#story time with snicks

[valician]

The 90′s Kid chapter forty-four!

s3.e12.Restful_Reward – Following a crazy night, Jace helps Kyle, has a subdued sleepover, and gets a death ray. So busy!

You can read it right here:

90sKidStory.com

[tropes-and-tales]

You Talk Too Much

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing.

Word Count:  1740

AN:  Requested by @winchestershiresauce

You don’t smoke, but it doesn’t stop you from escaping out the back door of The Beef near the end of shift to catch your breath and relax.  There’s only a few lingering customers out front, and  you are exhausted and frazzled.

It’s quiet out back.  You love your job—really, you do—but it can be a lot.  A lot.  It’s loud and hectic and a million things happen at once.  Sometimes the chaos of the day is just limited to the customers flowing through for classic Chicago fare.  Sometimes the chaos is more, well, chaotic:  a burst pipe, a failed health inspection, an impromptu Ball-Breaker tournament to help breakeven for the week.

You love your job.  You love The Beef, and you love your coworkers, but sometimes you need quiet.

The neighborhood mellows out at night, at least in the little nook behind the restaurant.  The noise of the city—the traffic, the sirens, the wind off the river and lake—falls away to a murmur, background noise that builds and then breaks over you in gentle waves.  You sit on an overturned milk crate and pull your knees up, wrap your arms around your knees.  You lean back against the brick wall and shut your eyes.  You breathe deep, steadying breaths and feel your heartbeat calm.  Hours and hours of chaos, and now you can throttle down a bit.

It lasts all of a minute.

You hear the door squeal open on its hinges, then hear it slam shut a moment later.  You don’t bother to open your eyes; you can guess who it is.

A beat later, someone settles onto another milk crate beside you with a grunt.  You hear the ritual sounds of a veteran smoker:  the shaking of a soft pack, the quiet snick of the lighter, the first harsh inhale, the pleased sigh as the nicotine hits the bloodstream.

Richie.  The Beef’s resident asshole.  The utter bane of your existence when you started months ago.  He had bullied you relentlessly, a hazing that extended beyond gentle workplace pranking.  Richie, you came to find out, hates change, and you came into his life in the midst of immense change.

The loss of his best friend who was more like a brother.

The loss of his family when his wife divorced him.

The loss of his restaurant, his beloved dysfunctional sandwich shop as Carmy slowly started to change the system.

But as the months passed, Richie softened towards you.  You proved too stubborn to give in to his bullying, and at some point, you became part of the landscape of The Beef.  You became part of the family, and Richie eased off the bullying. 

His teasing turned sweeter, almost:  he calls you sweetheart now, sometimes babe, and when he needs to get past you in the tight quarters of the restaurant, he lays a light hand on your shoulder or your back as he squeezes past you.

Then came the stories.  When it’s quiet, when the doors aren’t open yet and you’re just prepping for the day, Richie regales you with stories.  So many stories.  Stories about his time at West Lawrence Avenue.  Stories about tearing up the town with Mikey.  Stories about the Goddess of Agriculture and Bill Murray.  Richie always leans in close and tells you these stories, often repeating tales you’ve already heard, but just as you never confronted him about the bullying, you never confront him about his repetitious storytelling.

Richie, you guess, is a complicated man.  A man with a lot of feelings who perhaps doesn’t know how to express them.  From the caustic bully sneering at you about disrupting the “delicate ecosystem” of The Beef… to the smiling charmer as he regales you with his Bill Murray story.

You open your eyes enough to squint and confirm that it’s Richie sitting beside you, as if the scent of his cologne isn’t confirmation enough.  But it’s him.  Visual confirmation obtained.  You take in his lanky form neatly folded to fit on the milk crate, one leg kicked out straight and the other folded up near his chest.  His profile illuminated by the flickering light near the dumpsters. 

The man isn’t entirely unappealing.  Once you get past the crusty layers of asshole behavior, the sarcasm and inferiority complex and refusal to feel his feelings, he’s actually a good man.  Loyal to a fault.  Loving father.  The sort of man to assemble his own family of friends and misfits, who then defends that family to the death.

But too chatty sometimes.  Like now.

Because after the first deep drag of his cigarette, he starts talking.  “I ever tell you about the time me and Mikey were at Ceres?”

You bite the inside of your mouth to stop from smiling.  “Yeah, you did.”

“Place was packed with Blackhawk fans—”

“Because Denis Savard just got inducted into the hockey hall of fame,” you fill in for him.

“Chelios was there,” he continues, like he hasn’t even heard you.  “I mean, the place was fucking packed—”

On he goes.  On and on and on.  The quiet lull of the city noise falls away and all you can focus on is Richie’s voice, the cigarette husky quality of it, and you like his voice, you love his stories because he loves telling them, but you just want quiet right now.

“Richie—”

“And I feel this tap on my shoulder—”

“Rich—”

“And it’s Bill fucking Murray!  And he’s like—”

“Richie, c’mon—”

“He’s like, ‘what are you doing?’  And I tell him, I say—”

You don’t know why you snap.  The man literally made your life a living hell when you started at the restaurant, but you never once snapped.  Never fought back, only shrugged and let the insults roll of your back.  You don’t know why you snap now, and you don’t know quite why you snap the way you do.

Because you don’t yell at him or smack him.  Richie goes on and on with his story, his face lit up at the happy memory he shared with Mikey, and he’s gesturing with his hands, his half-burnt cigarette forgotten as he talks and glances at you to see if you’re listening, if you’re impressed with his story, and maybe that’s what makes you snap.  Maybe you have a sudden revelation, like a lightning bolt out of the sky.

Maybe Richie keeps telling you these stories because he wants to impress you.  Maybe his close-talking, his mild pet names for you, his light touches as he walks past you…maybe you understand it all in a split second.  Maybe it took a mild Chicago night, a quiet moment out back broken by this man who glances at you shyly to see how his story is landing.

So you snap.  You reach out one hand and gather a fistful of his navy blue t-shirt, and you haul him halfway to you.  You meet him the rest of the way, and the man is still talking when you kiss him.  It happens that fast.

Which makes the kiss awkward for a split second.  You’ve caught him unawares, mid-sentence, and your mouth stills his words.  He freezes for the split second it takes him to catch up to what’s happening, but then he kisses you back.  He tastes like cigarettes, and beneath that you can taste vanilla, and you smile because you can guess that he’d been sneaking into Marcus’s area and helping himself to the cakes Marcus had been working on all day.

But it’s quiet again.  You’ve stoppered Richie’s words, and the earlier calm would fall over you if your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest at what you’ve done.

It’s Richie who breaks the kiss.  After a long beat of silence, a long moment of your mouth on his, the shyest bit of deepening the kiss—opening your mouth against his, breathing him in, but not any further than that.  He breaks the kiss but doesn’t move very far from you, and when you look at him, you can see his bright blue eyes staring at you.

“What, uh…”  He clears his throat in that embarrassed way he has.  “What was that for?”

“You talk too much,” you tell him.

“Thought you liked my stories.”

“I do.  Ninety percent of the time, I love your stories.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“I just wanted a bit of quiet.  It was a long day.”

You release your grip on his shirt, and you see where you’ve stretched the fabric.  You try to smooth it out, run your hand over his upper chest where you grabbed him, and the gesture makes him huff out a heavy breath.  The realization of what you’ve done washes over you, and suddenly you feel horrified.  It would have been less embarrassing to have snapped at him all those months ago, slapped him or yelled in his face.  Instead, you kissed him, and now he’s staring at you with those blue eyes…

“Sorry,” you mutter.  “I shouldn’t have—”

He’s gentler when he stills your words with his mouth.  He doesn’t haul you to him by your shirt; instead, he wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck and steadies you as he leans in.  As he kisses you.  His lips are soft against yours—it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever received in your life, and from someone like Richie Jerimovich who stumbles through his own life like a bull in a china shop.  Who knew he could be so careful? 

You break the second kiss, and you try to find some words—to finish your apology to him, to say something cool or funny to break the spell of the moment—but Richie hushes you.  He doesn’t let you get any more words out, and he pulls you closer to him.  He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, and then you feel him press a kiss against the top of your head as he tucks you against him.

“Don’t say anything,” he tells you in his low voice.  “Let’s just have a bit of quiet, then.”

The two of you sit in silence, letting the sounds of the city fill in the quiet between you.  Except for your own heart, hammering in your ears.  And except for Richie’s heart, beating right under your ear in the same, excited cadence.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Lens Flare

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Over the past three months, your career has grown by leaps and bounds. Yet at the same time, you can't help feeling dissatisfied. A lot of your feelings stem from what you did the last time you saw him. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant Jake Seresin. It had been fun, in the hangar, under the dead of night - passionate and hot. So too had been the video you filmed and the pictures you'd snapped. But hindsight, well, maybe there is a reason why they say "Hindsight is Twenty-Twenty". Because Jake hasn't called, despite how badly you want him to. A new assignment in North Island might have the potential to change everything for Jake and our Shutterbug, including how they approach everything they hold dear.

Warnings: Once again, this is just some porn with plot. The feral plot bunnies ran away with me, I fear.

Word Count: 8502

A/N: Hiya everyone! I'm baaack! Enjoy this sequel to my fic Photo Finish. It's just as smutty and gorgeous as the last one!

This fic is brought to you all by the constant support of @horseshoegirl, @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern. You're all my heroes and I love you to bits for keeping me from ditching this story before it even started! I couldn't have written it without you!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

An old photography teacher of yours once told you never to submit photos with lens flares to any publication, magazine or contest. He considered lens flares the biggest mistake for a rookie photographer. He’d declared, quite adamantly in front of your entire class, using your pictures as examples, how lens flares made photos look cheap and low quality. Given his dislike of the trick of light, he’s also taught you a plethora of tricks to prevent them. Over the many, many years since you left his class, you’ve started to relax and deviate from the rigid rules of photography he once taught you. For a large portion of your career, you've been photographing subjects which cannot be posed in a studio, which helps. Every snick and whir of your camera feels like you are letting go of rules and embracing your art.

You’ve always heard wildlife photography has a tendency to relax photographers' attitudes. It’s a truth you’re very thankful you had the chance to experience. After all, there are no rules when it’s just you, your camera and what feels like the entire world a hair's-breadth away from your camera lens. It’s hard to be frustrated with the sun glancing across your camera lens when it highlights fox kits gamboling in dewy spring grass. Or elk on a frost-bitten winter morning with clouds of their breath dissipating into the clear air. Those pictures were once-in-a-lifetime shots, perfect in their imperfection and richer with the sparkling halos of light.

Being back in New York after years of traveling has made you appreciate the photographs you took even more. Now you feel like you can fully appreciate the wilderness in them. New York is wild in an entirely different way. It’s louder, greyer, more populous, yet just as vibrant. In New York, you’ve been able to capture human nature, snapping minuscule interactions between people who are always in a hurry and always moving. But you also have to work to make enough money to fund your passions. Not having to travel helped bring some stability to your passions. But of all of the things you thought you'd be photographing, fashion models and clothes were never an option. In a way, photographing fashion and fashion models is capturing another kind of wild animal in your lens sights. Models and designers are wholly proprietary and protective over what they consider theirs, whether their clothing or their aesthetic appearance. You’ve had to shoot and reshoot, as well as touch up your photos more than you've ever had to before. Of course, in this case, your primary objective is to make the models and the clothes they are wearing look otherworldly and incredible. 

At first, the thrill of doing something new was alluring and exciting. But after a year, trapped in New York City, doing the same thing and working with the same people day in and day out, you can’t help but miss wildlife photography. It's like a persistent ache below your breast bone, something calling you back to the life you lived before. You're missing traveling in arid deserts and verdant forests even more now. And then the US Navy came calling. Now, while you miss the wilderness, you think you might just miss something else, more.

It’s late, half-past three in the early hours of the morning, and you’re sitting out on the balcony attached to your overpriced shoebox of an apartment. You’ve found yourself sitting out here more and more as the summer heat turns into the cool of fall. Your balcony is so small there’s only room for a single chair, and your feet are propped up on the wrought iron railing. New York’s the city which never sleeps and the crackle and groan of the city resonates around you. Your oldest camera, a Canon you bought in college with the pennies and dollars you’d saved from tips earned from waitressing, sits on your lap. All night, you’ve been trying and failing to chase away how unsettled you’ve been feeling by peering through the viewfinder and trying to see things from a different perspective. 

But it hasn’t worked. You've been feeling discomfited of late, unsettled and restless. Maybe your listlessness has something to do with your next assignment. You can’t lie, not even to yourself no matter how hard you try. It has everything to do with your next assignment. You should be excited. You should be asleep, because at least if you were asleep, the time would pass sooner. For once, you will not be photographing a new designer collection. In the morning, you're flying to San Diego to take pictures at North Island Naval Base for a follow-up piece sanctioned by the US Navy. Your team is joining you, which should be a comfort, albeit slight and slim. There will be more planes to photograph and possibly shots you can take from within the cockpit or from up in the air.

It took three months to publish the article on the US Navy’s newest hotshot aviation squadron. There had been countless revisions and rounds of approval with the US Navy's Office of Public Relations to greenlight the endeavor. It's been exactly the same amount of time since you met the Dagger Squadron, too - only three months after you edited the photographs, focusing maybe a little too much on one face in particular. Three months after you took the biggest risk of your life, professionally and personally. Three months after you made a sex tape with a client. It doesn’t help that he was a memorable client, too - and how you haven’t been able to forget him.

It's only been two weeks since the magazine hit newsstands with your picture of the Daggers in all their finery near one of the jets on the front cover. Everywhere you go, it seems you see their faces - his face. Your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since. Everyone wants you to take professional portraits of their clients. But your phone has never had the voice you so desperately want to hear on the other end of the line. It's a nationally distributed magazine, after all, and like everything nowadays, published both physically and digitally. The magazine had also mailed special copies to each member of the squadron which was your subject. So he has to have seen it. So why hasn't he called? It's the one question on your mind. It may be the only question on your mind, but it's far from the only thought in your mind. 

Chances are, he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. After all, why would he want to?

You couldn't silence the thoughts if you tried - and you have tried, repeatedly. Getting drunk made you maudlin, going out had you seeing his face in every stranger’s and getting laid had made you wish you were with him rather than anyone else. Over and over again you’ve found yourself thinking about those last few moments with him, agonizing over every detail, from the kisses and touches to the last time you saw him. Maybe you hadn’t been entirely clear in your note to him. You can recall the note as if you wrote it yesterday, the note you'd affixed to the flash drive you handed him.

Sure, you told him to call you when he was in New York next. But really, you wanted him to call you, period. Or text you. Something, anything to show you’re lingering in his memory in the same way he lingers in yours. You thought your dalliance had been memorable enough. You hoped you were memorable enough. After all, it's not every day you let a man fuck you up against his jet and record it, forget a man you’ve known only for a few days. Maybe it’s a little silly how attached you’ve gotten to him, given the short time frame, after what should have been completely meaningless sex. 

But it’s not meaningless anymore, at least not to you, after how many times you've seen the video since you last saw him. Your camera hadn’t hidden a single thing when you made your little home movie all those nights ago. You’ve seen how his hands had been gentle, his eyes soft. Your entire countenance had been beckoning, beguiling in the throes of passion, needy in a way you’ve never let yourself be before with anyone else. He’s also spoiled you for any other man on the planet - or at least in New York. You haven’t hit the same heights since him, and a part of you is sure you never will again. And now you have to enter the lion’s den, venture right into enemy territory with your head held high and only a camera to shield your too-hungry gaze.

A thump on the railing drags you out of your reverie. Your neighbor’s escape-artist black cat makes himself at home on the railing, paws flexing as his tail lashes through the humid night air. Like you’re in a dream, you lift up the camera and peer through the viewfinder. Tonight, everything seems to be coming back to lens flares. The neon lights fracture in your camera lens, softening the visage of the cat on the railing, green eyes luminescent. With reflexes born of years of wildlife photography, partially stunted after nearly a year of fashion photography, you depress the shutter with a soft snick and a near-silent whir. What you’re left with is a long exposed image - neon lights blurring in the background as one shines behind the cat’s head. Even his fur is blurred, only green eyes in focus, piercing into your soul. It’s perfect, as expected, and you hope it’s an omen for the days to come while you’re in San Diego.

Green eyes, different from those of your neighbor’s cat, haunt you, even more, the following day as you pile out of one of the minivans the studio rented for you and your team, as well as all of your equipment, on the tarmac at North Island. The humid, sticky air stinks of jet fuel and salt water. The wind brushes past you, snatching at your hair and ripping your sun hat right off your head. It's hot as it brushes by, providing no relief to the insistent heat.

Your team just laughs as you chase, bedraggled and exhausted, after your hat. The wind pushes you towards the hangars at the end of the tarmac, colossal doors thrown open while rows of jets stand gleaming. For the first time, you think you understand why Jake is so in love with being up in the air in his jet, how close to the elements he must be with adrenaline coursing through his system. You raise the camera resting against your chest, leaving your hat to fly where it wants, because you have to capture this.

When your camera focuses, you start snapping with abandon, capturing the sun-drenched metal and heat waves rising off of the pavement.  You’re not sure what pictures the editors will select to go with the article the journalist is going to write. Regardless, you’re stealing the time to take some filler shots now, when it’s bright out still, and blindingly golden outside. Your team is far behind you, still clustered by the cars, as you trail between the shining metal hawks, cockpits closed and emblazoned with names and callsigns. Your heart stutters in your chest when you see his jet, the text dark and fresh, announcing he’s been promoted. So, he's still operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. 

Faintly, you can hear voices emanating from one of the open hangars, so you creep closer, your old Canon camera clutched to your chest like it can protect you. Twenty-four of the US Navy's best aviators are saturated in gold, settled in creaking plastic chairs. Jake’s at the podium, laser pointer in hand, completely relaxed as he talks about things you couldn’t understand if you tried. The light glints across his face, catching angelically on the burnished strands of his hair. A singular fluffy lock has broken free of his hair gel’s hold, trailing softly across his forehead. It makes your fingers ache to push it back into place. But you can’t, because you won’t interrupt or embarrass him. So you take pictures instead, breathlessly, silently, framing the aviators limned in gold like they’re deities waiting to go to war.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he sees you - bright green eyes colliding with yours, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing his brow before the skin smooths. He doesn’t look happy to see you. In a way, it makes sense. You were just a one-night stand, something sexy to indulge in - not someone he'd want to keep forever. The look lances through you, skewering you in place as the wind and sun stick your blouse to your back. He doesn’t acknowledge you but for one curiously blank look, and you’re mortified as you walk silently back to your crew, who are now grouped around the jets in awe.

As expected, Adam and Lea, your stylists extraordinaire, are already scribbling away. Lea's flicking through the tablet in her hands. If you were a betting woman, you'd bet good money they are already planning outfits to take advantage of the blue, gold and white theme of North Island.

“Hey, Boss!” Amy, your assistant, is nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. You're not sure how she's so energetic despite the heat and the hours of travel. “Our liaison should be joining us soon. They'll give us a tour of the base and then show us where we'll be setting up shop this week.”

She doesn’t notice how frozen your smile feels and how mechanic your nods are. All you can think about is Jake. He must have known, right? What are the chances he didn’t know you were coming to North Island to take more pictures? There must have been some briefing or notice informing the aviators why you're here. After all, you’re here to photograph the Dagger Squadron. Then why was his face so blank when he saw you earlier? Thinking about him is driving you crazy, but you're not sure you can stop. All you want is to know whether he could ever feel as strongly for you as you do for him.

When your liaison walks up ten minutes later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see you have not one liaison, but two. Neither of your Navy appointed liaisons is Jake, something which you should have expected, but you were still hoping for regardless. Lieutenant Commanders Trace and Floyd are smiling from ear-to-ear as they greet your team by name. Lea and Katie seem especially enthused at seeing the soft-spoken bespectacled WSO again. Lieutenant Commander Trace is her same unflappable, cool, collected self. Her presence and dry sense of humor has you in stitches as you and your team follow behind her like a herd of ducklings. There are familiar faces around what seems like every corner of the base. But none of the faces are the face you still want to see so desperately.

Jake Seresin shows up again as you’re oooh-ing and ahh-ing over the big hanger, burnished yellow, orange, red and pink in the light of the sun. You’ve got your camera up to your face, lips pursed in concentration, eyes squinting as you peer myopically through the viewfinder. It's his voice you hear first. Just hearing it, with the same rough timber, makes you remember what he told you, before you fell into his arms and headfirst into this situation with Jake Seresin.

God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum.

It’s not a good sign, is it? How you’re unable to even look at his face without giving yourself away. The evidence of your feelings must be on your face, which feels uncomfortably hot. The heat is completely unrelated to San Diego's sky-high temperature and you shy away from eye-contact when you pivot and face the rest of your team, and the trio of Lieutenant Commanders. The sight of him hits you in your solar plexus, robbing your breath and leaving your palms uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi.” 

It’s a quiet greeting, your voice swallowed by the sight of him. It feels like your tongue is two times bigger than it should be in your mouth, unwieldy as you force it to move like you want it to. He doesn’t hear you, or even acknowledge you standing there waiting for him to notice you. Standing there, you finally realize how big a gulf there is between you and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

It's a sharp contrast. He's standing there in his khaki uniform crisp and new, blond hair dark at his temples from the shower he must have taken. In contrast, your shirt is covered in wrinkles, your hair is frizzy with flyaways escaping your braid and your worn jeans are butter soft but have definitely seen better days. He ignores you for the rest of the afternoon. It hurts, of course it does, when he doesn’t notice you in the same way you notice him. But you have a job to do. You can’t - you won’t - jeopardize your career for a man, not even a man as beautiful as he is.

The now-trio of Lieutenant Commanders shows you the Officer’s ready room, where you'll be setting up for the interviews. Each member of your team is also given a badge on a lanyard allowing you limited access to certain areas of base. Soon enough, you're left to survey the ready room and prepare your team for the days ahead.

“I know it's been a long day already for you all.” Your smile is a little wry as you continue, “It's been a long day for me too. All I want is to unwind and get out of these heels!”

You let the scattered chuckles from your team peter out before continuing.

“Before I can do so, we need to sync up on what we're going to be focusing on over the next few days.”

“First and foremost on our list? Getting pictures of the Daggers while they are being interviewed. The interviewer is an old friend of Admiral Kazansky's and will be spotlighting each of the Daggers. As a part of the interview, we will be expected to get photos of each member of the squadron in their flight suits, their khaki uniforms and their dress uniforms.”

You raise your hands up to stall any questions. “I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of photo shoot we're used to. Katie, you’ll be on hand to help with their make-up during the interview. We're keeping it light and subtle. For the interview photos, we want the aviator's uniforms and medals to shine.” 

“Seb and Kris - the two of you will be measuring the light levels in this room during various times of day and setting up artificial studio lights as necessary. I'll also need you both to check on the lighting situation in the big hangar we were in with the desks and the United States flag on the wall.”

“Adam and Lea, it may not sound like it yet, but I will need you both on your A-games. By special request of Admiral Mitchell, we've been asked to stage a beach bonfire. He wants this interview to echo the beginnings of this squadron. They became a team on the beach and now they are a family. I'm thinking we need cozy textiles and bright winter-toned colors. I'll leave the color palette to you both. All I ask is we have a cohesive palette for the squadron as a whole. As always, measurements for the aviators are included in this dossier. One of the minivans is yours. Our office in San Diego knows to expect you both.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Adam and Lea make a beeline for the doors as soon as you’re done with them. You’ve worked with them both long enough to know how they operate. They’ll be downtown and looking through the clothing on display before you can blink.

“Ames, while I run point with the admirals,  you'll be sourcing the beachfront we can use for the bonfire. I'm not sure who you'll need permission from, but there might be a bar owner who can give us permission.”

Before long, it feels like you're the only island of calm in the entirety of base. Seb and Kris wander in and out of the room, measuring the light and carting in and out lighting equipment. Even the teleconference you have with the Admirals, both of whom are in Hawaii, due to fly back in a couple of days, goes smoothly.

Over the next few days, you find yourself building on the rapport you created with 6 of the aviators in the Dagger squad in the following days. You also meet the other half of the Dagger Squad. But at the same time you are building a relationship with the other Daggers, it feels like you're losing the relationship you once had with Jake.

The only time you see him during the four days of interviews and pictures is when he is being interviewed. Even then, he spends more time chatting with Amy and Katie than you. Even when you address him directly, he's silent, content to play puppet to your puppet master and then disappearing to an area off base you don't have access to. It hurts, and you’re starting to get weird looks from the other Daggers. They’re all too polite, or too cognizant of their positions in the Navy to ask you any prying questions. At least, until the bonfire.

It hadn’t been difficult to organize at all, in the end. All Amy needed to do was speak to the proprietress of The Hard Deck, a little bar a few miles off base. Penny had been more than happy to hand over the usage of the beach outside her bar for the night. The combination of good food, even better alcohol, and of course, no interviews relaxed the Daggers enough for you to get the candid shots the magazine was looking for. Halos of light spark across your screen with each snap you take - lens flares sparking to life, again and again.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Jake?”

The question makes you jump and nearly chuck your lens cap into the bonfire. You fumble awkwardly as you try to collect your composure.

“Lieutenant Commander Trace. What can I do for you?”

Your voice is a little shaky as you wheel around and face her.

“You don’t have to do anything for me!” She’s smiling at your discomfort, something wicked curling her lips. “And anyways, didn’t I tell you to call me Natasha three months ago?”

 You’re smiling despite yourself at her antics.

“It’s good to see you again, Natasha.”

“Forget about me. Why aren’t you talking to Jake?” 

You should have known she wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Three months ago, you could barely keep your eyes off of him and the same was true of him. He went out of his way to chat you up every chance he got. And now? Something happened between the two of you after we all left the hangar, and now neither of you is talking. You were fine when you showed us the pictures the next day. But now?”

You shrug, lifting your camera up to snap another couple of pictures of the squadron having fun.

“Oh my god. I can’t with the two of you. Either you walk over there and talk to him, or I’m going to get him to talk to you!”

You grab her arm before she can march away.

“I can’t, Natasha.”

You try grabbing for her, but before you can, she’s already gone. His eyes cut over to yours the more she speaks, and you’re not sure you like the way he’s glancing over at you. Your heart is in your throat as he skirts around the bonfire and sidles up to you.

“What are you doing here? Natasha has this crazy idea you’re heads over heels for me, but the way you’ve been acting says differently. So what are you doing here?”

His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the crackling bonfire. His face doesn’t change its expression once the entire time he’s speaking to you, barring one tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk. Once again, you have to thank Adam and Lea for their work because the Lieutenant Commander looks good enough to eat in his sweater and butter-soft jeans. But you know he's not happy to see you. The disappearing act he's been pulling ever since he saw you outside the hangar four days ago is proof.

“You know what I’m doing here, Jake.” 

“You're taking photos for another article. I know, I know.”

His smirk deepens, eyes twinkling maddeningly as he prowls closer to you.

“But between you and me, it’s just the official excuse, isn't it?” He tugs at a strand of your hair, reeling you closer to him. “But unofficially, I bet you want more of me. Maybe you want to make yourself another home movie? See my handprint on your ass cheeks again?”

His words have heat rising to your face, never mind how your skin already feels too toasty from how you've been huddling near the bonfire all night to keep yourself warm. Form-fitting dresses are not beachwear, especially not in late November. But you’re dressing to impress, wearing sharp blazers and business frocks. Add to the dress the camera and purse you’ve got over your shoulder, and you’re definitely not equipped for the beach.

“How do you know what I want?”

Your voice is thready and light, and your head spins the closer he gets to you. It's weird. You've been aching to have him this close to you all week, but now, when he is actually close to you again, you feel like it's too much, like he's too much. Every night in your hotel room, you've been coaching yourself to ignore him. You’ve had to in order to compartmentalize and be professional while on base. Yet, after only a few minutes in his presence, all your defenses are shredded like tissue paper.

“Because you're looking at me like this.”

Wafts of fragrant wood smoke drift by you and him as you stand mere inches away from each other. You can’t refute his statement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. You've never been able to mask your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve and your feelings in the pursed set of your mouth and the raise of your eyebrows. But you’re still not sure what you can say. If he’d propositioned you with the same vulnerable look in his eyes the first day you were in North Island, when he first saw you again, you would have folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then, you probably would have been more than content to pass on your expensive hotel room and make his lonely base apartment a little warmer. But he didn’t, and you’re not sure you can take the risk anymore.

Jake’s shoulders hunch, sinking into the impossibly soft cashmere of the sweater at your lack of response.

“I…” His smirk flattens, something like his Hangman mask taking its place. His shoulders never drop past his ears the longer you stand there with him at arm’s reach and pretend like you’re having a blast at this beach photoshoot turned bonfire party.

“I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

His sigh is gusty and almost too loud. “I was waiting for you to say something, because I’ve been dying to see you again. But then you ran away when you were taking pictures of the Top Gun class. Afterward, I - I didn’t know how to say I missed you, which is weird, I know. We only knew each other for a singular night.”

If your jaw isn’t on the floor already, you know it will be soon. Already, you’ve been getting too many questioning glances from your team and the Dagger Squadron. Then there is Natasha’s well-meaning meddling from a few minutes ago. Even the admirals have glanced over every once in a while at you and the normally cocky Lieutenant Commander standing in near silence. It’s not a conscious thought which has you whirling around in the silky sand and snagging a hand into his sleeve. You’re not sure why you’re doing it. All you know is if you’re having this out now, you need to have it out in private where it will not be injurious to your career or his.

Thankfully, Jake doesn't fight you as you pull him towards a corner of the parking lot. Your face feels flushed, and your chest heaves with panic at the thought someone could know what you and Jake did.

“I…” 

You cover his mouth with your hand, pretending the feeling of his skin on your hands doesn't burn, like you’re not completely aware of the masculine heat emanating from his skin. For several long moments, you stand in the shadows between two pick-up trucks in the parking lot. Each of your muscles is tense, waiting for someone to realize you've disappeared with Jake Seresin, of all people. You don’t want to think about the possibilities they were assuming. The prickling, uneasy sensation doesn't pass with the moments but does fade a little.

“What was that about, huh?”

You just glare in response.

“I thought it was better to have this conversation where we were less likely to be overheard, is all.” 

Your voice is prim, and your nose is tipped upward. It's obvious Jake doesn't feel the same way you do about this conversation, if he’s asking you questions like this.

“C'mon, sugar. If you wanted to let me down, you could have just said it by the bonfire. I promise I won't harass you.” His brow is furrowed as he thinks through all the implications of your statement. “Then or now.”

“I…” You fling your hands upwards, feeling this sudden urge to rage at the stars above you. How have things gotten so twisted? In your head and between you and Jake? 

“I don't want to let you down, Jake.”

You growl, then, because you know what you feel, but the words aren't coming out of your mouth the right way. He's patiently waiting for you to figure it out, lips pressed into a thin line, and green eyes scorching through you.

“I’m not rejecting you, Jake. When I came to North Island Naval Base and saw you standing in front of the lectern, I wanted you to smile when you saw me. I wanted some indication you felt the same way I did. I also wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn’t have helped then.”

You're smiling again, just a slight curve to your lips, a smile Jake is mirroring.

“Then you pretended I didn't exist. You pretended I was just someone you worked with before. Not someone who you were intimate with. Not someone whose life you changed with your stupid smile and your piercing eyes and your big, gentle hands. I…” 

To your embarrassment, you're sniffling and fighting back tears. “I didn't know why, or how to deal with it, so I just pushed back all my feelings. I pretended the same thing you did, and tried to ignore how much it hurt.”

“Fuck.” The quiet expletive echoes around you. “I messed this up, didn't I?”

He's pacing now, back and forth in front of you, shoes sliding through the gravel as he marches. He's ruffling his hair, face scrunched up in anguish at your words.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I've watched our video so many times, I know my favorite parts. Fuck, sweetheart, I even took the picture of your ass with my handprints on it with me when we were deployed a month ago. I was nearly given so many demerits because of how hot that picture is.”

Your heart seems like it’s going to burst out of your chest, beating as hard as it is. 

“So why didn’t you call?” The same plaintive, sad tone is in your voice again.

“What could I have said?” He’s finally stopped pacing back and forth at least. He flings his hands out from his hips “Sweetheart, I want you, I need you. I wish I could fly to New York right now to taste you again?”

You have to snicker at the sarcastic, sardonic note in his voice. 

“It’s a little melodramatic, but I would have taken it.” 

Just as quickly as you snicker, the laugh peters away into a gentle sigh. “All you had to do was tell me you missed me, Jake. All I wanted was for you to tell me you wanted to see me again.”

“Would it have mattered if I did?” 

He’s stepped closer again, close enough you can feel the heat of his skin against yours. One of his big hands cradles your jaw as he looms over you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” There’s a smirk on his face as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Why would my answer matter then?” You’re not sure where the sass is coming from, but it’s making Jake smirk even more. “Knowing the decision you made?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response with a brain wholly occupied by the man drawing you into his arms. You melt into the kiss like it's something visceral you've been missing. His hair still feels the same against the pads of your fingers, golden silk, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He still tastes like you remember, too, cinnamon and smoky spice intermingling on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. Your heart sings when he gently positions your camera so it isn’t crushed between the two of you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing after his mouth like you're addicted to it. He still kisses like he flies, you note dimly, thoughts far away. The car at your back is cool, the metal searing into your skin as the sun has long since set. But the cold temperature of the car has nothing on the man crowding you up against it. His eyes are lidded, gaze hot as he takes in the sight of you. The dual temperatures are enough to make you shudder.

“Look at you, darling.” His hands are just as hot as his gaze as he trails his hands down your sides. “A single kiss, and you’re aching for me.”

You can’t deny the effects this man has on you. In truth, the time for denial would have been some time before you made the movie at the hangar. You’re so far down this path there isn’t a way to turn back. 

“You want me just as much.” 

Your voice is quieter than the rush of the waves, yet loud enough you can see the impact as they hit his ears. He’s still just as fit as he was three months ago, all hard, hot muscle as he presses up against you, cedar and plum wafting through the air off his skin. You can feel the jut of him against your hip as he muscles you even further against the car, spreading you out like a meal he wants to eat. He transfixes you with a glare when he pulls away, even as he smirks at your breathy moan. You watch, eyes lidded, as he opens the truck door and sets your things on the broad seat. You’re panting with need when he comes back to you, body shivering as he leans into you again. His hands find their home against the curve of your waist, fingers still nimble as they focus on tracing your curves in a way which might be driving you just a little mad. You almost wish you were wearing a blouse and skirt again like last time, because at least then you could feel his hands spread across your ribcage, searing their heat into your bones.

You’re lost in him, utterly captivated by the way his tongue tangles with yours, the way he makes you moan. Unlike the rough, claiming kisses of your first sexual encounter with Jake Seresin, these kisses are tender and sweet. They’re searching and tasting, like he’s trying to learn what makes you tick and what makes you moan. In truth, it feels like he’s trying to take you apart only to put you together again. This time, you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same, forever changed by the man in your arms. 

“Fuck…” The word is an exhale pressed to your pulse-point, sticky, sweet, and blindingly hot. “Baby, let me take you somewhere other than this dusty, dirty parking lot. I think I really need to see you spread out on my bed this time.”

“Yes, please.” The words leave you in a strung out moan as you tug him closer, fisting your hands in his hair and sweater as you see fit. You’re past caring so long as he’s pressed so perfectly against you.

When he finally steps back from you, you’re gratified to see he looks just as rumpled and debauched as you feel. For a few moments, you stand there, drinking him in, hands aching to draw him close again, to touch him again. He takes your hand, entwining his fingers and yours. His hand dwarfs yours, skin slightly rough as his hand cradles yours. You let him lead you to the truck and help you in, because a part of you isn’t sure you’re going to be able to let him go even when you have to.

It’s silent, but for the sounds of the road as he starts his pickup, one hand never leaving its spot on your thigh. Your hands find the camera again, snapping with abandon the vista blurring past the windows and the man driving you. The streetlights halo through the lens view, speckling the pictures with circles of golden-butter light. It seems like time slips past in a slow trickle. You’re still looking through the camera when the engine cuts off, the sounds of the night trickling slowly back into your ears.

Jake’s eyes sear through you when you carefully gather your camera and bag up, legs shaky from that look alone as you step onto the pavement. His hand finds yours again, as you follow his broad back up a flight of stairs and through an unassuming white paneled front door. You’re surrounded by the cedar and plum of his cologne as you step in, the scent lightly drifting through the air. Jake crowds you against the door as soon as it closes, hands divesting you of your things even as his mouth slants over yours again. The heat sparking between you ignites again, a flame bursting to life in your chest, fed by the soft moans leaving his lips as you kiss him with wild abandon.

For much of the way to his bed, your eyes are closed. You trust Jake to lead you the right way, not to hurt you as you stumble and shudder your way through the apartment in his arms. His lips don’t leave yours once, moans ripping out of your mouth as he leaves you breathless. He’s far from quiet too, softly grunting when you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, gasping open mouthed into yours as you rub at his bulge. Arousal bubbles in your veins, crashing over and through you. You squeal when he pushes you onto his bed, the mattress so firm it's almost hard as you bounce against it. Your hands shake as you fight with your clothes. Adrenalin makes you clumsy as you nudge your shoes off and fight futilely with the zipper at your back. Eventually you give up, choosing to lean back on your palms. When you look up, Jake’s staring down at you, eyes trailing from the curve of your mostly exposed legs up to your chest and back down again. He’s got his lower lips between his teeth, brow furrowed as he shrugs the sweater off.

Once again, you remind yourself to thank Lea for her work, because if you thought the shirt looked good buttoned up, it looks even better as it slips off his arms. He’s still wearing his dog tags, the silver chain glinting in the moonlight through the windows as he prowls over you.

“You’re still prettier than the pictures you take, baby.”

You feel like you are barely breathing as Jake licks into your mouth. The heat of his body grounds you, the points of contact just enough to tell you this is real.

“Breathe, beautiful.” His hands draw you up until you’re kneeling on the bed, your hands on his shoulders as you peer up into his eyes. Your resulting exhale is shaky as you drag in breaths with just enough oxygen to keep your head from spinning.

“Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, huh?”

“Jake.” His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer. His hands are practiced, sure as they drag the zipper down from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. The fabric of your dress gapes forward until it’s around your waist.

Jake's eyes seem to glow in the moonlight as he takes in the simple black bra you're wearing, hands tender and hot as they drag over your bare skin, mouth wet and sharp as he drags his teeth across your collar bones.

“Mmm, baby.” His moan has you gasping, your body listing into his as he purrs the words into your skin. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

When he lets go of you, your nipples are firm peaks in the cool air. When he removed your bra, you're not sure. All you know is you want him, desperately, urgently. Your panties feel like too much material as they cling to you, the gusset damp. Your hands are clumsy as you wrench the dress off, shaking as you peel your panties away from your skin, you flush as Jake's chuckles echo in your ears.

Divested of your clothes, you're faced with one of the prettiest sights of your life. Because, Jake’s standing there, with his belt unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. His cock bulges out through the v-shaped opening, and your mouth waters as you look him over.

“God, Jake, please.” Your voice is a whine as you reach for him, fingers resting against his taut abdomen, back arched as you wait on all fours.

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His promises drip over your bare skin like hot and gentle summer rain. Your eyes close as he cups your jaw, the rustle of fabric foretelling his bare skin joining yours on the bed. You let him position you where he wants, drugged by the sensations of his big hands. You steal the opportunity to kiss him again, palms splayed over his pecs, and the cool chain of his dog tags brushing against your fingers. Falling into him is too easy. It’s just a series of kisses, a sweet tangle of tongues as you let him cradle you in his arms. Sparks of need, of want traverse your moon-stained skin, hips canting against his thigh in need.

“How long has it been since you’ve cum, sweetheart?” 

There’s amusement in his tone as you wrap your arms around his neck, breasts pillowed against his chest as you nudge his nose with your own.

“Just a couple of days ago.”

His chuckle makes you pout. 

“And how did you cum?”

He rolls you over, ghosting a kiss over your lips as he peers down at you. “Was it some guy you brought home? Who didn’t know how to make these pretty moans spill out of your mouth? Did he make you think of me the whole time?”

When you moan, it’s because he’s pressing into you, the stretch of him making your toes curl.

“N-no.” You screw your eyes up, trying to string the words together. “It was just me. With a vibrator, watching our video.”

“Fuck, there’s my good girl. Waiting for your Lieutenant Commander to make you scream, right?”

You’re so far beyond words all you can do is tug him down, fisting your hand in his hair until you can kiss him again. He’s just as eager to pull you in, hitching your legs up until they’re propped over his arms, keeping you spread open as he pistons his hips until you see stars. 

“Please, please, please.” 

You’re babbling, your orgasm crashing over you with each sharp thrust. Your moans intertwine with Jake’s guttural grunts as his hips stutter at their steady pace. It feels like you’ve been set on fire when you cum, pulsing waves of heat washing over your body. Jake’s shivering as he slumps over you, blanketing your body with his. His hair is sweat-damp as you card your fingers through the fluffy strands.

“Missed you, Jay.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” The words are languid and soft, syrupy and sweet. 

It feels like you could fall in love with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin as he gathers you in his arms for what must be the hundredth time tonight to clean you up. Every glimpse of the man you see when he's not putting on his Hangman mask intrigues you more. There's a gentleness to him when he's like this, a secret softness shining past his imposing exterior. You want to know more. You have to know more. 

The realization of how little time you have left with Jake eviscerates you. Only two days left. Two days to love this man as much as you can. You can’t tell him how close you are to falling for him. Looking at his apartment, you have a feeling it would just scare him away. His apartment is almost austere, the off-white walls blending into the pale cream carpet on the floor. Everything is bare, with no pictures on the walls and no personality. It’s a trend throughout the entire space, everywhere but the bedroom. There's a cheery quilt at the foot of the bed. It's the only vibrant color in the apartment, the one thing which screams home.

“It's pathetic, isn't it?”  You jump at his words, gripping at the footboard of the bed in an effort to keep from falling.

“It's not pathetic, Jay. Just…” You turn, clad in the soft tee he'd pulled over you after the shower. “Just different than I expected.”

“I know what it looks like, sweetheart.” The same sad soft tone is in his voice again. “It looks like I don’t have any roots. Like I’m scared to let people in.”

He slides his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, his golden hair dripping as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Maybe that is the truth.” 

Your heart breaks a little at the soft surety in his voice, even as he does his best impression of a koala around you.

“Because like it or not, I’m going to leave one day. I’ll have to leave one day. Another deployment. Another mission. And chances are, I may not be coming home.”

You clutch at him tighter, because right now, you’re not sure you can think about him not being in San Diego the next time you’re here.

“I was okay with my reality.”

When you wrestle your way out of his grip, you’re maybe a little too rough, evidenced by the grimace on his face as you walk away. You’re not sure where you’re going but away has to be enough. You’re not sure you can face him after he’s said something like this. After all, here you are, ready to risk it all in a sultry cross-country romance, ready to give your heart to him, possibly years of your life to him. Then there he is, admitting so callously he might not be coming home one day.

You’re staring unseeingly at the stars when he slides his arms around you again.

“Are you okay, Shutterbug?” 

You lean back into him, because he feels perfect against you still.

“Shutterbug is new.” You’re trying to change the subject, because if he’s insistent about it, you’re going to explode.

“Nuh-uh.” His hands turn you around until you’re looking at him again. “Tell me what’s bothering you, pretty girl.”

“You’re so callous about how you’re ready to never come home again! Why would you say that to me, Jake? I’m ready to risk everything for you. A cross-country relationship, half here, half in New York or really, wherever it’s convenient for us to meet. If you’re not willing to do the same, then what is the point of what we just did?”

You’re choking back a sob as you stand in front of him. Your eyes are screwed closed, hands wringing the hem of the t-shirt clothing you. 

“Why does it matter that you missed me, and that I missed you?”

“It matters, because, sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

Your arms wrap around his waist easily as he tugs you closer.

“I was going to say, I was okay never coming home before you. You’ve been running around in my head, the center of every thought, the subject of my every dream for three months. You kept me going when we were deployed, too. All I wanted was to come home safe so I could fly out to New York and see you again.”

“Now, at least I know I’ll be welcome when I come by.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, you will be.”

You're still smiling as you walk into the Officer's Ready Room at North Island the next morning. You've got the same swagger you had in your step the first time you and Jake crashed together. Only this time, you have his phone number on your phone and the promise of a romantic dinner for two tonight. You'd be lying if you said you weren't still worried about the long distance relationship, spending half your life in New York and half here. But more than anything, you're ready for the challenge and excited to. At least you know who you're going home to - and, he knows who he is coming home to, as well.

Taglist:

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I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[garricks4thwingqueen]

Hi, can I please request some Xaden fluff with the prompt "I couldn't leave, you were lying basically on top of me." ? Love your fics! <3

Power x Velocity = Air and wing speed

This was such a fun request idea! Thanks for the request my lovely anon! I also love getting requests because they help me think more on the one shot side of fics instead of the stories my fics usually end up in!

Word count: 1054

  You sighed and grumbled as a shadow slide across your physics book; damn near covering the whole fucking page. Studying this late? On Winter Solstice Of all nights. Xaden snickered across your bond before he snaked around the corner and sat next to you on the couch. “Mid Terms.” You mumbled with a sigh. “I'm not even sure why the most powerful dragon bonded to me if I can't even grasp the basic fundamentals of physics.”  “I'm sure he had his reasons.” Xaden said, taking the book of your lap. “Heyyy! Give it back!!” I do have my reasons and you being an Aetos is one of them. Tairn said through your black bond that connects you to your dragon. “Oh I don't think so sweetheart.” Xaden smirked. “Riorson I swear to god if you don't.” “If I don't, what?” He said now standing and dangling the book over his head so it was now well out of your reach. You tried reaching for it, but your shorter frame with his much larger frame made it almost impossible. Xaden chuckled at your sad attempts. God you loved that sound but you knew anything more than mated dragons between you and Xaden was wrong.

   Ever since you first saw Xaden before crossing the parapet you were drawn to those damned forbidden onyx eyes. Once you told him your name; flirting and shameless angsty banter had become a feisty secret hidden challenge for the both of you. God you wanted him but with you being Colonel Aetos's daughter and Xaden well Xaden it was a forbidden match. Focus. Tairn snarled through your bond. Fine grumpy ass. You chided back “Riorson,I need to study. Tairn is getting impatient and he wanted me to inform that he doesn’t like a rider that fails.” “Is that so?” Xaden smirked, sitting back down on the couch next to you awfully close. “Well in that case, I’ll help you on the test and we can both get back to the winter solstice party.” “You can’t help me. Third year and first year remember? They wouldn’t even let you in the same lecture hall.” “Sweetheart, did you forget our brilliant minds are now connected.” You slightly rolled your eyes at Xaden’s nickname for you ever since you had bonded to Tairn. 

     God you wanted him. You wanted him more than just a sexual tension release when your dragons  had their love making. You wanted to call the Riorson boy yours. You again were snapped out of your thoughts by Tairn speaking down the shared bond between the four of you. You will not be cheating. She needs to learn the formula. He snarled and tossed his shields back up, sure enough tired of your and Xaden’s banter for the evening. “You heard him.” You sighed, snatching your book out of Xaden’s hands and leaned back onto the couch.  “Come on Aetos, I’ll toss the shield up. You read me the questions and I’ll tell you the answers. “No. I need to learn the stupid formula "air something times something whatever equals whatever.” Xaden snicked at your words as he stated “Power x Velocity = Air and wing speed.” “Yeah that and apparently even you're a physics whiz.” Xaden snickered. “Lighten up and get comfy Aetos. I'll help you. Besides, the sooner you're finished and confident, the sooner we can get some drinks.” 

     “I am confident!” you said in a snarky tone in defense. Xaden chuckled and it intensified your need to pull him down on the couch by ten fold. “Prove it.” He said with a shit eating grin. You searched your brian for any recollection of the formula as you finally spoke “Velocity X wing speed = air?” You said not confident at all as Xaden busted out with a fit of giggles. “You're supposed to be helping me, Riorson not laughing at me.” “Ok, Ok, you’re I’m sorry smartass.” He smirked and it’s  “Power x Velocity = Air and wing speed.”  You groaned heavily. “Relax Aetos. You're smart, you're good at sparring and every other subject. We will do some practice problems and we will get you to pass that mid term. Buckle up and get comfy.” He smirked and patted his shoulder. You didn’t shy away at the opportunity and took the chance and laid your head on his shoulder as Xaden started to ramble off problems for you to solve with his help. 

     You stirred, waking up as bright light shone through the library windows. You had no idea what time it was and it took you a hot minute to gather your surroundings and that you were currently on top of Xaden Riorson. He smirked as you final laid your chin on his chest and looked up into his onyx eyes. “What the hell Riorson?” You asked with a smirk his arms wrapped around instinctively or protectively you weren't sure what one. Xaden had a shit eating grin on his face once more and smirked, “I couldn’t leave, you were basically lying on top of me.”  “You could have left.” You tried protesting as he wrapped his arms around you tighter as you tried to get up. This was the first time you and Xaden had been in a proximity like this. Yes, you’ve both fucked but this, this was different, more intimate. “You know Aetos; I could get used to this.” “Used to sleeping in the library?” You asked stupidly knowing exactly what he meant as you were still in his arms. “No idiot. Waking up with you in my arms like this.” You smirked were you and Xaden actually finally going to stop walking on your feelings like they were glass on the floor? “You know Riorson, I could get very used to this. But maybe tonight not on the library couch?” Xaden chuckled and placed a soft kiss on your forehead and smirked and whispered:” Deal but you need to pass that physics exam first sweetheart.” You groaned in defeat. “You know maybe cheating won't be a bad idea. I mean if we have both our shields up to block Tairn and Sgaeyl. They can’t find out can they?” Xaden chuckled and pulled you closer to his chest. “There’s my girl.” He smirked and kissed your lips as you both melted into the taste of each other.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n part nine! Sorry, for the wait y'all, life is a bit all over the place and my shoulder is killing me. But please do enjoy!💨✨ Once again thank you so much for all the love. ✨🤍🫧

warning: kids, past trauma, blood, mention of puking, wounds, Illyrian camps.

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Azriel had no idea why this was the first thought that struck him after his knees bucked for the very first time. Time. Time and how much he hated it now. How greedy he was for a chance at getting more. Somewhere deep within, he had a feeling that you two were timeless. You had to be. You lingered around him. Azriel felt you even when you weren't around. As if his senses had been affected by your presence that much. Then came the emotions. Your emotions. He felt it through himself. But all that time, he pushed the thought of it away. Because it couldn't be. There was no way, and Azriel couldn't open up his heart one more time. Could face the weakness.

The spymaster knew it after the kiss. It struck him so fast and deep that his lungs had forgotten how to welcome the air. He had searched your features after. With the hope of catching a glimpse of the same knowledge. The realization. But there was nothing there. The bond that snapped for Azriel didn't snap into place for you. When you two walked into his mother's house hand in hand, he wondered why there was no dread in his chest. Why wasn't he scared or nervous about the fact that you had no idea? But the spymaster found the answer fairly quickly. You were his, in your own way. Not how most mates were, but you two were heading there slowly. Other things were clouding your mind. The new place. The fact that the kids had to face a whole different world now. So much worry, so much stress. No wonder something so delicate would slip your senses.

So Azriel had opted to hold you for the night. Make you smile while he spun Zofie around. "Higher", she screeched, her cheeks pink from the laughter. Axel stepped up to pull at your hands as well. Spinning long into the night. And then the two little ones had fallen asleep while Cordelia was telling everyone a story about how Azriel had nearly burned the house down while trying to bake cookies for the very first time. Azrie had carried them both upstairs to his bedroom. Carefully cradling them against his chest. Tucked them in before he turned to go downstairs, only to find you leaning against the doorframe. The glow in your eyes was enough to make Azriel light up with happiness himself.

"They had fun", you muttered, right as a yawn slid past your lips. "They are out cold", Azriel had laughed, his eyes darting to the sprawled-out children. "Did you have fun?", however the spymaster's attention was almost immediately back on you. You stepped closer, lowering yourself to his lap. It had felt so natural and right. Azriel's hand slipped to cradle your lower back. You only hummed in response, brushing your fingers over his lips softly before leaning in to kiss him once more. Oh, how Azriel felt as if he was on fire from the amount of emotion bubbling within him.

Odd as it was, he even went as far as thinking that this could be his forever. That he wouldn't have to face his cold and empty apartment ever again. Every time he would come home, there would be laughter. Little feet running around. He would never have to know how cold and suffocating a night could be. Wouldn't have to drown in darkness. "Can I hold you?", he had asked, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. Daring to go as far as to kiss your collarbones ever so slightly. He felt the laughter rippling through you even before he heard it, "You are holding me, silly". Azriel snicked himself before he lifted his gaze. "Through the night", he specified. Something completely different chimed in your eyes. There was that heartbeat that you took to make up your mind. Even if Azriel was sure that he knew the answer, "Yeah, yeah, you can", you muttered quietly, and so he did. Holding you as close as he could without making it weird between the two of you. All he could feel was you. The way you felt pressed against his chest. He just held you. Running his fingers slowly through your hair. He held you until his mind finally stopped rushing.

The sounds that left Azriel as he tore through the group of males were out of this world. His mind swirling with the memories you two shared. Gone was his rational thinking. The need to keep at least one of them alive for later use. Those thoughts were so long gone. So overthrown by the intensity of losing you, all Azriel could think and do was eliminate anything and everything that might cause you any more harm. His shadows worked almost on their own as they crawled all around the males, seeping deeper within them and making them choke on the darkness. Their veins turning black. Azriel moved in ways he had never moved before. Crossing the distance between you two in heartbeats.

The crimson that painted your hands and chest made Azriel's stomach twirl. Then his arms were on you. Holding you up. He was torn between clasping his hand over your throat and your hands. The fuckers only nicked the delicate skin on your neck, thankfully. Azriel had eaten through their souls before they could do any mire harm. He watched your frightened eyes before his sanity clicked back into place.

"Slow your heartbeat", Azriel's broad frame covered the bodies left behind him. "Azriel", you mumbled his name so quietly. As if it was the only thing left on your mind. He wasn't sure if you were horrified by him or if your pale skin was mainly caused by the blood loss alone. "Y/N, slow it down", each word seeped through the spymaster's gritted teeth. You trembled in his grip. Your vision slowly growing blurry. The coldness of the wind made you sway. You tried to plunge back into your inner self. Tried. Only to be met with a steel wall. The venom. Whatever was twirling in your bloodstream now was blocking your powers. "I can't", you whined. The only thing you could focus on now was the steady stream of blood dripping from your wrist. Azriel cupped your face between his hands. He felt that initial flinch coming from you, making him grumble deeply. "Focus on me", Azriel muttered, reaching to pour the strength and adrenaline he felt through the barely simmering bond. Your eyes flickered immediately. You swallowed the first two gulps of air greedily. Azriel felt it rather than saw it. The way the thudding of your heart grew deeper. You watched him through it all. "Good job, sweetheart. Now hold on, okay, hold on for me", you let out a sigh at the spymaster's words. Blinking once. Twice. Before your own body got too heavy. Azriel was quick to catch you. Wrapping you up in his embrace, he winnowed you to the only place and person he could think of at the given moment.

Scorching pain pulled you out of your slumber. Ripping you out of the dull thudding of your heart. You jerked up, trying to sit up, right as the most painful sob echoed. For a moment, you weren't even sure if it was you who was screaming. Just the pressure of hands on your shoulders quickly pulled you down. The hands felt like fire. Whatever was touching you was hotter than the flames of death. You tried to move from beneath it. Get away from the suffocating pain.

"Keep her still for me, boy", a female's voice rang around you. From where you couldn't tell, there was too much fuzziness all around you. You felt something sharp twisting in your palm, making you roar in response. As you tried to pull your body away, shrink into yourself. "Bloody hell, where is she getting her strength from", a male's voice filled the room. Male. Males. Panic ripped through you. Had they gotten to you? But Azriel was there? Or was he? Was it just your imagination? You tried to withdraw from the grip unknown hands seemed to have on you.

You wanted to tell them to let you go. You didn't know anything. What you did that night was pure self-defense. You had to. But all you could do was shriek. Drown in pain. Until a blanket of coldness was drawn over you, "You're safe", the voice called right in your ear now. You trembled. "Madja needs to pull the iron out of your palms, love", a cold hand ran over your forehead. Love. Azriel. You tried to blink. Rip your eyelids apart but to no avail. Then there stood a moment of silence before Azriel spoke again, "Open that side of the bond that you called to me from", back was the soldierly tone. A man who knew rules and regulations "Direct all the pain you feel to it; I'll take what I can from you", you wanted to protest. You had to. You didn't want him to feel your pain, but the moment the scorching misery shot through you, subconsciously you grasped the bond with both hands as you roared into it. Azriel only gritted his jaw harder. He knew what he felt was only a fraction of the pain that you felt, but that alone made his knees buck.

"Do it faster", the spymaster barked out, snarling at the healer, who was already moving quicker than he had ever seen her before. Cassian grumbled a warning from beside Azriel. The general had been holding onto your hand ever since Azriel had lowered you onto the medicine table. Trying to keep it steady so Madja could do her thing easier. Your back arched off the table as you choked on another sob. Azriel leaned closer. The mere need to hold you down like this made him sick. Let alone watch you suffer. Oh, how he wished he could pull the bastards from their deathbeds and slowly kill them all over again. Azriel leaned closer to you, nuzzling closer to your shoulder. He was way past caring that you were drenched in sweat from the fever or that you still had crusted blood all over you.

He quickly plucked all of his emotions out one by one. Shoving them down the unbreakable walls deep within his head, Azriel had to be a sea of calmness for you. He had to turn into that gentle breeze that cooled one down on a hot summer day. He had to suppress the agony, change it, and mold it into something that would soothe. The spymaster placed a loving kiss on the side of your head, right as you cried out once again. His shadows slowly brushed across your skin, delicate and cooling the aches. He continued to kiss your tears away until the moment your body sagged. Till he could swear you had muttered his name. Till the sound of the iron arrows hitting the tray filled the room.

"You're in charge", Azriel said bluntly, continuing to wipe his bloody hands. The room had been quiet for over an hour. Cassian had practically dragged Azriel out so the shadowsinger could clean himself up. He hadn't realized how much filth was on him until he saw his reflection in the mirror. "Aj, aj, captain", Cassian saluted. Azriel knew that out of the three of them, Cassian used humor to cope with whatever stressors surrounded him. There was no male beside him and Rhys that Azriel would ever trust with his woman. His whole world...

"I'll look after her; if a hair falls off her head, you can sit me down on a dagger", Azriel huffed at Cassian's remark. Even if his chest felt too hollow, your screaming still echoed in his brain. It felt good to have at least one thing Azriel was familiar with around. The spymaster stepped closer to the bed you were carefully tucked into. Brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The fever had dropped the moment the iron was out. But it left an unconscious body behind. "She might sleep for days; might wake up in a couple of minutes", Madja said as she bandaged your hands up. You didn't wake up. Too worn out from all that had happened.

"I'll just go see them for a bit. Make sure they...", Azriel turned back to Cassian, who stood right behind him with a knowing look on his face. "Don't rush it. Stinkers need you. I've got your girl", with a tap on Azriel's shoulder, Cassian turned to pull himself a chair. His girl. The words lingered. Azriel wondered if you would roll your eyes at that. Would you scowl? You were mad at him after all. He had upset you in a way. Now all he wondered about as he spared you one last glance was whether it would all have been different if you hadn't been upset.

Only when Azriel was standing right outside his mother's door did he realize just how tired he was. He knew he had a family to lean on. He knew that Rhys had promised to take care of the interrogations in the camp. Find out who planned this. Who ordered this. Who targeted you. He had Cassian looking after you; his brother was mind tap away if something changed, but it was still not enough. Azriel needed to see the two sets of deep golden eyes. He needed to feel their wild and young heartbeats to ground himself fully. Know that the second half of his family was safe and sound.

"Azriel", the sound of that high-pitched voice, made the coldest that surrounded the shadowsinger melt away almost instantly. The pitter-patter of the tiny feet rushing was enough to make him let out a sigh. But that blissful delight was cut off almost immediately. A firm grip. A tug. And the girl was left standing in place. "No, stay back", Axel pulled her back, and Azriel had never seen a look like this on him. Not an ounce of love or adoration. Pure steal. Anger. As if the little boy had been crushed.

"Axel", Azriel tried to call out softly, but the boy only tugged on Zofie harder. The poor girl looked up at her brother with her big eyes. "Don't come close", the boy said, pointing a warning finger at the spymaster. He had no weapon. Azriel could easily march to him, but he knew that if a line like that was crossed in a delicate moment like this, he would end up losing them forever. "Bud, why...", Azriel tried once more but, even more frustration bubbled, "You hurt YN! She said you weren't one of us. So back away", Axel's words ripped at Azriel's soul. Not one of us. But he was. He wanted to give it all to you all. He...

"Darling", Cordelia gently placed a hand on Axel's back, "We all make mistakes, and whatever happened must have been a misunderstanding". Azriel met his mother's gaze. It was warm and loving, but it was hard to ignore the questioning plea. "Where's Y/N?", Zofie asked, shifting the atmosphere in the room, "I want to see her". Her voice was so small and trembling. Azriel went stone still. How do you tell the kids that their guardian is lying unconscious after an assassination? Someone had tried to kill her. "Yeah, where is she?", Axel pressed.

"She's... She's seeing a healer", the kids stilled instantly. Axel's hand drooped. The sight alone could kill Azriel, hence why he added quickly, "I'll take you to her as soon as I can". The kids just watched him. Zofie tugged on Axel's hand firmly, and the boy instantly furrowed his broken wings out. Wrapping one around the girl, as he pulled her into his arms. He shouldn't have to. Both of them should be far away from all of this pain. From needing to be strong like this. From needing to be so grown up.

"Why don't you two go check on the soup for me?", It's Cordelia who gently pressed a loving kiss on Axel's head. "You both worked hard on it. Y/N will love to have some". Leave it to his mom to mop through his mess, Azriel thought. Leave it to her to provide a distraction for a moment. Azriel tore his head up, trying to fight the angry tears as the kids slowly turned away from him.

"Azriel...", the gentle sound of that loving voice was enough to make a choked-out sob slip past the male's lips. Azriel never cried. He just didn't. And if he did, he always cried in the presence of his mother. "Sweet boy, look at me", Cordelia's soft voice was followed by her palms guiding her son's head down, so he would meet her gaze. "I fucked it", Azriel choked out, "I just went and did it again". Cordelia shook her head quickly, "Oh, my boy, I'm sure it's not all...", but Azriel pulled away abruptly. "She didn't want to see me, and now the kids...", his breathing was becoming rigid. He couldn't lose you all. He couldn't picture a word where you all weren't linked in some way. The idea of never... "They are kids, and they are scared", Cordelia tugged firmly onto Azriel's shirt. She could tell that he was spiraling, and she was not going to let him stroll down that path once again. "Axel is scared, as is Zofie, but they do not hate you", she gripped his chin tenderly, "They need you, son".

Azriel leaned to rest his head on his mother's shoulder for a moment, bathing in the comfort of her, just like when he was a boy. "She's my...", and Azriel couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Not until he had spoken those words to you first. But Cordelia only smiled up at him, cupping his cheek. "Oh, I know. I had a feeling. Call it mother's instinct", she bit her lip, shaking her head softly. "Now you listen to me. I said it to her, and I will say it to you. You were meant to find one another", Cordelia tapped her hands against Azriel's chest a couple of times. "Whatever happened has to be a misunderstanding. And you, my boy, will find a way to make it right once again," she said, turning and padding towards the kitchen.

Azriel sat by your bed for what felt like years afterward. Double-checking the way your chest fell and rose back up. Adjusting the blanket. Refilling the water in the glass beside your bed. Madja said that your hands might not even scar, considering that you had healing magic running through your body. The bandaged palms were a cruel reminder of how much Azriel had failed to protect you. Yet it didn't come close to the red mark on your neck. The cut on your delicate skin there made him want to pull a bucket out and hurl. If he had been even a second more late... but he made himself look. He looked until all he could see were your scars.

"Was it a lie?", the words made Azriel jump slightly, head-turning straight to your partly opened eyes. He quickly hurried to lean closer. "What", he muttered. Azriel was trying to grasp just what you were referring to. "Was this all", you ask, looking down at yourself and then back at Azriel, "Was it a lie?". And mother, the fact that your voice was so weak made Azriel want to scream from the rooftops.

"No,", he said, shaking his head quickly. But would a word so simple ever be enough? "Did you just need a distraction?", And then it hit him. It hit him so hard that if he could, he would slap himself. The way he jumped up for Elain and the way they embraced. He was banished to the sanctuary because he was perusing that woman, and back at the dinner, he pushed you aside to once again reach for someone who would never be his. And he didn't even want her to be his. Because now he knew what he he truly wanted.

"I fucking lo-like you; none of it was a lie", Azriel hated the way his voice had risen. It was way too stern. Way too demanding. He wanted to reach for you, but the look on your face said it all. "I don't want to accept it", and these six words disarmed Azriel so quickly that he had to lean against the chair for a heartbeat. He saw the way your eyes filled up with tears as you tried to keep your breathing steady. "That's okay", Azriel said bluntly, as if all of this hadn't just shattered him completely. If his heart wasn't breaking because of these words. What were they taught back then? Wasn't there a story about a male gone mad because his mate had refused his love? Had suppressed the bond so hard?

"I... This just doesn't feel right, I need...", but Azriel quickly lifted his hand, silencing you. "There's no rush. I can wait. I'll wait for you however long it takes, and if you never want it, it's okay", he blurted out, shaking his head as he moved to grab the door handle. You shook your head in return, clearly trying to reach for him. Make him stay. Make him properly listen. "Azriel", you breathed out, trying to catch his attention, but all he did was back away. Azriel muttered a quiet, "It's okay" before he disappeared into the dark hallway. Turning away. Leaving you alone. Wanting nothing more than to drown his own heart.

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Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin

[musamora]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. f!reader. implied breaking-and-entering, fireworks, metaphors about stars, soft!fyodor, he's secretly down-bad, he's also incredibly possessive. descriptions of moscow (red square, st. basil's cathedral), mentions of eastern european food (pirozhki), references to greek mythology (perseus and andromeda), jokes about greek incest. not proofread. 2.2k+ words.

author's note. starting the last of my fics for the year with the first bungou stray dogs character i've ever written for. thank you for such a lovely year! ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

synopsis. within the last minutes of the year, sitting underneath the stars, two lovers discuss the stories mapped within constellations. in themselves, they find that some tales are timeless.

"It's so lovely at this time of night."

You couldn't contain your astonishment as flurries coasted to the earth in silent swells, dusting the city in a sheen of sparkling white. With an outstretched hand, you gathered flakes into your palm, admiring them before they melted with the heat of your skin. The riverside stilled as you coasted along the sidewalk, frozen in thickening ice as parents ushered their children away from its tempting surface. Tourists clustered under trees, shivering in their thin hats and coats as they underestimated the spite of Russia's wind. But despite the chill, there was an unmistakable gaiety in the air, smiles strewn on glassy faces as they awaited the new year.

You tailed behind Fyodor as he sauntered forward with broad steps, unable to catch your breath as the basket of freshly baked pirozhki settled heavily in your stomach. Your eyelids threatened to close as exhaustion crept into the corners of your vision; journeying between museums, promenading through parks, and scowering various foods had taken a toll on your energy.

You groaned. "Do we have to go tonight?"

He merely chuckled, the velvety bass of his voice tracing goosebumps down your spine, easily distracting you from the fact that he hadn't answered your question. Your field of vision spiraled into a haze, thoughts shot far in the distance despite the frost attempting to rouse you, left unaware as an assured hand ushered you inside a concealed entrance to the luminous structure slumbering outside of Moscow's main square. You walked forward into the endless darkness, only to bump into something sturdy. Your fingers carded through the puffed fur of Fyodor's coat, tugging on its ends.

"Fyodor?"

With a click, the room was brought to life. The high-vaulted ceiling outstretched to reach the heavens above, walls embellished with intricate frescoes of ancient Abrahamic tales. Flares of resplendent color danced across the floor as moonlight met glass, casting waves of softened light upon your skin. A labyrinth of winding corridors hid in the shadows, prompting any curious wanderer into a trove of antediluvian alcoves and chapels.

Your jaw dropped, gawking at every deliberate component. "What is this place?"

"It was a cathedral erected in honor of Tsar Ivan the IV." His gloved hand puckered altar cloth between his gracile fingers, tracing the embroidery as his mind drifted elsewhere.

You hummed, racking your brain as it itched in anamnesis. "Wasn't that the terrible one?"

He was silent as he released the fabric from his fingers, but the self-satisfied smirk told you everything you needed to know. "Indeed. This place once brimmed with life, hosting religious gatherings and services for the denizens of this city." His boots snicked against the tile, the noise reverberating as it spun towards the ceiling. "It has been left as a relic of time."

You ever-so-delicately brushed your hand against one of the columns, not wishing to disturb the peace of stillness and rest that blanketed the cathedral.

"How marvelous."

Your attention went astray as Fyodor tinkered at a lock, the hinges of a thin door ricketing with unsettling squeaks as he stood aside, uncloaking a never-ending staircase to the unknown.

"After you."

Your muscles cramped with every step, dread buried deep in your gut as your vision remained impaired, the flashlight beam smattering inconclusive rays of light as it aimed at your back. It was almost like the architects had attempted to reach the clouds, their grandiose endeavor churning a flare in your back as you slumped against the wall, your lungs burning with every passing moment. Your spirit was invigorated at the sight of a door through the dime ire of light, basking in your relief as you stepped out the door, the crisp breeze of winter striking your skin as—!

"W-Woah!"

Your feet teetered over the ridge of the roof; only your ankles remained flimsily rooted onto solid paneling as your arms swung out to balance yourself. Fortunately for you, an arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you back against Fyodor's chest. A quick peek upward towards his impish expression revealed everything you needed to know.

"You must be careful, любимая."

Your breath was shuddery, inwardly wavering on whether to punch him or kiss him, the indecisiveness reigning victorious as you pointedly ignored the mellifluous lilt of his tone, hands binding to his arm as your gaze locked onto the ground several hundred feet below.

"Good lord, we're high," you muttered between pants.

His arms braced you further against his chest, leaning away from the perilous drop. "You're trembling." The tension in your grip eased at the sensation of a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. "You know I'd never let you fall, hm?"

"Right." You released the amalgam of tense breath that clawed at your throat, able to balance on your own two feet as you settled your view to the skies.

Your feet shuffled across the panels as you slogged onto a wider expanse of the roof, slumping against a wall as the tension evaporated out through your fingers, the nightmare of plummeting from the roof erased from your mind. However, you swallowed a yelp as the flashlight flickered off, leaving the both of you enshrouded in complete darkness—at least for a brief moment.

Clouds stacked in bunched within the stratosphere, mirroring fragments of light that bounced from below in a nebulose aurora. But despite the wonderment of their decadence, they lost their luster once the stars peaked through their fogged edges, the finite speckles scattered like freckles across the canvas of the heavens. They felt close enough to touch if only you reached out toward them, daring to do so. Your fingers trailed maps of these celestial bodies, finding a sense of peace in their familiar patterns.

"Are you familiar with Ovid's Metamorphoses?" Your voice pierced through the silence.

"I can't say I am."

You withheld the impulse to laugh—he had the entire compendium of books in his personal library. It would be a surprise if he hadn't at least skimmed them, but you decided to humor him this once, scooching closer to point towards a specific cluster of stars.

"Those are the constellations of Perseus, the son of Zeus, and Princess Andromeda, the daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia."

You took his silence as an encouragement to continue. "Perseus found Andromeda chained to a rock as a sacrifice to the sea monster, Cetus, by her parents in order to save her home." Your fingers drew out the character within the stars, a grin upturned on your lips as you envisioned the archaic tale in your mind. "It was told that he found her so beautiful that he slayed the monster, rescuing her before fighting against her uncle for her hand-in-marriage."

"Her uncle?" Fyodor mused.

Your nose scrunched in a grimace. "There's a lot of that in those stories, I'm afraid."

"The couple went on to live happily ever after—an extremely rare ending to most ancient stories."

"There is a simple explanation for that," he replied.

You snickered, already aware that your open-ended commentary would eventually lead to some thoughts from the infamously brilliant man.

His eyes rolled in return at your amusement, disregarding the tightness of his chest. "We hold onto ancient tragedies because they are a reflection of life. Nothing in our world is as simple as a happy ending." A vacant look ruled over his features, a familiar expression that often shielded his thoughts within the dark, contemplative hours of the night. "Most aspired heroes never reach their potential due to their blind devotion to selfish aspirations and goals."

"You're right," you sighed, hands balled against the corner of his cape in an attempt to thaw your frozen fingers. You wanted to say more, but it felt like your mouth was cotton-filled. So, instead, you returned your eyes to the sky.

"Sometimes, I wish I was a constellation." He looked at you. "Even with its flaws, this world is undoubtedly beautiful from above. I like to think the stars admire us just as much as we do them."

And he didn't say anything more; he didn't need to. Instead, he reigned you onto his lap, his coat shrouding your shoulders as he shared its warmth. You leaned into his embrace, basking in the flutter inside your chest.

"You're awfully cold, милая," he grumbled, his fingers mapping your frigid palms.

"Our roles are reversed now," you quipped. "I hope you think about this the next time you decide to stun me with your hands in the morning."

"I'm afraid I might forget," he whistled.

"You little—"

But you found your voice hidden underneath layers of crackling. You ogled as fireworks wiggled their way into the night sky, shimmering onto the city square, the towers of the Kremlin becomen heavenly statues as their structures temporarily glistened. Without a second thought, you grabbed onto his hands, giving them a squeeze with each pop. You were so attentive to the collections of radiant sparks that you didn't notice the eyes boring into your skin; Fyodor's gaze averted from the fireworks to contemplate the interlacement of your fingers.

He surmised you were to be his future the moment you had locked eyes for the first time—his destined, pre-ordained other half as he journeyed to actualize God's promised land. It wasn't a surprise that someone was fated to remain in his keep—another loyal follower, too intertwined in their own aspirations to connect to his cause without deliberate guidance.

But not you. 

You may not have supported his cause with the devotion of his witless flock, but you understood it better than anyone. And most importantly, you understood him. You peered through his intricate plans and performative malice, reading into his cause as you unraveled his intentions. It had been an enticing cat-and-mouse game, the both of you constantly entangled in a mental match, intellect and morals clashing. He knew you were his perfect match from your analytic dexterity, but he had no idea that you would pull at the strings cast around his heart, ones he believed had been severed long ago.

His heart had never belonged to anyone or anything—his mind and will were forever devoted to his cause, but his heart hadn't beat since before he could even remember. The sudden constriction of his chest was so foreign.

You must've been quite the powerful woman to kickstart the heart of a demon, excavating a trove of humanity he had buried within himself with a simple glance of your eyes—and all without knowing, your gentle expression puncturing through his abstruse masquerades, somehow able to see everything except the turmoil that you left in the wake of your very touch.

He found himself less and less concerned about the echoed beat of his heart within the emptiness of his chest, too captivated by your smile as you beheld the heavens with a benevolent expression, savoring the burning red and gold sparks despite their dullness in comparison to you. In spite of himself, your everlasting happiness had become an intrinsic component in his plans.

You were made to remain at his side—not as a brainless devotee, but as his equal and often opposite. The world, so rotten yet somehow divine through your benevolent gaze, may try to pull you away, but he'd have no issue burning cities to their ashen roots if anyone dared attempt to pry you from his hold.

His lithe fingers outlined the constellations of every freckle and beauty mark, star patterns copied onto your skin as his touch drifted your attention from the flashes and flickers to him, your inquisitive eyes scanning his face as he remained unmoved.

"Федя?" 

He shuddered with unparalleled delight at the euphonious sound of his mother language slipping like honey from your tongue, foreign to your lips yet dulcet all the same. Your bonniness beaconed him forward, a heat flowering in his once cavernous chest as he captured your lips, which were as soft as the powdered snow that glinted on your skin. His heavy breath tickled your nose, which crinkled in tandem with your eyes as you drew him in for another. Words became meaningless, his skin seared like static as your arms drew him closer, skin scorched from the cold of your hands against the nape of his neck.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, ensuring that your empyreal features weren't veiled further as flakes of snow flurried once more, your parted lips and shallow breath leaving him in a helpless state of complete limerence. He stirred as his hand brushed against your pulse, your own heart racing concertly with his.

You parted in bittersweet bliss, yearning imbued in your bones as your hands drifted towards one another to intertwine. His forehead rested against yours, your shared breath permeating in spirals within the open air as he peered into your hazy, glossed-over eyes.

His hand cupped your cheek, the frame to a divine masterpiece. "Ты согреваешь мою душу, мое нежное солнышко. Твоя красота вне всякого сравнения; твой разум безупречен." He had never looked at anyone like this before, his ire thawed by the brilliance of your tender gaze as if he had melted. "Я бесконечно благодарен, что Бог привел тебя ко мне."

And you laughed. "You know I don't understand anything you're saying, right?"

He kissed your forehead, concealing his smile as his lips pressed against your skin. "You will one day, солнышко. You will."

любимая = darling милая = dear федя = fedya ты согреваешь мою душу, мое нежное солнышко. твоя красота вне всякого сравнения; твой разум безупречен = you warm my soul, my gentle sun. your beauty is beyond comparison; your mind is beyond flaw. я бесконечно благодарен, что бог привел тебя ко мне = i am eternally grateful that god brought you to me. солнышко = sunshine

TAGLIST: @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @thesilvernight0wl @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @justanotherjester @kotysluny @aureatchi

© MUSAMORA 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Oh hey, look, it's that massive story I've been working on since January! I'm so thankful to everyone who has shown interest in the concept of this fic and the little snippets I've posted. You've been more help than you know. Without that support, I don't think this would have ever gotten finished.

A special thanks to @numinousmysteries who kindly beta read for me and did a fantastic job. I wanted to make sure I got this right, and she was a great help!

And now I can't wait to share this with you all! New chapters posted daily!

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 1/34 - ink and paper

How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.

She'd never have guessed...

Find out if adoption is right for you! Visit us at 8080 Meadowlark Ln. Annapolis, MD “A Home for Every Child!”

Scully stares down at the brochure on the desk. One of many, which are half buried underneath a pile of paperwork from their current case. Certain words and phrases are circled in pen, underlined, annotated in the margins in the familiar scrawl she knows almost better than her own.

stability – less travel? change in division? discuss with Scully

loving home – ask Frohike for real estate agent #

The word “family” is circled three times.

She swallows with some difficulty, finding—to her dismay—that her hands are shaking. Mulder will be arriving any second, and here she is, frozen like a statue.

How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.

She’d never have guessed…

“Morning, partner,” his voice calls out, and she jolts in surprise. She hears the door snick shut behind him, but she can’t bring herself to turn around. With deft fingers, she pushes the brochure back under the stack of papers where she found it, only the colorful corner of the page visible.

“Morning, Mulder,” she tries, clearing her throat. It comes out strained, but she hopes he doesn’t notice. She hides her trembling hands in her lap under the desk.

He looks down at her, half amused, half concerned. “You okay? You're not getting that stomach bug that's been going around, are you?”

“I'm fine,” she answers defensively, warning him to back off. She grabs a file off the desk in front of her with a little more force than necessary, plopping it open.

‘Okayyy,’ he mouths exaggeratedly, eyebrows raised. He sits down at his desk and leafs through some papers sitting on top, arranging them into neater stacks. When he uncovers the brochures, his eyes widen and he clears his throat, hurriedly covering them with other papers and trying to act natural.

Scully thinks about letting it go and pretending she doesn’t know what he’s hiding, but she knows she won’t be able to sleep until she finds out what’s been going on in that ridiculous head of his. 

She idly flips to the next page of the file in her hand, displaying a confidence she doesn’t feel in the firm set of her shoulders

“Doing some light reading, Mulder?” she asks, attempting to look disinterested.

His head shoots up, a look of alarm on his face. For a second he thinks she might be talking about something else, that she couldn’t possibly know, but one look at her throws that theory right out the window. He glances back and forth between her and the papers on the desk a few times before dropping his shoulders in defeat.

“I’m sorry, Scully, you weren’t supposed to see those,” he says, shuffling all the brochures into a pile while carefully avoiding eye contact. “I was working here late last night. I must have forgotten to put them away.” As he speaks, he opens the top drawer of his desk and shoves them inside, then takes a seat at his desk. His nose is buried in a file before she can even respond.

She watches him now. He is a curiosity, determinedly feigning concentration on a case she knows he finds disinteresting and a waste of time.

Typical.

“You're really not going to say anything?” she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

That rankles him. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, indignation boiling below the surface.

She looks at him incredulously, the file in front of her all but forgotten.

“You're thinking of adoption? When were you planning to share this with me?”

He sighs and shakes his head, pleading silently with her. “It's too soon, Scully. I didn't think you'd want to hear it yet.”

“But you're looking into it because…”

“It's just been on my mind, that's all.”

She stares at him, brows furrowed.

“Since when?”

Since when… Images flash of a life he didn’t recognize. His sister, alive and grown up. A quiet suburban neighborhood. Cancer Man living just down the street. A wife and kids, but not the right ones. It was wrong, all of it was wrong.

“A hallucinatory trip into an alternate universe tends to make you think,” he answers simply.

He’s looking at her now, deadly serious despite the joking tone. She doesn’t respond. Can’t respond.

“I'm sorry, I didn't want to bring all this up,” he continues. “I know it's a sore spot for you.”

It takes her a moment to conjure words from her mouth, her lips moving but no sound coming out. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“For all I know, this isn't even something you'd want.”

What does she say to that? Is she interested? 

“I– I'm not sure. I've never really considered it before.”

He waits, his eyes assessing her for some hidden meaning, some insight into her state of mind. He gets nothing. She’s totally blank.

“Well… what do you want?” He thought the question was innocuous enough, safer territory than straight up asking her if she wants to adopt, but apparently not.

She shuts her folder, abruptly standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I'm going back to the crime scene,” she declares, changing the subject. “I want to see if there's anything we missed.”

“Scully…” he tries.

“Not now, Mulder.” Without even taking the time to put her coat on, she flees, leaving the door partially open in her rush to get away. Cursing under his breath, Mulder grabs his coat from its hook and hurries after her.

The elevator doors are almost all the way closed by the time he catches up, but in this case, he figures it’s worth the potential loss of a limb. He throws his hand between the closing gap in the metal doors, and it bounces back open to allow him entrance, to the extreme displeasure of one Dana Scully. He wisely stays silent in the elevator, stealing glances at her every few seconds out of the corner of his eye as they ascend. He can feel the frigid air coming off her in waves. It’s been a while since he’s seen her this annoyed with him, this eager to get away.

He won’t let her. Not this time. He’s learned from his mistakes.

In the parking garage, she's walking briskly, heels clicking on the concrete, and he has to pick up the pace to keep up with surprisingly agile little legs.

He didn’t want this confrontation. There was a reason he was keeping his research a secret. This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid, at least until the time was right to carefully drop some hints here and there. But now? There’s no carefully about it. No option to wait and let this blow over. There’s only one way out of this at this point, and unfortunately, that way is through.

He picks up the pace.

“You're the one who brought this up, Scully, I was perfectly happy throwing those brochures in my drawer and not saying a word.” 

His voice echoes in the concrete parking structure, sounding harsh even to his own ears. As frustrated as he is with her, that isn’t his intent. He only wants to know what he can do to help her, how he can help her fulfill her dreams. He lets out a breath, and with it, releases his selfish frustration. She’s still walking away at a breakneck pace, and he doesn’t know how he can get her to stop and face this. 

“If you want to talk about it, let's talk about it,” he says, pleading. “I can't help you if I don't know what you want. You want me to shut up, never mention the subject again?” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air, “Fine, just tell me. What do you want, Scully?”

“I just want to be a mom, okay?” she yells, whirling around to face him. Her words instantly silence him, and he watches stone-faced as tears spring in her eyes. “I see all these other moms out there and think… I could do that too. Why can’t I do that too?”

Well, mission accomplished. The truth is finally out there. Part of him feels bad for pushing her, but the other part knows that it was doing her no good to keep her feelings bottled up inside to deal with by herself. He reaches out a hand, intending to comfort her, his eyes softening in sympathy. 

“You could. Scully, you’d be the best mom.”

She flinches away, stepping out of his reach. “You don’t know that, Mulder. I can’t even—even my body is even telling me no. Over and over.” She resumes her brisk walk to her car, and he thinks he sees her brush angrily at her face, no doubt wiping away the evidence of the stubborn tears that have managed to escape.

He rushes to get in front of her, walking backwards so he can keep her in his sight. 

“When has that ever stopped you?” he asks. “You had cancer, and you kept fighting. You’re alive today because you refused to give up when your body quit on you. What about that?” He stops abruptly, forcing her to come to a halt before she crashes into him.

There’s no way out of this, is there? Her shoulders slump in defeat.

“You saved me, Mulder,” she admits quietly, shaking her head. “You’re the one who didn’t give up. Not me. It was only because you were with me that I survived.”

This time, when she goes to walk away, he stops her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch causes her to freeze, hardly breathing, and when he steps closer, she stays. His hands slide down her shoulders, holding her securely in place to ensure that his next words come through loud and clear.

“I’m gonna be with you here on this too, I promise.” His thumbs brush back and forth on the fabric of her sleeves, for his comfort or hers, she’s not sure. “You can still be a mother, Scully. I’ll help you.”

She shakes her head, her heart feeling like it has been ripped to shreds. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He gives her a little shake for emphasis. She still won’t look at him. “You’ve kept me alive all these years, how much harder could a baby be?”

That gets a breathy chuckle from her, and her head falls to her chest. Groaning with the agony of this burden on her heart, she stops fighting it and leans into him. Without hesitation, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his embrace.

Her hand comes up to find purchase on his suit jacket, relishing in the comfort only he can provide. She’s past caring if anyone sees them like this here. Let them talk. They already do, anyway.

“Well, at least when you wake me up in the middle of the night, you’re not crying,” she speaks into his chest.

She feels him shrug, and can almost see the goofy smile she knows she put on his lips.

“Usually.”

She looks up at him with her chin on his sternum before taking a deep breath and pulling away.

“It's raining,” he says softly, glancing down at her and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “We can go back to the crime scene later.” She nods, unsure what else to say. She allows herself to be led, his ever-present hand brushing against her back as they start toward the basement.

“Adoption,” Scully mutters to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t know, Mulder. This—this is different than IVF. With that, all I was asking for was your…” her eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at him, “genetic material. This is something entirely different.”

He’s pleased she’s at least considering it, but she doesn’t get it at all, if that’s what she thinks.

“How? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, the process of getting a baby is a little different, but in the long run, the result is the same.”

She pauses, looking at him in confusion. “What– what are you saying?”

He runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, suddenly taking a unique interest in his shoes and the floor of the parking structure.

“Yeah, we probably should have talked about this before…”

“Talked about what?”

He sighs and guides her into a stairwell. It’s stuffy and poorly-lit with a flickering lightbulb, but here, there’s less of a chance they’ll be overheard.

“Look, Scully, I don’t know what you had in mind for my involvement beyond contributing to half the baby’s DNA when you first asked me to help you get pregnant,” he starts, fighting hard to meet her eyes instead of shying away. “But, I– I had hoped it would be a little more than ‘Say hi to Uncle Mulder,’ every couple of months.”

She blinks back at him, speechless.

“I’m sorry if that’s overstepping, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with all this, I just—” He takes in a breath. “I guess I got to thinking of what it might be like to have a family again.” His bout of honesty is met with a blank stare, and his nervous smile drops. “I completely misread the situation, didn’t I?” he asks, self-loathing waiting on standby. “Got ahead of myself…”

She stops him by catching his coat sleeve. “No—uh. No, you didn’t.” She collects herself, willing herself to offer him some reassurance. Her fingers release the fabric of his coat, shifting her grasp instead to his hand. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

He glances down at where she holds tightly to him, and his lips curl into some semblance of a smile.

“I guess they might have had a point with all those communication seminars we’ve skipped, huh?”

She chuckles softly.

“I don’t think this is exactly what they had in mind…”

With a gentle tug, Mulder leads her down the stairs, committed to holding her hand as long as she’ll let him. The air is stagnant and silent, only the rhythmic echo of their shoes clicking on the concrete steps as they make their way to the bottom floor.

She’s thinking. What she knows now, it changes everything. 

She had asked him to leave. Hid her grief from him as much as possible after her initial lapse into weakness when she came home with the news. She had almost kissed him, then, unsure of what else she had to live for. She knew she was hurting him by folding inward on herself in the weeks that followed, but that didn’t stop her from doing it. She was in a dark place, hardly able to see what was right in front of her. What she couldn’t see was that his hurt wasn’t just for her, born of some misguided sense of guilt or pity. It was his own, too.

“Mulder, all those months, after it failed—” There’s something like fear in her voice as she utters these words, or maybe regret.

“I was just worried about you.”

She squeezes his hand, feeling tears well in her eyes once more. “No, you were grieving like I was, and I didn’t notice. I pushed you away…”

“Dana…” He turns, a couple steps ahead of her, so for once it’s him who has to look up to meet her eyes. Her lip wobbles as she looks down at him, and he brushes his thumb tenderly over her knuckles. “You had to deal with it on your own, I understood that. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Those eyes. So open and honest and sad. She wonders how anyone could hurt him, could bear to break this man’s heart. How could she? 

Choking back a sob, she falls into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding tight. His arms encircle her back, supporting her weight, and she feels herself being lifted as he goes up a step, closing the distance between them.

His hand climbs up to the back of her head, stroking her hair soothingly.

“I just wanted to be there for you,” he mumbles into her neck.

“You were, Mulder,” she gasps between bouts of tears, finding comfort in the feel of his soft hair between her fingers. “You’ve always been there.”

He pulls back, lifting his hands to cup her face and wiping away the tears he finds there with the pads of his thumbs. 

“You don’t have to give an answer now,” he says, reassuring, “This is… a big commitment, I know, and I don’t want you to say yes just because I suggested it. I just wanted you to know it’s an option, and if you want to have a baby, I’m in. However you want to go about it, I’ll be as involved as you want. Just– let me know, anytime. Okay?”

He’s looking at her now, head ducked so those sad, puppy-dog eyes can get his message across.

She nods, holding tight to the wrists that so tenderly cup her face.

“Okay.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @bby-got-books @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @mulderscully @oofubad @p34chi @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate - Chapter Eight

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm posting both chapters 7 and 8 today so just make sure you didn't actually miss 7 or this one might not make much sense, lol. Also I'd recommend having chapter 7 fresh in your mind when you read this one. This chapter serves as an 'interlude' chapter that occurs before/during/after Chapter 7 but is told from Dave and Marcus' POV's (not Reader's). One final note, a page break/divider indicates a shift of POV to another character, but hopefully that comes across easily enough in the writing anyway.

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 5.1k

Notes: Who gave me the right to put all this ANGST in my PORN story? dw, I have a couple more chapters planned out, I'll fix this mess I've created eventually :P

Chapter Warnings (BIG TIME spoilers in the warnings... I'd recommend skipping them if you don't want to be spoiled. If you're at this point in this story, you're fine with whatever I have left to throw at you lol): 18+ MDNI. M/M (Yeah that's right. Reader who? Sorry babe, I'll make it up to you next time!). Oral sex. Hand jobs. Anal play. A shower stall is our 3rd main character in this chapter. Inexperienced!Marcus. Dom!Dave. Daddy Kink. Derogatory talk. Praise kink. Little sprinkling of Soft!Dave. Porn with too many feelings that these idiot men don't know what to do with (we'll work on them, ok?). Infidelity-ish (again, these three got some shit to work out).

MASSIVE thank you for @janaispunk for beta'ing and being my sounding board.

Page dividers by the generous and talented @saradika-graphics

When restfulness fails to come for Dave he eventually decides to pull himself away from the two sleeping forms next to him in the bed and head off to the shower instead. He could use a thorough washing, and not to mention the relaxing spray and solace of the shower may just offer him a bit of a chance to clear his head, hopefully.

Letting out a heavy sigh once he reaches the bathroom near the front entryway of the suite he shrugs off the oversized fluffy hotel robe and hangs it on the back of the door before closing it shut, reaching inside the shower stall and turning the temperature up to near scalding. He hisses the moment he steps inside the large enclosure, immediately turning his back to the water and facing the door instead but within a few seconds the temperature starts to feel perfect and he rolls his shoulders and aching muscles under the steady beat of the massaging spray.

“Fuck” he groans, head tilting back to let the water wash over his face and through his hair. In hindsight he maybe should’ve had a cold shower because he’s been rocking a semi for the last… god knows… since not long after his two bedmates had fallen asleep. He resists the urge to wrap his fist around himself and take care of it solo, thinking he can will it away with sheer mental focus instead. As if he could focus on much of anything right now. His mind was scrambled, and that just wasn’t Dave. He had an innate ability to compartmentalize, always had. It’s what made him so good at his job and had gotten him through many obstacles in his life thus far. But then he met fucking Marcus Pike, which ultimately, also led him to you, and now here he was playing fucking house with what was meant to be a one or two time fun “hookup” and goddamit if he didn’t feel himself starting to fall. What’s worse is that he hadn’t just fallen for you, either. Annoyed with himself yet again for not being able to shut his brain off, Dave turns around to face the spray again and gets to the task of washing his hair instead, needing something else to focus on besides the insistent need that’s hanging between his legs.

The quiet ‘snick’ of the bathroom door latching shut catches Dave’s attention, even with his head under the hot spray of the water in the oversized walk-in shower, because of course it does. Dave is always super aware and hyper vigilant, even when in a relaxed environment. His eyes squeezed shut as he rinses the shampoo from his hair and back turned to the door he calls out, “it’ll be all yours in a minute, almost done here”

So when he hears the sound of the glass door sliding open and the cool air hitting his back, despite his offer to give up the shower momentarily, he chuckles. A low, raspy laugh from deep in his throat as he pushes his hair back on his head and finally turns around, his eyebrow raising in amusement as his gaze settles on his unexpected visitor standing just outside the shower door.

“Well, what have we here?”

Marcus doesn’t say a word. Too nervous he’ll psyche himself out if he attempts to speak. Instead he unwraps the towel from around his waist, leaving him fully naked and exposed, and tosses it to the ground behind him before stepping inside the enclosure and sliding the glass door shut behind him.

Dave waits, stock still, because he hadn’t been expecting this. Not that he should be too surprised, he supposed. It was probably bound to happen and truth be told he was far from mad about it. Over time he’d grown to care for Marcus a lot, and more than what he knew was realistic for a ‘friendship’. And with the fondness for Marcus growing so did the sexual tension, he supposed. It wasn’t immediate, as he had felt with you, but as he spent more and more time with both of you Marcus had unknowingly carved out a spot for himself under Dave’s skin, just as you had on that very first night he’d met you. It started out slowly, he would feel his own arousal spike watching Marcus get pleasure but he had chalked that up to being natural, not unlike getting off to watching porn. But then it started to change, and Dave began to wonder what it might be like for him to give Marcus that pleasure and earlier this evening he gave in and did exactly that. Holding his hands around Marcus as the younger man submitted to him and came with Dave’s mouth at his ear nearly had Dave spilling inside of you the moment Marcus let go. He loved hearing the sweet cries from Marcus’ perfect pouty lips as Dave held him tight to his naked chest. And the way you looked up at both of them, pure lust and adoration in your gaze he felt his chest constrict around his heart like it might just explode.

In that moment he wanted to just gather you both in his arms and tell you, beg you, to keep him.

And now, here Marcus stood just inches away from him, naked and vulnerable.

Dave was well and truly fucked.

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat from his nerves, Marcus carefully, slowly and wordlessly sinks to his knees in front of Dave and pauses. Peering up at him with those honeyed brown eyes, silently begging for whatever had come over him to be reciprocated. He’d woken up when he felt the weight under the mattress shift when Dave had gotten up and watched with more focus than what was probably considered appropriate at the back side of Dave’s naked form as he crossed the room and snagged a robe from the back of the door and threw it on. Marcus had to stifle a groan as he felt his cock instantly begin to swell at just the sight of the slightly older man before him. Once he exited the bedroom Marcus let out a sigh and dropped his head back to the pillow with a heavy thud, closing his eyes and focusing his breathing for a few seconds but still, his dick betrayed him. He rolled over to his side and watched your sleeping form, debating whether he should wake you to help him with his little situation or not but quickly dismissed the notion. He knew you must be exhausted, it wasn’t like you to be sleeping in the middle of the day so clearly you were worn out. Plus he’s pretty sure the actual reason for his current state of arousal just walked out the bedroom door anyway.

He lays in bed for as long as he can stand it, until he hears the shower come to life on the other side of the suite and his cock twitches again involuntarily, his mind conjuring up images of Dave naked and letting the hot spray of the water cascade all over his body and suddenly Marcus feels jealous over a fucking shower head of all things. Before long he finds himself getting up and out of bed, quickly tying a discarded towel around his waist before he leaves the bedroom and makes his way through the suite.

A grin spreads across Dave’s lips as the hot water continues to beat down his back and he reaches a hand forward, gripping the younger man’s jaw in his hand and angling him further upward as his thumb gently caresses back and forth at his cheek as he rasps out, “Well what are you waiting for, Champ? This cock isn’t going to suck itself”

After taking in a quick deep breath to steel his nerves, Marcus, ever obedient, presses forward. His eyes close as he takes Dave’s semi-hard length into his mouth, his lips wrapping around him as he finds his footing, as it were, never having actually done this before.

“Eyes on me Slugger” Dave tuts, hand going underneath Marcus’ chin and forcing his gaze upwards with the flick of a single knuckle. Marcus’ gaze is weak as he tries desperately to hold Dave’s but when he feels Dave begin to grow and swell against his tongue he gets a newfound confidence and can’t help the low moan that leaves his throat as he envelops him further into his mouth and finally begins to move his tongue and lips around him, licking and sucking and tasting every inch offered to him. He may not know exactly what he’s doing, but he does know what feels good to him and tries his best to mimic those same behaviors.

He pulls off for just a moment, collecting saliva in the back of his throat and messily spitting onto Dave’s length before he wraps his mouth around it again and begins to bob his head back and forth, letting his tongue drag along the underside as he swallows him down the best he can, easing off only slightly when the thick head of him nears too far to the back of his throat and causes him to momentarily gag before he resituates himself to a comfortable feel and can enthusiastically continue.

“Fuck, that’s it. Good boy,” Dave sighs, hand pushing through Marcus’ golden brown locks and a little whimper escapes Marcus at the subtle praise, eyelids fluttering shut for only a moment before he remembers Dave’s words from earlier and opens them again to hold Dave’s gaze. “You suck cock almost as good as your wife, you know that pretty boy?” Dave teases and despite himself, it only turns Marcus further on. He takes one hand and wraps it around the base of Dave’s cock to pump as much as his shaft that won’t fit in his mouth while the other hand goes to his own aching need as he begins stroking himself to the same pace that his head bobs.

“Fuck” Dave curses again, a little breathless this time as his head tilts back into the spray of water. He wraps his hand around the back of Marcus’ head and helps him by setting the pace that he wants, fast and rough and nearly hitting the back of Marcus’ throat each time his hips jut forward. Marcus does his best to take him but before long he’s coughing, sputtering, gagging and gasping for breath as he pulls off of him after just a few short seconds of Dave fucking his throat, a long strand of saliva still connecting him to the now rock hard cock in his face and Dave lets out a little chuckle at Marcus’ obvious inexperience.

“Well, maybe you could learn a thing or two” Dave laughs. “Up,” he commands suddenly, hand gripping under Marcus’ bicep and hauling him quickly to his feet. Marcus goes willingly, all too eager to comply as Dave turns him to face the wall, grabs both of his hands and forces them above his head and flat against the warm tiles. Dave quickly crowds his space, stepping up behind him, the hot, hard length of him pressed right up against Marcus’ lower back.

His breathing laboured, Marcus tenses momentarily but then relaxes as he feels a large wet hand slide down his side, across the smooth skin of his hip and lower still until it ghosts over the globes of his ass and then back up to hold firmly at his hip again as Dave leans forward, breath hot against Marcus’ ear.

“Colour?” He asks and Marcus takes a steadying breath.

“Green. Uh… green. I - I think” he stammers out nervously. Dave hums before his hand snakes forward to grasp around Marcus’ hard, leaking cock and gives it a light squeeze that has Marcus whimpering.

“I’d say you’re doing just fine” Dave taunts before he languidly strokes Marcus a few times, causing his knees to nearly buckle as a desperate whine escapes his lips.

“I’m uh.. I’ve never.. with…” Marcus trails off, his eyes squeezing shut when Dave gently ruts into his back, his hand still slowly stroking him. “H-Have you?”

“When you’re young and in your prime and stuck in the service for twelve plus months at a time, a warm mouth is a warm mouth” Dave shrugs nonchalantly. “But it’s not something I indulged in often, or ever pursued outside of that environment” he adds, still slowly working Marcus over with shallow pumps of his fist. “Truth be told I’ve never looked at or even thought twice about another man. That is, until you”. He finishes the last part quietly, like it's a secret he can’t voice out loud.

“S-same here” Marcus stutters, eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on his breathing, hoping to stave off his orgasm for at least a little while longer. “Did you ever, ah fuck” Marcus groans, trailing off as his train of thought leaves him when Daves hand comes up to pay special attention to the head of his cock, his hand twisting just right over and over again at the sensitive tip.

“Did I ever what? Hmmm?” Dave taunts, hand stilling around Marcus as he lowers his hips slightly and presses further against him, his stiff length now pressing into the meat of Marcus’ asscheek. “Did I ever fuck a man’s tight little asshole?” He asks into the shell of Marcus’ ear and Marcus shudders before biting back a moan and nodding his head.

“No” Dave answers honestly. “Why, did you want to be the first?” He chuckles, rutting into him and Marcus lets out a stuttering gasp before shaking his head against the tiles.

“I don’t think… I’m not… No. I… I don’t know” Marcus answers helplessly, his shoulders tensing.

“Relax baby, relax” Dave soothes, pulling his hips back slightly but resting his forehead on Marcus’ shoulder. “You don’t have to be ready for that right now. And to be honest, if my cock is going to be in your ass then I want yours inside your wife so I can fuck you both at the same time” he chuckles darkly into the heated skin of Marcus’ back and a shiver passes through Marcus’ whole body at just the thought of that.

“Oh you like that don’t you” Dave laughs again. Feeling Marcus twitch in his hand gets Dave’s dominant confidence swelling in his chest again and he easily slips into the role he prefers to play, where he feels the most comfortable and less vulnerable.

“Wanna be the meat in our little fuck sandwich, sweet boy?” Dave taunts, his hand going back to slowly stroking Marcus again. “You gonna fuck your tight little ass against my fat cock while you’re buried inside of her?”

“Jesus, fuck” Marcus groans. He’d never once judged his wife for what she was into, but now he understood it first hand. The way Dave could have you falling apart just by the words that leave his mouth.

“Maybe a little friendly competition, see who can cum inside of who first” he laughs darkly and Marcus’ whole body shudders as a wrecked moan escapes him.

Dave hands picks up the pace a little as Marcus squeezes his eyes shut, face resting against his own forearm and teeth clenched as Dave draws him closer and closer to that edge he’s been teetering on since he sunk to his knees in front of the man in question just minutes ago.

He didn’t know what came over him, what possessed him to get out of bed and follow after Dave, but he couldn’t get what happened earlier out of his head. The way Dave had wrapped his hand around his throat, called him his good boy, and made him cum so hard his vision nearly blacked out. He needed more. Dave was like a drug, he understood it now. An addiction, a craving that could never be satisfied, always leaving you wanting more.

His breath catches in his throat when he feels Dave’s free hand that’s not currently wrapped around him back at his ass, a single finger sliding through the cleft of his wet cheeks until it stops to tease at his hole. The pad of his finger presses at the puckered flesh but doesn’t breach inside, just wanting to rile Marcus up and it is absolutely working as the younger man whimpers and squirms under Dave’s hands. Dave shifts slightly so that the water beats down more so on Marcus, ensuring he’s not dry as Dave continues to tease him.

“Colour” Dave demands again, finger pressing in again with just a fraction more pressure than the previous time.

“Green, fuck. Please” Marcus is trembling, his body leaning against the wall the only thing holding him upright and he feels the smirk reach across Dave’s face from where his mouth is still pressed to his ear.

“That’s my good boy” Dave chuckles. The sound of Dave spitting a giant glob of saliva between Marcus’ cheeks is downright sinful as it echoes off the four walls of the shower enclosure and Marcus has to bite into the meat of his own arm to keep from moaning too loudly when Dave finally pushes a single saliva slicked finger just inside as he continues to stroke Marcus’ length with delicate precision.

“Oh my god, oh fuck! I’m - ” Marcus cries out at the welcomed intrusion of Dave’s finger, barely inside but slowly moving back and forth creating just enough of a foreign pressure that it’s enough to push Marcus over that edge within seconds. He orgasms with a wrangled cry leaving his lips, spurts of his warm spend splattering onto the tiles in front of him and down Dave’s hand that still loosely grips him as he continues to pump him dry.

“That’s it” Dave’s voice soothes against his ear, still gently working him over with both hands as Marcus comes down from his high. “So good for your Daddy, hmmm?”

“Mmmhmmm, fuck” Marcus groans out once more, leaning heavily into the tiles now, shoulders and chest heaving with each laboured breath he takes. He lets out another whimper as Dave gently slips his finger out, sighs happily when he feels Dave’s lips press into his shoulder blade.

“Okay?” Dave breathes against Marcus' warm flesh, checking in with him and the younger man can do little but eagerly nod his head, still trembling in the aftershocks of his orgasm. Dave’s hand still wrapped around Marcus’ length finally slows to a stop and he releases him fully, both arms coming up to wrap around Marcus’ middle and hold him tight against his chest for a long moment and Marcus sighs happily, sated, leaning into the warmth Dave offers. He does his best to ignore the little flutter he feels in his chest as Dave's lips continue to pepper little kisses across the back of his neck and shoulders, wills his own heart to stop hammering in his chest when Dave breathes in deep and then rests his check against Marcus' back, apparently content to just hold him until his own breathing evens out.

“What um… what about you?” Marcus asks meekly. He hadn’t exactly gotten to finish what he’d started earlier once the attention shifted to him and his own pleasure. He can still feel Dave pressed into his back, though with the delay for his own gratification Dave has softened somewhat again, his needs seemingly less urgent now.

“Let me finish getting cleaned up in here and then why don’t we meet back in bed, hmm?” He finishes his thought with a sharp little smack to Marcus’ ass and chuckles before he bites down gently onto his shoulder. “See if you can wake up that wife of yours while you’re at it”

“Yeah, o-okay” Marcus stammers, stealing himself for a moment before he heaves a deep sigh, lets his shoulders relax and finally reaches for the shower door and slides it open. Dave lets him go, watches with piqued interest as Marcus bends over to pick up his earlier discarded towel and secure it back around his waist again, and then, he’s gone. Door closing shut behind him again and leaving Dave to finish his shower in privacy.

Dave is doing his best to act nonchalant, normal, though nothing about what just took place was normal for either of them. He’d never held another man in an embrace like that before and found himself not even wanting to let go. It took everything in him not to spin Marcus around and hold him even closer. And it wasn’t just sexual, this feeling he suddenly had. Though that part was definitely good too, but now he felt himself feeling suddenly nervous about going back out there, like he was completely transparent and the two of you would see through him immediately. He dreads the day, and he has a feeling it’s coming soon, that the two of you extract yourselves from his life. He knows the texts and visits will become fewer and farther between until suddenly he stops hearing from you all together and he’ll go back to his life before the two of you were in it, wishing he’d never gone along with it in the first place because then he wouldn’t be in the fucking predicament he found himself in now.

He should put a stop to this himself before that happens, he thinks. Like a bandaid, just rip it off and the pain will dissipate before he even notices it’s there, right? He can fake a work emergency, or say somethings come up with his children and he needs to cut this weekend short. You’ll both understand, of course you will. Maybe even be secretly relieved that you can spend the rest of your time here together with just the two of you.

He’s doing everyone a favour, he thinks.

Mind made up, he takes a little extra time than necessary in the shower, turning the temperature way down to hopefully rid him of what’s left of his hard-on and finishes cleaning himself off, being sure to scrub every inch of his body to wash away any lingering traces of this weekend from his skin, hopefully soon enough from his memory. He takes the removable shower hose off the fixture as well and sprays down the tiles where Marcus’ cum still lingers, watching it wash down the drain past his feet and then hangs the shower head back up and finally turns the taps off and steps out.

Speech fully prepared in his head, what he didn’t expect was to walk back into the bedroom to see you with a very worried expression on your face and for a moment, he feels his heart literally fall into his stomach. Did Marcus just confess what happened and you’re so enraged you’re about to throw him out on his ass? Throw your husband out too? Likely not the latter, he thinks. If anything it’s probably further cementing the fact that the two of you need Dave out of your lives, he’s only going to cause problems in what is a beautiful, perfect marriage.

“You have to go?!” He hears you say and oh. So Marcus is leaving? He asks what’s going on and then just hangs back after Marcus responds to him but then focuses his attention back to you, Dave idly listening to the conversation in the background as your husband continues to apologize to you about an apparent “work emergency” that’s come up.

Dave was already set in his decision to leave, but with Marcus going he knows he really, really needs to leave. Being alone with you might just kill him, and he doesn’t deserve a death that blissful, he reasons with himself.

Not long after saying an endearing goodbye to you, Marcus brushes past Dave with a vague ‘see ya later’ and just like that, he’s gone and Dave is left alone with the person currently possessing the other half of his traitorous heart. The heart that wasn’t supposed to fall for either of these two people who already belonged to each other, let alone apparently falling for both of them.

Marcus is in the cab, half way back to his own house where he most certainly does not have any type of work emergency waiting for him, when he starts an inner battle with himself about just what in the fuck he is doing. Should he have left? Should he turn around right now and go back and stop being a fucking coward? What the hell was he supposed to do?

He felt so fucking guilty the moment his orgasm ripped through him like a freight train with Dave’s hands on him and you nowhere in sight that he just couldn’t get out of that hotel room fast enough. He had cheated on you, in his mind. What’s worse is that it wasn’t even all sexual, though that is how it started and how he pursued it but his feelings for Dave were beginning to get overwhelming and he thought maybe if he just ‘got it out of his system’ he could forget about it and move on, but then Dave had to go and fucking hold him afterwards and asked him back to bed and his throat just plummeted into his stomach. How could he just walk out of that bathroom and pretend that never happened? Is that what Dave wanted? Or did Dave want you to know exactly what happened? How would you react? Marcus didn’t even have his own feelings about the whole thing sorted out, he couldn’t expect you to understand. He crossed a line, that much he knew.

Ultimately he decided to let the cab driver continue to their destination. He was already well on his way home anyway, might as well keep going. He’d fix himself some dinner, maybe a drink and just have some time alone to sort out his thoughts before he joins you back at the hotel. He briefly wonders if Dave will still be there when he gets back. If he is, maybe it would be a good time for the three of you to have a conversation, one that’s surely long overdue. Marcus hopes he doesn’t have to speak first. What if he voices what he thinks he’s truly feeling and you all look at him like he’s grown a second head?

He’s equally worried at both ends. He’s worried that Dave, despite the tender moments he is occasionally capable of showing, might laugh the whole thing off. He signed up to be a fun ‘playmate’ for a couple of weekends here and there, not a more permanent fixture in an already existing and functioning marriage. And you… what would you even think? Sure Marcus knows you’ve warmed to Dave over the months during your encounters but you’d never discussed with Marcus that you’d felt anything for the man in question outside of sexual desire. Not to mention what would you think of him if he asked you to have another man be an active participant in your relationship? The last thing he wants is you feeling like you’re not enough for him or that something is missing from your marriage.

It would kill him if this drove any kind of rift between the two of you. No, he needs to shut up and keep whatever is in his head and his heart to himself and hope things sort themselves out. He’ll start to distance himself (and hopefully you both) from Dave and you can go back to your lives. He cares about Dave, far more than what he knows is appropriate, but he can’t lose you. He won’t.

Marcus finishes his dinner, accompanied by a rich glass of wine, and waits a while, letting his food settle and his mind attempt to find peace within the waging war that are his thoughts still battling on inside his head. A few hours since he’d left the hotel pass before he finally heads back outside to his car and types the address of the hotel into his GPS.

Dave York is a bad man. He knows it the moment he reaches the penthouse floor again, not even thirty minutes since he left it, and lifts his fist to knock at the hotel room door. He'd had every intention of getting into his car and leaving this place. Just one drink first, he'd reasoned with himself, then he'd leave.

He knew shouldn’t be here at your door now. Not without Marcus. Though, he supposes he shouldn’t have been in the shower with Marcus without you, either. Marcus knows it, clearly. It’s the only explanation for why he high-tailed it out of there with some half-assed lie of an excuse of having a work emergency on a Saturday night. Dave saw right through it of course but didn’t voice his concern, he certainly wouldn’t do that in front of you. He wouldn’t wedge himself further into the complications of your marriage than he already was.

He’s really fucked this up. But he knows, even before you pull open that door, that tonight is his last chance. The last time he’ll allow himself to see you before he forces himself to go back to his old life so you can have yours back with your husband. And if he was a better man, he would’ve just left earlier when he said he was going to and not come to see you one last time, knowing full well what he was doing and feeling and how it might affect you. How it might affect Marcus, and moreover how it might affect your relationship with Marcus.

But Dave York was not a better man. Not a good man.

Dave York was a bad, bad man.

"Hi" you breathe out the moment the door swings open and lands on him leaning against the frame on the other side.

"Hi"

Marcus lets himself into the hotel suite, quietly and carefully making his way through the rooms that are bathed in darkness, only slivers of moonlight peaking through where the curtains aren’t fully shut. Pushing open the double doors to the bedroom he frowns but is otherwise not surprised to find you sleeping alone in the bed that now seems comically oversized for just your body alone, especially given how crowded it was only hours earlier.

He glances around the room, pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight, making sure not to shine it on you so as to not wake you up. He tilts it around the room, looking everywhere but there's no sign of Dave. His belongings seem to be gone, his duffel bag no longer occupying the corner of the bedroom where it was before. Marcus had walked through the living room to get to the bedroom so he knows he wasn’t asleep on the couch either.

Dave was gone.

Clicking off the flashlight and before he can talk himself out of doing so, Marcus taps on the Messages icon on his screen, wanting to send a quick text to your group chat, just to ensure wherever Dave was, everything was OK.

Once again Marcus gets that all too familiar feeling of his throat falling into the pit of his stomach when he reads the tiny grayed out letters that greet him at the bottom of your conversation.

Dave York has left the group.

Dun Dun Dunnnnnn! I am so sorry, but believe it or not this was my plan for this series all along from the moment you guys lovingly bullied me into turning my one-shot into a series, lol. Fear not though, we haven't seen the last of our dear Dave. He's just a bit of an idiot, and is going to continue to be one for a little while, but have faith in me.

Next Chapter

I really appreciate you taking the time to read this chapter! If you liked it please leave me a little note or a reblog, it means the world to me!

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 10

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?! I'm finally posting Part 10 after an unplanned/unexpected hiatus?

Yes. I am. Sorry for the long wait!

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Angst, HYDRA experimentation, mentions of death. (Dear sweet Hyunjin in the gif below also a CW for myself and other Stays)

Word Count: 3,075

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9]

You hear Bucky’s key rattle in the front door and the soft snick as it closes downstairs. You’d arrived at your shared home only minutes ago, but that was plenty of time for you to race upstairs, lock your door, and start bawling into the pillow. You hiccup and choke, suffocating the sounds into the cotton fabric clenched between your teeth. 

Why?! Why did Bucky have to go and say that shit? As much as you had hoped and begged the universe for Bucky to say those words to you earlier this year, it responds to your pleas now?! You’ve spent months resigning yourself to having him as a friend only – that’s what he said he wanted! 

Why would he change his mind? Is it because he’s had a change of heart? Doubtful. Bucky was very certain in his decision to shut you down and out of his life. So what? Is it because you’re hanging out with Petre? Is he jealous? How? Why?

Bucky’s actions towards you tonight make no sense. Why would he say something that he knew would upset you? And if he didn’t think they’d upset you, what’d he expect? That you’d run and leap into his arms, no more words needed? Why the hell would he think that’s what would happen? He can’t just act like he didn’t completely eviscerate your heart that night in the alley and that morning in the kitchen. 

Those days are burned into your memory, not a day goes by that you don’t remember the way your words affected him and his response. He was so betrayed and angry that he lashed out at you for admitting that you wanted more than the no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits situation that you had. 

But now – now! – he wants to say you could be together? Together in what way? As fuck-buddies again? Hell no. There’s no way that you will ever put yourself through that pain and hardship again. Not for him, not for anybody. You want something real. 

You’d wanted something real with Bucky, but he’d shot you down as soon as you’d brought it up.

Bucky’s footsteps shuffle from the front door and up the stairs, stopping just outside your door. You hold your breath but continue to flinch as your lungs spasm on unuttered cries.

A soft rap sounds at your door and Bucky murmurs your name softly into the doorjamb. You squeeze your eyes shut and keep your voice as calm and level as possible, but it still cracks when you say his name. “Leave me alone, Bucky.”

“Doll, I –”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You respond vehemently, chucking your wet pillow at the door. It smacks against the wood with a thwump and lands in a sad heap on the floor. It looks just like how you feel. “Just go away.”

You can hear Bucky suck in a shaky breath, but you refuse to picture his watery eyes and quivering lip. He has a right to feel like shit, but you are under no obligation to try and assuage his guilt when he’s the one that caused this whole mess.

His bare feet tread across the hallway and into his bedroom, his bedroom door barely making any sound as he closes it behind him. His shower starts up a few seconds later and stays on for nearly an hour. After that, his bed creaks and there’s not another sound to be heard.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

“I need to leave.”

“What?” Nat hisses through the phone. It may be 4 am here, but the team is having dinner together right now back in New York. Nat’s whispering voice is her attempt at keeping this conversation between the two of you while she walks away from the dining room to talk. You can hear her boot-clad leg thunk, thunk, thunk its way across the hardwood floors as she finds privacy.

“I need to get away from Bucky,” you explain further.

“What did that fucker do this time?” Nat questions menacingly, already gearing up to kick Bucky’s ass with no information.

You heave a sigh and watch your breath fog in the air, the cloud hanging heavy in front of your face before slowly dissipating in the humid, cold air. “He… he said something about us. As in, him and I. Like we could go back to how we were.” You bite your chapped lips and worry the dry pieces of skin with your teeth. “I didn’t handle it very well.”

Nat is silent for a long moment, the other end of the line buzzing over the long distance. Finally, she says, “He said he wanted to be friends with benefits again?”

“Well not exactly,” you hedge. “He got all weird and jealous when I was hanging out with Petre last night like I always do. We got into a fight and he said that it could be us sneaking off together like we used to and I just… I lost it.” You hurriedly wipe an oncoming tear out of your eye, surprised you’re even hydrated enough to produce anything after last night’s sob fest. You suck in a shaky breath and continue. “Nat, I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

“I know, honey,” Nat consoles, her voice soft as she shushes you. “I won’t let you do that to yourself again, either. You know I’m here for you – and so is the rest of the team.” You make a questioning noise at that last part and Nat explains. “Well… the whole team kind of knows why you left.”

“...they do?” You press the palm not holding your phone against your forehead, pushing hard to focus on anything but the embarrassment the situation makes you feel. You chuckle humorlessly and say, “Everybody must think I’m pathetic now.”

“We absolutely do not,” Nat states defensively. “Wanda and I were giving him so much shit after you left and no one knew why – Bucky eventually had to tell everyone after I nearly put him in a coma when he finally found the guts to spar with me.”

You do crack a genuine smile and laugh at that. “You’re telling me Wanda was mean to him?”

“Well, I mean,” Nat laughs as well, “she didn’t put smiley faces on his pancakes when she made everybody breakfast. Trust me when I say everyone noticed her displeasure with him.”

You feel the overwhelming urge to wrap Nat and Wanda up in hugs that are long overdue. The love for your friends overflows from your heart and manifests in your words: “I love you guys so much.” It’s no substitute for the hugs you want to give, but it’s all you can offer at the moment.

“We love you, too,” Nat replies. You’re both quiet for a moment, you soaking in the silence of the frozen outdoors and Nat chewing on the question you can practically hear filling her mouth and pushing against her lips.

You sigh heavily. “Out with it, Nat.”

She sucks in a breath before starting. “You know I’m always on your side…”

“Uh-huh.”

“...but are you sure that’s what Bucky meant?” she finishes.

“Huh?” you question dumbly. “What else could he have meant? He accused me of going off and fucking Petre every time we left a room – TMI, but that’s exactly what Bucky and I used to do. So when Bucky said we could be like that, I don’t see how he could have meant anything else.”

You hear a smack from Nat’s side of the line and a grumbled ‘stupid motherfucker…’ before she composes herself and resumes the conversation. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Not particularly,” you respond. “I’d rather you just come and get me.”

“You know I would in a heartbeat, but this mission took a long time to set up…”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I wouldn’t actually leave over this, but it’s just nice to know that you’d come and get me if I asked.”

“Always,” she says. 

You and Nat chat for a little longer before you end the call, citing your need to head into ‘work’ soon. You hang up, feeling better for having spoken with your best friend. 

Your improved mood lets you ponder on what Nat was trying to get at about Bucky’s intentions. Does she know something you don’t? The answer is likely yes, her being who she is and all. But if she has reason to doubt your interpretation of Bucky’s actions last night, don’t you owe it to yourself to find out for sure?

Mind made up, you send a short text to Bucky. 

Can we talk?

A few seconds pass as you type out a follow-up message, but you’re interrupted by Bucky’s text.

You’re not here. Where are you?

You smile at the realization that Bucky had to have sprinted to your room, saw your empty bed, and then searched the entire house in record time before sending his text.

Your stomach fills with anticipatory nervousness, but you remind yourself that you’ve already gone through hell without Bucky once, so if there’s something in the way of being in each other’s lives you need to clear it up.

I’m getting an early start at work. I’ll call you during lunch?

Please. 

***

The morning rushes by in a blur. Your tasks take you up, down, and around areas of the HYDRA facility you’ve never had access to before. You can’t be seen lingering around any certain area, but you take every opportunity to peek inside rooms and hallways when no one else is around. 

There’s one particular hallway that catches your attention – not because there’s any screaming or moaning coming from the cells along the walls, but because there is a steady beep, beep, beeping coming from multiple heart rate monitors. 

You’re unable to investigate since a scientist with dark hair stands at one of the open cells at the end of the hall. His clipboard hangs down at his side as his other hand rests on the doorjamb as he watches whatever is happening inside. He’s too far away for you to get a good look at him, but his height and build seem… familiar. You stare for long seconds as he continues to linger, wracking your brain for how you recognize him, but footsteps down your hallway cause the man to startle and scurry away in the opposite direction.

The person who scared the man away rounds the corner towards you. You recognize them as the scientist that had sent you down here in the first place. Quickening your pace, you rush over to them.

“Hello, sir. Here are the materials you requested.”

“Yes, quite,” the man says as he takes the samples from your hands. 

He riffles through the sealed bags and paper work, a concentrated look on his face. You stand politely next to him, your hands folded in front of you while you wait for a dismissal.

“Argh!” the scientist exclaims in anger. “That absolute buffoon! She can’t even label correctly.” He looks up and pins you with a cold stare. “You. Go collect the bloodwork – and do it correctly!” 

He shoves a piece of paper with the subject’s ID number and location into your chest. You reach up quickly to catch it and bow your head in deference. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

He storms off, stomping his way to presumably berate the poor technician who collected the samples the first time. 

You sigh, glancing down at your phone. It’s well-past lunchtime and you need to call Bucky, but this task needs to be completed first. You’ll call Bucky soon and hopefully he’ll apologize and clear everything up. The anxiety from this morning returns and causes your stomach to tighten and a lump to form in your throat.

It’s okay, you tell yourself. He’s been trying to apologize since it happened. If he confesses the reason behind why he got weirdly jealous last night, you will tell him that he has no reason to be – that there hasn’t been anyone for him to be jealous over. Especially not a civilian during an undercover mission. 

Would that be too much? Would he think that if you haven’t been with anyone since you left that you’re still hung up on him? Even though you told him you’d never actually loved him (a massive, bald-faced lie), would he still accept your words at face value even when your actions contradict them?

Why did he say all that last night? 

If he doesn’t want to have any kind of intimacy with you, why’d he suggest being friends with benefits again? Did he suggest being friends with benefits again? It certainly seemed like that was what he was implying, but Nat’s words from this morning makes you doubt your assumption. 

If he wasn’t talking about reverting back to your situationship that you both clearly regretted – for different reasons – then what?

Ugh, you sigh. This is too much. You’ll figure it out when you call him.

You find the medical supply closet and collect the needles, tourniquets, vials, and labels necessary for the samples. Looking down the list, you see that the location is actually the hallway you were interested in earlier. Gathering your supplies onto a cart, you head out.

***

You’ve collected two of the samples when you run into Olaf, the contact you last spoke with when you first arrived. You had just left Subject #268’s room and nearly ran right into the man.

“Oh, hello,” you greet sincerely before registering the wild look in his eyes and his bloodless face. “What’s wrong?”

Olaf shoves you back into the room and looks around frantically. “I need to go,” he states, frightened. “I need to leave and I have to take my family with me.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you murmur, setting your hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths.” You show him an exaggerated inhale and exhale, staring into his eyes and trying to calm him down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The breathing exercise does nothing for him. Olaf grabs your hand and squeezes hard. “They know.”

“They know?” you question. “Who knows what?”

“They know that I contacted the Avengers!” He nearly shouts. You shush him with your other hand over his mouth, but he rips it away and continues. “They know I brought you here and that we’re trying to shut this place down.”

“Hold up,” you plead. Your heart races in your chest at the implications. “Why do you say that?”

“I heard them!” he rasps. “I heard them discussing the ‘rats in the organization’ and that they’re finally ready to get rid of them.”

“And you think that’s us? Why?”

“Why else would they mention my name and the Avengers in the same sentence moments later?!” Tears leak down Olaf’s face and his breaths heave in and out of his chest.

“Okay. Okay,” you say, a million thoughts and plans running through your mind. “Get out of here. Go get your family and run – it doesn’t matter if you look suspicious since they’re already aware of the situation.”

Olaf nods his head rapidly and starts to back out of the door and into the hall. “What about you?” he questions weakly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “I’ll wrap things up here. Just go!”

He nods again and turns to run down the hall, but stops dead in his tracks. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling invades you. You step out into the hallway and find…

“Petre?” you whisper.

Petre stands there, with his dark hair and clipboard – he’s the one you saw in this hallway earlier. Your brain short-circuits while trying to put all the information together. 

You hear Olar whimper behind you. You turn your head and mutter quickly: “Go.” Olaf bolts down the hallway and out of sight.

You turn back to face Petre, his eyes wide and breathing heavy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him. “How much did you just hear?”

Petre hesitates for a moment before responding. “Enough.”

“Petre,” your voice is hard. “What are you doing here?”

“They…” his lip quivers. “They have my sister.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. “They have Sasha? I thought she was just sick?”

“She is,” he says. “They said that they’re the only ones who can cure her, so my parents… we agreed to their treatment plan. But then they started asking for more and more things – things mother and father weren’t comfortable with. But they said we have to comply if we want Sasha to get better – so I came here at their demand.”

You suck in a deep breath. Something about Petre’s broken, dejected demeanor sends a wave of foreboding through you. “Grab Sasha and run, Petre. You know who I am now. I can help you.”

Petre shakes his head sadly. “She’ll die.”

“No. No, Dr. Cho can figure out what’s wrong – she can help Sasha.” But Petre’s head continues to shake.

“They give her something everyday, something that will kill her if she doesn’t receive her next dose at the correct time. I… I’m sorry. I have to protect my sister.”

A tear slips down Petre’s cheek as he begins to back away from you.

“Petre, please,” you beg. “Give me five minutes.”

“I can’t,” he whispers, and takes off.

You curse and start running. The only thing you can do is get to the control room and wreak havoc. You thunder through the hallways of the compound, dodging scientists and slamming and locking the doors that separate different wings from each other. 

The lights shut off. A loud, blaring siren rings through the facility and emergency lights flash red. On, off. On, off. Your eyes try to adjust to the darkness, then are assaulted by the light only fractions of a second later – the strobing effect causing the scene to look like stop-motion animation. 

You recognize the area you’re in, realizing that the control room is only a few doors away. Shouting and the clambering of combat boots to your left catches your attention. A whole host of agents run towards you, weapons drawn. 

You put on a burst of speed, grabbing the control room door jamb and swinging inside. You close the door and drag a desk to barricade it – it won’t hold for long, but it’s better than nothing. You turn to find several men rising from their desks, startled looks on their faces.

Grimacing, you begin the arduous task of taking lives.

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283 @terry2227

Part 11

[gildedphoenix]

Excert from a story I'm writing:

But oddly, it had been Nocturn who’d helped him most. For so long, Danny’s primary concern had been whatever disaster was currently exploding in his face. He hadn’t had time to look to the future or think about his own desires since he’d died. So on a clear autumn night when Nocturn asked Danny about his own Dreams, Danny was shocked to find that he didn’t have a ready answer. At 14, Danny had wanted many things. He’d wanted to undo the portal accident. He’d wanted to be popular. He’d wanted to marry Paulina. Time went on and he wanted to protect the city. He wanted to get a good night's sleep. He wanted to not flunk out of high school. At times he’d wanted to just survive. 

What did Danny want now? Of course he had all of his new responsibilities. He had a whole un-dimension to rule and govern. And he was slowly getting a handle on that. But that was not really his goal. It was just a daily fact. And Nocturn hadn’t asked about his core’s drive. His Obsession. Nocturn had asked, appropriately, about Danny’s Dreams. So Danny did what he always did when he found a quiet moment of flight among the chaos. He looked up at the sky. It was a clear night, the stars out in abundance. Staring at the glittering unending void, Danny felt his core settle and something he didn’t know he’d been missing clicked into place. 

“There it is.” Nocturn said. 

But Danny did not hear him. With that quiet snick of the final puzzle piece of his soul, his mind had expanded outwards. Suddenly able to connect with the resonance of the universe. To feel the white hot pinpoint of each star in the blanket of space. To breathe into the gaps between one galaxy and the next. Perceiving everything everwhere all at once while losing his connection to himself.

It was a long time before he remembered that he was Danny. That he existed as his own entity, separate from ever expanding and churning cauldron of space. His mind and awareness shrank back down. Slowly letting go of the planets and stars, leaving just himself. His core. His limbs. The sounds around him came back first as the roar of the stars quieted. Feeling came next. His mind letting go of asteroids and radiation and connecting to his clothes and the bed he laid on. He could feel a hand holding his, warm and pulsing. He opened his eyes to see Jazz. He was inside. There were no windows, which was just as well because he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stay tethered to his own body if he saw the sky again.

“Hey,” She said. “Nocturn brought you home. He said you’d be gone awhile but didn’t say where you’d gone.”

“To space.” He said. “I went to space. And it’s mine.” Danny looked shocked at his own declaration but felt the truth of it. “I’m… I think I’m in charge of Space.”

Clockwork in the perfect timing that only he could have, arrived to explain to Danny that the domain of Space had always been waiting for him. Existing without rule until he grew enough in power and in mind to connect fully with it. To take on the mantle as the Ancient of Space to perceive on that level and still come back to themselves with their own sense of being intact. Even if it had taken him nearly a week to come back.

[lalal-99]

of the big city {h.j.} | track 2

©March 2023, February 2024 by lalal-99

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 6.9k

Synopsis: The one where uni starts and you meet some interesting people.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: The next chapters are gonna be much shorter, I promise. The overwork is going smoothly so far, I have the next chapter ready and will probably post beginning of next week. I also wrote two whole new chapters this week which I'm very proud of. I really hope I can finish this story this time around :)

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Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

“Baby? Do you have some paper for me?”

With an annoyed eye roll you ripped a page from your new notebook, smoothing over the edges of the torn binder. You pushed the single page over towards him with reluctance.

“You forgot your notebook on the first day already?”

And to think notebooks and pens were the main reason you had gone to the store yesterday.

“Don’t blame me. You know I’m not a morning person. And you didn’t want to wake me up with sex, so...” The smugness in his voice made you wonder if he actually thought he had won this discussion. You raised your eyebrows at him, hinting at the thinness the metaphorical ice on which he was walking.

You usually didn’t get annoyed that easy. If you had, your relationship sure as hell wouldn’t have lasted this long. The reason: Jisung and his lack of understanding social cues. To take the hint and not bother you any further when you were already frustrated, all it took was a look.

Although he wasn’t the reason for your irritation today. Or at least not the sole one.

It was the first day of university, so naturally, you were a little on edge. Whatever happened from this day on would decide over the paths your life took in the future. It was a step you had waited so long to take but dreaded all the same. Jisung, as your loving boyfriend, should have known how much this meant to you.

Sometimes, you speculated if he did it on purpose. Rile you up when you were anxious to give you something to put your focus on instead. His intentions might have been sweet, but this wasn’t taking any tension off your shoulders. Jisung forgetting his notebook and blaming you for it, even as a joke, could have likely been the last straw.

“Baby?” As you looked back at him, you noticed his cute pout. It was almost cute enough to make you forget what you had been so annoyed about a minute earlier. “Do you also have a spare pen? And some highlighters would be nice, too.”

Shaking your head at Jisung, you let out a snort. So he hadn’t forgotten just his notebook, but his pen and highlighter too? Got it. Very unwillingly, you handed him the items. You thankfully always had a spear set in case of emergency. Or, in this case, your boyfriend’s scatterbrain you had been dealing with for many years already.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He blew you a playful kiss, thanking you for your service. “Don’t let this become a habit. I’m not piggybacking you through university as I did in High School. Understood?”

As much as you loved him, Jisung had his fair share of annoyances. Like his living-in-the-moment type of attitude. A contrast to your thoroughly organised persona, you usually appreciated your differences. Without his Yin, your Yang wouldn’t shine as bright and vice versa.

That still didn’t change that you wouldn’t be his personal secretary this time around.

Jisung was old enough to care for himself and not rely on his girlfriend for every one of his needs. Whether it was some paper and pens, your skillfully crafted cue cards, or an all-nighter before one of his final exams. How ever you had talked him into studying for that one anyways.

“I love you, too.”

If he only weren’t so damn cute.

Out of pure principle you ignored his comment with an unintentional snicker. You continued your draft outline on your first notebook page—your attempt of getting a head start on future lecture notes—thus almost missing the voice chatting up Jisung.

“I’m taking you won’t be sleeping in the dorm a lot, will you?”

The depth of the second voice made you look up from your notebook. As the light shone into the room from behind the boy, it almost blinded you. Once your eyes got used to the brightness, you could finally make out a lean figure. He set a reusable coffee cup on the desk next to Jisung before sliding onto the wooden chair.

The boy was clad in comfortable attire, loose hanging jeans paired with a simple t-shirt. His long, blonde hair messily framed his face, a green beanie rounding off his skater-boy look. Something told you he had more to himself than what his cover showed. The several silver rings on his fingers could have been the reason for your suspicion. Or it was how he carried himself—a perfect line leading from his soles to the tip of his head. In exact contradiction to your boyfriend’s slouching posture.

“Morning to you too, sunshine.” The smirk in Jisung’s tone indicated his playfulness and a sense of closeness. “Why do you care? You’re not in love with me, are you?”

“No,” the boy scoffed, his bag placed neatly under the table. “I just wondered if I can stop waiting up for you or if I will have to identify your corpse at some point.”

Looking past Jisung, the boy noticed your presence, sending you a heart-warming smile. The freckles all over his nose and cheeks juxtaposed the darkness of his voice and over-all looks. Something about his aura relaxed you, his company drenching his atmosphere in happiness.

“Hi, I’m Felix!”

“I’m Y/N. I’m Jisung’s-”

“Girlfriend. Yeah, I know. He talks about you a lot.”

Jisung leaned in closer to you, though he kept his voice at the same volume, “Be careful, baby. He’s very much in love with me already. I might leave you for him.”

“You can have him.” You leaned past your boyfriend, directly addressing Felix. “But make sure to always have a spare pen and paper. And also a spare pair of pants.” The scene from earlier this morning came back to mind, a teasing look creeping onto your face. “He might say he can care for himself, but he will wear your leggings and pink baby-girl crop top when there’s no alternative.”

“Good to know,” Felix replied with a deep chuckle, amused by the picture you had painted. He ran his hands through his blonde hair, showing off his ears and all the piercings. Okay, so, definitely not a skater-boy-type.

“You might be joking now.” Jisung threw a know-all look in your direction. “But you won’t be laughing when I wear your fishnets to your grandpa’s next birthday.”

“Don’t you dare put on my fishnets! They were expensive.”

“That’s alright. We’re about the same size, so he can wear mine.” Felix’s words came unexpected and not even Jisung couldn’t conceal his amusement.

“Great, there’s two of you now. Is it too late to drop out?”

In all the years you had known him, Jisung rarely ever made friends this easy. Not even a week on campus, and he had gotten close enough to Felix to joke in his usual manner. How they had even gotten this close when Jisung had spent most of the day at your place was a mystery to you. Still, the little time they had spent together was enough to have discovered a mutual hobby—catching Pokémon. As they argued over who had found the rarest creature, you picked up your previous task. Though that didn’t stop your joy in finding that Jisung had made a friend. And a nice one at that.

You felt guilty for even thinking it, but Jisung had never been particularly good at making friends. Not before meeting you and not afterwards either.

Most of all, you blamed the lack of a ‘do not say’-filter in his conversational skills. His openness posed an obstacle to making new acquaintances—or at least it had many times before. After years of getting side-eyed or complained about, he had stopped talking to new people all together. Like he already expected the sole attempt to make connection to backfire. The few relationships he had formed despite his shyness had been pure luck. And your very own relationship only existed due to your perseverance.

That Jisung had already befriended Felix, at least as much as possible in three days, put you in a bright mood. One of your biggest fears about moving was your boyfriend rooming with someone he didn’t get along with. With someone as talkative and easily compatible as Felix, Jisung would likely not be clinging to you as much. Which wouldn’t have been the worst scenario, but still.

With every passing minute the lecture hall filled more. When something sharp scratched your shin, your head finally snapped towards one of the new-comers. A blonde girl had sat down next to you, and you found the culprit when you noticed her pink heels.

“Oh my God. Did I hit you? I’m so sorry.” Her hand came to her mouth in shock as she apologised a couple of times. You rubbed over the sensitive skin which was already bruising from when you had hit that crate of boxes yesterday. Talk about unfortunate accidents. You pushed the urge to groan at the pain down, forcing a smile onto your face instead. “It’s those dang heels. I knew I should have worn the sneakers today.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me, that’s all.” Embarrassment reached over her cheeks to her ears, a frown painting her face. “No worries.”

For a few seconds she hesitated but finally accepted your willingness to let it go. Out of the corner of your eye, you followed her as she unloaded the contents of her purse. She pulled out a torn notepad and a vintage-leather pencil case, which must have seen better days. She reached back into her designer bag, face distraught as her search came up empty.

She tried grabbing the attention of two boys on her right side, tied deep into their conversation. When she eventually realised she had no other option, her gaze tiptoed towards you. “Sorry to bother you again.” Teeth nibbling at her lip, she forced herself to get over her embarrassing mistake seconds earlier. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

Even if your shin had hurt worse, you would have still helped her out. With a genuine smile, you nodded, searching your pencil case and then your bag.

“I wanted to grab one before leaving my room, but I noticed a stain on my shirt and needed to change it. So, I forgot about the pen,” the girl recounted her morning ventures. “I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you assured her. Your smile turned to an apologetic scowl once you realised you couldn’t help her out after all. “I’m sorry. I always carry at least one extra pen, but scatterbrain next to me left his head in bed this morning.”

“You talking ‘bout me?”

Jisung, who you hadn’t expected to react to the mention of his unflattering nickname, turned to you.

“Hey, Felix,” you called the boy two seats from yours, ignoring your boyfriend. “Do you happen to have a spare pen?”

“Sure. I always carry an extra one in case.”

“Interesting. So, some people do use their heads before leaving the house.” It was a reproachful remark addressed to Jisung and his forgetfulness, and he caught the meaning.

“Some people do use their heads before leaving the house,” he scrunched his nose, teasing you by mimicking your voice and repeating your previous words as you snickered. Your perfect boyfriend, everyone.

Felix handed the pen from his jacket past you, the girl accepting it with a thankful smile.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I usually go by Felix. But lifesaver is good, too.”

The girl giggled, before introducing herself, “I’m Yuqi. I live in the student housing off campus. You know, the ones next to that coffee shop with the green doors. It’s open 24/7. Genius marketing move, right?” Biting her lip after that info dump, you noticed her nose doing a little scrunch. “Sorry. I talk a lot.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Jisung joked, your elbow gracing his rib at his sarcasm. You wondered if there would ever come a day you didn’t have to act as his personalised filter.

“Don’t listen to the idiot next to me,” you declared, “I find it charming.”

“Me, too,” Felix agreed, and Yuqi relaxed. It told you that she usually didn’t get that reaction when spraying words like a waterfall.

“I live in the same building.”

Excitement took over her features. “What? No way! Which room?”

“B4.”

Yuqi shrieked, her hand touching your arm, “I’m B12! That makes us floormates.”

“I guess it does.” Yuqi was the first person you met who lived in the same building that wasn’t your roommate or her girlfriend. “I’m Y/N. And this,” you thumbed back at your boyfriend, “this is Jisung.”

“Hi,” he greeted her with an awkward wave.

“Nice to meet you all.”

With that, Yuqi picked up her purse, pulling out an old folder. Well, it appeared to be rather new, but the edges were already torn, some of the plastic cover coming off the corners. The latter especially gave you an ick, and you forcefully pushed down the urge to smooth over them. You could handle some chaos, even if this was a lot.

Good thing, Yuqi spoke up again, giving something different to concentrate on.

“What’s your major?”

“I’m doing Business Admin.” Before you could return the question, Yuqi already reacted, hand touching your biceps in excitement.

“No freakin’ way! I’m in Marketing.” The delight in her voice was addictive as you couldn’t help a grin pulling on your lips. “See, I even wore the perfect outfit for our first lecture later today.”

Yuqi leaned back, giving you a better look at her clothing.

She was in a pair of white jeans, a rosé-coloured blouse adorning the upper half of her lean figure. A single, thin gold necklace decorated her neckline, fitting the two golden earrings. The one thing that stood out in that well-rounded outfit was her other earrings. About a dozen of them decorated both ears from the dainty top to the slim bottom. To round the fit off, she wore a pair of light-pink high heels. The very same that had already made acquaintance with your shin.

“Pretty, right?”

“Very girlboss,” you agreed in earnest. Your own clothes contrasted her colourful optics, made up of mostly black items.

“I’m so glad I’m not the only girl in the classes.” There was a hint of playful disgust in her statement, making you chuckle. “All the other people I met who are in Business were boys. Not that boys are bad or anything. I love boys. But they can be—a lot.”

“I get it. I lived with three boys back home. Well, technically, my dad is a man,” you air-quoted, “but where’s the difference, right?” Yuqi chuckled. “It’s nice to have a girl around every once in a while.”

Yuqi reached for her coffee cup as her gaze wandered to the grey haired middle-aged man who entered the room. He walked up to the desk at the end of the hall, his briefcase landing on the table with a loud thud.

With that, you straightened up, pen in hand and ready to take notes the second your prof opened his mouth.

05:23 PM: Hey, are you studying in the dorm tonight?—Y/N 05:25 PM: No. The place is all yours :)—Hwasa 05:25 PM: Is lover boy coming over again ;)—Hwasa 05:26 PM: He’s hanging out with his roommate tonight... Bonding. I’m thinking about inviting a friend over. I met her at orientation earlier this week—Y/N 05:27 PM: Sounds fun—Hwasa 05:27 PM: Anything special planned?—Hwasa 05:27 PM: Not yet. Maybe eat something and a movie? Explore the city?—Y/N 05:28 PM: You wanna explore this bar Joey’s? I’m meeting some friends there later. Happy Hour starts at 8—Hwasa 05:29 PM: You sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude—Y/N 05:29 PM: I told you I’d be taking you out one of these days—Hwasa 05:30 PM: Texting you the address right now!—Hwasa

Stepping through the dark wooden doors, a wall of warmth hit you like a thick blanket.

It had gotten colder the past few days, fall beginning to hit the city. You took off your scarf, looking around the place in search of the familiar, pretty face.

This place seemed to be the city’s hotspot, every table packed to full capacity. Red velveteen clad the round tables right by the entrance, the seating options becoming wider once you reached the back. Couches fanned out in random patterns all over the dark oak floor. The furniture’s vintage finish further accented the brown parquet.

You felt like you had stepped straight into a movie scene.

The wave of a dainty hand over the crowd’s heads caught your attention as you spotted your roommate in the back. You grabbed Yuqi by the hem of her sleeve, dragging her behind you as you made your way to the group of girls with a smile.

“Hello,” you greeted the table once you had gotten close enough for them to see you.

Hwasa hugged you in bliss, almost tipping over the drink in front of her, “Hi! I’m so glad you could make it.” As she noticed Yuqi, she pulled her in for another warm embrace, “Nice to meet you! I’m Hwasa.”

“Yuqi,” your friend replied, joy written on her face at the enthusiastic welcome.

Knowing Hwasa and her usual calm persona, you knew she must have already taken full advantage of Happy Hour.

“Nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself to the two unfamiliar faces, sending Wheein a quick nod as she met it with a smile.

The two girls with your roommate and her girlfriend couldn’t have been much older than them. The first had straight black hair reaching the bottom of her back, at least from what you could tell. The other sported a short grey bob. It highlighted her sharp jaw in what you could only describe as a tomboy-ish look. Like Wheein and Hwasa, they were beautiful and made you somewhat self-conscious. You shouldn’t have come here unprepared, or put on mascara, at least.

First to introduce herself was the black-haired girl, her smile almost blinding you. “Hi, I’m Solar.”

An extraordinary name for an extraordinary beautiful person. Fitting. In your mind, there was no doubt she made people of any gender fall in love with her the moment she stepped into a room. Her calm, almost carefree aura was truly something else.

“And I’m Byul.” She was just as pretty, though in a less traditional sense. A boyish charm surrounded her, though her blazer hinted at a seriousness to her person. She looked—important.

You introduced yourself and Yuqi, pulling out the two remaining chairs. They must have fought off several people to reserve these. “Are you students, too?”

“We used to be,” Solar explained as she emptied her tulip-coloured drink.

The girls seemed to have stocked up on various drinks; more glasses than people were at the table. If the drinks were half as good as they looked, you’d be in for a long night.

“We graduated last year,” the black-haired beauty continued, bumping shoulders with Hwasa. “I used to be Hwasa’s roommate, actually.”

“I didn’t even notice!” Hwasa giggled, thus proving your assumption about the amount of alcohol consumed before your arrival. “She’s my ex, and you’re my next.”

You chuckled in amusement, reaching for the menu at the edge of the table. The faux leather was soft beneath your fingertips as you skimmed over the Happy Hour options. When your eyes landed on your favourite drink, a smile spread on your lips as you handed the menu over to Yuqi.

“They have Long Island Ice Tea in three different flavours?” Yuqi exclaimed, the scenic buzz of this place rubbing off on her. Not that she wasn’t this emotional about almost anything. “Would it be very immature to try them all tonight?”

“Not at all. I am browsing through the new offers myself. We can get drunk together.”

Not a fair fight. Hwasa had already gotten a head start.

You called over the waiter by raising your hand, and he headed for your table not a minute later. He raised an unintentional eyebrow at the consumption level—One Mojito, three Long Island Ice Teas and another Piña Colada and Gin Tonic. Even so, the boy sent you a smile, spinning around and wandering back to the bar.

Once he was gone, Hwasa swiftly emptied her previous drink. All it took was one strong sip through her straw, and the Tonic and ice was gone. The coldness reached her brain soon after, prompting her eyes to grow wider—like those of a comic-book figure.

“Babe, you should slow down,” Wheein suggested with a chuckle. But her girlfriend waved her off.

“I’m fine. Also, I don’t have any courses tomorrow, so I have the whole day to sleep off that hangover I’ll be having.”

“Great. I’ll remind you when you’re hugging the toilet seat later.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Mhm.” Wheein didn’t seem uber-convinced Hwasa would keep her promise but let it go anyways.

As the girls went back to their previous conversation, you tried your best to follow them.

You understood that Solar was passed over for a big promotion at her job and that she was convinced, her boss was sleeping with her opponent.

“What do you do for work?” Yuqi’s question took the words right out of your mouth.

“I am an assistant buyer at a small fashion label,” Solar explained, making you look at Hwasa in surprise.

“Don’t you also study fashion?” Taking a sip from her already empty glass, she nodded in silence. You frowned when you noticed her uncomfortable look at Wheein following your words. There must have been some form of backstory, and the last thing you wanted was to make things awkward. Instead you attempted correcting your mistake. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

Passing a few glances around the table, Byul finally spoke up. “Our cutie Hwasa here used to study Chemistry full-time. She developed a small crush on Solar in her second year, so, she changed majors to spend more time with her.”

It took a moment to dawn on you why Wheein and Hwasa had reacted the way they did.

“Yes, but I hadn’t met my love then.” Hwasa bobbed her girlfriend’s nose, pouting to cheer her up. After a few seconds, Wheein couldn’t stop her frown from turning into a giggle. They were just the cutest.

“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?”

“Drunk of love!”

“I stand corrected. You’re absolutely hammered.”

Playfully nudging her girlfriend, Wheein relaxed, emptying her own drink. Non-alcoholic, from what you had gathered.

“Anyways, since Solar is into boys only—”

“Men,” Solar interrupted her friend with a sigh. “I stopped dating boys a long time ago. They never know where to put things.”

“Sorry, since Solar is into men only,” Byul corrected, her eyes meeting yours again, “that didn’t work out. Now Hwasa is stuck with fashion. She met Wheein not too long after.”

“That’s right!”

The enthusiasm in her reaction made Hwasa finally tip over her glass. The melted ice cubes went all over the table, the cool liquid running down the sides. Some of it landed on your jeans, so while Hwasa apologised profusely, you called over the waiter a second time in five minutes.

A moment later, the young man rushed over with your drinks, handing you a towel to dry yourself. It didn’t go by you that his gaze focused on you for a few extra beats, but you ignored it. Your returned the now moist towel with kindness and he left with a light blush.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.” Solar’s caught your attention by the touch of her hand as she nodded towards the waiter.

“Notice what?”

“That the waiter was flirting with you,” she explained, looking around the table. “You noticed too, didn’t you?”

Byul agreed, “Sure did.”

“You’re not one of those girls who are, like, super slow on cues, right?” You chuckled at her question, shaking your head.

“No, I noticed, too.”

The confusion on the beauty’s face made you chuckle a little. “So what, then? He’s cute. Get his number.”

“Nah, I’m good.” You waived her off, taking a sip from your fresh drink. The rum burned down your throat, the lime juice and sugar adding a bittersweet taste to it. “Also, I don’t think my boyfriend would be particularly happy with me asking other men for their number.”

If everyone’s focus hadn’t been on you already, it sure was now.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Very much so, yes.”

Solar seemed surprised by the information.

“Is it serious? I mean, you obviously shouldn’t cheat on him. But you are at university. If you don’t explore and get to know yourself now, when will you get another chance?”

You took another sip to ease the discomfort from being the center of attention. Not exactly where you usually were. “We’ve been together for five years. I’d say that’s pretty serious.” That did the trick, her mouth now agape in shock. She leaned in closer to you, cradling her chin in her palm.

“Five years? So, you’re High School Sweet Hearts?”

“Middle School, actually.”

“Is he any hot?” Yuqi interrupted, also leaning in further. How your relationship had become the talk of the whole table had gone right by you.

“What do you mean? You met him at orientation. He sat right next to me.”

“No way! That’s your boyfriend?” You hummed, agreeing. “But you called him dumbass like 5 times in one hour.”

“I did, but it’s more a term of endearment. I call Jisung dumbass; he calls me stupid. It’s a whole thing.”

As soon as you had cleared that up, Solar was back at it, hitting you with question after question.

“Wait, but like, for real. You’ve never been with anyone else since Middle School?”

You shook your head, correcting her statement. “I’ve never been with anyone else ever.”

Usually, you never talked about yourself and your relationship this much. You were rather private in that sense, though, you also understood their curiosity. It wasn’t every day that you met someone who had been with the same person since they were 14. You understood the length of your relationship was uncommon for someone your age.

“So, he’s your first boyfriend?”

“Yup.”

“So, you never kissed anyone else? Had sex with anyone else?” Byul further interrogated, now also fully invested in your love life. That you had only met the girls maybe 20 minutes ago seemed irrelevant. Not like you hadn’t seen that question coming sooner or later.

You agreed with a nod. “I never wanted anyone else.”

“How do you even maintain a relationship for that long?” Yuqi budded in again, her focus different from the older women’s. “My longest relationship lasted 4 months, and then I got tired of him.” For some reason, her statement made so much sense to you. Yuqi definitely needed constant excitement to fill her heart. “What’s your secret.”

You thought about it before answering shortly, “Shared trauma, maybe?” When no one laughed at your words, you backtracked. Your honesty might have been too much for them after all. “That was a joke. Obviously. We have a lot in common and went through similar stuff in life.”

It became quiet for a few seconds, though you sensed that Solar was holding back. Whatever she might have had dancing on the tip of her tongue, she took her sweet time wording it in her pretty head.

“Please, don’t take this the wrong way.” Always a great way to start a sentence. “If the shoe fits, tie that bitch up. But you’re in college now. This is your time to explore your interests—your options. No one comes out of college the way they go in. It’s a life-changing experience.”

“So, I should cheat on my boyfriend, is what you’re saying?” You started getting a little defensive now that your love life appeared to be under attack. All the attention got uncomfortable as much as you understood where it was coming from.

“That’s not what I was saying at all.” Some of the tension fell from your shoulders. “I’m saying people change. So, don’t be surprised if your boyfriend and you don’t work out.” Still not the direction you wanted this conversation to go. But Solar continued anyway. “Take Byul, for example.”

Solar leaned back, her hand coming to her friend’s shoulder.

“Byul started college, wanting to become a lawyer.” Byul nodded, agreeing. Her blazer somehow made more sense now. “She finished her degree and opened her own music production studio not two months later. And Hwasa—” With that, Solar went on to your roommate, who threw her a playful wink. “The first year of college, she cycled between so many partners, we were certain, she’d end up pregnant or with an STD. And look at her now.”

From how lovingly Hwasa was gazing at Wheein, there was no doubt in your mind that she had happily moved on from those days.

“And when Wheein started college,” Solar continued her list, “she was straight as a ruler. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

And it was the truth. You understood that most people used college to find their path in life. The women around you were the best example for it. All four of them had found their place in the world, who they wanted to be, through university. You didn’t doubt that whatever had happened to them was necessary for them to grow into the women they were today.

At the same time, you knew your life better than anyone else at this table. You remembered every little thing you had gone through together, with Jisung. You understood how his mind worked. What he struggled with and how to get him through it emotionally—you had witnessed most of it with your own eyes.

And there was nothing one-sided about it either. There was no doubt in your mind that the same went for Jisung. He knew you like the palm of his hand—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m still very sure we are not gonna break up.”

“I hope you don’t.” Yuqi finally came to your rescue, cutting the tensive atmosphere. “He’s adorable.”

Thankfully, Solar accepted it as the end of story. She sat back as Yuqi diverted the conversation from you to Byul, asking her about her work at the studio. You calmed down as the centre of attention drew from you and towards the ins and outs of the music industry. When Hwasa playfully bumped her shoulder into yours, you looked up at her. A teasing wink showcased her support and affection. And probably her drunkenness.

“Sorry about her. Solar can be very straightforward, but she has a good soul. She’s a realist, and very openly so.”

“It’s alright,” you told her, taking your glass and a huge sip of your Mojito. “I know most relationships at our age don’t last. But we’re solid as a rock. It’d need a tsunami to separate us.”

You hoped the rest of the night would go a little less awkward than this. Though, as the alcohol ultimately entered your system, you soon forgot about the whole conversation.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

A second later Hwasa bent over the nearest bush.

“What happened?”

“She got sick,” you explained the situation as you used your hair tie to fixate Hwasa’s long locks behind her neck. “You good?”

Hwasa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded as she stumbled towards the housing entrance. Wheein supported her other side, the two of you exchanging concerned looks.

“Is she gonna be alright?”

“I think so. It usually takes a glass of water and an aspirin, and she’ll be back to her old self.” You didn’t doubt Wheein knew how her girlfriend usually handled alcohol. “I’m gonna take her to my room to make sure. It’s closer to the bathroom, and I don’t have a roommate she could disturb.”

“You have a single room?” Yuqi questioned in surprise. Her enthusiasm after midnight was still higher than yours had been all evening. “Man, I should become dorm supervisor next year.”

“It has its perks.”

Yuqi took over once you had reached your room, holding up Hwasa so they could lead her to her girlfriend’s room.

“Good night. Call me if you need help,” you told Wheein, who nodded thankfully.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” After Yuqi had bidden her goodbye, you turned to your door, entering the four-digit code to unlock it.

Once inside, you rid yourself of your shoes, turning the lights on as you set your bag down by your dresser.

A groan came from your bed, making you jump and stumble back against the wooden cupboard. Your blanket moved at the disturbance, a bulge the size of a grown person appearing underneath it. It took a mop of familiar brown hair to calm you as you realise that not an intruder had overtaken your bed.

“Dang it! Jisung, you creep! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Noticing the tired haze in his eyes, you strolled over to him. You slid next to his torso as your hand reached for his chubby cheek, grazing his skin. It woke him up, your action met with a sigh and his head leaning comfortably against your palm.

Under the blanket, you noticed his shirt, which didn’t even begin to cover his bulging biceps. It took you a moment to recognise why it didn’t fit him like his other clothes usually did.

“Are you wearing my crop top again?” Amusement laced your tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You almost didn’t understand him, his vague mumbling blurrier than typical. He must have been asleep for a while.

“What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to hang out with Felix tonight.” You took out your earrings, neatly placing them on the small nightstand by your bed. “What happened to bonding with your roomie?”

“We hung out for four hours,” he explained with a yawn. “Then I came over because I missed you.”

Running your hand down the side of his face, he grabbed it as soon as he could reach it. He brought it to his lips to give your skin a quick peck.

“Now, come to bed, so we can sleep.”

“I need to get changed and brush my teeth first.”

“I can help you get out of your clothes. And I don’t care if your breath stinks.”

“I care.” You got off your bed to rush through your evening routine so you could fall into your love’s arms already. Yet, your intentions were rudely interrupted. “What the heck!”

Before you could take a step, Jisung’s arm snapped out from beneath your blanket, pulling you back. You couldn’t react fast enough as he dragged you into a lying position next to him, still fully clothed.

“See? I don’t care.”

“What about the light?”

Lifting his head off your pillow, he grabbed the tissue box from your nightstand and tossed it at the light switch. You didn’t know when he had suddenly learned to aim, but it hit smack-bang in the middle, shutting off all the light in your room.

“I gotta admit, that was impressive.”

“Now, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

You giggled as he effortlessly opened the button and zipper of your pants and dragged them down your legs. He tossed them towards the end of the bed, to be dealt with tomorrow. Next was your top, which he swiftly brought over your head, throwing it to join the rest of your clothes.

“If you only cleaned as quick as you undress me.”

“Everybody has their own forté.” You snickered at his words, closing the gap between you. “I could also be way quicker than that. We haven’t had sex in a week. Right now, your clothes are my nemesis.”

The heat of his body caught you in a warm hug, “A week already, huh?”

“8 days and 7 hours, to be exact. But who’s counting?” His arm came around you, scooting you closer so your back pressed flat against his chest.

“You wanna reset that clock?”

“Nah,” he brushed your suggestion off. “I’m way too tired to have sex right now.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“About that.” His hot breath fanned over your neck. “I know it’s date night, but there’s this party I was invited to. I thought we could go to that instead.”

“A party?” It was the first week of university. How had your introverted boyfriend already been invited to a party? You should have probably seen the answer coming. “Whose?”

“I think you know.”

Of course, you knew. How could you not when his parties had been legendary even back in the day? Though, until now, you had suppressed his present at this campus all together. His being the one who shalln’t be named.

You thought about Jisung’s suggestion for a second.

Sure, a party would intervene with your bi-weekly date night. And, on top of that, it was organised by someone, you didn’t know how to approach after everything that had gone down. But this was university, after all. And, as Solar had said before: University is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So, why the heck shouldn’t you go to a party?

“So? What do you say?”

“Fine.” Jisung’s previously unbothered expression turned into a smile as he grazed his lips to your neck. “Just... Don’t tell your sister we’re going. I’m not sure she would appreciate us hanging out with her ex.”

“Lying to my sister? Who are you, and what did you do to my girlfriend?” A yawn hit your ear, your face scrunching at the unwanted ASMR session. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As Jisung slipped into a deep slumber, your mind raced through the events of your day. It usually did at the end of the day, your mind too tired to do anything productive but too awake to rest. The silence around you allowed you to remember an earlier text message you never got to answer.

Pulling your arm out of your boyfriend’s iron hold on your body, you reached for your phone on the nightstand.

Your dad had sent you a voice message about three hours earlier when you had still been at the bar. You pushed the play button and brought the phone to your ear to not disturb Jisung’s beauty sleep. By all means, he needed it. Or so he said.

“Hi, honey. It’s dad. I hope you had a lovely day and aren’t studying too hard already.” You smiled at his words, knowing it was one of his biggest hopes for you to get some time to yourself. “Remember what I told you when you left? Live a little!” A pause as he was seemingly picking up something from the ground. “I just wanted to ask when you were coming home Friday. I’m planning brunch with you two and Jia, so if you could be here by noon, that’d be great.”

Friday was the day after tomorrow. You hadn’t forgotten you’d be going back home for the weekend, but you sure hoped the party tomorrow wouldn’t keep you up all night. If you had to be home by noon, you’d have to leave campus by ten. And after a party, like you expected this one to be, you prayed you and a certain someone wouldn’t be too hungover.

“Anyways, sleep tight, and have a lovely night. We miss you!”

A second voice appeared in the background, not too far from your father’s, and your heart skipped a happy beat. The words were harder to make out as he was munching on an apple, cereal, or something else crunchy.

Still, there wouldn’t come a day you wouldn’t understand his babbling.

“Come home soon, please! Mhpf—I miss you, mommy.”

With a loving smile plastered on your face, you replied with a heart emoji. After such a perfect goodnight-messaged, you’d be sleeping like a stone tonight.

Next Chapter >>> Let me know if you want to be tagged. Make sure you have an age indicator in your profile.

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[novasintheroom]

027. Serious

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1k

♡ Warnings - first kiss situation :)

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble serious on AO3

The smell hits him first. Over the scent of old cigarette smoke and that ever-present dust of the desert in the inn, he smells something…good. Something that makes his stomach rumble. Vash passes down the short hallways and comes to your shared room. You’re humming on the other side.

He turns the knob, and your humming cuts off. The door opens with a whining creak. You’re turned toward the door as he enters, knife poised for action if the wrong person comes through. Luckily, he’s the right person, and your shoulders relax. “Oh, that didn’t take long,” you greet.

Vash takes in the sight and scents. A portable stovetop – probably rented from the inn – with small pots sits on the dresser. Steam rolls quietly above them. Boiled noodles, cooking meat, tomato sauce and a hint of vegetables. His mouth waters. He closes the door, the lock snicking in place. “Gunsmith was right around the corner and didn’t haggle much.” He shrugs off his coat and nods toward the food. “What’s this?”

You smile and turn back to it. “Dinner! I haven’t gotten to cook in a minute.”

He hums, rubbing his hands together. “Well let’s eat then! I’m starving.”

You grin and turn off the stove.

Moving things around in the room makes a small ‘dining table’ and two rickety chairs to sit in. Dinner is slow and filled with laughter. Chatter. It’s been so long since you two have had a good meal and a safe, comfortable place to lay your heads at the same time. You’re in good spirits.

“Mm,” he hums and takes his last bite, slurping up the noodles and sauce in one go. “That,” he pauses, swallows, then smiles at you, “was the best meal ever.”

You roll your eyes and collect his plate with a laugh. “Whatever, it was just spaghetti.” You walk over to the bathroom sink and start scrubbing off the bits leftover on the plates.

“Then it was the best spaghetti ever! Way better with tomas chunks than worm! Did I ever tell you that story?”

“Ugh, I dunno if I wanna hear it.”

Vash laughs and leans back, stretching his arms out. “Not after we just ate. Got it.”

You continue washing the dishes, piling them on the nearby table. When you turn, you pause.

He’s watching you. His ears go pink, but he doesn’t back down. Not this time.

Your sweet man.

You walk over softly, bare feet brushing the wood. He doesn’t look away. You reach out to take his glasses. Just because. Just as an excuse to touch him somehow. His eyelids flutter ever so slightly when your fingers brush his cheek and lift his eyewear off. Your attention turns to the glasses. Orange, with obvious scratches and a finger smudge. The right side’s wire arm is slightly bent. No doubt all the imperfections would either be minimized or gone by morning. Vash is nothing if not meticulous with the upkeep of his gear. You turn them around and fulfill your months-long desire to put them on. The world turns to browns and muted colors, everything light turning the color of a sunset.

“Does the orange help you or something?” Your nose scrunches, trying to keep the glasses from sliding down your nose. You sit in your chair again, pulling it closer. Your knees brush his.

He laughs and uses a finger to push the glasses up for you. “Sometimes. I see movement better with them on. It keeps other colors from bleeding in.”

You hum, turning around to look at the rest of the room, to wave your hand in front of your eyes. It didn’t seem any different than regular glasses. Maybe it’s a Plant thing. You turn back and smile at him, tilting the glasses to look over the rims. “How do I look? Dangerous?”

Vash rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. “The only time you look dangerous is when I take food from your plate.”

“When you try to take my food.” You reach out and bop him on the forehead. “You’re gonna lose your other arm if you keep trying.”

He catches your hand before it can pull away. Such a small action, but it sends chills up and down your spine, his stare unfiltered without his glasses. Slowly, he leans forward and kisses the knuckles of your hand. He looks so serious. Is this serious? His ears are bright red.

This goes against the script. This whole night has gone against the routine you have. You’re both supposed to putter around the inn room, he’s supposed to clean his gun, you write in your journal, and eventually you both go to bed. He isn’t supposed to be this close to you. He isn’t supposed to stare at you like that, like there’s hope for something, anything, happening. You’re supposed to shut this down, play it off as a joke, he’s just being silly, and…and…

And you lean forward and kiss him.

It’s so quick. Too quick. There and gone, a girlish peck. You’re already pulling away, desperately embarrassed. What have you done? You’ve just ruined your friendship, that’s what. He’s made it so clear that he’s not interested in any way. You gasp, your stomach churning and shrieking in your body. “I’m sorry!” You gasp, hands fluttering to your lips. He’s staring, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry, Vash, I – “

He pulls your hands away from your lips and kisses you again.

It’s sweet and slow. Shaky. He smells like dust, his nose presses to your cheek. Vash’s lips are chapped, and yours aren’t much better, but he presses and presses to let you know, I want this, I want it. Only when his glasses slip down your nose again do you separate. You’re breathing hard. He isn’t much better. Isn’t it funny, how a racing heart can leave one so breathless?

You’re scared to open your eyes. Will you see regret? Will you see that constant, solemn sadness he’s so prone to? You peak one eye open.

He, too, is peaking an eye open.

It startles a laugh out of you, and Vash snorts. Suddenly, with this overwhelming giddiness, you lean forward and laugh into his shoulder. His chuckles sound off in your ear, and he’s got both arms around you now, hugging you close.

“So…that’s...this is…okay?” He asks.

You lean back and do the brashest thing you’ve ever done.

You kiss him again.

[potatoplace]

Good Kitten

Owner!Nesta x Kitten!Reader

kinktober day 5 | collars, leashes, pet play

kinktober '24 masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Your girlfriend Nesta helps you get ready for a fun, new experience: being in full kitten mode around people that aren't Nesta, your owner. You're looking forward to it, but nervous. Luckily Nesta knows how to be sweet and comforting, just for you.

Warnings: Dom/Sub dynamic, pet play (nothing too crazy about it I don't think), collars and leashes, butt plug with a tail attached

Words: ~2.5k

Author's Note: it's here! I really like soft, fluffy Nesta, who's mainly only soft with reader. Yes please! And this was just fun to write. I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

🤍🩶🤍🩶🤍

“Are you excited?”

You almost nodded your head in response- but Nesta was dusting eyeshadow onto your lids with a careful hand, and you didn’t want to disrupt her.

“Mhm.”

“Are you nervous?”

You hesitated for a moment. “…Mhm.”

“Tell me why, kitten,” Nesta demanded softly, a tap of her thumb on your cheek letting you know you could open your eyes. They fluttered open to meet her blue grey eyes, and you bit your lip before answering.

“Are you sure that they’re okay with this? They’ve only met me a couple of times and this is pretty… different from those.”

The corners of Nesta’s mouth tilted up, and her hand rubbed your bare shoulder gently. “Of course I’m sure, kitten, I asked them twice through text today to confirm it. I wouldn’t have suggested the idea if I wasn’t sure, sweetness.” Your mouth twisted into a pout for a second before smoothing out again, but your girlfriend’s shrewd eyes caught the movement anyways. She sighed in feigned annoyance, but you knew she loved how nervously excited you got when it came to your dynamic.

The two of you had been together for nearly two years now. Six months in you had drunkenly confessed your most safeguarded want to her- to be owned as a submissive, but with an added layer to it; you wanted to be someone’s kitten, collared and leashed and made to crawl on all fours. You had told her that you wanted her, Nesta, specifically to own you, to have you sit by her feet and let her pet your head.

You hadn’t remembered any of it the next morning or even into that evening. That was until Nesta pulled out a thin black leather dog collar after dinner while you had been browsing for something to watch together.

“It’s not quite what you wanted, I know, but this is just a placeholder collar for now,” Nesta had said, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Your heart sped up as you looked at the collar in her hands. “Uhm… What’s that Nes?”

“It’s a collar, you silly little kitten,” Nesta explained simply, wiggling it in front of your face. Heat rushed through your body at her words, her voice calling you kitten. “Now, do you want to pull your hair back for me kitten?”

Your body moved on instinct even as butterflies fluttered in your stomach, your hands pulling your hair back to leave your neck bare.

That was the first time Nesta had collared you. It was by far one of your favorites, but your absolute favorite had to be the evening of your first anniversary. You had cooked Nesta her favorite meal before happily taking your place by her feet, Nesta’s fingers carding through your hair the entire meal, even as she fed you your portion between her own bites.

It was once you entered the bedroom that Nesta pulled a velvet lined box from your closet and told you to sit on the bed with your eyes closed.

Nesta’s hands gently pulled your hair back into a ponytail, and rubbed your shoulders for a moment before pulling away. You heard the soft rustle of fabric before something touched your throat as was quickly wrapped around it. It was snug against your skin, enough to be noticed but still comfortable to breathe in. The metal latch at the back snicked shut, and Nesta’s hands fiddled with it for a moment before pulling away.

“Alright, kitten, go ahead and open your eyes and follow me into the bathroom.”

You did as she said, and gasped when you saw your reflection. Around your neck was a glistening white collar, subtle enough to be worn all day if you chose. The way it gleamed, it almost looked like it was encrusted in-

“Did you get me a diamond collar?” You asked, meaning to sound upset at the lavishness of the item, but it came out as teary happiness. Your hand came up to run across it, and you felt entirely unworthy of such a gift.

“I did, Y/N. Do you like it?” Nesta’s eyes were soft, hopeful as she asked, and that vulnerability made you love the collar even more.

“I love it, Nes!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms around her shoulders. “Does this… Does it mean what I think it means?”

Nesta’s mouth curved. “If you think it means I am asking you to be my sweet kitten officially, then yes.”

Tears flowed from your eyes as you embraced her. “Yes,” you agreed breathlessly, and her soft lips claimed yours in the next instant.

Tonight could possibly challenge the memory for the top spot, though.

“Do you want me to call them, kitten?” Nesta asked, running her thumb across your cheek. “That way you can hear from them that they’re excited to see you in this way tonight.”

“Yes, please,” you said softly, heat rising to your cheeks.

Nesta shook her head but picked up her phone anyways, dialing Emerie’s number and putting it on speaker. The other woman answered within a ring.

“Hey, Nesta! When are you and Y/N going to be here?"

“Soon, probably in thirty minutes or so. I still need to do Y/N’s hair and get her dressed, but then we’ll be off.” You poked Nesta’s thigh, mouthing ask her when she looked at you. Nesta rolled her eyes and smiled at you. “Are Mor and Gwyn there right now?”

“Yes!” Shouted the other two women, Emerie laughing right after they did.

“Good. Now, Y/N is feeling a little nervous and just wants to make sure that all of you are happy to have us over in this way tonight.” You flushed further at her words, even though the other women couldn’t see you.

“Awe, that’s so cute! Of course we want to see her all dressed up as her kitten self,” Emerie reassured.

“Now get your asses over here!” Mor yelled into the phone.

“Yeah, I want to see how adorable she looks!” Gwyn said excitedly, and you swore you heard her clapping.

Nesta’s eyes met yours. “Are you convinced now, kitten?”

“Yes…” You murmured.

“Good. We’ll be over soon, ladies,” Nesta said, hanging up the phone. “Now, let’s get started on your hair. I’m thinking those cute little braid ears tonight, what do you say kitten?”

You smiled, happy that she suggested it. “Yes please!”

Over the next ten minutes Nesta patiently braided a small amount of your hair into cat ear shaped braids, pinned in place to keep them upright. Your hair was white, a relatively new change for you. Nesta had sat with you in the salon for the entire process, holding your hand and fanning your face and neck to help with the heat.

Nesta had suggested changing to the shade if you wanted to have a comforting aspect of your kink on you at all times. After all, Nesta had helped you decide what accessories you liked, the both of you loving that you had finally settled on being a cute white kitten. You had an assortment of pin-in cat ears, as well as ones on headbands. So many different collars and leashes, as well as a few different tails- two clip ons and two that were attached to butt plugs.

Those ones were reserved for your more intense play.

Including tonight.

Nesta looked pleased with herself as she grabbed one of them, fluffy and white, and walked back over to you. “Turn around and bend over,” she ordered, and you did as she said, resting your hands on the bed. A lid opened and snapped shut quickly, and you felt the cool press of silicone a moment later, it’s way eased by the lube Nesta had put on it. It rested in you snugly, an ever present reminder of what you were.

“Let’s get the rest of you dressed, hmm?” Nesta hummed, already turning to your closet and pulling out a white top and skirt. You stood back up and faced her, lifting your legs one at a time without her needing to ask as she slipped the skirt up your legs and over your hips, the waistband coming to rest just above your bellybutton, and the hem ending at your mid thighs. Next came your top, the long flowing sleeves covering your hands unless you pushed them up, but they just fell back down again, and it’s hem ended with a small sliver of skin exposed between it and your skirt. You let Nesta push you back onto the bed, choosing to play with your sleeves while she grabbed something from the dresser.

She rolled a thigh high onto your right leg slowly, letting her fingers linger along your skin at the top of your thigh. The next one went on smoothly, her finger fiddling with the tops to arrange them perfectly. When you finally looked down, you saw they were your white cat ear thigh highs, the tops peaking to have cute cat ears with pink spots in them. You kicked your legs happily, loving how cutely your owner decides to dress you all the time.

“Alright, kitten, are you ready for your collar?” Nesta asked as she approached you with it in hand.

“I looove you,” you said, all giggles in your mounting excitement. “And yes, I’m ready.”

“I love you too, Y/N. Remember, no speaking until we get home, or you use your safe word. Tell me what it is again, sweetness.”

“Kibble.”

“Good kitten. Now lift up,” Nesta instructed, wrapping the white, diamond encrusted collar around your throat, locking it in place with its small key. This one was nearly identical to your one year day collar, though this one had a small o-ring attached to it to allow a leash to be hooked to it.

“You look so cute like this, kitten,” Nesta praised, admiring her handiwork. You blushed under her gaze and nuzzled into her hand when she lifted it to your cheek. “Just one last touch before you get up.” She quickly went back to the closet and picked out a matching, sparkling leash and came back to you, attaching it to your collar easily. A gentle tug and you were on your feet, smiling at her.

You followed Nesta out of the bedroom and into the living room, then into the entryway, your tail swishing as you walked. Nesta helped you into your fuzzy white snow boots and massive white winter coat before slipping into her own boots and coat.

“If you’re a very good kitten tonight, I’ll give you as many orgasms as you can take when we get home. Does that sound like something you can make happen, kitten?”

You eagerly nodded your head, more than ready to prove yourself despite your nerves. Then two of you were out the door, which Nesta locked behind you, and then she was leading you to Emerie’s apartment.

You were grateful that your coat covered the tail dangling from your rear, as the stares you were getting from people with the leash alone was almost enough to have you pulling Nesta hoke by the hand.

Thankfully Emerie only lived a few minutes away, and soon you were inside of her apartment with Nesta pulling your outerwear off of you.

“Oh my god!” A voice squealed, and you turned to see that it was Emerie. “You look so adorable! Come here little kitty,” she said, waving for you to come over.

You looked to your right to see what Nesta thought, only to see that she was already looking at you. She snapped her fingers and pointed down once, and you weren’t about to give her time to repeat the quiet command. You dropped to your hands and knees, then crawled after Nesta as she walked over to Emerie, leading you by your leash.

“What a well trained little kitten,” Emerie cooed once your reached her, and she bent down to pat your head between your cat ears.

“Is that a tail?” A voice asked from behind you- Mor.

“Yes, my little kitten loves to dress as much like a kitty as she can, don’t you?” You nodded your head in agreement, brushing it against Nesta’s thigh.

“Emerie, I think you should-”

“Ask me at a later time, love,” Emerie replied before Mor could finish her thought.

“Bring the party in here, you guys!” Another woman, presumably Gwyn, shouted from the sitting room.

The four of you followed her voice, you trailing behind, still crawling after Nesta.

“Oh, little kitten, you are so cute! I love your little ears!” Gwyn said as she got a look at you. “Can I pet her Nesta?”

“Of course, Gwyn. Let me just take off her leash.” Nesta did so slowly, letting her fingers linger on your neck and making your eyes flutter shut. “Go on, kitten,” she encouraged once she was done, and you took the opportunity to cross the room, stopping in front of Gwyn.

The redhead reached out, gently scratching between your braided ears before carding through your hair. You hummed and rested your head on the couch right next to her leg.

The couch dipped and there was another hand touching your head, scratching just above your ear.

Two clicks of a tongue and you were pulling away, quickly locating your owner and crawling over to her quickly. Nesta patted her knee and you laid your head down on it, sighing when her hand massaged the base of your skull in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

“Nes, could we borrow her some time?” Mor asked, half joking. “Your little kitten is so well trained, I’m impressed.”

“That might be a possibility, one day. Of course she would decide for herself, but for now I want to have her all to myself.” Nesta’s words sparked warmth in your chest. That’s all you wanted right now too, your sweet Nesta.

Because while she could be tough inside and out, she seemed to have a soft, sweet spot for you and you alone. And that made you incredibly happy.

“How about we watch a movie before dinner? That way your little kitten can take a nap curled up by your feet,” Emerie suggested, already grabbing the TV remote.

“That sounds wonderful, right kitten?”

You nodded against Nesta’s leg. Nothing sounded better to you in that moment.

“It’s settled then. What do we want to watch, ladies?”

The four of them argued lightheartedly about what to watch for a while, but you were only paying attention to Nesta’s hand, gently running through your hair and making you sleepier by the second.

This was definitely a good idea, you thought to yourself.

You would make sure to tell Nesta that later. For now, you would stay comfy with your owner’s steadfast touch and presence.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[lazybakerart]

a cute harringrove thing for you: billy being in the middle of trying to do something but he keeps shaking away bits of hair that get into his eyes and steve just comes up behind him, puts his hair into a bun, then casually goes back to where he was while billy's stunned and blushing before he returns to his task with a big grin on his face

The AC's out.

Billy's cracked the unit open with a flathead screwdriver he found under the sink and a few choice words. July hit hard. Sweat drips down his nose as he tries to fix and not kick a heavy metal box down three stories.

In the small kitchen just a few feet behind his hunched back, Steve's popping more ice out and yelling at the radio - a Dodgers game has gone to shit.

Billy swipes his sweat-stuck curls back just to have all of them tumble right back in the way again.

Summers always leave Billy regretting growing out his hair.

He hadn't meant to. A couple months without a haircut grew into a couple years where a couple of half-assed snicks with the scissors he uses for zip ties and toe nails were all he made do with. Every year he forgets how much of it there is when summer arrives to remind him.

Snapping back up, screwdriver in a vice-grip, Billy yanks his hair back with both hands and yells FUCK YOU at the stained popcorn ceiling and his own mane fried with West Hollywood humidity.

"What's wrong now? What happened?" Steve has the honest nerve to say after over an hour of this.

"I'm shaving my head."

A deep sigh and Steve's opening some cabinet that creaks and needs to be oiled - the deal when they first moved in was Billy dealt with the electric shit and Steve got everything that wouldn't have him sizzling when he got distracted.

Plumbing means rock, paper, scissors comes out and goddamnit if Billy doesn't lose every single round.

He and the plunger have built a relationship.

Billy blames dying and coming back with fried nerves and a second-rate case of stigmata making his every joint he's got stiff, his hands getting the worst of it. He'd be a lousy second coming anyways.

"That time of year again, huh?" Steve says.

He stands behind Billy, swatting away his frustrated steel-grip to comb through Billy's curls, pulling them back and away.

"There are these things - they're called hair-ties," Steve gently pulls Billy's hair through elastic, "And I know you like using rubber bands because you're a freak," Slowly he winds Billy's overgrown hair around, "But these are, like, at least twice as good. Now, we just twist," He twists, "And twist some more and - boom! Done. I'm awesome."

Steve spins Billy around by the shoulders twice, his sweaty feet squeaking on the scratched up oak floors. He holds Billy in place, sweaty hands on Billy's sweaty nape, sweaty thumbs running circles, and it doesn't seem to matter much to him that the AC is broken and they're reaching the peak 90s on the thermostat.

Steve's looking at him.

All tender.

All sweet.

A little tipsy from better beer than they chugged in high school. It's been seven years since they hit the highway and left Indiana for good. Three more months and five more days and they'll hit eight.

"Oh no." Steve croons at him. Smile turning cotton soft. Those sweaty hands move to cup Billy's face and those running thumbs rub just under Billy's eyes. "Why are we crying?"

"It's hot." Billy says.

Pinching his ears around his piercings, Steve tells him, "You're hot."

Billy sniffles. Snot drips, meets his upper lip and Steve wipes it off - eight years worth of tears and snot and blood and spunk and so much sweat.

And so much fucking good shit.

From an open window in their cramped apartment, a slice of warmed July breeze catches on the back of Billy's newly bared neck. He tosses the screwdriver somewhere.

"And," Steve pecks him on the lips, bites at his nose to make sure Billy gets heat-stroke, "You've got a great ass."

The AC can wait a little longer.

[imaginebetterfutures]

I'm back with another sculpture! To be completely honest, this one was a real struggle for me to work out, idea wise. I love working abstractly (see earlier pieces!) but for this one our prompt in class was "objects and identity." We were asked to cast an object from life, and use it to speak to some aspect of ourselves that we want to explore. Not only am I an extremely closed book (pour one out for my therapist) but I'm also really not that interested in replicating objects?

So... I sort of cheated. This isn't *really* a cast of VHS tapes (although I did try to do that, and it failed miserably) but I'm still pleased with the outcome. Sound on for what I think is the best part — the pleasing and/or sinister snick snick snick sound of the tape unspooling and piling up.

If you like long, corny artist statements, boy howdy do I have one for you!

~~ GEODE ~~

My day job is as a journalist, and while I find a lot of the posturing that journalists do about our role as storytellers to be pretentious and often egotistical, I also can't deny that I got into this because I love to see into people's lives. Why do people do what they do? Why do we make the choices we make? How did we get here, as individuals and as a collective?

Much of journalism is about the big moments — wars and chaos and game changing plays. But those don't come out of nowhere. They come from a history, both personal and communal. We are products of our childhoods, our cultures, our teachers, our parents. We come from places that have smells and sounds and textures. And we document those things — and here I don't mean "we" journalists, I mean "we" as people. Humans have, for our entire history, recorded ourselves in one way or another. We write on walls, we tell each other stories, we come up with words that have deep meanings that stretch back into time.

Some journalists see their job as speaking truth to power. Or telling the important stories in the face of chaos and misinformation. Or staking a claim to truth, and defending it. All of that is true, of course. But when I think about my job I don't think about those things. I think about excavation. About telling the story in such a way that you can feel the texture of the people in it. I think of stories like geodes.

Do you know how a geode forms? They start with a volcanic eruption. Lava flows from a hot, angry vent, and mixes with the gases in the air. Most of the time, those gases don't stay put — they escape into the air and go off to become the wind in your hair, or carry pollen, or sweep under a bird's wing. But sometimes, bubbles of gas can't escape the boiling weight of the lava and become trapped. As the lava cools, those bubbles remain. It is only then — held tight and encased in cooling rock — that the crystals characteristic of geodes form.

There is something sad about opening a geode. It can reveal a great beauty, but it is also inherently destructive. You are taking a hammer to something hard and protected and asking it to open, to be seen, to be commented on. Not all geodes want to open. Not all geodes should be opened, perhaps. Not all geodes are beautiful inside. How do you know when to break one, and when to leave it be?

Once you break a geode, you open the crystals up to damage. UV light can bleach the colors inside and the oils on your skin can slowly eat away at the glittering growths.

I think a lot, as a journalist, about the stories that we lose when people die. The small things that they knew — the color of a lover's hair, the name of their neighborhood dog, the true identity of a soldier — that go to the ground with them. I have to stop myself from buying home movies when I see them at garage sales and thrift shops — each one, to me, a geode. Inside they might contain nothing, or everything. Wrapped tight in metallic film they recorded things people thought were important, things people wanted to remember. Trapped in plastic and now, broken open.

My piece is a VHS geode. I have broken it, and it is unspooling, and we are forgetting. It is beautiful and terrible all at once.

[mxigo]

soul sick | part 2

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: lucien pays you a visit to ask a favor, and things come to a head with azriel

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, graphic descriptions of vomiting

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: FINALLY. oh my god i finally figured it out and was able get the plot done and chugged through the angst. as usual, please let me know if there are any errors. enjoy!

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MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

Your mood improved ten-fold after having lunch with Cassian and Mor. They did everything they could to get you to forget your miserable night, and they did for the most part. Although, they caught you staring off into space once or twice, and they knew you were trying to understand where you went wrong with your relationship with the Spymaster.

The remainder of the walk consisted of the three of you talking about senseless things until they each give you a hug before they leave, Mor winnowing out of the street with a pop.

When you walk through the door, you can’t help but sigh, letting the rest of the tension fall off your shoulders. Blessed relief floods through you as you shuck your shoes off in your room near the wardrobe’s door, pushing past clothes to find a sleep set to wear.

You throw your hair up out of your face, padding into your bathroom to wash your face of the little makeup you did wear today. It doesn’t matter that the sun had just set behind the horizon. Once your pajamas were on and you took off your face, you were not stepping foot outside again today, and you planned on shutting yourself in your study to continue your work for the priestesses.

While you were not a priestess, you feel at home in the library in the House of Wind, and you loved helping them with rewriting and translating anything new or old for them. Before you had friends of your own, you had books and the stories that they told. And although you have made some friends throughout your life, your love for books has never waned.

In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of rosé before making your way to your study, letting the door close behind you with a soft snick. The entire room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books of just about every genre of fiction and nonfiction, organized carefully so that you know where every book was right off the top of your head. Cassian likes to poke fun at you and call you anal, but it literally drives you crazy if a book is put back in the wrong spot and then you can’t find it the next time you need it.

The dark mahogany shelves exude warmth throughout the room, pairing perfectly with the desk of the same material, gifted to you from Rhys when you bought the townhouse. This place is your safe place and has a perfect view of the dazzling lights of Velaris at night through the double glass doors leading to a balcony.

The hardwood floors are cool beneath your feet as you walk over to the desk, sending chills up your spine. You grab a blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders before settling into the comfortable chair. The stack of books that you need to work on is tall, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first book is thousands of years old and seems to be a second edition one as well. The spine is nearly falling apart, holding together by sheer will alone, like merely touching it could make it disintegrate into dust. Dust and dirt is caked into the scratches and grooves of the cover, but you can still make out the title. Orys: Prythian’s Fourth High Lord of the Night Court. A smile tugs at your lips. You’re almost excited to read about one of Rhysand’s distant relatives.

A sharp knock at your door interrupts you, pulling an annoyed sigh from you. You grab a sweater to throw on before you walk down the hall to the door, praying that it’s not Azriel. You just don’t have the strength to talk to him about last night just yet.

But you’re surprised to see Lucien at your door instead of the shadowsinger.

“Lucien? To what do I owe the pleasure,” you ask, completely taken aback.

He is noticeably distraught, his hair looking like it needs to be washed along with forming dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he has not had a good sleep in a few nights.

“I—I need some help.”

For a moment, you are speechless. There could only be one thing that he would need help with, and you are a bit afraid to confront it.

“I just opened a bottle of rosé from my favorite winery on the Sidra. Would you like a glass while we talk,” you try, earning a nod from the lordling in response.

You stand back, opening the door wider for him to step into your home, suddenly self-conscious about how you are dressed in the presence of a male that you hardly know. You wrap your sweater around you a little bit tighter at the realization.

Lucien follows you into the kitchen where you left the bottle, telling him to get comfortable while you go to retrieve your glass where you left it on your desk. When you return, Lucien is staring off at the table, a pained expression shrouding his face. His hands are curled around each other, supporting his head as they rest under his chin. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the counter where the bottle sits and pour a generous glass for your guest before settling across from him, tucking a leg under yourself.

Neither of you speak first, and you wait so Lucien has the time to gather his thoughts and think about what he might say. After a moment, he finally unfurls his hands to rest them in his lap.

“I fear that I may be losing my mate to the shadowsinger.”

Oh dear gods. Your heart aches for the male in front of you, suddenly understanding his pain, and feeling your own at the same time. You wet your lips, shifting as you try to come up with something to say, but you suddenly feel sick, and your heart is beating too loud to hear anything.

“Could it be possible that their relationship is just platonic,” you ask, your voice airy.

You take a long draw from your glass, watching as Lucien shakes his head, finally looking up at you, and his golden eyes find your own.

“No. I catch glimpses of her emotions and feelings occasionally, especially when they’re together. It’s not platonic.”

Your eyes fall shut, attempting not to panic at the thought that Azriel might share the same feelings for the Archeron sister.

“I’m sorry this is happening. I can’t imagine the pain that you might be feeling.”

“But I think you can.” Your eyes snap open, freezing on him.

“What?”

“You have feelings for Azriel, do you not?” His straightforwardness makes your mouth drop open.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are quite obvious about it. It’s puzzling that he hasn’t caught on yet,” Lucien says, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip from his glass.

Your face burns, undoubtedly red. This time, you take a gulp of the wine.

“I’m hoping because of it, you can try to persuade him to turn his efforts elsewhere, perhaps yourself.”

“Lucien, I understand you are upset, and rightfully so, but I think you should talk to Elain, not me.” You shake your head, unbelieving of what he is asking of you.

“Then try to talk to Azriel and explain what he is doing, even if he doesn’t realize it,” he fights, his desperation seeping through. “He is taking what is supposed to be my moments with her.”

Neither of you speak, the tension having peaked.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much,” he whispers, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s ok. I’ll try to talk to him the next time I see him. Although, we’re not really on good terms right now.”

“For the same reason?” You nod.

“Hm. Well, thank you for listening to me, but I should get going. Mother knows that Rhysand will start to wonder where I slinked off to.” He stands, knocking back the rest of the rosé. “Thank you for the drink. You have lovely taste,” he adds with a smile, which you return.

“You’re welcome, Lucien. My door is open whenever you need me.”

He nods once before winnowing out of the house, leaving you to think about his proposal.

Just the very thought of talking to Azriel about relationship with Elain makes your stomach roll, and there is a very good chance that Azriel won’t take your advice the right way either. Historically, he is not one for getting over someone that he cannot have.

A knock from behind you makes you jump, nearly screaming when you see a shadowed figure outside your home, but you sigh when you see a pair of great leathery wings. Your heart thunders in your ears as you try to decide whether to go out and talk to him or ignore him and send him away. You decide on the former.

Taking a blanket from the living room, you walk out the door and onto the patio, allowing yourself to lean against the wall. The night has quickly turned brisk, a sharp wind ripping through the balcony, and you pull your blanket tighter. It’s silent for a moment, waiting for him to speak first.

He is dressed casually tonight, the swirls of his tattoos spilling from underneath the hem of his short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants loose around his thighs. Not that you’re looking.

But as you look to meet his eyes, you blink in surprise at their seriousness, staring at you with a look that you can only describe as distraught.

“Why was Lucien here?”

You blink again, not quite sure of what you heard.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did Lucien come to you at this time of day?”

“What? Can a friend not come for a visit?” you ask defensively, crossing your arms.

“We both know that he’s not a friend, Y/N. There’s a reason that he came here, and I need to know what it was.”

You stare at him, mouth agape in disbelief. Is this really happening right now?

“He came to me for help.”

“Help for what?”

You take a breath. “Az, I think you should take a step back from Elain for a while.”

His face screws up instantly, offended by what you have said.

“Is that what he came here for? Because he’s jealous?”

“Azriel, think about what you are doing. Regardless of what the two of you think, there is a reason they are mates.”

A feeling of unease is palpable from him as he switches his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“You know that Rhys’ parents were mates and look how that turned out.”

“But Lucien is not Rhys’ father, Az. He is so far from that, or Feyre wouldn’t have brought her with him to Velaris. He is a good male, and you are actively standing in the way of their relationship.”

Azriel’s mouth is agape, at a loss for words, but he quickly turns to gather himself.

“I’m just trying to help her assimilate into our life, Y/N. She lost a lot when she was Made, and I’m helping her understand that there’s a whole new world that she can explore now.”

A weightless feeling begins to overshadow you, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“That is Feyre’s job as her sister to do that. She is also mated to someone that happens to be living with us and is dying to get to know her, Az, and you’re taking that away from him and stealing those moments that are meant for him for yourself.”

Azriel scoffs, his gaze sour.

“A mate that had a hand in having her kidnapped from her home. Of course she doesn’t want anything to do with him, Y/N, and she doesn’t have to.”

Silence stretches between the both of you as you allow the gravity of his words sink in, a cold terror gripping you.

With a blank face, you ask, “what do you mean by that?”

He just shakes his head, letting his wings unfurl. In a desperate attempt to get him to stay, you grab his hand, and your eyes meet once again. Then, suddenly, you feel it. You feel the bond snap into place as your soul realizes that male in front of you is your mate, and your heart breaks for the second time tonight. Your eyes go wide, breath catching in your throat as your skin erupts into chills. Hope fills you as you wait for any recognition from him, but there’s nothing, only his face screwing up.

He shrugs your hand off, just as you did to him. Your heart is thundering in your ears, and you struggle to figure out what to do next over the onslaught of emotions, both yours and glimpses of Azriel’s.

“Az, wait—”

“I love her, Y/N.”

Everything goes numb, your hearing cutting out. There is no possible way you heard him right. He can’t be in love with her because he’s your mate, it can’t be right.

You must look pitiful, staring unbelieving at him, waiting for him to say something different, but he only looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before launching off of the patio and into the sky, disappearing into a black spec in the night, leaving you alone to unravel the fresh bond that will never be returned.

†

Sleep evaded you the entire night, having left you to your thoughts and to relive how your mate essentially rejected you without actually knowing what he was doing. All because you didn’t have the guts to tell him how you felt, and now he is no longer yours in any sense of the word. You had centuries to tell him but waited too long, and he took the opportunity that opened for him to have someone of his own, despite her already having a mate.

A headache sprung up as well, bursting right behind your eyes, throbbing with intensity. You haven’t had a headache spring up like this since before Rhys was Under the Mountain, but the stress of the past few days could definitely have caused it, especially from last night. The morning brings no relief, as you remain curled up in bed with the blinds pulled shut to prevent the harsh light from attacking your eyes. You managed to make yourself a cup of tea to sit on your bedside to drink, but you are so exhausted that you have not been able to muster the strength to sit up and drink it.

A groan slips from you as you roll over to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but as you do, your stomach turns, and your mouth suddenly fills with saliva. Eyes snapping open, you scramble up from your bed, bolting to the bathroom to make it to the toilet just in time for your stomach to reject everything that was in it. You grip onto the cool porcelain, choking on the painful onslaught. The rejection is so strong that after each contraction, you sag against the seat, heaving. Even after there is nothing left to come up, your body keeps rejecting, causing you to gag and cough until you are gasping for air like a fish out of water. After an eternity, your stomach finally lets you rest, allowing you to sag to the floor, sighing against the cool tile upon your flushed cheek.

This continues the entire day, waking for bouts of dry heaving until tears leak from your eyes, and your chin trembles as you fight back a sob. You have no clue as to what time it could be, surely deep into the day, but you are confined to the bathroom in fear that your stomach will revolt again. You finally submit to whatever has a hold of you, deciding that you will sleep in the bathroom, you carefully pull your duvet from your bed to drag it into the bathroom to have some kind of comfort on the hard tile floor. Finally, sleep peacefully takes you.

†

A soft touch pulls you from your dreamless sleep, your eyes peeling open to look blearily at whoever is kneeling in front of you. The headache persists, and the light causes you to clamp your eyes shut again, hissing at the light.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Cassian’s voice whispers in your ear. You nod but don’t open your eyes again.

“Rhys has been sending you notes all day inviting you to dinner, but you never answered them. Have you been here all day?” Another nod. “What has you so messed up, sweetheart?”

“I dunno. Just woke up like this. Can’t stop throwing up.” Your voice is scratchy from the abuse it has suffered, and it hurts to swallow. “Just put me in bed and set a bucket next to it. I wanna sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the House?”

“No, no House. I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be fine, just stressed out,” you insist, still not opening your eyes.

Despite his better judgment, Cassian carries you back to bed, tucking you in and replacing your cup of tea with a glass of water and brings the bucket that you wanted. You haven’t moved from how he laid you in bed, and his eyebrows furrow in concern. It’s not often that fae get sick, especially with whatever you have.

He kneels next to the side of the bed you are on, letting a hand run itself over your head.

“I’m going to get going. If we don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’m bringing you to the House and we’ll get Madja. Do you understand?” Yet another nod.

Cassian sighs, registering that you have a slight fever. He stands up, leaning over to tuck you in before he leaves. With a last once over of your room and leaving a scrap of paper and a quill on your bedside, Cassian leaves.

He still doesn’t feel right about leaving you at your home, but he will be going back if you don’t write back within a few hours to check on you.

Everyone has moved to the sitting room by the time he gets back, each with a drink in hand. He notes that Elain is sitting in a chair next to Azriel but refrains from saying something. He settles into a seat next to Rhys, and Feyre notices that Cassian is back, but without her friend in tow.

“Did you see her?”

“Mhmm. She’s sick. Found her asleep on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, all wrapped up in her sheets. She refused to be brought here, so I told her I would be back if we didn’t hear from her.”

“Oh Mother. We just saw her yesterday, Cas. How could she have gotten sick so quick?” Mor asks, face warped with concern as she leans forward.

“She said it’s from stress, but I don’t know how stress could make her throw up so much that she had to sleep on the bathroom floor,” he sighs.

Across the room, the Spymaster listens intently to Cassian’s words, his heart dropping as he realizes that he is the “stress” that has physically manifested as a sickness.

TAGLIST: @positivewitch @brekkershadowsinger @baebeepeach @toobsessedsstuff @lucyysthings @marigold-morelli