into his side.

“Focus on me instead.”

“What?” She stares up at him as if he’s insane.

“Focus on me instead. The texture of my clothes, if they’re soft or rough or itchy. My scent, which is probably not the greatest, sorry about that- remind me to pack extra deodorant the next time they send us to a damn desert- or trace the scars on my arms some. Hey, and my voice. Here, listen.”

He holds her close and sets off on a tangent about anything and everything he can think off. He tells her all about the childhood dog they had had, the silly pranks he and his brother would play on each other, fun stories from his circus days. Eventually, when he runs out of stories to tell, he begins giving random opinions no one asked for. “Fuckin ping pong,” He snorts. “Who the hell came up with that name? They really couldn’t think of anything better than ping pong? Is that name racist? It feels like it might be a bit racist.”

He keeps talking and talking, even as Natasha’s breathe begins to even out and her body finally gives away to sleep against him. Some of the first silent moments between them since he had brought her to SHIELD so many months ago.

[bffsoobin]

Sunny Day Confessions

↳having Beomgyu as a best friend comes with an uncountable number of benefits. You thought that you had come close to experiencing them all. That is, of course, until he offered up his confession on a silver platter and waited for you to make the next move.

➤ fluff, smut, best friends to lovers

Word Count:2,412

Requested?: yes!

Warnings: This includes mature content! Please do not read this if you are under 18 or generally feel uncomfortable!!!! Insecurities, dirty talk, oral (f),use of Noona (not sexually), grinding.

A/N: I feel like I got way too carried away with this so I’m sorry if it’s like way too long or weird. Also this is my first time actually writing smut so I know it’s probably not great but hey practice makes perfect. Also if you’re a person who just wants fluff, you can read up to the keep reading line and that’s all you’ll get! Hope you enjoy! ps I know I suck at titles so I apologize!! 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“Beomgyu, I’m serious! Get back here with that!” you yelled, running through the lush grass toward your best friend who was currently holding your phone hostage. The warm breeze whipped past your face as you ran, carrying the loud laughter of Beomgyu with it as he bounded up to stand on top of a patio chair. With his left hand- which held your precious device captive- raised totally above his head, the height advantage left you no real hope. You whined again and made a futile attempt to jump up to height and snatch your phone only to stumble over your own two feet.

 “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re taller or faster, Noona,” Beomgyu taunted, waving your phone around as it glinted in the sunshine like a trophy. Your nose involuntarily crinkled in disgust at the nickname. You were only a year older than Beomgyu, and you had known him since you were both in diapers and drooling on yourself. Despite your dislike of the honorific, Beomgyu insisted on using it whenever he felt like it. 

“Dude, please. Just give it back. You’re acting like a child!” He only rolled his eyes and continued his waving and sticking his tongue out at you. “What? Are you scared I’ll find something scandalous? We’re all adults here, Y/N.” You heaved a sigh and placed a hand over your eyes, ready to admit defeat from your best friend and just sink into the warm grass. Honestly, he was right. You couldn’t think of anything he could find on your phone that would be very earth shattering. He cheered loudly, taking your gestures as a sure sign of his victory as he began making his own background music to lower himself down from the metal chair with signature Beomgyu dramatics. You plopped into the grass and let him have his moment while you plucked at the pieces of grass resting under your fingers.

His singing came to a halt before you felt him nudge at your leg with his foot a few times. You stayed unresponsive, shutting your eyes against the glare of afternoon sun. Beomgyu sighed, obviously unhappy with your lack of response as he laid down next to you as close as he could get. He latched his hands around your upper arm and shook. 

“What now?” you didn’t even bother to open your eyes, just turn your head to the right to face him as you spoke. 

“Open your eyes, Noona. Please! You can have your phone back,” he was whining now, and you could imagine his lower lip jutting out as he tried to win you over. Upon opening your eyes, you were shocked at just how close his face was to yours. Your noses were just inches apart, and you could make out every single line and dot on the boy’s face in the brilliant sunlight. Long eyelashes brushing over his rosy cheeks with every blink, hair falling away from his forehead in a fan around him. He looked beautiful. You mentally slapped yourself for even forming that thought. He was your best friend, and that was something you would never mess up. And who were you to believe that he would find any interest in you either? Swallowing the lump in your throat, you smiled at him and sat up to snatch your phone from the ground between you. At the exact moment you grabbed it, a notification ping rang through the air. 

Upon reading it, you immediately frowned and made a sound of disgust. Beomgyu was sitting up by your side immediately. 

“Everything okay, Y/N?” You nodded and gave him a noncommittal smile that you hoped would trick him into believing you. He furrowed his eyebrows and sneakily tried to read the text before you could move your phone. You were quicker though, flipping the phone over and dropping it back into your lap. 

You gave another smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and laid back down in the grass, waiting for him to just drop it all. Huffing again, Beomgyu plopped himself right on your hips, pulling a surprised gasp from your lips as he looked down on you and snatched up your phone. The surprise kept you front protesting as he easily read the text notification that had originally upset you. You watched his face shift from confusion to anger to sadness as he read again and again before glancing up at you. Before he could even speak, you began, “it’s nothing. I just sent her some photos I took earlier and I didn’t think I looked that good in them so I asked her opinion. And yeah, I mean, she’s right. I don’t look good in the pictures.” 

The silence was stifling as Beomgyu simply stared at you. Rustling leaves and the birds chirping at one another became backdrop music to the awkward staredown that had you shrinking under his intense gaze. “Why would you believe any of that? Why would you take her word for anything? You’re beautiful. I’ve always found you beautiful, and kind, and funny, and you’re so smart. You’re perfect.” his voice was soft and caring; akin to the way he would speak to you when you had a headache over school work.

“Beomgyu, please, don’t.” A pit of despair was starting to roll around in your stomach as the position you were in felt way too intimate and his stare much too intense. You were about to ask him to get up, squirm away from his presence and go inside to drown your sorrows in a bowl of ice cream. 

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t make you feel better? Don’t tell you to ignore your shitty friend? Don’t tell you that I-” he looks up at the sun, squints and swallows hard enough for you to hear before leaning down even closer to your face. “Don’t tell you that I’m in love with you?”

Your whole world spins, like the feeling you get right before you’re about to puke. You’re too hot, too cold, too confused to wrap your head around hearing the phrase you’d been dreaming of for years. He’s patient, his weight on your hips a constant reminder of his presence. The presence that has permeated every part of your life for as long as you can remember. When you finally work up the courage to make eye contact with him again, a shiver runs down your spine and shakes your whole body. Beomgyu is smirking, reading every inch of your facial expressions before leaning down until your noses touched. Your breath hitched in your throat as he placed a hand on your cheek.

 “Can I kiss you?” He asked sweetly, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the texture of your cheek. All it takes is a nod for him to descend on your lips and give you a small peck, testing the waters before you chase his lips for more. You fumble a little bit, nerves getting the best of you before Beomgyu wraps you back up in his presence, his full lips working magic on the tensions in your body. He still tastes like the strawberries you had with lunch about an hour ago, and you eagerly enjoy the feel of his lips on yours as you part your mouth even wider. Neither of you show signs of stopping until Beomgyu pulls back to heave in a breath and caress your jawline. His lips are shiny and swollen and only make you hungry for more. Apparently, he has other plans as he begins to kiss all around your face until he reaches your neck and your giggles melt into sighs. 

“You sound so pretty, Y/N,” Beomgyu groans into your neck as he continues his assault on your skin. Your head began to spin as you were dizzy on his scent and the weight of his body on top of yours underneath the hot sunshine. 

“We- we can’t, not here,” you gasped and grabbed at his shoulder for leverage as you worked to sit up. He let you out from under his weight and fixed his darkened eyes on you. He held his hand out to you without a word, silently asking for your consent to continue what the two of you had started. To his surprise, you yanked him up by his hand with impressive force and practically ran into the comfort of your air conditioned living room. As soon as you passed the threshold, Beomgyu was back to towering over you and crowding your body with his warmth. His breath ghosted past your ear as he bent down to kiss the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at the movement, and he took your moment of weakness as an opportunity to whisper in your ear. 

A hand slipped under the soft fabric of your shirt as Beomgyu spoke “all those times you told me about the guys you liked, the ones who took you on dates you never really liked, all those guys you let into your bed… I always knew I could be better.” The fabric was pulled over your head, leaving you feeling dizzy. Despite the fog building in your brain, you smirked and began backing towards your bedroom door and tapped at your lips in thought, “Hm, I’m not so sure about that.” A fire sparked in Beomgyu’s eyes, igniting his competitive streak had him surging toward you and ushering you into the bedroom. The door clicked behind him as you laid back on the pillows on the bed and Beomgyu kneeled between your parted legs. Getting an eyeful of the marks on your throat and your breasts on display drew a deep moan from his throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll prove it to you, just tell me what you want,” he was playing dirty, tracing his long fingers over your inner thighs and waiting for your response.

“You, Beomgyu. I want you,” his hands descended on the button of your shorts, making quick work of them and your underwear in one pull. You shuddered at the exposure and made to close your legs before Beomgyu gave a dissatisfied tut and leaned back to pull his own shirt over his head. Momentarily distracted by his toned body, you whine and almost miss the cocky grin that graces his golden face. He runs his large hands down your thighs, massaging slightly as he parted your legs to expose your core. 

“Look at that. I know nobody else makes you this wet,” Beomgyu mused as he laid himself down on your bed so that he was face to face with your center. Your chest heaved in anticipation, carding a hand through his locks as you tried to think up a witty reply. The boy under you didn’t even give you the chance before descending onto you with an open mouth. You pull at his hair as he slips his tongue into your slit and pushes your knees up to your chest to open you wider. Gasps of surprises slip past your lips as he makes short work of licking up everything your body has to offer him before he pulls away to smirk up at you. His face is red and shiny, lips swollen with his efforts and you moan his name louder than you’d like to admit. He chuckles darkly, wasting no time in going back to work, wrapping his lips tightly around your clit and sucking harshly. More arousal gushed out of you as your whines grew louder, more frequent. Beomgyu returns the groans in the form of wonderful vibrations every time you tug at the locks weaved between your fingers in earnest. 

“Please, please please,” you were losing all sense of self, only caring about the magic Beomgyu was working between your thighs until he pulled away and propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Please what? I know you have better manners than that,” his voice was teasing, but the facade only lasted until you bucked your hips up towards his face in need and pleaded again. “I need you. Beomgyu, please, let me come, I need-”  air left your lungs in a high whine as Beomgyu returned with renewed vigor, licking broad stripes right where you needed his touch the most. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening as you approached the height of your climax, teetering right at the tipping point and contemplating begging for more until you caught sight of Beomgyu’s still clothed hips grinding against the forgiving material of your mattress. The thought of him getting himself off while eating you out was just enough to push you over the edge as you finally let go with no warning, grabbing for Beomgyu’s hair to ground you as the world spun. He didn’t let up his movements until you whined in overstimulation. Beomgyu sat up on his knees, towering over you as you tried to catch your breath. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he wiped the few tears that had welled up in your eyes and pressed a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead. 

“Beomgyu,” you reached for him as he took the hint to pull you up into a sitting position across from him. There was no time to care about the mess between your legs, or the way your head was still spinning a bit. 

“I love you, too. I forgot to tell you earlier. But I have, for years and I was afraid that you didn’t like me back,” your confession lifted a weight off of your chest and caused his eyes to crinkle up at the corners. 

“Of course I liked you back. I think I’ve loved you since like 2nd grade. And you definitely wouldn’t have made me this hard if I didn’t like you.” Your eyes widened at his bluntness, but you couldn’t stop the mischievous smirk that crossed your face as you glanced down to his lap to see the bulge straining against his jeans. Taking him by surprise with a harsh kiss, you laid him down on his back and ran your hands over his soft skin. 

“My turn?” he teased, putting his hands behind his head casually. As much as you wanted to roll your eyes and walk away from him, your blooming admiration won over your instincts to be bratty to your best friend. His breath hitched as you began to toy with the button. “Your turn.”

[delldarling]

sweet clover & a mocking mouth | baine

This was June’s story of the month over on Patreon! 

female unicorn x gender/body neutral reader 9590 words lemon/lime | threats of violence, escaping a rather solitary life, loneliness, fluff, oral, implied romping

The village has been in an uproar for three days now, and it’s gotten even worse now that it’s market day. You can barely walk down the crowded street without bumping into shoulders, and though pick-pocketing isn’t common around these parts, you’re still thankful that your coppers aren’t easily accessible. Now if only elbows couldn’t reach your ribs, your day might turn out alright.

“They’ve an announcement,” Widow Rayleigh murmurs aloud, half a step behind you. You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see the normal sparkle of new gossip in her dark eyes, but her expression is stern. She hasn’t reached old age quite yet, but you’ve noticed a stoop in her shoulders over the past year or so. That hint of weariness is gone right now. She’s straight backed and nervous.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” you offer, not knowing whether she’ll answer you or not. Honestly, it’s a toss up when it comes to most of the locals, with the exception of Old Serell, the apothecary, and his boy. You’ve done nothing wrong, not truly, but anyone that spends too much time out in the forest is suspect and.. You most definitely qualify on that front.

Widow Rayleigh narrows her eyes until she sees that it’s you, thin lips pursing for a moment before she bobs her head. She's never been cruel, simply prone to overlooking anyone that doesn't take her word for immediate truth. “All this talk about a unicorn! They call it a beast, a troublesome demon - when I was a child we called them kindness incarnate.” Widow Rayleigh jerks her arm out of the way of some of the children trying to run through the crowd. “Those hunters are fear mongerers,” she says harshly, though her voice is quieter when she says it and you have to concentrate to catch the words.

You don’t know that you have much to add to that. You’ve heard the same stories about kind unicorns, of course, but the hunters have been in town for the better part of a week and they’ve caught the ear of anyone who will pause to listen. You haven’t been at the forefront of the listening crowds, but you’ve caught more than a few words when you pass by the inn at the end of the day. Their stories might not match with what you’ve grown up on, but they do know how to keep people enraptured, which is all it takes some days. Widow Rayleigh must see the tightness of your mouth, the agreement in your furrowed brow. She slips her arm through yours, sniffing as she holds her head up high.

“All I care about is that someone out there knows the truth,” she murmurs, before looking at you out of the corner of her eye. She leans in close, urging you to bend your ear to her withered mouth, the scent of pipe smoke heavy on her clothes. “I hope the unicorn outsmarts them,” she whispers, baring her teeth in a fierce grin when you smile. “Now, would you escort me to the square?”

You adjust your arm so she’s a little more comfortable, sharing another short smile before you continue on down the street. You’re rather glad that Widow Rayleigh kept her opinion quiet though when you see the hunters in the village square, brandishing weapons and shouting to the crowd about the unicorn’s demise. Whether or not they succeed is definitely in question, as all they’ve done is talk, but the crowd? Is all too easily swayed by the men standing atop the small rise in the middle of the square. People are shouting encouragement, urging them to bring back the unicorn’s head, to put an end to the treacherous beast. It’s a vicious cycle, just like the one you see young children fall into: Bullies screaming for support against someone out of bounds, and children not involved with the dispute raising their voice in agreement, simply because they don’t want to be cast out if they refuse.

“Atrocious,” Widow Rayleigh murmurs, and Ester Brooks, a woman you’ve always thought kind and rather elegant, agrees as she pushes through the crowd.

“Isn’t it just? Unicorns! Despicable creatures!” Ester sneers, like the thought offends her, and then leaves you and Widow Rayleigh behind. You hold onto the hand curled around your arm, and rightly so, because Widow Rayleigh makes to move after Ester, like she intends on setting the other woman straight on this matter. Her hand is curled into a vicious claw as she makes to reach.

“Wait,” you urge, trying to soothe the tension in her knuckles. Relief floods you when she scoffs, but she listens, chin tilted up imperiously when some of the other locals shoot strange looks at the company she’s keeping.

“Enough! ENOUGH!!” One of the hunters shouts, smiling and ruddy cheeked, setting aside his crossbow to flap his hands at the crowd. “We’ll do our level best to bring down the beast for the sake of you fine people!”

A cheer goes up, drowning out what the hunters say. Two of them laugh, leaning on each other to share secrets under the noise, while the third stares out at the crowd with pursed lips. There’s a scar across the third’s face, stretching from his chin to his temple, and the steadiness in his eyes makes you think that he’s noting every face in the village crowd. When his eyes light upon you a moment later, fear curls in the depths of your belly.

The other hunters, slightly cleaner and more jovial, wave their hands at the crowd again, quieting the noise. “Yes, yes,” the first says loudly, brushing at his short brown beard, “it will surely be a tale worthy of song!”

“I’ve a lute!” One of the Fairwind boys shouts, though it doesn’t matter which. All three of them are learned in music, and snotty about status. They'll likely compete for the honor, and end up in a too-rough tussle for the trouble.

The two jovial hunters laugh, and the second points a finger at the Fairwind boy, grinning. “Make an honest effort for us then! Now, we’ve a request of your lovely village!”

“Anything!” Ester Brooks shouts, and Widow Rayleigh makes a noise like a tea kettle.

“To capture the unicorn, for it knows us too well, we need to set a trap for it,” the first hunter says, letting his hand fall from his fellows shoulder. “It sees us and it runs, you must understand. It knows that we will put an end to it’s cruelty!” The crowd cheers again, but quiets as the hunter waves them off. “We must ask one of your villagers to play the bait! It’s preferred prey is often quiet, prone to keeping to themselves,” and the crowd goes quiet, almost silent as the hunter speaks. “Perhaps someone who frequents the forest: a strange soul, who might not understand the danger of the wood.”

Your heart twists in your chest, panic blooming as fast as the cherry blossoms on the Fairwind’s orchard. Widow Rayleigh stiffens as your side, and then, like a damning mark, her eyes turn to you. You close your eyes, knowing, without a doubt, what you will see when you open them.  

Your name is shouted first, followed by a scant handful of others before yours is repeated again, taken up by those scared to be chosen. Widow Rayleigh’s fingers have grown tight as strangle-vine on your arm, and when you open your eyes, there is true fear in her face. “They can’t be serious!” She attempts to shout over the noise, but then someone is pushing against your back. As quick and carefully as you can, you uncurl Widow Rayleigh’s grip from your arm. She’ll be hurt if she holds on while they push.

There are a few more friendly faces staring at you from the crowd - though they’re all wearing expressions of fear right now. Old Serell, the apothecary, is sniffling, comforted by his fearful looking son, and the Fairwind girl is clutching tightly to the pearly coat button she’d once lost in the forest. You’d brought it back to her and she’d sung your praises for the trouble. The rest of the village is shouting, urging for you to help out, to do your part in catching the unicorn. As soon as your arm is being grasped by one of the hunters, the swell of noise quiets.

“Worry not!” The first hunter shouts, smiling brightly. “Your friend here will not suffer,” he promises, winking at the Fairwind girl, who goes promptly scarlet with rage. “They’ll be quite safe! Bait does not mean true danger by our sides.” You dart a glance to the other two hunters, and it’s the third, quiet and staring, that leaves you filled with doubt. Whatever issue he has with the unicorn is very personal, and you’re more than certain that he will do everything it takes to capture or kill the creature. If you get injured or killed in the process? You doubt he will spare a second to mourn you.

“Come now, my friend,” the second hunter says, just loud enough for you to hear over the resulting cheers of the first’s declaration. “Let us treat you to a drink and discuss our plans!” You’ve no desire to follow any of these men anywhere, but with every step you take towards the inn, people in the village reach out to clap you on the shoulder or cheer your name in support, like they weren’t shouting that you should be used as bait not two moments ago. Every touch feels like a heavy chain winding around your ankles before you’re tossed in the water.

The inn is no better. People seem both eager to be close, to hear the details of the dangerous mission you’re about to undertake, and too frightened to closely approach. The two boisterous hunters introduce themselves as Heath and Ruf, the third shortly tells you to call him Al, but afterwards he’s quiet, fingers tapping impatiently on the table sitting between you.

“Pick your poison,” Ruf tells you with a grin, leaning his elbow on the table to be closer. He’s trying to be friendly, but there’s a sourness in the back of your throat that says you shouldn’t let down your guard. “Whatever you want, we’ll put it on our tab! You’re need a healthy dose of courage to-”

“No,” Al interrupts. “If you want a drink or two, that’s fine, but no need to souse yourself. You will need courage, not ineptitude. The unicorn is a foul piece of-”

“Down, Al,” Heath mutters, scowling at his companion, beard bristling as he speaks. “Apologies, my lovely friend. Al, you see, has suffered a personal loss at the… hooves of the beast.”

“The horn,” Al snaps, narrowing a sharp eyed gaze upon his companions. “The horn is sharp and deadly, mark me and if we-”

“How about you take a breath, Al. You’ll frighten off our only volunteer!” Ruf mutters, seizing his companions arm before shooting you a grin meant to charm. The grin falters when he sees the serious look on your face though, like he’s realized his wording won’t exactly win him your friendship.

“Volunteer is pushing it,” you say, just to hammer the point home.

“Yes,” Heath says, tone falsely bright, as if he’d like nothing better than to ignore your commentary entirely. “Well, you won’t have to do much, honestly! We’ve tracked the unicorn to the local forest and your village has said that you spend ample time there, yes?”

You nod your head, only because Al shifts forward in his seat, like he’s prepared to make you answer if you refuse.

“Have you come across it?” Ruf asks, sitting straighter, like he’s hoping you can give him a map that will lead them straight to the poor creature.

“I’ve never seen hide nor hair of a unicorn,” you tell them honestly. All you know about them is the stories that the elders have whispered about from time to time: a kind creature that nearly glows in the sunshine, with a spiral horn upon its head, and gentleness in its touch. “I’m out there every day, but-”

“That means little,” Al says sharply, looking you over more carefully now. “You might not have seen the unicorn, but they have definitely seen you. Whether you’ve been foraging out there or chopping down trees-”

“Then we have little to worry about. The unicorn will come and we’ll definitely catch it,” Heath says, leaning back in his chair with a cruel smile on his face. Ruf nods in agreement and ice settles in the base of your spine. You have the feeling that you might never step foot in the village again, whether the hunters are lying or correct about the nature of the unicorn doesn’t matter. With a very small handful of exceptions, you’re fairly sure the village doesn’t expect you to come back.

A day later, you wake up and you’re certain. The village has never been fond of those that wander through the forest. Has never been trustful of those that might meet creatures under the shadowed leaves. They take the foraged mushrooms and bark and all manner of greens from you happily enough, but they don’t seek out your company. They don’t seek out you, only the items you can procure, and without you? There’s always someone who can be pressured into the forest work. There’s always someone they’re looking to push onto the fringes of the village.

If you refuse to be bait for the hunters, if you refuse to aid them, you won’t be welcomed back. If you encounter the unicorn and it is cruel and monstrous and you survive while the hunters do not? You will not be welcomed back. If you- You have to bite your own tongue and breathe quietly through your nose, trying not to wake Heath or Ruf. They claimed to need your company for the night to keep going over the plans for the unicorn, but you knew what it really was from the beginning: They needed to stay close to keep you from running.

The walk out of the village and into the forest feels more like a funeral procession. Very few people are outside of their homes, and those that do notice you or the hunters turn their faces away. There is no cheering or shouting today, caught on the border of encouragement and violence, there is only the wind and downcast eyes.

The forest, at least, still feels welcoming to you. It must be different for the hunters though. Heath’s smile has gone from jovial to tight, Ruf’s lips are twisted with nerves, and Al is still scowling, but more on edge. When he catches you looking, his eyes take on a darkness that makes you feel mildly ill and you turn around, to stare at the back of Ruf’s head as he tromps through the undergrowth. After only a few minutes, you know where they’re taking you. A bright clearing with a small stream running through it, surrounded on all sides by tall silvery trees with leaves that turn golden in the autumn. There are heavy fallen trunks, covered over with moss, that you’ve often taken mushrooms from. One of them is the perfect place to leave a sacrifice, to bind your hands and rope them over a branch just tall enough to keep you from sitting, but too thick for you to break.

For all that they hate the forest, they know how to traverse it, and it feels a bit like betrayal, to see them moving through it so easily. Or maybe it just hurts to see every displaced piece of earth, every broken branch and bent stem they leave behind.

“Here will do!” Heath says, like they hadn’t planned out the place beforehand. All the plans you were supposed to be involved in had been settled long before they called for the village's aid, long before they settled on you as bait. Ruf searching through the underbrush covering one of the fallen logs confirms it: He pulls forth a heavy set of manacles and then digs in his own bag for the locks.

Though you know you’d never make it, the inexplicable urge to run takes hold of your spine. They haven’t put a hand on you, not yet, so you sweep your eyes over the surrounding area, pulse heavy in your throat as you look for a potential escape. You don’t truly expect to find anything, but you can’t stand by and- A pair of gold-green eyes are staring at you from the middle of a wild rosemary bush. Your jaw goes slack, catching sight of the thin, spiral horn jutting out from the shrubbery. You’re tempted to keep staring, to take a step towards them, but instead you slowly look away.

Ruf turns towards you, nodding his head towards the tree, where Heath is looping a sturdy chain over the branch that will help keep you captive. Al is standing off to the side, lips pursed as he watches the work, but he’s starting to let his attention drift. Rather than let him, or any of them, spot the unicorn hiding in the bushes, you heave out a great sigh.

“Will this take long?” You ask, trying to sound as put upon as possible. Not scared, not panicked, just inconvenienced. Al’s blue eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw, scar straining.

“Until we’ve caught the beast,” Heath says happily, letting Ruf take you by the wrist and lead you to the tree. He looks happier now that you’ve shown a little bit of attitude, like he’d been expecting this outcome from the start. “But you needn’t worry about that head of yours, friend. We know quite well what it is that we’re doing.”

Heath is staring at your face, and Ruf is focusing on clamping the manacles shut around your wrists - the weight of them makes you want to pause, makes the panic start to build - but Al is starting to glance towards the rosemary bushes, where you can still see that spiral horn.

“Do you, really?” You taunt, forcing a frown onto your lips. Your mouth is dry and Al’s angry expression is focused entirely upon you now. “Because you said in the village that you’d been doing this for quite a long time. I think you would have had some sort of result by now.”

“So much to say now that we’re not in the village, hm?” Ruf asks, grunting as he pulls on the chain, raising your manacled wrists above your head. “I thought you might have a sharp tongue, but you kept so quiet back at the inn-”

“Shut it,” Al snaps, stomping over to elbow Ruf in the ribs. “Talk too loud and the bane will hear! The beast is creeping around already, I’ve no doubt and if you end up-”

“Oh, Al, do be quiet,” Heath groans, slapping a hand over his face and dragging it down in exasperation. “We want to get them as much as you do! We cared about poor Os as well, but yammering like this won’t solve-”

“Hush up!” Ruf grunts at them both, yanking fiercely on the chain holding your arms one last time. He takes the end halfway around the trunk and then a heavy clanging rings through the trees. Both Heath and Al are silent as Ruf hammers a great nail into the trunk, securing the chain far too well for you to pull free on your own. The two unoccupied hunters search the clearing with slow sweeps of their eyes, but when you glance at the rosemary bushes, the unicorn is gone. Something heavy and painful settles behind your breastbone.

You don’t blame the unicorn, of course. You’d prodded at the hunters in the hopes that they wouldn’t notice the creature, that they would have the chance to escape. But knowing that you’re alone in your misery is harder than you would have thought. The ringing of the hammer finally vanishes, leaving behind a persistent echo that has you rubbing your ear against your shoulder. All three hunters gather in front of you, varying looks of satisfaction on their faces.

“Look at it this way, friend,” Heath tells you, smiling wide. “If we catch the beast, you get to share in some of the glory!”

“If we don’t, if you don’t act properly wretched, then you might linger here until you’d chew off your own arm,” Al says quietly, leaning in and tapping you once, fiercely, against the sternum. You’re half tempted to kick him, but there’s no need to make matters worse. The hunters might not be kindly, but they haven’t put their hands on you other than to lock the manacles, even after you insulted them. You bite down on your lip and clench your hands into fists, looking beyond them.

“Now you’ve gone and hurt feelings, Al!” Ruf says, barking out a laugh. He pats you on the head and nods back towards the path. “Don’t worry about it. Stir up a few tears, look down on your luck and the beast will be so sorely tempted by you that we’ll be back in the village by sun down!” He stands back with the others, giving you one last look, and then arches a single brow. “Give us a smile before we head off to defend you?”

You scowl, silently cursing Heath and Ruf’s laughter as they stride away into the forest, readying crossbows and nets they’ve fixed over their packs. Only Al lingers, mirroring the scowl you’d given his companions.

“The beast won’t escape,” Al mutters, quietly enough that you’re fairly sure only you can hear him. “I know it’s probably been here already, checking you over, making sure you’re in one piece. The stupid thing grows wildly attached to people like you, does everything it can to help.” He laughs, and the rough sound of it makes you slightly sick to your stomach. “I figured you knew, even if you hadn’t seen it, that the creature would come running to your side. You lot always do seem to know, like some kind of second sense that the forest curses you with.” He leans in close, close enough for angry heat to roll off of him in waves. “And know this: If you help that beast escape, if you don’t act the proper bait, the village will learn of how cruel unicorns can truly be.”

Widow Rayleigh’s anger at the hunters, with Ester Brooks, seems perfectly plausible now. If you had both your hands free, if you had one, you’re fairly sure you would crack a punch across Al’s sneer of a face. You could still kick him, but of the three, you’re fairly certain that Al would be the most likely to retaliate in painful ways. You hold yourself quiet, though the soft rattling sounds of the chains straining reach Al’s ears. He laughs when he notices your ire, the long scar on his face marred by the motion, and then takes a healthy step backwards, out of your reach. “S’more like it,” he says, clutching at his greasy looking cloak. “We’ll be back,” he says over his shoulder, striding away after his companions.

You wish it didn’t sound like such a threat.

Time passes slowly, made worse by the lack of movement. Normally, even without the sun shining fully overhead, you can guess the hour by the strain in your muscles, by the amount of weariness in your back and arms. Strung up like this, after the first ten minutes, your wrists are uncomfortable and your shoulders are starting to ache, and it’s only going to get worse. You close your eyes after a soft estimate of an hour passing, leaning your head back against the mossy trunk behind you. You might not be able to sit down or escape, but you can do that much at least, and straining your eyes to search your overgrown surroundings? Isn’t currently helping. If the unicorn is going to come, they might not even do so if you’re watching, and the hunters? You’ll hear them long before they come back up the path. Or.. Maybe you won’t. Your eyes crack open, glaring across the clearing at nothing. They are hunters, and while they haven’t caught the unicorn, they must have some kind of experience, they were wearing enough pelts. Perhaps they’re sitting high up somewhere in the line of trees, watching you silently suffer?

“Assholes,” you murmur.

“Aren’t they, just?” A sarcastic female voice says from somewhere behind you. There’s a tugging on the chain and you promptly suck in a deep breath, excitement and wariness battling to fill you first. “They never seem to learn from their mistakes either, which makes them the worst sort of asshole. You would think after the first few times they would change up their bait and switch scenario, and yet-” The chain rattles, quietly, but enough to make you glance down the path the hunters had gone down in fear. Are they close enough to hear? Or have they been circling the area, waiting for the uni- for her approach?

“You’re the unicorn?” You whisper, curious enough to pull a little, to try and see her around the side of the trunk. All you catch sight of though is a pale tail, a gleaming, curling bit of hair flicking in and out of sight before you can blink.

“Let me guess: They told you I’m a slavering beast, sure to eat your toes and stab you through the heart-”

“Toes?” You say, nose wrinkling. “Have they told others that?”

She pauses, snickers quietly and then sighs. “...Not toes, no. At least, not that I’ve heard. Oh, I give up, this bit is too tall for me,” she grumbles, and then rounds the tree, barely making any noise. Your eyebrows raise as soon as you can see her clearly. The hunters had called her a slavering beast to the village, among other things, detailing a long list of violent and frightening acts. You know, probably better than some, that appearances can be deceiving, but you’re still willing to believe that the hunters were lying.

She looks.. Wild. Manic, and nothing like the four footed, pristine creature that you’ve heard about in tales. Her feet are hooves, legs covered by silvery, silky looking hair, but she doesn’t shimmer. Her hooves and legs are flecked with dirt and the hair hanging heavy over her shoulders is a great pale tangle, peppered with leaves and bits of wood - it does nothing to hide her large-deer-like ears. When she sees your arched brows, she flashes you a wide smile, drawing attention to a chipped front tooth and faint scarring at the corner of her mouth. The horn in the middle of her forehead though, is what keeps you staring. It’s white, for the most part, spiraling into a fine, sharp looking point, but it too is streaked with grime, just like the green tunic hanging from her wiry frame.

“Tell me truthfully, do I look like I eat toes?” She waggles her brows, throwing her head back to laugh when you stare. She bites down on the noise a moment later though, eyes lifting to the manacles clamped about your wrists. “So you’re the poor soul they dragged into this mess?” She asks, taking your elbow in hand and shaking it, testing the strength of the chain and manacles. Her fingers are chilled and you flinch slightly at the contact, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Or did you volunteer to get the big bad creature?” Her eyes light on yours for a moment, but she’s still smiling. You rather have the feeling that she never left you alone after all, and heard every bit of Al’s threats.

“The village volunteered me,” you say quietly, watching her lips curl into a severe frown. “What’s your name?” You ask, trying to edge back from the nimble fingers pressing against your shoulder for balance. She’s terribly close, and while she might be covered over with dirt and bits of forest, she smells a bit like honeysuckle and- and it’s not the time to notice how lovely her dark eyelashes are. She’s trying to save you, despite the hunters, despite the fact that she knows this is a trap. The least you can do is focus on how to help her out as well.

“Baine,” she says shortly, the barest edge of one of her fingertips hooking in the large keyhole on one of the locks. She gives you another smile, tilting her chin up like she’s proud as she adds: “The bane of their existence.” There’s a sharp ting as she presses her finger further into the keyhole, smashing the inside of the lock to bits. She hops to unhook the lock from the manacle and then one of your arms is free. Gratefully, you lower down your aching arm, letting her move to your other side.

“How did you-”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Baine says archly and then winces. “Not trying to be confrontational! I just am, and I’ve had too many people ignore me when I say so. It’s always easier to show it than to try and talk it up though-” She stretches her arm out for the next lock, but you tug on the manacle, lowering it so she can reach easier. “Mm, mannerly,” she jokes, fluttering her eyelashes as her thumb presses fiercely into the lock. It shatters.

“Thank you,” you say immediately, rolling your arms and hissing once both your wrists are free. You can’t imagine the pain you’d feel if left in those things overnight, but you’re still feeling wary. The hunters are out there, waiting patiently for Baine to come free you and- “But you’re in trouble. You should leave this forest if you can. Sometime soon they’re going to be coming-”

“And you expect to just stroll right on by, back into your village, do you?” Baine asks, resting her fists against her hips. “I’ve dealt with the trio of fools before, you know, and this isn’t going to work out well for you, Clover dear.”

You open your mouth and then close it again. “Clover?” You finally ask.

Baine snorts, eyes traveling from your face, to your feet, and back up. “You look good enough to eat - sweet, maybe, like Clover.” She laughs again and wipes at her dry eyes before she nods her head towards the east side of the clearing. “So, I suggest you take a roundabout route, perhaps gather some things from your home and then hightail it out of here.” The levity in Baine’s expression fades. “You said that the village volunteered you, didn’t they? I wouldn’t stick around.”

She’s right. You’d been thinking about it just this morning while the hunters led you to the forest like an animal to slaughter. You might be able to make it in and out, grab some things, or maybe even visit the apothecary for some last minute supplies, but… You’re going to have to leave, if you don’t want to be pushed right back into the hunters path. If you don’t want the whole of the villagers to claim betrayal and drive you out anyway. If you leave instead, your name might still be considered clean, though that’s cold comfort. They’ll likely assume the unicorn ate you. Regardless, you’re still worried about her.

“I’m sure that they spread out around-”

“Oh, they did! Heath and Al are still circling about, but Ruf was covering that direction and he’s a sucker if there ever was one. He’ll be out cold for a stretch and both of us should be able to make it that way, if we leave in a moment or two.” Baine crouches, stretching one of her legs like she expects some kind of chase.

“If we’re caught, then-”

“We won’t be,” Baine tells you, brushing an errant lock of hair away from her face. She rolls her neck and then straightens up, patting daintily at a spot of dirt on her shoulder. “Those fools haven’t ever had a hope of catching me, not after the first time.” She taps a fingertip against her scarred lip when she notes the surprise on your face. “I’ve a weakness for those in need and they took advantage of it once. Honestly,” she says with a snort. “Trying to bridle a unicorn, have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? Their friend paid the price for it.” Baine’s eyes narrow, her nostrils flaring. “I won’t apologize for that either,” she says in a quiet, dangerous sounding voice. “Not ever.”

You hold up your hands in supplication, heart twisting in your chest. Kindness incarnate, Widow Rayleigh had said, repeating the old tales, and this was how Baine had been treated by those hunters?

“I don’t blame you,” you tell her and then the fierce look is wiped clean from her face. Baine breaks into another wide, pleased smile, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Of course not. Sweet Clover like you wouldn’t hurt a fly, hm?” She starts walking, crooking her finger over her shoulder, a clear motion to follow. “I’ve seen you in the forest, after all. ‘S why they brought you, why they convinced your village to send you, of course, and for that I’m sorry.” Baine hops over something, pausing so she can point down at the thin cord strung over the path. “They can’t trick me into saving those that don’t want to be saved though. Not any longer.” She offers you her hand when you’re close enough, fingers gripping tightly to help you balance as you step over the cord. “Meant to trap,” she says with a sneer, tipping her head towards the trees above. You follow the sharp point of her horn and look up at the waiting net. “Look close for others. There’s sure to be more.”

You’re a healthy way into the forest before you realize she hasn’t let go of your hand. The following flush of warmth through you is almost embarrassing, and you’ve half a mind to untangle your fingers before Baine stops in front of a prone body, her tail flicking like she’s trying to brush away a fly.

Ruf is laying in the immediate path, sporting a black eye. His mouth is parted, lips splattered with blood.

“He’s not dead,” Baine rushes to say, kicking him gently in the ribs. Ruf wheezes, but doesn’t wake and- you start to laugh. Not loud, muffled into your free palm, but enough that Baine makes a soft humming noise of confusion.

“I was worried,” you finally gasp, letting Baine pull you along. You’re heading back towards the village, you realize, but one of the circuitous routes that takes you behind a small string of buildings - one of which is the apothecary. “For me, yes, but for you. I’ve heard stories about unicorns-”

“Like the ones the fools share?” Baine asks, rolling her eyes.

“I heard those all the past week. I mean the older ones, about unicorns being kind. About them helping.”

Baine purses her lips, fighting back a smile. “Oh. Well, those ones are alright then. Worried about me though, were you? Wanted to try your hand at rescuing?” She teases and then her mouth grows thin, eyes focused on the surrounding brambles. She doesn’t tell you to be quiet, doesn’t change the way she’s moving, her eyes just rove fast as you keep walking. You drop your voice low anyway, just to be sure you don’t draw the attention of Al and Heath, still wandering through the trees.

“If you didn’t know about them? Then yes.” It’s mildly embarrassing, now that it turns out she’s in little need of help. Her eyes are soft when they drift over your face though.

“And thought very little of yourself, I’ve noticed. We can’t have that if you’re going to escape that trio of fools. Have you-” Baine pauses her speech, frowning until you’re cresting the hill that leads you to the back of Old Serell’s shop. “Come with me,” she says suddenly, lifting her chin, like she’s daring you to argue with her. “Maybe not forever, but for now. You can’t deny that it’s a smart decision - we both should leave this place and I know other forests.” She smiles again, brightly, chipped tooth pressing into her full lower lip. “It’s been a while since I’ve had company, and I haven’t seen anyone trailing after you when you wander. Perhaps it’d be good for you too?”

You don’t blurt out yes, but it’s a near thing. “No need for me to search for maps then, yes?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away. Serell’s son is standing outside their rickety greenhouse, brushing sweat off his brow. If you’re going to get help, now is the time.

Baine snorts and pushes against your shoulder, urging you forward. “Get your things then, I’ll be waiting.”

It’s.. invigorating, and frightening, preparing to leave, and the whole time you’re at it, packing what valuables you’re willing to carry, your heart is beating too fast in your chest. You half expect Baine to be gone by the time you’re done, nothing more than a strange dream brought on by stress. It can’t have taken you more than an hour to get ready, and when you sneak back to meet her behind Serell’s place, his son hauling your pack, she’s still waiting.

She’s finger combed her hair a bit, dragged out some of the larger leaves and twigs. She narrows her eyes when she finds the Serell lad staring. "I've little interest in eating you," she tells him archly, and then cackles when his face turns red.

"Thank you," he tells her, and for a moment both you and Baine are frozen with surprise. "For helping," he says, eyes darting to you and then down to her hooves. "Da felt terrible about those hunters taking you, wanted to go search the forest, but he's too old and I can't leave him. So you-" He flushes when Baine smiles. "You really are like the tales say: kind and good. So thank you, Da will rest easy, knowing you're off safe together."

Baine snags the teens wrist, lifting his hand and pressing his pointer finger to the sharp tip of her horn. He gasps, yanking his hand away when blood is drawn, and stares down at the wound.

"The medicine you brew will always be strong enough," Baine says, wiping the single droplet of blood from her horn. "Now get inside and take care of your father." The boy looks close to tears now, cheeks quivering with the force of his smile, but he turns on his heel and runs back inside.

Before you can say anything, before you can even open your mouth, Baine is tossing her hair over her shoulder and striding away. “Are you coming, or aren’t you?” She calls back and you have to rush to catch up, the thrill of a new beginning running heavy through your veins.

You’re so caught up in the buoyant feeling, you almost forget that you and Baine are trying to escape. You make it to the edge of the village proper, still on the outskirts of the forest, before Heath and Al step out onto the road, blocking your way to freedom. Ruf isn’t there though, which means that he’s still knocked out somewhere closer to the old clearing, far enough away that he won’t be able to shout to them when he wakes.

Al brandishes a blade as long as your arm when you take a step backwards, but Heath- Heath is staring at Baine like he’s never seen her before in his life.

“You’re not leaving,” Al bites out, lip curled into a vicious sneer. “I’ll have the unicorn, and your head if you try and stop me.”

Heath’s eyes are wide as dinner plates, staring at the spiral horn in the middle of Baine’s head. “What sorcery is this?” He asks Al hoarsely. “The unicorn- she-”

“Unicorn sorcery! It doesn’t matter!” Al spits, not even bothering to look at his companion. Heath gapes, eyes darting from Baine to Al and back.

“Unicorn so- I thought we were hunting naught but a beast,” Heath says, arms lowering to his sides. “Are you sure it isn’t the villager doing this? Perhaps we’ve found a wicked sor-”

“Shut up about sorcery!” Al says and takes a few fast steps closer. Baine slaps her hand into the middle of your chest, pushing you behind her. “She is the unicorn, and human-like form or no, she’s coming with us, back to the capital!” Al’s blue eyes narrow with hatred. “If not you, beast, then your friend’s life is forfeit, so I suggest you come with us now, or suffer the consequences.”

“No,” Baine says, fingers twisting into your shirt. “You will let us pass,” she starts and directs her words towards Heath. “Both of us, for the pain you’ve caused me, for the trouble you brought to their doorstep and the lives you’ve stolen in the name of chasing me down. Let us through.”

Al whirls to stare at Heath, shrieking in outrage when he watches him drop the weapons he’s carrying.

“You knew, Al? You knew she could speak? That she could change?”

“Of course I did! And I didn’t care. People want the unicorn as a beast, and so Oz and I thought to sell her, to let them parade her about the capital. We had her, and then she killed him! She struck him down with that dagger on her forehead and for that, if nothing else, she deserves a whip and bridle!” He whirls, mouth an angry maw, ready to spew more insults, raising his blade- and Heath strikes him over the back of the head.

Al falls to the ground, eyes rolling and doesn’t move. After a moment, Heath kneels to check his pulse.

“He’s alive,” Heath whispers. “I… Change, lady. Change and carry your friend away from this place, else Al will likely catch up with you on foot. I can.. I can stop Ruf. Can explain how Al lied to us, but short of killing him, I don’t think Al will stop.”

“You don’t have my forgiveness,” Baine says quietly, all the more terrible for her empty tone, “but I will no longer curse your name every day I lay down to sleep. I won’t thank you for this either,” she says, nodding to Al splayed in the dirt. “But I won’t forget the help.” Baine looks to you, eyes proud and carefully unclenches her hand from your shirt. “If you want to stay, you might have a chance with your village now. I’m sure the least he would do is vouch for you, get you back into your home.”

It would be easy, you realize. You can go back home to your warm bed inside the hut on the outskirts of the village. You can stir up a fire in your small hearth and… Continue. You’ll wake in the morning and start the same old routines over again, searching for the forest, coming home in the evening, taking your things to trade - all by yourself. “I could. I could go home and rest, back to my lonely life. Or, I can take one of the only chances I’ll ever have to leave it all behind. To travel alongside a unicorn.” You crack a smile, hoping she’ll still have you, that she wasn’t trying to quietly urge you to go back.

Baine grins and then throws her head back to laugh. When she’s finished, when she gains back her breath, she shakes her hair out and curls her fingers and- and then she shifts. Bones creak and pop and her wild hair grows longer, falling over her face as she grows tall. There’s a charge in the air, brighter than fire crackling over your skin with warmth and for all that your pulse is racing with adrenaline, you’re not afraid. Baine looks.. Looks like some strange amalgamation of a horse and a deer and some unnameable other that leaves your jaw hanging and your breath stilling in your chest. She doesn’t sparkle or glimmer like stone, but there’s a feeling to the air around her that leaves you emotional - and then you notice that Heath is crying. He turns his face away when he sees you looking, waving you towards her.

Carefully, Baine drops a knee, allowing you to swing a leg over her body and cling to the riot of her pale mane. As soon as you’re settled, as soon as your fingers are woven into her hair, Baine runs, and it feels like being carried by the wind. You’re not sure how long you travel, how long your face is pressed to her neck, fair hair whipping like ribbons in a storm with the force of her movement, but it’s long enough for your hands to ache. Your back is cold and the adrenaline has long since worn off by the time she slows, your pack heavy against your back. When she stops, swaying on her feet, it takes you a moment to get down, your own legs like jelly as you slip off and land in soft grass. You let yourself fall back, laughing quietly, and less than a moment later, Baine is dropping down next to you in her humanoid form, eyelids heavy and mouth still smiling.

“Freedom from that place suits you,” she murmurs, eyes already falling closed.

“You’ve done so much to help,” you say softly, wondering how the day went by in such a blur. “Is there any way I-” You turn to face her, struggling to push your pack from your shoulders, and stop speaking. Baine’s mouth is parted and she’s breathing heavy, hair falling over her face and across the grass. Quietly, so as not to wake her, you tug out the quilt you’d strapped to the top of your bag, unrolling it and throwing it across the both of you. Baine doesn’t move. Laying underneath the open sky next to Baine, the breeze shifting quietly through the trees, feels more like home that it has any right to. You’ve only just met, after all, but she… Fits, in your worldview, in the life you’re heading towards making. If you were less tired, you might have taken the quiet moment to examine what you really felt. Instead, you fall asleep shortly after, stars wheeling across the sky.

The days following pass by in much the same way: an overwhelming sense of belonging. It’s not easy, of course, you don’t just lay in the grass and laze about in the sunshine. You’re still hunting through the forests for mushrooms or plants that villages are always in short supply of. You’re still traveling farther away from your home village, Baine leaving circling trails and then zig-zagging paths through the foothills of the mountains to throw off anyone that might be following. The only difference, really, is that you have each other.

Baine can send you into the villages for supplies, to barter for the foraging and bring back items that make your traveling a little easier. Bedrolls for the both of you go a long way into making the nights on the ground easier for you both - though Baine, now that you’ve seen her in all her glory, has no issue shifting her skin to help preserve warmth. Baine is someone to talk to, someone that doesn’t faux whisper about what creatures you might be meeting in the forest, about what things must have twisted you so, to enjoy spending time hunting through the dark. After all, the only person you’ve ever met out in the middle of the woods is her.

“Hand them over,” Baine mutters, startling you from your musing. She raises her eyebrows when she finds you staring, turning to you and wiggling her fingers in a give it to me motion.

“Hand wh- oh!” She wants the bedrolls and blankets. The sun is starting to get lower, and if you don’t stop to set up for the night, you’ll be without a fire. The last few weeks it hasn’t been too much of a problem, but with the height of summer having passed and the nights growing longer.. You hand them over. You split the work without question, digging a shallow pit for the fire and then gathering what stones you can find so it won’t spread. By the time you’re finished, Baine has an armful of fallen branches that she’s gathered, and you’ve spotted a few chunks of resin on a near-by tree that will help get the fire going. When you bring it back, handing it wordlessly to Baine, you realize she’s staring at you now, even as she finishes the work of starting the fire. “..Are we forgetting something?” You ask, wondering why she looks so intent upon searching your face so thoroughly. “Do I have resin on my face?” You ask with a laugh, raising your hand to brush at your cheek. Sparks catch, and Baine turns her attention to the fire, blowing softly until the smoke is spiraling away and cheery flames are flickering. “Not my face then?”

Baine doesn’t answer, just worries at her lower lip with her chipped tooth, fingers twisting into the hem of her long tunic. “The stories you’ve heard about unicorns - they all say we’re some sort of paragon of virtue, don’t they?”

They do, not that you’ve talked with Baine in depth about them. She’s only ever mentioned them in passing, as if the myth of them amused her. Before you can say so, she’s getting up, prancing nervously around the fire pit, tail flicking from side to side. You’re rather reminded of a cat, not that you would ever tell her so. Baine likes to take jokes and clutch them close, repeat them just when you think she’s forgotten. Eating toes remains one of her favorite ridiculous threats. “They.. Some of them do,” you tell her honestly. Her ears twitch and she lifts her chin, glaring at the stars starting to peek through the fast fading brightness of the sky.

“The only thing they’ve really gotten right is that we like to help,” she confesses with a sigh. She rounds the fire, kneeling so close to you that her knees are pressed against the side of your thigh. She leans in enough that you can breathe in the honeysuckle scent of her, sweet on her skin and lingering about her hair. “They’ve only seen me - or other unicorns - in passing. We’re myth, fond legends, held up to be this.. Epitome of righteousness.” Her eyes are lit by the fire, a bit more gold now that green, and you can’t help when your eyes drop to the soft scar at the corner of her mouth. “Whatever the stories might say, I am flesh and blood, not a far flung star, forever out of reach.” Hesitant, like she’s afraid you might turn away, might reject her, Baine reaches for your hand. “I have wants and desires, the same as any human, and if you haven’t guessed? I’m rather fond of you.”

Her words heat your face much faster than the growing fire. You weren’t imagining things. She’s called you Sweet Clover so often, made so many references to tasting you, to your sweet nature, that every time she smacks her lips you can’t help your mind playing her words on repeat. “It just so happens that I’m fond of you,” you tell her softly, with just enough time to breathe in before your arms are full of her and her mouth is pressing quickly to yours. She knocks you back onto the bedrolls, peppering small, chaste kisses over your cheeks and your lips until she’s breathless and starting to laugh.

“Oh, good!” Baine says, after a moment, voice full of relief. “I hoped that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. If I did, I thought you'd be gracious about it, but this is much better.” She leaves off on speech, nuzzling her nose against yours until your eyes have fallen closed and then she’s growing still, head tucked under your chin, breathing softly against the column of your throat. “Would you be opposed,” she whispers against tender skin, “if I wanted to keep kissing you?” You tighten your arms around her, the racing of her heart strong under your fingertips and then you shift, tilting her face up to meet your own.

“Please,” you say quietly. Baine’s hair becomes a curtain around your faces, mouth warm and slow when she kisses you this time, careful of the horn spiraling up from the crown of her skull. She braces herself on her hands, legs adjusting until she’s sitting astride your hips, the hair at the end of her tail tickling your calf. She kisses you like she has all the time in the world, lets you cradle her jaw and lick at the scar on the corner of her lips and breathes your name like a promise she wants to keep.

“You do taste like clover,” she whispers, shuddering when you bite her lower lip, hips canting downward. You trail your hands over her shoulders and down the middle of her back, humming when she rolls her tongue against yours, when she sucks, like she’s chasing the remnants of the clover she says she tastes. You want to touch her with the reverence she deserves. Not because of the stories, not because of the magic you can feel crackling against your skin when she does something as awe-inspiring as changing, but because of the way she smiles. Because of the way she’ll crouch next to the creek, biting her lip in silence and then bursting into laughter when she plucks strangely shaped stones from the water. Because of the way she’d clutched at your shirt, had bargained for your safety and then- and then wanted you to come with her.

She curses when you turn, rolling her onto her back, but you can feel the intensity of her grin when you trail kisses down her neck, teeth scraping softly over her collarbone. She strokes her fingers over your head and makes a lovely, gasping noise when your hand slips under her tunic, stroking over the silvery hair on her thighs and rising higher. “Not afraid you’ll taint the unicorn?” She asks, tone slightly mocking. She’s vulnerable though, expression soft, ears turned downward, like she’s still waiting for you to change your mind.

“Hardly,” you tease, and your fingers brush softly over the hard nub of her clit. You move down, gathering wetness as you stroke and Baine’s legs grow lax. “All I want to do is make you feel good, Baine.” You keep stroking, but you linger over her still covered chest, mouthing at her nipples through the material. “To show that I see you, not the stories. Not the unicorn, but Baine: with your mocking mouth and nervous prancing-”

“Shut up,” Baine says quietly, but she doesn’t sound unhappy. You look up, spying the color blooming on her cheeks, pupils gone dark with wanting. “Save the-the poetry for daylight,” she urges, spreading her legs a little wider. “There are far better uses for that clever tongue-” Baine bucks when you slip two fingers inside of her, curling and stroking her from inside. She yanks at her tunic, pulling it half up her belly and then howls when you take her words to heart. Baine is prone to muttering nonsense when you work her over, you find out. Her legs shake and shudder, but she keeps her hooves pressed tightly to the ground to keep from kicking. She bucks though, if you don’t hold onto her thighs, pressing herself as close as possible to your mouth, grinding herself against your tongue. Her tail snaps out at the bedrolls and blankets and her normal voice grows high pitched when you suck against her clit.

You could keep going, even when her body quakes with her orgasm, even when she’s gone silent as she tries to steady her breathing, but then she’s pushing you away. Baine’s laughter is rough around the edges after the keening noises she’s been making. “Enough, enough. For now,” she corrects, when she sees the smile on your face. “Now get up here and let me make you feel good.”

By the time you’re both sated, the fire has grown dim and you’re too chilled, too lazy, to want to get up and hunt for more wood. Baine is near sleep, so you slip back into a meager amount of clothing and then fit yourself to her side, warm under the blankets. It’s lovely out here,  and you doubt you’ll ever get tired of traveling alongside her - but you’d like to make a home for Baine. You don’t want her to feel she has to run, forever, the way she has been. The home would be a good stopping point, a place to rest, a hidden reprieve from Al and other idiots like him. ...Perhaps somewhere near the sea. Plans fill your head, but Baine is snoring now and your eyes are growing heavy. You’ll talk to her about it come morning.