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watermelonlovershigh · 4 years ago

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Bisexual Harry (MILD SMUT w/ MOSTLY FLUFF)

ATTENTION- THIS IS STRICKLY FICTIONAL (NOT REAL). I'M FULLY AWARE THAT HARRY HAS NOT CAME OUT AS BISEXUAL AND WANTS TO BE UNLABLED. I ENJOY BI HARRY FANFICS BUT THERE ARE NOT MANY OUT THERE SO I DECIDED TO WRITE ONE. ALSO THE TRAITS I WILL BE CONCIDERING AS BISEXUAL TRAITS ARE FULLY DEPENDENT ON THE INDIVIDUAL. I HATE STEREOTYPING. JUST KEEP IN MIND THAT JUST BECAUSE HARRY DOES THESE THINGS IN THIS STORY THAT IT DOESN'T MAKE SOMEONE BISEXUAL OR EVEN GAY. LASTLY I'D LIKE TO SAY THAT I'M NOT BISEXUAL MYSELF BUT THE IDEA OF BEING WITH A MAN WHO IS, IS A TURN ON. NOT IN A FETISH TYPE WAY. JUST THE VULNERABILITY AND OPENNESS OF ENJOYING EITHER WOMEN OR MEN IS INCREADIBE TO ME. THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY.

Harry told me early on into our relationship that he was bisexual. He was so nervous that I would leave him, but it just made me fall more in love with him. He told me late one night about 6 months into dating, on his couch. The second he told me, Harry broke down into real raw tears. The first time I'd seen Harry actually cry. Yeah I'd seen him cry during sappy movies but this was so much more than that. These tears had fear in them. Fear that I would leave him. They had vulnerability in them for being so open. But also a weight was lifted off his chest, just happy to tell me. I held Harry in my arms and cried with him, telling him how much I loved him and that this doesn't change anything. That I loved him just as much.

Only a few people in Harrys life knew he was bisexual. His close family. His close friends. That was it. If it got out in the media, the internet would have gone wild. Of course there were many rumors about his sexuality. Most of them being that he's gay. For the longest time he actually thought he might be gay. He had a lot of 'gay tendencies': painted nails, feminine clothes, pearl necklaces. But he also had very 'mainly tendencies' like watching football and drinking beer with the lads. Harry was just so conflicted all his life. Not knowing what he was. That's until the age of 18. One of his school friends came out as bisexual and that's when it clicked for him. He liked both male and females and he was okay with that. He excepted that part of him. He was more worried about what others would say or think. His family was very supportive. His friends were too. They never treated Harry differently knowing that they were straight and he was sexually attracted to them. Well not so much them specifically because they were more like brothers, but the male species as a whole.

Being in sexual relationships were on a new level of fear for Harry. Fear that when he was having sex with a guy, that the guy would try and convince him he's actually just gay. Or the fear that any women he had sex with would say he wasn't manly enough for them. Needless to say, Harry kept his sexuality a secret from most of his one night stands or short term relationships. He just didn't feel the need to tell them unless they asked specifically if he was bi or not.

Me and Harry meet at a local club in London a few years back. He was with his bandmates at the time. I was by myself because my boyfriend of 2 years just broke up with me. I was devastated and needed to escape reality. That meant drink until my body went numb. Unfortunately for me though, I wasn't that much of a drinker so my body rejected the alcohol pretty fast. I stumbled onto the London streets trying to get fresh air but ended up puking my guts out in a near by bin. Harry just so happened to be outside at that moment and saw the whole thing before his eyes. He rushed over to me and pulled my hair back to prevent more vomit from getting in it. Then he asked if I was alright and who I was with. I told him I came there alone so he insisted I come back to his place. Because my brain was fuzzy from the alcohol, I didn't hesitate one bit. Harry set up his guest room for me and helped me to bed that night. Something I'm forever grateful for. If it wasn't for him, I could've been kidnapped and raped by a stranger on the streets. When I woke up the next day, I realized who's house I was in. All of the music awards on the shelf in the room I stayed in gave it away. I was never a big fan of One Direction, no reason in particular, so I didn't act like a fangirl would have. Before I left his house, he gave me his number to call if I ever needed someone to talk to. Considering he was an international popstar and all, he sure was the most genuine person I'd ever meet. Taking care of a complete stranger and even giving them his phone number. I never thought I'd actually call him though. Or even see him again, but about a week later, I ran into him at a local coffee shop and we started talking form there. The rest was history.

We hung out all the time. He invited me to a few One Direction concerts. Even had sex a few times. Amazing sex I might add. It truly was great. Even though at the time, I had to remain secret from the public. More so said by Harry then his management. Mainly to keep me safe and out of the media knowing how private I liked to be. Three months of seeing each other and he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was thrilled. Then six months into our relationship, Harry realized how serious our relationship was becoming. That we both had strong feeling for each other. So that's when Harry decided to tell me he was bisexual. On his couch. Late one night. He wanted to get it out of the way so he didn't have to hide that part of himself with me. So he could be himself around me. If I excepted him that was and of course I did.

Approximately two years after dating, Harry purposed. He was basically shitting bricks the whole time, but he did it. I didn't hesitate one second before I said yes. We were in love. At this point, the media had found me and Harry out. Most of his fans adored me. Some said our relationship was fake. And others just flat out said I was keeping Harry closeted, not allowing him to be gay. But I knew the truth. I knew he was bisexual, not gay. I never doubted his sexuality one bit. Especially how he devoured my body when we made love. Any gay person would probably gag at the sight of a women's pussy. Not Harry. It was his favorite part of my body. A year after Harry filmed the movie Dunkirk (2017), we got married. It was a small wedding. Just close family and friends invited. It was perfect.

Now here we are in the current year of 2021 and we're still going strong. A few fights here and there, but because both Harry and I have too big of hearts, we always feel bad after fighting and immediately apologize to one another. The media had tried to split us up multiple times but it's never been successful. Our love for each other is too strong and everlasting.

Just because Harry is in a happy, loving heterosexual relationship, doesn't mean he feels completely secure about his sexuality all the time. In the beginning of our relationship, Harry tried to completely throw away any 'bisexual' tendencies he had even though he knew I supported him. For instance, there was many times Harry wanted to paint his nails but didn't. Or would refrain from gushing over sexy guys in movies we watched together. That's when I noticed he was becoming depressed. He stopped writing music. He would disengage in activities we tried to do together. Even pushed me away when I tried to have sex with him. I felt hopeless. Until one morning I asked him what was wrong, and he spilled everything. How he tries so hard to suppress the bisexual side of his character for me. For our relationship. Harry explained that he had the desire to paint his nails vibrant colors and wanted to wear feminine clothes sometimes. Something that was particularly hard for Harry to confess to me was how he even wanted to try anal. On me or me with a strap on fucking him. Right away I made us an appointment to get our nails done at a salon. Then I told him he could wear a trash bag and he'd still be the most beautiful mainly man I'd ever seen. Lastly, I grabbed my laptop and went online shopping for female strap ons, letting Harry pick the girth and size he wanted. Yes I was a little nervous to actually fuck him, but he assured me he would help me out every step of the way. As for anal on me, I mentioned how I would be nervous but how I also trusted him. Trusted him enough to penetrate me anally. That I knew he would be extra careful with me.

Needless to say, I made Harry more confident. Confident in his sexuality. I got him to come out as bisexual to the public. I let him explore his bisexuality in the bedroom. Though of course he still worshiped my pussy. We had weekly appointments to get our nails painted. Harry even wore a dress out to a date night one night. He was super scared and on edge the whole night but I kept whispering in his ear how I couldn't wait to rip that dress off of him and fuck him in the ass until he cried out of pleasure.

I honestly loved that Harry was bisexual. It was almost like a turn on for me. He was both a gym buff and my little princess. He had thick arm muscles and toned abs, as well as pink nails and pearl necklaces. Anytime he mentioned how hot a guy on tv was, we could gush over him together. Or how sensitive and vulnerable he was at times. A lot of guys hold in their emotions, thinking men can't express their feelings, but not Harry. If he felt the need to cry, he would. Right in front of me. It could be triggered by a sad movie or a animal abuse commercial. Also, on the rare occasions he asks for it, I would fuck him with the strap on in his mouth. Though a rubber penis didn't quite taste like the real thing, salty mixed with sweat, he loved to deepthroat it anyways. Watching him choke and gag around the fake penis made my pussy drip. We even bought a strap on dildo that had a vibrator on the back side of it. That way every time the fake cock would enter his mouth, the vibrator would stimulate me clit, giving me pleasure as well.

No matter how much the media tried to convince Harry he was in fact gay and didn't actually like women, he would ignore the rude comments and prove to me everyday that he in fact loved me. Me as a women. Loved my smile. Loved me eyes. Loved the way my boobs bounced while having sex. Often grabbing them in his hands and stimulating my nipples. Loved the way my tight pussy felt around his dick. Or the way my sweet juices tasted on his tongue when he ate me out. Yes he loved dick. Yes he loved balls. Yes he loved being railed to death from behind. But he also liked vagina and he loved boobs. Harry wanted to make love to me and get me pregnant. Watch my stomach grow. Be there to hold my hand when I deliver the baby. Help change diapers at 3 am when I'm to tired to do so. Teach our kids to love and respect everyone and be themselves. Be open to our kids about his sexuality. Give them knowledge on bisexuality and educate them on the matter. Instead of assuming they are straight by asking his future son if he has a girlfriend yet or asking his daughter if she has a boyfriend, Harry will ask if the have a partner or fancy anyone in particular. Love his children for who they are or who they want to become. Be a role model for them. And live happily ever after with me, his supportive wife, by his side.

MASTERLIST

#bisexual #lgbtq #lgbtq+#bi #biharry #biharrystyles #bifanfiction #smut #fluff #love #married #harrystyles #harry #onedirection #1D #1d #husband #wife

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years ago

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speak now - rafe cameron

it’s the day of your wedding and, even though it’s been two years, you can’t stop thinking about the one who got away. little do you know he’s also consumed with thoughts of you and he’s not ready to give up just yet

warnings: angst with a happy ending

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is the fic i wrote for pen on imessage, everyone say thank you to @girlsru1eboysdroo1 for the fact that this isn’t totally depressing!! i emphasized her favorite lines just for fun, i always wanted to write a fic with this trope so here it is, enjoy!!

You had loved Rafe Cameron your whole life, and truth be told you probably always would. But, he wasn’t yours to want anymore and you weren’t his. In fact, you were silently freaking out in a small room of a church, thinking about the one who got away as your fiancé stood at the end of the aisle.

It wasn’t fair to Chris. Chris, who was so sweet, so kind. Who supported you through thick and thin. Who uprooted his whole life to follow you to the grad school of your dreams. Who held you and loved you and treated you right. Chris, who would probably do anything for you if you only asked.

That was the thing though, with Rafe you never had to ask. He had known you better than you had known yourself, could predict when you needed him and what exactly you needed. He could feel the shift in your energy after a bad day at school or work, and was always ready to cheer you up, whether it was shitty fast food and shittier reality television or his sometimes gentle touch.

Rafe had known you and loved you, all the parts of you. Not just the good that Chris so often praised you over, your kind heart and selfless attitude. But also, the parts of you that you felt you had to hide, your petty jealousy, your quick temper. He loved not only your beautiful parts, but every scar and every flaw too.

But Rafe had let you down, too. His own temper and irrationality got him into trouble on more than one occasion, and all you had wanted was for him to let go of old hurts. You understood his insecurity stemmed from years of never being good enough for his father, Ward Cameron was a son of a bitch who had ruined the self-esteem of the boy you loved. Ultimately it was a combination of both that spelled the end of your relationship. A screaming match where he had projected his own inner turmoil onto you, certain that you could never truly love someone like him. He had said things he couldn’t take back, and you had packed your bags that night, never to step foot in his apartment again.

So here you were, two years later, about to marry another man. You looked at yourself in the mirror, saw the fresh tears pooling, threatening to spill and ruin your expensive makeup. If anyone were to see you, they would probably assume they were happy tears, brought on by the overwhelming joy of linking yourself to Chris forever. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Your tears stemmed from the knowledge that going through with this truly meant the end of a future with Rafe. It was stupid, Rafe hadn’t contacted you in the years since your break up, and the only information you received on his wellbeing you got through his sister Sarah who you still thought of as a friend. Rafe didn’t know that you kept tabs on him, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Sarah told him about you, too. You briefly wondered what it would have felt like to receive the news of your engagement, if he ever saw the invitation hung on Sarah’s fridge. If he was sad, or jealous, or if he even cared.

For a moment, you thought about running, pulling a runaway bride, but Chris didn’t deserve that. His only flaw was that he wasn’t Rafe Cameron, and it wasn’t fair to resent him for that fact. Besides, your mother would throw a fit. She had been mad enough when you had arrived home, 21 and single and in need of a place to stay as you got back on your feet. You were pretty sure she might actually disown you if you left another ‘eligible bachelor’, especially this close to commitment. You would likely never hear the end of how you had ruined a perfectly good (and extravagantly expensive) wedding. Not only that, there was no guarantee the next guy you found would hold a candle to Rafe, and you were certain by his two year long radio silence, that Rafe was over you. So, you got up, smoothed down the crinkle in your off-white wedding dress, dabbed at your eyes with a tissue and grabbed your bouquet, resigned to going through with the wedding.

The truth is, when Rafe walked into Sarah’s apartment to pick her up for a lunch with Ward and Rose, she all but threw herself at Rafe to prevent him from seeing the invitation on the fridge. Her plan had been to meet him in the car, but Rafe had walked right in using his key. Suspicious of his little sister’s actions, he gently moved her aside and entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He paused, hand hovering near the water dispenser on the fridge as his eyes landed on the photo of you and Chris with “save the date” written in bold block letters. In his shock, the glass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor. The sound shook him from his thoughts, and he grimaced at the broken pieces of glass that lay at his feet alongside his shattered heart. He looked at Sarah with a look of pure devastation as she offered him a soft smile and quickly swept up the glass. Unfortunately, the pieces of his heart couldn’t be cleaned up so easily. “I’m sorry,” she had offered quietly and all he could do was shrug and say, “me too.”

The green eyed monster of jealousy lingered on his shoulder in the weeks that follow, causing him to lash out more and more. His coworkers avoided him, his friends wanted nothing to do with him, and the only people who he could stand to be around were his little sisters of all people. Despite Sarah keeping your engagement a secret, she had tried to save him from heartbreak, but it was always going to hurt no matter when or where he found out. Since finding out, thoughts of you consumed him, they always had. He had given you the space you had so desperately asked for that night you left, always thinking that you would come back to him, that the two of you would work it out and move on together. He never stopped thinking about you and wondering where you were and what you were doing. He’d heard you’d gone through a few relationships, and he wouldn’t lie about the way his heart would leap a little every time your relationships failed.

Now, it was serious. You’d found someone you’d deemed worthy enough to spend your life with. Rafe always thought that person was him, but he didn’t blame you for not thinking that, too. He had his issues, he was quick to anger, projected his insecurities on others, he’d struggled with addiction and alcoholism although he’d been clean for almost three years at the point. Rafe couldn’t help but admit he was jealous. Jealous of the nights he didn’t get to spend with you, jealous of the love you were giving some other guy that you had once reserved for him, jealous of the life you were going to spend with someone else. Above all else, he was jealous that you were happy without him. He thought you hung the moon, and he was once happy to live among the stars. He would still rearrange the entire night sky for you, but now you saw stars in another’s eyes.

As your wedding date approached, he only felt worse. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have been the one in the wedding invite picture, to have his name written in an elegant script alongside yours on a piece of thick cardstock paper inviting your family and friends to celebrate your love. The daydream overtook his brain. Thoughts of wedding cake tastings and searching for a venue and fighting over seating charts invaded his every waking hour. And at night, he dreamt of being the one at the end of the aisle as you slowly walked towards him, a vision in white with your hair framing your face like the prettiest painting he had ever seen. Saw you approach him, place your hand in his and vow to be his forever. Felt your lips on his as you kissed for the first time as man and wife, dipping you unexpectedly and feeling your delicate fingertips wrap around his lapels to keep you steady. Dreamt of the first dance, twirling you around in his arms, and speeches and kissing every time cutlery tapped a wine glass. Dreamt of a hotel suite with rose petals on the floor, of slowly unzipping your dress and kissing every inch revealed, of a lacy white lingerie set and making love to you as your husband for the first time. But every morning he awoke in a too-large and too-empty king size bed with nothing but the faint memory of a dream.

On the morning of your wedding he awoke from such a dream, and realized he was going to wake up like that every morning for the rest of his life - sad, alone and wanting you. It was then he understood that he had to do something, had to tell you how he felt. He knew it was selfish and impetuous and rash, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try. He couldn’t let you marry some hedge fund manager from Raleigh who dressed like a douche in your engagement photo shoot. And so Rafe pulled himself out of his depression and his silk sheets, dressing himself in a suit and tie to hopefully blend in the back church pew. He didn’t tell Sarah, didn’t tell anyone about his plans lest they convince him not to try.

“Bride,” he told the usher when asked who’s side he was with, before slipping into the last pew on the left. His eyes glanced around the church and he shook his head, even the venue was wrong. You had always told Rafe that you wanted to be married on the beach, barefoot in the sand of the OBX, a soft breeze against your skin. He would always tease you about the breeze, lying in bed together with your hands intertwined dreaming about the future. But, in your dreams, you had always giggled, you could control the weather and you wanted a slight breeze like a scene from a movie. He pulled at his tie a little, the atmosphere stuffy and stifling, and he thought that, if you would have him, he would give you your dream beach wedding, even if he had to buy a large fan to give you your slight breeze.

You stood at the back of the church, nervously picking at the bouquet in your hands as your bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Your arms were shaking with anxiety, but to the casual outside observer you likely seemed to be jittery with excitement. “You ready, sweetheart?” your father asked, offering you his bent elbow. Swallowing hard, you placed your hand in the crook of his arm and entered the chapel. Chris stood at the end of the aisle, a vision in a dark grey tux with a light pink tie to match the color of your bridesmaids’ dresses. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you felt nothing for the man standing there waiting for you. His eyes filled with matching tears and you felt nothing. Scanning the pews for reassurance from your family and friends, you spotted him. There, in the back pew on the left side, your side, sat Rafe Cameron.

You froze, eyes wide as you laid eyes on Rafe Cameron for the first time since you walked out of his apartment two years ago. Of course, you had unhealthily stalked his social media for months after the break up, and every now and then when you felt like torturing yourself, but this was the first time you saw him in person, close enough to run to, close enough to touch. Tearing your eyes from his, you scanned the church again, gulping as you met the furious stare of your mother in the first row, cringing at the almost devastated look on Chris’s face. Lastly, you looked up at your father who gave you a knowing stare, before inclining his head slightly at you. It was that small confirmation that sold it for you. You handed the bouquet to your father, quietly said, “I’m sorry,” before you turned and ran out of the church.

It was difficult to run in your expensive red bottom shoes, but you made an admirable effort for the first few feet before stopping long enough to slip them off. You held both shoes by the heel in one hand, the other hand grasping the bottom of your dress to keep it from dragging on the ground slowing you down. There’s a small park across the street from the church, and it’s here that you realize you’re being followed. Your chest restricts as you recognize the voice calling your name doesn’t belong to your mother or Chris or your bridesmaids. Stopping and turning around, you spot Rafe hot on your heels. You can’t do anything but stand there and stare at him as comes to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath despite his trim figure. You take him in, eyes roaming every inch of his tall frame. You’re a little dizzy, unsure if it’s the rush of your fight or flight instinct, or the rush you’ve always felt in Rafe’s presence.

“I’m sorry,” is the first phrase that leave his lips and you look at him in confusion. He loves the way your nose scrunches up, and the little crinkle that appears between your eyebrows, has dreamed of seeing it again.

“For what?” you asked, unsure of what he was apologizing for. You weren’t upset that you’d ran off, you knew that you didn’t really want to marry Chris, that you had only said yes because of the pressure from your mom and the knowledge that Rafe hadn’t spoken to you in two years.

“Everything,” he admits, flexing his hands nervously. “God, y/n, I fucked up so bad.” Your eyes are staring at his fidgeting hands, and in a split second you’ve dropped your shoes onto the grass and grasped his hands in yours, linking your fingers.

He looks between your now linked hands and your face, and you take the opportunity to take a step closer to him. “I’m sorry too,” you speak softly, “I shouldn’t have ran like that. I should have stayed, and I should have fought for you.”

“You’re not-“ he swallows, “you’re not mad I ruined your wedding?” Despite your hands in his, despite the look in your eye as you stare up at him, despite the fact that you haven’t run from him, he has to ask. Has to make sure that you’re still as in love with him as he is you. That you’ve spent the past two years thinking about where you both went wrong and how you could fix it. That you had thought and dreamt of this moment, where you were close enough to press your lips together.

“I think we both know that wasn’t my wedding, not really. Wrong color scheme, wrong venue...” you pause thoughtfully, squeezing his hands as a smile makes its way onto your face. He catches on quickly, his lips upturning with a small smirk as he finishes your thought, “Wrong groom?”

You giggle, dropping his hands in favour of gripping his face with your palms, smiling widely up at him. There’s something about the intimacy of the moment, of feeling his skin beneath your fingertips, that has you emotional. Rafe feels it too, staring into your eyes, in full disbelief that this is how today has gone. He had hoped, of course. He wouldn’t have shown up at the church if he thought there was no chance of stopping your wedding. But to have you here... Your thumb strokes his cheek as his eyes fill with tears. “Yeah, baby, wrong groom.”

At your confirmation, he ducks his head down and presses his lips to yours. Your hands slide from his cheeks to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck holding you in place as the kiss deepens. You have to pull back to breathe, but he doesn’t let you go far, holding you in place as you rest your foreheads together.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers against your lips and you grin before pecking his lips once. “I’m still in love with you, too,” you whisper back. Suddenly, you’re kissing again, two years of absence melting away with each brush of your lips.

You pull away for a second time, smiling as his lips attempt to chase yours. “We’re going to have to work at this you know, our issues didn’t just go away,” you tell him seriously.

He nods, grabbing one of your hands to kiss the inside of your palm, “I know baby, but I’m ready to work on it, on us, this time.”

You grin widely at him once more, before grabbing your shoes and linking your hands together, “then let’s get me out of this stupid dress.”

everything taglist: @velyssaraptor @danicarosaline @copper-boom @x-lulu @prejudic3 @rekrappeter @downbytheouterbanks @ilovejjmaybank @bricksatanakinswindow @jellyfishbeansontoast @sunwardsss @rudyypankow @im-a-stranger-thing @alexa-playafricabytoto @maybankfullkook @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @sortagaysortahigh @socialwriter @bluesiderudy @anxietyandtacos @diverrdown @stargazingstarkey

#anyway #i'm getting soft in my old age #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #diverdcwn writes

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bloededhoine · 4 years ago

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✿♦️▼☼∇ ☠️ for Eskel please? Or you can choose a couple if that’s a lot lol

unfortunately anon most of these had already been done! and fair warning it does get a little bittersweet at the end, but i loved writing it.

✿ - sex headcanon here

♦️ - quirks/hobbies headcanon here

▼ - childhood headcanon

☼ - appearance headcanon here

∇ - old age/aging headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon here

list

childhood

eskel was pretty well behaved as a kid

however,..,. if there were shenanigans occurring around him, he would just have to participate

hence the infamous bumblebee incident

to be fair, it was an abnormally large bumblebee and geralt was gonna catch it anyways, so he might as well help

he just doesn't want to be left out, whether of the fun or the inevitable punishment

eskel was always fairly shy, which definitely continued into his adult life (no thanks to his scar)

but he becomes much more outgoing if he has an outgoing person he trusts with him. or a lot of alcohol. usually both.

he took his studies way more seriously than geralt or lambert. geralt definitely wasn't a slacker, but he didn't go out of his way to really apply himself unless the assignment was especially interesting to him

eskel would rather cut off his hand than not do his work, mostly because he genuinely enjoyed learning (and being recognized for doing a good job)

that being said, he wasn't exactly bookish. i personally hc eskel as dyslexic (and the type to not bother doing work in a system that he knew wasn't for him), but he loved sciences

he'd always be the first to volunteer during a dissection, and had really good instincts about zoology in particular.

one time vesemir noticed eskel didn't do the reading like he was supposed to, and planned to teach eskel his lesson by having him go in front of the class and locate and label the main digestive organs in a species they'd never seen before. to his (pleasant) surprise, eskel got all of them right and even told vesemir what the creature's last meal was.

after that vesemir stopped assigning eskel reading and started letting him dissect drowner corpses instead

but not all of eskel's scientific adventures were so academically oriented.

after he learned how to brew his own moonshine at 17, eskel gained quite a reputation for his ability to make wildly strong alcohol out of anything

there are so many loose floorboards with a flask of what could be used as paint thinner under them that eskel still finds ones he didn't even remember hiding

eskel always loved the animals they had in the keep, but didn't quite put the pieces together that most of them were being kept as either bait for monsters or food for people for a few years. when he did, he was fucking devastated

logically, he knew that monsters had been hunting the livestock by the gwenllech for centuries, and an unchecked deer population would be disaster out for the local plant ecosystem, but he still cried

before eskel left for the path the first time, vesemir made a deal with him that he would keep one (1) animal during the year as a friend for eskel to visit during the winter.

old age

after multiple close calls on even the simplest contracts, plus being reminded of his age by the way his joints ached every time it rained, eskel decided to go home and take care of kaer morhen full time

part of him wanted to say that witchers never die in their beds, and his pseudo-retirement was unnatural and selfish, but he had made a promise to vesemir and was not about to go back on his word

sometimes he considered leaving, letting the castle fall into the ruin it had been heading towards for centuries. geralt and lambert seemed to spend winters there largely out of sympathy, even eskel knew they'd all be a lot warmer at corvo bianco

but walking through the stone halls brought back too many memories to just leave

the tiny spot of blood on the kitchen tile from when he and geralt had an impromptu knife fight instead of preparing porridge for the other boys

the oak closet he built ciri so she'd have a place to put her dresses, for the occasion that she was "indisposed"

the rope ladder up to the roof where he and geralt would drink half their weight in homemade booze

the locked room where he kept coën and vesemir's things, since he didn't want lambert poking around and bitching about sentimentality

the bedroom he kept made up for deidre in case she wanted to visit, even if it had been nearly a decade since he last saw her

the now boarded-up room where he spent 6 excruciatingly painful nights during the trials, barely being able to hold his head up long enough to check if geralt's laboured breathing was still there

the trellis arch he built in the courtyard so keira could have a slightly more tasteful wedding

he... he just couldn't leave it all behind. the one winter he spent in toussaint was definitely warmer, but it still felt off. even geralt and lambert noticed the strangeness of not wintering at kaer morhen.

all three of them had precious little stability in their lives, the one thing they could count on was a freezing castle with a warm great hall to fill with music and booze and roasted pig and all their friends and more booze, even if just for 3 months

if eskel left kaer morhen, he knew he'd leave that all too. he felt responsible for it, for continuing the legacy of the school of the wolf, especially as its oldest surviving member (only by 3 years, geralt loved reminding him)

ultimately, he knew there just wasn't much else for him to do. there hadn't been a forktail spotted in hercht for decades, and there's only so many cracks in stone to pack with mortar for the winter. geralt and lambert had more or less settled down with beautiful yet terrifying sorceresses, but still made a point to visit. the wild hunt was gone, ciri spent most of her year either on the path or with the queen of skellige. the queen! yennefer taught her well.

he was happy. even with the guilt and pain and memories, eskel was happy. and, when the time came, he couldn't help but regret that vesemir didn't get the honour to be the first witcher to die in his bed.

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fanficsforheartandsoul · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s Do It Again | Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader | Slight NSFW!

Note: Inspired by the song Do It Again by Pia Mia, Chris Brown, Tyga. I listened to the song on the bus and then wrote this quickly. It’s really just a short oneshot not really corrected either, sorry xD

Fandom: Star Wars

Warnings: Alternative Universe, A/B/O, Slight NSFW, Anakin Cheated

Summary: His memory of the night was fuzzy, but Anakin knew three things. Firstly, he had sex with someone else than his lover Padmé. Secondly, that person was an Omega. And finally, he fucking marked the stranger.

Word Count: 1′555

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

Anakin fucked up. That may not be pretty specific because he fucked up often, but most of the time, he was able to fix it. This time...

He wasn't so sure.

He breathed in slowly, the strong smell of flowers, alcohol, and blood still lingering around him. He cupped his face with his hands and sighed.

"I messed up."

And it was the truth. Him lying naked in a bed that wasn't his, the iron taste of blood in his mouth, he fucked up big time. He marked someone. And it wasn't Padmé. God fucking dammit.

To be fair, he was really drunk yesterday. Wouldn't everyone be after finding out that the parents of their supposedly future wife didn't want them to mark their daughter? Well, after those devastating news were thrown at his face he got shitfaced and then met that woman.

God, his mind was so blurry he couldn't even remember her face, much less her name. But she had breathtaking pheromones and feisty claws. He remembered her whispering into his ears that she wouldn't let herself be suppressed by him and then her dragging her fingernails across his back, drawing blood.

He had never met such a kinky woman. Not that he often had the chance with him being part of the Jedi order and him usually not hanging out in the underworld of Coruscant.

But damn, that enchantress, yes, he could call her that because he was literally swept away by her pheromones and the sweet words of hers in his ears.

He sighed again, guilt gnawing away at his heart. Padmé had told him she would convince her parents to change their minds. She would take care of it. So that they would be able to finally make their relationship official. But now he had gone and done it.

He loved Padmé with his whole heart however there was a stab in his chest after this night, reminding him of the fact, that somewhere out there was another Omega who belonged to him, and he couldn't stop himself from growling lowly. He couldn't suppress his instincts.

Right now, he hated being born as an Alpha and being so stupid. If he were a good Jedi, he would have meditated to calm himself down but instead, he had gone out of the Jedi temple to visit the lower levels of Coruscant to get drunk, meeting the potential doom of his and Padmé's relationship. But he would fix this mess.

Let's just never meet that woman again. I can go without her, an Alpha is able to live without the one they marked. I'm sure she would not dare to search for me in the Jedi temple. The general public does not know that the order allows Alpha and Omega relationships, I should be safe. His pounding heart slowed down a little. It would be fine.

But first, he had to get rid of the stranger's lingering scent.

Anakin was successful. Successful in removing the scent of the Omega he had marked and successful in hiding his mistake. At first, he wanted to tell Padmé, but he couldn't. His pride wouldn't let him.

If he told her, it would be proof that he was unsuited for her as her parents had said. But he couldn't acknowledge that. It would break him, would remind him of the fact that he and Padmé were born into different worlds.

He was raised as a slave and marking a stranger wasn't such a big deal on Tattooine. For Padmé who became Queen of Naboo and then a senator... Not only were the customs on Naboo different but she also held an important position.

If it came out that her future husband had already marked another Omega... It would not only damage her reputation it could also potentially ruin her career.

So he tried to forget that one night, tried to ignore the growing impatience he felt, the pent up desires, and the Alpha in him telling him to find his Omega to mate with her again.

But it was hard. Really hard.

He found himself way too often in sweaty bedsheets, in his pants the proof of a wet dream about the stranger from that night.

The guilt ate him alive, and he drifted away from Padmé, feeling uneasy around her, always paranoid that she found out what he had done.

And it slowly dawned on him that he couldn't save their relationship anymore, because the moment he had let the other woman kiss him that night, his and Padmé's love had already been doomed.

They broke up.

In the end, Anakin couldn't deal with his guilty conscience anymore. He told Padmé everything. And he was able to see how her heart shattered.

He expected her to be angry, to curse him but she held no contempt in her eyes. After he had explained to her what happened that night, or at least what he could remember, she was silent for a long time.

When she opened her mouth, he flinched, expecting a scream or shout but only a whisper left her lips:

"Leave."

He said her name and wanted to continue but she interrupted him, again telling him to leave, her voice slightly breaking. Her utter rejection hurt him too.

Of course, he couldn't expect forgiveness for his actions, because he cheated, but he had hoped to... He couldn't even say what he hoped for.

He didn't deserve any of it.

So he stood up, looking at her sitting on the couch of her apartment. "Padmé..." He knew she would cry after he left, therefore he hesitated, uncertainly reaching out for her, but she swatted his hand away.

"Go! Anakin, leave, and don't you dare come back!"

He left.

But he was sure that he had left his heart with her that day.

Eight months later, he stepped off the spaceship that brought him to Lothal, his former Master, and his padawan in tow.

Ahsoka sighed contently after looking at the vast grass plains.

"It's peaceful here, I like it."

Obi-Wan seemingly wanted to agree but got interrupted by the landing canon boat ships, and the three Jedi turned to the arriving clones.

"Generals."

Captain Rex saluted, and Anakin nodded at him.

"The 707th squad should arrive soon."

The clone's eyebrows knitted, Anakin watched him and asked himself why Rex seemed worried. Then he remembered the rumors Ahsoka mentioned during their flight here.

The 707th's general was supposed to be a strict Jedi who held no mercy for the enemy and whose actions were often deemed too violent to be a Jedi's by the council.

His padawan beside him stiffened too, and Obi-Wan stroke his beard in deep thought.

He clenched his fists. He wouldn't let anyone of his troop get hurt. They would do their jobs here and then leave immediately.

He didn't care whether the rumors about the Jedi were true or not. He just wanted to go back home to Coruscant so that he could try to call Padmé once more. He needed to talk to her one more time, he was sure that she would listen to him no- Suddenly five canon boats appeared on the horizon.

They were all colored completely black, giving them a slightly intimidating appearance. They flew at a dangerously high speed, and it only took a few seconds for them to reach the landing platform.

Suddenly, Anakin's intestines churned. A fiery heat crawled up his torso and then his neck, and a raspy sound escaped his throat. His instincts rang the alarm bell, and his senses spread quickly. The force called out to him, and a strangely familiar and addictive scent entered his nostrils.

No, no, no, don't tell me...!!

His fists clenched. Obi-Wan suddenly turned his head around to watch him surprised, a small blush on his cheeks.

"Anakin...", his tone warning him as he retreated from the side of his former padawan.

Ahsoka next to him subconsciously bared her sharp Togruta teeth.

"Master", she growled, also stepping away from him, his sudden Alpha pheromones too overbearing.

His padawan was an Alpha herself but he had always oppressed her when it came to their pheromones.

However, that didn't mean that she wouldn't fight him. But right now she seemed to know that something had ticked Anakin off, so she could only stand protectively in front of Obi-Wan, the only Omega in their company right now, who seemed to be disturbed from his former student's sudden pheromone release.

The clones around them were unaffected since all of them were Betas.

Anakin only partly registered the distress of his former Master and his padawan as he was concentrating more on the newly arriving clones and the owner of the scent that had burned itself into his nose.

"It's her", he groaned and it was partly a sigh but also a moan, proof of the arousal that flared in his chest right now.

The woman was here. His Omega was here.

Suddenly his Pants felt a lot tighter.

The door of the last black canon boat ship opened, silky h/c hair danced in the winds of Lothal and black Jedi robes swayed slowly with every step their owner took.

A smirk painted the woman's lips and although there was a 200 meters distance between them, he could somehow still understand what she said:

"Let's do it again, Alpha."

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carelessannie · 4 years ago

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here’s the second part of my winteriron mermay au! enjoy!

while we’re devoting full time to floating chapter two: boy you better do it soon

Rating: M (for now) Word Count: 6.8K Relationships: Tony x Bucky Warnings: Smut adjacent (unintentional sex toys), sexual tension, profanity, kinda drug/alcohol use Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

- - -

His eyes blink open slowly. It’s strange to wake up without a blinding headache. Actually, it’s strange to wake up without any pain. And with the sun shining in his face.

To his left, he sees a small form on the water’s surface. In his mind’s eye he knows the form is familiar, knows that there should be someone inside— but it slips quickly, evading his memory as the dark form fades over the horizon.

Tony shakes his head. He smacks his lips.

Where is he?

First of all, he’s definitely not in the ocean. It seems like he’s resting on some type of rock formation, with just his tail hydrated in the water. Interesting. He seems to be inside a cove, the shelter working wonders to hide him from the mid-afternoon sun.

Secondly, he’s alone. He never travels alone, especially not to the shore. It hurts to try and remember, but reality slams into him like an orca whale. Rhodey and Pepper. The exploration to colonize. The fucking Tiger Sharks, dammit! Tony’s tail slaps the surface of the water in frustration, and he lets his body slip into the shallow pool.

He hopes the sharks didn’t get his friends. The memory of the fight is hazy at best, but he knows he shouldn’t be feeling this good afterwards— he’s pretty sure he got hit at least once. There are no scratches or bruises anywhere on his body, and it’s confusing that he doesn’t even have a headache.

That’s a problem for later, though. Now, Tony needs to find his friends— or, what remains of his friends. He swims out of the cove and down, through the reefs. Fish seem to be tentatively peeking out of their hiding spots, and he follows the empty spaces to trace the path a shark might have taken. He whistles, sharp and quick, to try and map out the figures in the surrounding area, and is satisfied when his call is returned with a low chirp. Thank the sea.

“Rhodey!” he hollers, pushing through the crowded reef, searching wildly for his closest friend, his faithful number two. As Tony breaks into the clearing, he freezes at the sight in front of him.

Rhodey and Pepper are swimming territorial circles around all three Tiger Sharks— and, from the looks of it, all three are dead.

“Tony!” Pepper notices him first and beckons him closer. When he swims up, she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing briefly into his shoulder, before reeling back and lightly slapping his arm, “How dare you worry me like that! I was sure all we’d find were scales— how did you get away?”

“I…” Tony tries to remember, he really does, but the only things coming to mind are brilliant blue eyes, an ethereal glow, and a deep, alluring voice, “I think someone saved me. But, by the time I woke up, they were gone.”

“You didn’t recognize them?” Rhodey swims closer, looking him up and down, inspecting for injuries.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think they’re part of the Kingdom,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to subconsciously play with his signet ring. His memory is usually so sharp, it’s strange that—

“Holy shit, Tony— look!” Pepper interrupts, pointing at his chest. He looks down, but all he can see is a slight illumination around his sternum.

“What—”

“Stay still,” Rhodey snaps, gently lifting the ring off of his skin. Pepper reaches in to trace a delicate circle on his chest, and both of his friends look awestruck. And afraid. He tries to crane his neck and see, but all he notices is that the glow fades the longer the ring is kept from touching his body. Rhodey hums, thoughtfully, “Seems like the ring is enchanted. I haven’t encountered a witch in ages— but I guess one came out of hiding to save you.”

“I guess. Pep, do you have a mirror?” The longer Rhodey holds the ring, the tighter Tony’s chest feels. He plucks it out of Rhodey’s hand as Pepper pulls a mirror out of her satchel, turning it around so Tony can take a look.

His signet ring lays in the center of his chest, a steady weight, and radiates a faint glow. It’s more concerning that, surrounding the ring, there’s a few inches of light emanating from under his skin. Tony reaches up to trace it— the gold ring and blue haze, so similar to the eyes he remembers saving him. Still, nothing hurts, and Tony pushes the mirror away.

He ignores their concerned looks and starts to tie up the sharks, concentrating on getting them back to the Kingdom before any larger predators arrive to investigate. After a moment, both of them swim down to help him, shouldering the bodies and heading back towards the Kingdom’s butcher.

It’s a few more minutes before Tony breaks the silence, giving his friends a break, “So, uh… do you think I’ll be a lanternfish forever?” He throws them a smirk and laughs at Pepper’s exasperated sigh.

Rhodey bumps into his shoulder, “You have trouble blending in as it is— at least now we’ll be able to keep track of you… in night clubs.”

Tony gwuafs, offended, and shoves at Rhodey’s shoulder. With everyone happy and laughing, it’s easy to forget about his mysterious savior and the inevitable conversation he’s going to have with his father later on. They head straight for the butcher when they enter the city, several citizens cheering and praising their kill. Tony knows he’ll get the credit for it, even though it was Rhodey and Pepper who slew the sharks, so he takes off as soon as they drop the bodies, heading to the castle to see the King.

---

Hours later, Tony sits at the far perimeter between two sentinels, staring out into the open ocean. The nocturnal fish have emerged, sending an eerie glow onto the city as the lights dim, throwing the Kingdom into gentle darkness. It does nothing to soothe Tony’s anger.

He takes Pepper’s satchel, full of rocks and shells and other samples from their journey, and dumps it over the side of the wall. Useless. It’s almost as if his dad doesn’t even want to explore anymore, just sending Tony out to keep him distracted. And he knows that’s probably the case, he’s not stupid, but he can tell there’s something deeper his dad isn’t telling him.

Well, fuck ‘im. Tony’s more than capable of figuring it out on his own.

For now, he stares out into the distance, throwing a silent Tony pity party.

There’s movement in the distance. At first, Tony thinks it’s debris. It’s not uncommon for items to fall from the surface— but this object suddenly twists, and he sees… shit, he sees arms. Fuck. It’s a person.

“Stay alert,” he instructs the guard on his right, “I’m gonna check it out.”

Tony takes off into the dark, distantly aware that one of the guards is hot on his tail, and heads straight for the figure still drifting towards the ocean floor. He slows down as he approaches, thankful for the light in his chest that illuminates his surroundings. When he gets to the spot, sand is settling in a cloud around where the figure landed. It takes a moment for everything to clear, and Tony waits patiently, the guard at his side prepared with a weapon.

It’s a man. “Holy shit,” Tony breathes out, swimming closer to the limp body stretched across the sand and rock.

“Be careful, your Highness,” his guard warns, and Tony waves his hand in dismissal.

The man landed facing away from him, giving Tony a good view of strong, muscular shoulders and wavy, shoulder-length hair, half tied back behind his ears in a small knot. His back rises and falls, expanding with slow breaths that reassure the man’s gentle sleep. He leans over and pulls on his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his back.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Lips slightly parted and turned down in sleep, his face is utterly serene. His lashes are dark and cast a delicate shadow over sharp cheekbones, sprinkled with a tasteful amount of scruff, not quite enough to hide his full jawline and smooth, tanned skin. Tony can’t help himself— he reaches down and cups the man’s jaw, brushing his thumb over full lips and wishing he could look into this man’s eyes.

With a gasp, the man jerks awake, and Tony gets his wish. Deep, electric gray eyes bore into his own, the handsome face overtaken with shock and confusion as he bolts upright, pushing Tony away and looking around frantically.

“Hey, hey— it’s alright. You’re okay, please don’t panic,” Tony tries to calm him down, sighing in relief when the man turns his focus back on Tony, still looking desperate and confused, “My name’s Tony, you’re outside Howard’s Northern Kingdom— can you… can you tell me your name? Where you came from?”

The man shakes his head. He’s shaking slightly, and Tony watches as he runs his hands over his chest, his hips, and his silver and crimson tail— as if grounding himself in the present. Tony understands and gives the guy some space.

He hates the devastated look in the man’s stunning eyes, but is grateful when he croaks out, “The… the Northern Kingdom? Under water?”

Tony snickers, motioning around, “For now, yeah— that’s where sea life generally lives.”

The man nods, a little too quickly, “Right, I… of course, right. My name…” he grimaces, as though it’s painful to remember, “I’m James, but… but people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Tony repeats, liking the sound of this stranger’s voice, somehow familiar, “I’m Tony, and King Howard is my father. Unfortunately, before I can help you out, I’m gonna need to know why you’re here, or where you’re from,” he gestures to the guard behind him, “otherwise this guy’s not gonna let you come home with me.”

Bucky’s smile is a revelation as it breaks over his face. Tony feels something twist in his chest as he ducks his head, looking up at Bucky through his lashes and watching the other man’s cheeks flush pink in delight. Oh, Tony likes this a lot.

“Well, I’m… I’m from…” the smile falls from Bucky’s face as he concentrates, a painful grimace maring his features again, “The Kingdom of Brooklyn, and my brother is the King. His name is Steve. And I… I don’t know why I’m here,” his brow furrows and a small whimper leaves his throat as he concentrates harder, and Tony has to stop it.

“Hey, Bucky? Please don’t— don't’ hurt yourself, okay?” He grins in approval as Bucky relaxes, “We can work on it, sweetheart, for now, what you’ve given me should be sufficient. I’ve never heard of Brooklyn, but if you’re a Prince and not one of our enemies, our King shouldn’t have a problem with offering you temporary residence.”

“I… okay,” Bucky agrees, looking down at his hands, “I don’t want to impose.”

Tony holds out a hand and pulls Bucky along with him. They swim back through the gate and into the city— most families are already tucked into their homes for the night, so no one sees them on their way back to the castle. Bucky looks absolutely stunned, barely talking during their journey, and it amuses Tony to no end. Obviously whatever Kingdom he’s from is small and underdeveloped in technology and population.

They travel shoulder to shoulder, and Tony can’t help but feel a familiar warmth when their arms brush against each other, the ring around his neck pulsing brighter. It seems like Bucky notices it too, but the expression on his face is difficult to read.

“So this is a weird question,” Tony starts, fiddling with the ring as he studies Bucky’s face. The other man smiles encouragingly, so Tony continues, “have we… met before? Like, specifically earlier today?”

Bucky stops suddenly, looking at Tony as if he’s actively growing another tail. For a moment his face looks surprised, filled with recognition, but it quickly disappears as Bucky hunches over and lets out a pained gasp, clutching desperately at his head. Tony has no idea what to do— and in panic, he pulls Bucky closer, wrapping the larger man in his arms.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, trying to soothe away the pain. Bucky is trembling like a leaf in his arms, and he’s helpless to do anything about it. He’s also aware that they’re drifting in between several dwellings, and Tony needs to get them inside, soon.

Soft, red-rimmed eyes blink up at him, and Tony brings up his hand to push a few wayward strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. Even upset and in pain, this man is flawless. He sniffles and blinks a few times, struggling to turn a reassuring smile up at Tony.

“T-thank you,” he murmurs, face flushing pink again in embarrassment, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything is… familiar. But I can’t remember you, I’m sorry.”

Tony clicks his tongue, following the blush with his fingers and enjoying the close press of their bodies, “It’s okay, Bucky— we’ll figure it out.”

---

They make it back to the castle in one piece, and Tony knows it’s going to be best to present his guest to the King immediately. He knows his presence isn’t welcome due to the argument earlier in the evening, but the consequences will be worse if Tony tries to hide what he’s found.

The two of them wait outside of the King’s rooms as a steward leaves to announce them to his father. Tony tries to fill Bucky in on procedures, but it seems his guest is already familiar with a number of expectations and etiquette.

“Oh, and remember to tuck your tail as well. And if he tells you to be informal, he really means you can call him ‘Your Grace,’ not to call him Howard. He’ll hate that.” Tony rambles, listing off everything he can think of.

“Wait,” Bucky stops him, “tuck my… tail? Why?”

Tony chuckles, backing up slightly to face Bucky. He looks around to make sure no others are watching— it would be improper for the Prince to bow, even in jest— and when he’s satisfied that the coast is clear, tucks himself into a formal bow.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, and Tony unfolds himself, his smile erased completely by the intensity in Bucky’s eyes. Fuck. “That’s… that was…”

And then smoothly, gracefully, Bucky mirrors his bow, curling his tail forward, dipping his head, and crossing one arm over his chest respectfully. Tony is speechless. The show of respect— even casually— from this breathtaking man, has him breathing deep to keep his desire at bay.

It seems as though Bucky’s having a similar problem. As he unfolds from his bow, Tony can see his pupils blown wide, the scales around his groin flushed pink in arousal. Tony can bet his own scales look the same, and tries to laugh, tries to calm them down as he backs away slightly. It won’t help either of them to see the King looking like this.

Of course that’s the moment the King’s steward chooses to return, giving both of them a disapproving once over before opening the door wide, “His Majesty will see you in his library.”

Okay, not the worst then. If Tony was in deep shit, Howard would just see them in the drawing room. At least Tony likes the library.

He leads Bucky down the hall and into the library, hiding a smile at the awe clearly written on Bucky’s face. He takes a second look, trying to view his father’s library with fresh eyes, but has trouble when his gaze keeps landing on the handsome man swimming next to him.

Howard is reclining near a window, absently eating a few fermented algae— his usual method of winding down from a difficult day. As the King looks their way, a piece of algae still in his fingers, Bucky dips into a formal bow. Triton, he looks good like that. Tony dips his head, informally, and both of them straighten up a moment later.

“What is it, Anthony?” his dad sighs, putting the piece of algae on his tongue to dissolve. Tony suddenly feels parched, but holds his arm out to present Bucky regardless.

“An hour ago, as I was watching the border of our Kingdom, a figure fell from the surface. I went to investigate with a guard, and we found James, here, unconscious and unarmed. James claims to be a prince from a Kingdom called Brooklyn, with a King named Steve, and is seeking asylum until he can resume his travels. His mind is damaged, and I wish to extend my care and hospitality towards him for the duration of his stay.”

The King looks at both of them, his face refusing to give anything away, but Tony knows from experience that he’s much more perceptive than Tony gives him credit for. He crosses his arms and addresses Bucky, “Prince James, then,” he says, testing out the title, “if not hostile, what are your intentions towards my Kingdom and my son?”

Bucky ducks his head and nods, “My intentions are to know your Kingdom and know your son, if he so desires, Your Majesty. I am healing and recovering my memories, and once I’ve reclaimed my original destination, I shall depart immediately.”

Howard nods, satisfied with this answer. He points to the small pail on his side table, “Anthony, would you bring your… friend a refreshment?”

Tony spares Bucky a shrug and swims over to the chilled container, lifting it slightly to scoop out a small bundle of algae into a glass, trapping them quickly with a lid. He grabs a few for himself and makes his way over to where Bucky floats, his eyes wide and curious as Tony hands over the refreshment.

Bucky looks down at the cup in his hands, obviously and adorably lost. Tony glances over at Howard— his dad looking between them in amusement— and touches Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze and motioning for him to follow Tony’s example.

Reaching into his glass, Tony fishes out a piece of algae, showing Bucky how it sticks slightly to his finger. Bucky copies him, and grabs a smaller piece in between his forefinger and thumb. Tony wishes he could feed the bit to Bucky himself, place it on his tongue and feel his pretty pink lips suck it from his hand.

Instead, he quickly places it on his own tongue, humming happily as the sweet and sour algae dissolves, sending a warm shiver down into his belly, clearing his head and heating him up from the inside out. Damn, his dad always has the best shit.

He turns his attention back to Bucky, watching intently as he follows suit and places the morsel in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up, he looks down at the cup in shock— as if the remaining algae could provide some explanation— and then, to Tony’s dismay, Bucky lets out a guttural groan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as his cheeks hollow out, lips curling tight around his fingers while he sucks them clean.

Tony is having something close to a stroke, and his dad is laughing loudly in front of them, obviously finding Tony’s distress amusing. He’s going to commit regicide, and it’s going to be slow and painful and bloody.

He overcompensates by taking the lid off his glass and throwing the rest of the algae back, breathing deep as the sensation hits him all at once. As he sways a bit in place, he catches Bucky staring at him in amusement.

“Anthony,” his father sighs, shaking his head in annoyance, “do whatever you must. He can stay… in your rooms, primarily. Or in the guest lodging— as long as you have security on him at all times. Get Jarvis to set up residence wherever you’d like, Anthony. Just don’t let me hear it, and don’t let me see it.”

Bucky is frozen with another algae halfway to his mouth, flushed red and eyes wide. Tony is convinced that flustered is his natural state. Before his dad can embarrass them further, Tony takes Bucky’s hand and excuses them, swimming quickly back down the hallway.

He doesn’t stop until they reach his rooms and slam the door. They’re already cackling before they hit the nest, and Tony can’t catch his breath. He rolls over and tucks close into Bucky’s side, enjoying how his chest shakes as they laugh together.

“What the fuck did I just eat, Tony,” Bucky wheezes, and Tony loses it again, ducking his face into Bucky’s neck and sobbing into his skin.

“Fer… fermented algae, baby.”

“I— I can’t believe… it tasted like…” and Bucky’s voice cuts off, his body stilling. Tony looks up to see what happened, and Bucky is staring straight forward, unmoving. Frozen.

“Bucky? What did… what did it taste like?”

“It. I can’t…” And again, Bucky’s face contorts, breath stuttering as his hands come up to cradle his face, sighing in pain. Tony immediately pulls his hands away and replaces them with his own, massaging his temples until he’s met with deep, gray pools of sweet relief.

“Don’t push it, honey,” Tony purrs, resting his body gently on top of Bucky’s, rubbing their noses together and blowing a few bubbles, making Bucky giggle and relax. He lays his head down on Bucky’s chest, before realizing how close they are together— and how little they’ve actually gotten to know each other.

“Dammit,” he curses, pushing off of Bucky’s chest and floating away, “we don’t— shit. I don’t even know you. You have no idea who you even are. I am so sorry, I just fed you an unknown substance, oh seas,”

“Tony, it’s okay—”

“I’ll get you your own room, I promise. You don’t have to put up with—”

“Tony! Hey,” Bucky swims off the nest and presses him up against the ceiling, pinning his shoulders and staring into his eyes, “I remember who I am, I just can’t recall where my home is. I know the name of my brother, and my best friends. I have a…” small grimace, “pet named Alpine. I’m a scientist and a Prince, and I’m almost completely convinced that I’m—”

He pauses, a familiar blush traveling down his chest and filling his cheeks. Tony blinks down at him, “That you’re what?”

“That I’m already, irreversibly infatuated with you.”

Tony feels the ring around his neck pulse, bright and hot on his skin, as if agreeing with the sentiment. He wants to respond, really does, but everything is too new, too important. Bucky is too important.

They’re close, though. Tails brushing together, bubbles of air mixing and joining in front of their faces. Tony can hear his own heartbeat, frantic and longing for the man in front of him. Bucky reaches up, acting as if he wants to touch the ring, but he hesitates. His fingers flex, his eyes blink rapidly, and then he’s reaching into Tony’s hair, pulling on strands tenderly and cradling his face in strong, sure hands.

And Tony just melts in his palms, an absolute jellyfish for this mysterious stranger. The tension between them is heavy, thick and magnetic. He drifts into Bucky’s space and tries to watch for a sign, any sign, but his eyes are closed— when did his eyes close? And then their scales rub together, catching and pulling, tearing a desperate moan from Tony’s lips. There’s a hand in his hair and eyelashes on his cheek, and their lips— their breath—

“I can’t,” Tony whispers, forcing his eyes open to watch Bucky frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m crazy about you, but you deserve…” and he can’t remember, right now, everything that Bucky deserves, but he knows it’s a lot.

“Oh, I… Okay. I get it,” Bucky nods, devastating resignation taking over his handsome features, “I’m not… I can’t…”

“Can we just sleep? Talk and spend the day together in the morning?” Tony suggests, like an adult. Bucky nods, suddenly yawning and glancing up at Tony sheepishly.

“Sounds perfect, Anthony,” he smirks, chuckling again as Tony swats at him playfully.

It only takes a few minutes to set up a guest room for Bucky, fit already with a flawlessly woven nesting kit and other amenities. Tony even makes sure to include a pail of chilled algae, ugly laughing when Bucky discovers it by the dressing mirror.

The next day comes soon enough, and Tony has enough sense to cancel his engagements, asking his steward to clear his schedule and plan a tour of the kingdom for the two of them.

Before Bucky wakes— Tony assumes he’s still asleep in the guest suite— he has the royal gardeners collect fragments of coral and deep sea sponges to present to his new… friend. He asks for crimson and gold, colors not only of Tony’s scales, but also of Bucky’s as well.

When the arrangements arrive, he spends a few minutes weaving them together with a few ties from his nest and small strands of his hair, intimate details that he’s sure Bucky will love.

He waits in his living space for Bucky to join him. The windows are thrown open, letting a gentle morning current sweep through, and Tony sits with the coral and sponges draped over his arms. And he waits.

After a few minutes, he’s done waiting. He calls his steward to check on Bucky, and watches as the boy disappears down the hallway. There’s a knock, the faint sound of the door being opened, and then low, urgent voices. The steward swims back to him, looking guilty.

“He sends his apologies. He says that he’s not used to rising without direct light, and missed the wake up call completely. He should be around in a few moments, sir.”

“Oh, yes— that’s fine,” Tony places the arrangement in front of him and dismisses the steward, choosing to pick on the assorted breakfast foods instead.

It’s only a few moments before Bucky joins him, looking absolutely delicious and well rested. He sits next to Tony— very close, actually— and takes a suspicious look at the meal prepared for them.

“It’s… fish? For breakfast?”

Tony’s surprised again by his confusion, “Yes, honey, we generally eat fish for breakfast. If you’d like, I can have the cook crack you open a few clams instead? Oh, he makes the best sweet clam mix— it’s to die for,”

“No, no that’s fine,” Bucky waves his hands, reaching for an assortment of fresh eel instead, “these should be… these should be good.”

Tony watches in glee as Bucky slurps down the eel, grimacing and gagging slightly when it hits his tongue. He hides a smile when Bucky sits up straighter, obviously testing the flavor on his palette, before turning to Tony and putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, but… why was that so good?”

Tony splutters, “You ass! You had me fooled— thinking you didn’t like fish for breakfast, like a fucking lunatic.”

Bucky chuckles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. For a moment, he looks so lost and confused that all Tony can do is urge him to eat more fish, shoving three or four more plates in his face.

After they finish eating, Tony picks up his arrangement, feeling like a guppy as he hands it to Bucky, waiting for his reaction. Bucky— seas bless him— gives him a lopsided smile, holding the coral and sponges like they’re about to bite him. It’s confusing.

“Thank you, Tony. I’m not… I’m not supposed to eat it, right?”

“What?” Tony chokes, throwing his head back in laughter, “no, honey. It’s a gift. To admire. From my gardens.”

Bucky’s eyebrows draw close as he concentrates, something from his memory probably slipping away again, so Tony takes the arrangement from him. He sets it on the table, perfect decoration for the room, and grabs Bucky’s hand, leading him out of their rooms.

“Let’s go,” Tony urges, giving Bucky a reassuring wink as they head into the city.

Their day is incredible. Tony had no doubts before that the two of them would get along, would laugh and talk and joke as naturally as breathing. He’s proud of his Kingdom, too. Welcoming Bucky and treating him like a Prince— draping chains of flowering wildlife around his neck and offering them both assortments of salted meats— shark and squid and flounder— and dozens of fine jewels and beads.

If Tony purchases a number of those jewels for Bucky, it’s no one’s business but his.

He’s enraptured by the way Bucky experiences things. He’s always gasping and blushing as if each moment is special, new and unique, instead of normal and mundane. Tony feels drunk on it. He wants to spoil Bucky rotten, hoard all of his reactions to himself and make sure Bucky is always smiling like this— happy and soft and warm.

So Tony might be a little infatuated as well. He’s not supposed to fall in love this quickly, especially not with a stranger, but he feels inexplicably drawn to Bucky, as if by fate.

The days after pass similarly. Even when Tony has to resume his responsibilities, they still spend most of the day together— Bucky helping him delegate and problem solve issues in the Kingdom.

There are some bad days for Bucky— when he tries to remember too much and ends up with headaches that won’t go away. It’s especially bad when Tony leaves with Pepper and Rhodey to explore near the surface. Bucky refuses to go with them and spends those days in his room, clutching his head and sleeping restlessly. Tony thinks he may have repressed trauma that’s related to the surface, to the day Tony found him, but without access to his memories, it’s hard to know for sure.

Even with a few bad days in the mix, most of the time they spend together is indescribable, and, after only two weeks, Tony already has the crown jeweler fashioning traditional courting gifts for Bucky.

He whistles on the way to pick them up, swimming faster than usual, and even doing a few twirls when the excitement is just too much. As he inspects each piece, he knows the smile on his face is ridiculously wide. They’re perfect. He can’t help but imagine Bucky wearing each item, draped and adorned with metal and jewels and his family crest.

Bucky’s lounging in the garden when Tony finally finds him, admiring the array of coral on the south side of the palace. His hair is tied back— half up half down, framing his face beautifully— and he looks up when Tony swims into view.

“Hey, honey,” Tony greets, silently hating himself for being so soft around this man, “do you have a minute?”

“For you, I have all the time in the world.”

Tony ducks his head, the warm twist in his chest pulling him towards Bucky, and he watches the other man swim over from under his eyelashes. Once Bucky is in front of him, Tony hands him the box, looking at his face patiently for a reaction.

He turns it over, and looks at Tony, confused. “What’s this?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony touches the lid, trailing his fingers over the crest engraved there, “it’s um… they’re traditional jewels I had crafted… for you.”

Bucky still looks unsure, “Okay,” he says, toying with the clasp on the box, “is there a special occasion, Tony?”

Tony just shakes his head, giving Bucky a reassuring smile, “Just open it— you’ll see.”

He gets a small smile in return, and Bucky lifts the lid, revealing the intricate set of jewels— chains and cuffs and clamps, all symbolizing Tony’s intent to court Bucky.

Unfortunately, Bucky looks absolutely horrified. He extends his arms, pushing the box away, and looks up into Tony’s eyes, “I… what the fuck, Tony?”

“... what?”

Bucky puts the gifts back into Tony’s hands and crosses his arms, “I’m sorry if you misunderstood our relationship, but I’m not… interested in this. I don’t want this. At least not yet.”

“Oh,” Tony is shocked still, gripping the box tightly in his arms, “I just… I thought we were…”

But Bucky is shaking his head, “I like you, Tony. I’m probably even falling in love with you. But I’m just not into that. I have a few friends who are, but we’d have to be… I don’t know, married or something, before I’d want to talk about that.”

Tony looks down into the box, suddenly confused, “Bucky, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Those are… aren’t those—” Bucky flushes, all the way down his chest and bites into his lip, “— like… for sex?”

What?

“No?” he is so confused, and a little offended. Why would anyone use these things for sex? Sure, they can be sexy, but—

“Tony, in what other context would I wear these?” Bucky pulls out a strand of jewels connected together with a chain, two fasteners at the ends to hold them in place.

“You’d wear them when we go out.”

“Tony! These are nipple clamps!” Bucky shakes them a little bit, trying to emphasize his point. Tony, for his part, doesn’t see the issue.

“Yes? But they’re traditional, not sexy.”

And then it looks like something dawns on Bucky— his face lights up and he chuckles, dropping the jewels back in the box and reaching forward to touch Tony’s face, tenderly scratching behind his ears.

“Tony— I need you to tell me, as if I’m a child and have no idea what’s going on, exactly what these gifts mean.”

And then Tony gets it. Wherever Bucky’s from, he’s never seen courting gifts like these. Damn, he’s such an idiot.

“They’re family jewels, forged with precious stone and metal, to create the traditional set of courting gifts presented by a royal family member to their potential spouse. Or consort, I guess. But yeah, it’s… I��m basically asking if I can court you, officially. And if you accept them and wear them in public, it’s a symbol of our relationship and eventual engagement.”

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, still playing with Tony’s hair, “yeah, yes— I’ll wear them for you. I’d love nothing more than to be yours, Tony. I just… do I need to give you something in return? For you to wear?”

“Actually, half of those pieces are for me,” Tony replies, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s hand. “If you’d like, we can try them on?”

“Sure, darling, let’s go try them.”

---

Tony can definitely see now why Bucky would think these jewels were made for sex. They lay each item out on Tony’s dressing table, organizing them neatly, and Tony has Bucky float in front of him, keeping his arms outstretched in front of the mirror so he can adorn Bucky with each jewel.

“So, first is the necklace— set with gold and twenty-five rubies,” he explains, draping the necklace around Bucky’s neck and clasping it underneath his hairline. He can’t resist, and places a delicate kiss on top of the clasp.

“Next is the belt,” he says, bringing his arms around Bucky’s waist to set the belt just above his scale-line, “usually these are more feminine in design, but I’ve had a larger crest engraved to rest over… well— let’s just say it implies masculinity.”

Tony busies himself with fastening the belt around Bucky’s waist and ignores the laugh he gets. He straightens up and hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder—

“Shit, you look beautiful.”

Bucky gives him a shy smile and turns his head to look into Tony’s eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, drowning daily in pools of ocean blue and gray.

Tony clears his throat and pulls back, “Okay, next we have, uh—” Triton, “the chest piece.”

He doesn’t even bother explaining this one, focusing on attaching it and quickly moving on before he can embarrass himself. Tony brings the chain around, holding it in place in front of Bucky’s chest. Unfortunately, his nipples are soft and there’s no visible place for a hold. Tony huffs and uses his left hand to reach out, lining up steadily, before quickly pinching Bucky’s nipple.

“Shit!” Bucky curses, looking down in surprise, but Tony is fast— attaching the first clip before Bucky can react. He keeps up a string of curses, gingerly touching the left clamp, and Tony uses his distraction to attach the second clip to Bucky’s now straining and hard right nipple. He backs up a bit to give Bucky space, waiting for the other man to calm down until he stops cursing and curiously touches the chest piece.

Bucky looks divine. Each chain floats lightly, reflecting light and casting shadow onto his pink skin, darker than usual due to residual embarrassment. Regardless, seeing Bucky in his jewels and colors is doing something to him.

“Only a few more,” he murmurs, picking up the wrist cuffs and motioning for Bucky to extend his arms. Bucky still looks overwhelmed— a mix of anger and confusion and arousal, probably— but Tony slips the cuffs on, fastening them snugly, and hooks a few rings around Bucky’s fingers, attached with delicate chains.

“Tony—” Bucky breathes, twisting his wrists to admire the jewelry. Tony’s determined to finish this, so he ignores his impulse— to touch and touch and touch and touch.

The last items are a set of jewels for his ears and a head piece. “Can you move your hair, Bucky?”

When Bucky obliges, Tony goes to thread the jewels, only to notice that Bucky’s ears are perfectly smooth. He feels around just to be positive, and Bucky giggles a bit at the sensation.

“So, we have a bit of a problem,” Tony backs up, showing Bucky the ear jewelry.

“Oh.”

“— if you don’t want to wear them, I won’t ask—”

“No, I…” Bucky feels around his own ears, pinching and tugging the lobes, “is there a way to fashion them with clips, like…” he motions to his chest, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Yes! Here, it shouldn’t be a difficult change, either,” Tony swims to his main doors, handing the jewels to his steward with a quick word of instruction for the craftsman. He swims back to see Bucky admiring the headpiece.

Tony takes it from his hands, giving him a reassuring smile, and Bucky dips his head forward. With perfect access, Tony lays the headpiece over Bucky’s dark waves, securing it behind his ears with two pins, and adjusting the chains and jewels to lay perfectly across his forehead.

It’s too much. Tony lets out a shuddering breath, finally finished with the gifts, and leans his head against Bucky’s, closing his eyes and holding on to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You look gorgeous, Bucky. I can’t believe you’re wearing my colors… that you’d agree to this.”

He feels a light touch on the back of his neck, and holds on tighter. Bucky pulls away— causing Tony to open his eyes, following his movement— and he draws Tony closer, dotting a kiss to his temple. They stay like that for a few more moments, enjoy the closeness and warmth, before Bucky chuckles and drifts away fully, turning back to the box.

“Alright— now how do I put these on you?”

Bucky holds up two cuffs, identical to the ones he put on earlier, and tilts his head. Tony grins and extends his arms, guiding Bucky gently in how to slip on the cuffs, tighten them, and attach the rings. When they’re fastened, Tony is captivated by the sight of both pairs of jewels shimmering in the light, practically shouting their attachment to each other.

The final pieces for Tony to wear are a necklace— similar to Bucky’s, but with a space for the signet ring around his neck— and a matching sash and belt. Bucky helps him put them on, and soon they’re floating and facing the mirror, mouths agape.

“Absolutely perfect,” Bucky murmurs, eyes never leaving Tony’s in their reflection.

Tony inhales slightly, “I know, the jewels are stunning.”

“No, darling,” Bucky turns him and looks down into his eyes, “it’s us. We’re a perfect match.”

He can’t help but smile, his stomach twisting with affection as he loops his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling them close enough that their bodies are touching, tail to shoulder. Bucky gasps, the motion pulling on the chain across his chest, and suddenly all Tony can think about is getting his mouth on this man, wringing every drop of pleasure from him, watching him come apart with Tony’s name on his lips like a prayer—

“Your Highness, my apologies, but the King would see you in his drawing room.”

Tony laughs— unbelievable, “Tell the King I’ll see him within the hour,” he answers, never taking his gaze off Bucky, his dark, deep eyes, shining like the sea—

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the King insists on your immediate attention.”

“Shit,” Tony curses, letting Bucky go and turning to follow the steward from the room. He looks back, giving one last promise, “I’ll be back in a moment, I swear,” before disappearing out the door, heading down the hall to meet his father.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #bucky barnes #tony stark #mermay #starkbucks #tony/bucky #mermay 2021 #fluffy awkward cute boys #mermay au #mer!tony #mer!bucky #wip update #i haven’t edited this so i’m sorry if there are errors #i’ll do that later

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sevenstarsinning · 4 years ago

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Summary: Raditz loses his mate when Planet Vegeta is destroyed and finds himself working alongside Prince Vegeta. When he comes to Earth to recruit his brother, he’s dealt another devastating blow when Goku refuses to join and leaves him near death. He’s found by a human and attempts to adapt to life on Earth.

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4

Chapter 5

Morning dew coated the outside of the pod and birds chirped on the tree branch nearby. It was way too cheery for early morning. Being awake at that time usually meant you either couldn't sleep at all or woke up long before you should have.

That morning you woke up too early but it was entirely Raditz's fault and you were more than okay with that.

Sometime during the night he wrapped his tail around your waist and pulled you up to sleep on his chest. That was where you woke up and that's where you remained, listening to him purr while his body heat kept you warm. The rise and fall of his chest was like a gentle rocking putting you completely at ease. That was no easy feat and there he was making you feel safe and content without even trying.

You lifted your head up to see he was awake. It felt like a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you realized something was different.

"You're awake... and you're still purring."

His eyes locked onto yours and the butterfly feeling spread to your chest and throat leaving you seconds from saying something you probably shouldn't say.

"I'm comfo-"

"You're beautiful," you blurted. Your eyes widened and you let out a nervous laugh.

His brow raised in surprise, mouth slightly ajar. For a moment, you expected him to push you over to your side of the pod.

Instead, he smiled and struggled to keep his eyes on yours. He was nervous and you had no idea why.

"I've been called many things but uh... that's a new one," he finally said, breaking the anxiety inducing silence between you.

"Was that a bad thing to say?" You asked, unable to hide the worry in your voice and on your face.

"No, not bad at all. Just new."

When you saw the smile that spread across his face, you realized making a complete fool of yourself in front of him didn't bother you at all. In fact, you were willing to let it happen more just to see that smile. It was like a potent dose of serotonin and you needed more.

"I think I have a solution to our housing problem," you revealed, changing the subject to avoid doing something incredibly stupid.

His tail tightened around your waist and you knew he wasn't letting you up anytime soon.

Later that day, you and Raditz embarked on your first journey away from the house together. He usually stayed back when there were errands to run or groceries to buy. He wasn't a small guy by any stretch of the imagination and walking side by side with him downtown drew the gaze of many people passing by. It wasn't just his size that made people take notice, it was also his gorgeous mane of black hair that nearly touched the ground and his bulging muscles stretching the material of his t-shirt and jeans. It was Raditz in general, all the way down to the way he carried himself and the air of confidence he seemed to be naturally gifted with.

"This is definitely the place," you said, opening the door to a white dome shaped building.

Raditz shuffled in behind you, almost filling the doorway completely. A purple haired girl with the Capsule insignia on her shirt approached.

"Welcome to the Capsule store, my name is Lynn. Is there anything I can help you find?"

Her eyes drifted over to the huge saiyan next to you. He tilted his head, curious about her. Then it struck you, Raditz had little to no experience around other humans.

"Yeah, my house was half demolished when a... plane crashed into it." You knew exactly how ridiculous it sounded but saying a space pod carrying a hot alien crash landed on your house was out of the question.

"Was it a... an alien ship?" Lynn asked, glancing up at Raditz.

"How do you know that, human?" He said, stepping closer to the much smaller human.

"My boyfriend- " Before she could finish her sentence, an alarm blared and red lights flashed overhead. The ceiling opened up but before you could see what was happening, the tail tucked under Raditz's shirt flung out and coiled around your waist, pulling you safely behind him.

"You're supposed to be dead!" A voice called out amidst the chaos.

You peeked around Raditz to see an entire row of artillery from the ceiling aimed at him. A teal haired woman standing on the other side glared, not the least bit intimidated.

"Hey, can you get the insane security to stand down, he's not going to hurt anyone," you yelled back, waving your hand.

"Is that... is that a human behind you?" The woman asked, trying to get a better view.

"Help me out, big guy, your tail won't let me go," you said. Your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest. Everything happened so fast you barely had time to react.

"And put you in harm's way? No, you stay back there, this is Kakarot's friend," Raditz growled.

"Wait... you mean Goku?" Lynn said from behind a shield that went up around her automatically.

"Raditz, calm down. They haven't attacked, we can talk to them," you whispered. It was hard to hide the panic in your voice over the predicament you found yourself in.

"Human, where is Kakarot?" Raditz asked, turning his attention to Lynn.

"Enough!" The other woman shouted. "If you promise to keep him on a leash, I'll disarm security."

"Raditz, please?" You begged, lightly scratching the back of his head to soothe him.

He let out a little growl and loosened his tail. "Fine."

The red lights retracted along with the row of weapons and disappeared into the ceiling.

"All I have to do is hit one button and those will come back out, so don't try anything," the woman said, approaching him without a trace of fear.

"I'm Bulma, I'm assuming you're the one taming the saiyan?" She stepped around him to look at you.

"Trying to," you laughed nervously. Raditz still had his tail around you, protecting you even without an immediate threat.

"Come on, let's go out back and talk. Lynn, close up and go home. Make sure Goku knows about this," Bulma said, giving out orders as she guided you and Raditz towards the back of the dome.

The back door led to a shaded patio with a row of tables and thick, beautiful foliage lining the sides to offer privacy to anyone sitting out there.

"Raditz can sit there," Bulma said, pointing at the first table, "we're going to the back table."

"No, I'm staying with her," he snapped, his tail coiling tight around your waist again.

"It's okay, big guy. I'm safe, this is like the smartest and richest woman in the world," you said, nodding towards Bulma. He eyed her wearily but relented and loosened his hold.

You gave him a reassuring smile before following her to the last table.

"Sorry about the security system in there, it's not even loaded with ammo, it's just a deterrent. What did you come in for?" Bulma asked, taking a seat at the last round white table.

"A house. His pod wrecked mine when he landed. We've actually been sort of living in his pod and it's not very roomy," you explained.

Bulma was unfazed by all of it and that piqued your curiosity.

"You've been sleeping in the pod with him? Has anything happened?" She leaned in and kept her voice low.

"Not really. It was a little rough at first but he's adjusting," you said in a hushed voice.

"That's good. He's definitely a lot less hostile than I remember." She glanced past you at Raditz. You could tell her mind was racing, sorting through the chaos that just came back into her life.

The two of you talked for a while, you filled her in on Raditz and she told you about Goku and the little bit she knew about saiyans. You were looking forward to meeting him at some point and even though it was a long shot given the history, maybe Raditz and Goku could at least talk. That could be a step towards him finding happiness on Earth.

"I'll make you deal. If you keep an eye on him and tell me if anything weird happens, I'll give you a capsule house." She said it like she was giving you a piece of cake as opposed to a whole house.

"Bulma, no. That's way too much, let me pay," you countered.

She reached in her pocket and pulled out a handful of capsules. "How many bedrooms were you thinking?"

"Just one, that's all I can really do at the moment."

She settled on a pink capsule and placed it on the table in front of you. "That's a three bedroom. It's one of the models we used for photos so it's fully furnished and you're not paying for it."

"Bulma, you don't even know me. I-"

"Your saiyan back there came to Earth to recruit Goku. The only reason he's here is because of my friend which means your house is gone because of this. It's the least we can do for you," she said, pushing the capsule closer.

"And remember, call me immediately if anything feels off with him, okay? This is a direct line to me," she said, passing a business card to you with the Capsule logo shimmering on the top left corner and a phone number scrawled across the bottom.

"At least let me pay you something for this, please?" You pleaded with her.

"Absolutely not. Just come to my next party, I’ll introduce you to Goku," she said, refusing to take no for an answer as she headed back inside the building.

On your way back to the car, Raditz remained silent. There was no good way to approach the subject of his brother. That had to be weighing on him.

"What's that place?" He finally spoke, pointing towards the small building on the other side of the road.

"It's a bar. One of my favorites actually," you replied, coming to a stop at a four way intersection.

"What's a bar?"

"A place where people usually drink strong tasting liquids that make them feel funny."

"Strong liquids?" He raised an eyebrow and sat forward just enough to see past his hair which had taken up residence between the two of you.

"We call it alcohol. It's how I ended up in that field the night I found you."

"Libations. That's what we called them."

Instead of continuing straight through the intersection, you made a quick left followed by a right and pulled into the parking lot.

You entered the old, dimly lit bar with Raditz in tow. The evening crowd was starting to trickle in.

Raditz found a table while you ordered drinks. You leaned back against the bar while you waited, watching him mess with the phone you gave him. It looked so small in his hands and he looked adorable navigating what he called primitive technology.

After very carefully walking back to your table, you sat a tray full of drinks in the middle and pulled out a chair.

A big, strong arm wrapped around your waist and the next thing you knew, you were sitting in Raditz's lap. You were already so used to cuddling with him in the pod that you didn't think anything of it.

As the day turned to night, you introduced Raditz to all of your favorite drinks and even some you didn't like just to see his reaction. Aside from trips back to the bar to order more drinks, he kept you in his lap with an arm around your waist.

He required a ton of alcohol to even get a buzz and you were content sipping and never getting totally drunk. One of you had to stay a little sober to avoid bad decisions.

"What is this one?" Raditz asked, holding up a pint glass of blue liquid.

"That is your last drink of the night, big guy." You grabbed it and took a quick sip before handing it back.

"It's called... last drink of the night?" He stared at the glass, confused by the weird name.

"It's called an Adios Motherfucker."

"Say that again but... slower," he said with a big goofy smile. Drunk Raditz wasn't too different from the sober version. The thing you noticed the most was the sadness in his eyes. You watched it slowly fade until it was gone completely. His smiles lit up his entire face and he laughed louder.

"Can I have another one of these?" He asked, holding up his empty glass.

"Dude, I've already had to drag you to my house once, we're not doing that again," you chided.

"Human... sweetheart- just one?" He stuck out his bottom lip and pouted.

"Human sweetheart. That's a new one," you laughed, shaking your head at how ridiculously cute he was.

You relented and bought him one more drink. The expensive bar tab made you feel sick but it was worth every penny to see him finally shed the darkness that enveloped him. Even if it was only for a night.

As soon as the chilly night air hit your face, you regretted not bringing a jacket.

"Saiyan, give me your warmth," you said, ducking underneath his massive arm.

"We not driving?" He asked, lifting you into his arms like a child.

"I've had one too many drinks." You buried your face against his neck and settled in for the walk home. Luckily it wasn't far and you liked getting carried by Raditz, especially with his hands on your ass to hold you up.

"You smell good," he said in a sleepy voice as you neared your half destroyed house.

"You can still smell my perfume? I figured that would've faded by now."

"No... not that," he muttered, burying his face against your neck to sniff you. If it was anyone else, you probably would've freaked out.

"Your scent, the normal one."

You pulled back and smiled. “Wait, do you have some kind of heightened sense of smell that I don’t know about?”

“Yeah, it’s a saiyan thing. We can pick up on scents and changes in scents we’re familiar with. Particularly with females we’re close to or want to be close to.”

He crossed the lawn to the backyard and lowered you to the ground. “How does this capsule thing work?”

You pulled it from your pocket, clicked the small button and tossed it approximately where you wanted your new house to be.

“Holy shit, Bulma,” you said in awe of the beautiful house she gave you. It was far too much and you were already trying to figure out ways to pay her back. You and Raditz explored the house briefly before calling it a night, exhausted from the day.

You tossed and turned even though the new bed was the most comfortable thing you had ever laid on. The temperature in the room was perfect and it was dark enough, but something still wasn't right.

You knew what it was but you didn't want to acknowledge it. Lines had already been crossed on multiple levels with your unexpected roommate. You shared the pod out of necessity, nothing more.

Minutes ticked by and you only seemed to get less sleepy. You finally got annoyed enough to get out of bed and go to the living room, but you didn't make it there. You ran straight into a wall of saiyan at the end of the hallway.

"Holy shit! What the hell are you doing out here?" You stepped back and saw him carrying a glass of water.

"I can't sleep so I got a glass of water. That a crime, you tiny pain in the ass?" He asked with a little smirk.

"No, it's not a crime, you giant pain in the ass," you said in a mocking tone.

"Can I sleep with you?"

You knew he meant actual sleep, but your brain processed it in a different way entirely and it left your panties wet.

"Sure," you said, against your better judgement.

He followed you back to your room and walked around to the other side of the bed while you got back under the covers on your side. He laid down and turned on his side to face you.

"Bedroom not comfy enough?" You asked, scooting closer to him. He draped his arm over you and started to fade right away.

"Not that... just didn't have you," he said before drifting off to sleep.

You were wide awake until he started purring, head rested against your shoulder. It didn't matter how much you tried to fight off the feelings you were having for him, they weren't going away. The last thought you had before you finally fell asleep was the realization that you needed Raditz by your side to fall asleep.

A loud crash outside made the entire house shake. Raditz was up in the blink of an eye checking the window to see what it was. His tail fluffed up and moved wildly behind him.

You scrambled out of bed to look for yourself but there was nothing, just the backyard.

"What's wrong, big guy? Are you seeing something I'm not?"

"I need you to stay behind me and if anything happens to me, run," he said, effectively scaring the hell out of you.

"What? You can't just say that with no explanation! What's going on?" Your anxiety skyrocketed as he moved past you to head towards the living room.

"Raditz- "

"Behind me," he snapped.

Before you could protest, the front door was kicked completely off the hinges and left in a mangled heap on the floor. A tall, muscular guy with short, spiky black hair walked in. One eye was covered with some kind of device you had never seen.

"This is what you've been doing, huh? There's something incredibly wrong about a domesticated Saiyan," the man said with a cocky grin.

A shorter man stepped in behind him, black hair shooting towards the sky like small spires. He also had the same device covering one of his eyes and he somehow looked even more intimidating than the bigger one.

"Prince Vegeta, Turles," Raditz said, giving them each a nod.

#raditz x reader #raditz #let you go fic #supremeleadershitlord

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leam1983 · 3 years ago

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On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

#personal life #tw: cancer mention #tw: alcoholism mention #tw: death mentions #grief #coping

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herstarburststories · 5 years ago

Text

Brutal (Dean Winchester x Reader)

✾ A/N: More Dean x reader content, but angst this time! Reposting because I had to edit a few things. Gif's credits on it. Based on the song ‘from the dining table’.

✾ Summary: Unlike her boyfriend, Dean Winchester, the reader wasn’t raised as a hunter. At first, it seems like a hard but worth it job. Unfortunately, you didn't have in mind how brutal all of it could get.

✾ Words: 3k.

"YOU ARE NOT YOURSELF ANYMORE, DEAN!"

The discussion over a delicate subject at the dining table was blossoming into something bigger. (Y/N) was on her feet, shouting at her boyfriend with a shaking voice; a manner that was very uncommon. You were used to Dean being stubborn, and you were not behind him in this aspect which caused a few disagreements here and there. That certain argument, though, was definitive in every meaning of the word.

"I HAVE ALWAYS MADE IT FUCKING CLEAR WHAT THIS LIFE WAS, (Y/N)!" Dean snapped back, anger dripping from his words like venom. He was hurt. How could you say that he was becoming a cold-hearted person? You, of all people. "IF I DON'T KILL IT, IT KILLS ME! THIS ISN'T AN APPLE PIE LIFE, AND YOU KNEW IT WHEN YOU DECIDED TO STAY HERE!"

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT VAMPIRES OR POLTERGEISTS OR WENDIGOS, DEAN! FUCK!" Your usual efficiency with words was starting to tangle with desperation. Dean didn't even see the problem, for God's shake. How could you keep this up? "I'M TALKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE! I SAW YOU KILL FIVE POSSESSED PEOPLE TODAY!"

"DEMONS!" He groaned and slapped the table. You jumped in surprise, making him regret getting out of control and coaxing a softer, calmer tone from his mouth. "I killed demons, not people."

"The demons were possessing them, and you killed them off without any regret. You didn't even take a minute to consider other options."

"What other options?" he questioned, obviously upset. What the hell were you doing? Becoming the devil's advocate all of sudden?

"Using the demon-killing knife to stab a non-vital part of their bodies? Maybe an exorcism?"

"None of those options would end the problem permanently. Do you have any idea how many sons of a bitch came back from hell to get Sam and me? It's them or us, (Y/N). And I will always choose us." Dean was aware that you weren't raised in this life like him and Sam, but this conversation was becoming frustrating and confusing. You were training to be like them. You went to hunts with them. You... You supported him. At least, you did last time he checked. "The human is long gone when they get possessed. Dying is the best thing that could happen to them after that."

You were supposed to be an easy case that turned out to be more complicated than previously expected, what meant both of them staying a little longer in the city, you catching feelings for Dean and vice-versa. After all you had seen, you knew that normal life was a long lost memory that you didn't wish to visit, leave alone live in. Hauntings, traveling across the country, having no banal responsibilities-- that seemed like the kind of dangerous fun you had been looking for your whole life. Then, you came with them. Killing things had never bothered you-- they weren't actually alive, for starts. Until you saw how cold Dean looked when he killed off possessed people-- the humans that were still in there somehow. And he kept doing it as if it were the only option. Of course, this job and violence walked side by side, but not unnecessary lethal choices. Dean certainly shared his portion of brutality, which wasn't tiny, but you would never picture your boyfriend as uncaring. Not until you watched five bodies piled up together, burning. What about the chance that those people should have gotten?

"Are you even listening to yourself, Dean? What if Sam had thought like that when you became a demon!?" Apprehensive, you tried to make him understand what was wrong.

Dean clenched his jaw before his answer came out, "Those are two different things, (Y/N). You know that."

"I..." You flinched, taking a deep breath and letting it out. You shut your eyes before opening them with a determinate glare, locking your gaze with his green one. "I can't. I said I would stand by you through anything, but I can't let this slide. Not like this."

"Because I killed a few demons?" The older Winchester grinned wryly. He was furious, scared by the possibility of you leaving him, and injured by your words. What else could a wounded animal do besides attacking? "I survived, (Y/N). I've killed many others, and I'm not fucking sorry for it. They had it coming. You knew that was my life, and you chose it. What are you going to do now? Play the coward? It's a dirty, fucked up job, but someone has to do it, and you knew that."

Offering a sad smile, you walked towards him and lifted your hand to claim his cheek only for him to pull away from you. Your heart ached, but you needed to do that. Stick to your morals and beliefs.

"I love you." And you did, you truly did. Unfortunately, blood was as normal as water in his mouth, and you couldn't help but remain nauseous after what you tasted. "But there is a better way. Maybe not perfect, but another decision. And if you can't see that, if you can't see why I find it wrong to just rush around with the knife in every situation--" Your voice almost broke. "Goodbye, Dean."

You turned around, passing away from the man you loved before another speech stopped you.

"I bet you regret leaving your home to run away with me now."

You didn't take two seconds to reply, and you desired that he could understand how hard it was for you too. "I would never regret you."

No ray of sunshine licked Dean's face to wake him up. Fortunately for the Winchesters' disorganized sleeping routine, the bunker prevented the sun from invading the window-- a perk of living almost under the land in a bunker.

Instead of a normal reason to emerge from his rest, Dean's eyes fluttered open from an annoying migraine. Perhaps he went a little too hard on the alcohol yesterday, but that was the last thing that mattered. Besides, even if it was an abnormal sensation, he wouldn't trade it for sake of 'drinking like a normal human being', as (Y/N) had teased him so many times before.

(Y/N).

It took two seconds after recovering consciousness to think about you.

“Where are you?” he said in a whisper, playing with himself to the silent walls. Dean laughed with his own brand of self-deprecation-- a learned cruelty to dilute the tug of his emotions before the eldest Winchester had to get up. He knew exactly where you resided and why you were there. He decided against feeding his masochism for once, not glancing at your side of the bed.

To face the light fixtures above him only made his current situation more depressing, just like the hints of paint that (Y/N) had once thrown there. Dean Winchester knew pain like no other; hell, purgatory, an emptied childhood, watching his mother seal a deal with a demon, living with the fact his father had gone to hell to save him, being right in front of Sammy when he died, all the bloody deaths he’d lived through again and again-- the list would go on. He could probably drown in an ocean of his deceased loved ones’ blood and swim there for hours until he reached its edge.

Most of the time, the life of a hunter was synonymous with tragedy.

Therefore, Dean was very experienced when it came to suffering. He even shared a last name with a rifle, for God’s sake. Destruction was stained in his bones. This time, it was a different kind of torment.

His heart had been broken before, sure. He wasn’t in his early twenties, neither was he a saint. Dean was aware that a break in relationships could be devastating.

But again, this time, it was different. (Y/N) had not only broke his heart. You ripped it out and threw it in the trash as you walked out the door without looking back. His trust was in your pockets, and the beliefs clinging to the divine sensation of your touch that left with you.

Dean Winchester was hopeless. Deciding not to mourn for a bit, he closed his eyes from the melancholy. It wasn't a hard job to fall asleep once more. People in his job were always heavy-eyed.

Forty minutes passed by the clock until the Winchester roused again. This moment felt missing without you snuggling up to him or kissing his neck between foolish giggles or even pushing him out of bed when you felt like playing the prankster.

There was no valid reason to remain where he was, glaring at a stupid ceiling that held nothing but an old light you installed together and memories. The yellow and blue paints still held firm where you’d spattered them, jumping in the bed together with your hands drenched in the colors from a gouache paint container just because you’d found the tins somewhere in the bunker. You and Dean became a tangled mess of greens, dirty with paint and kissing. How many sexual encounters happened here, he thought, glaring at this ceiling that looked like three-year-old Sammy’s art project.

The green-eyed man never thought he would feel nostalgic about a stupid ceiling. He had to get out of that room.

Finally raising from the mattress, Dean yawned as he padded towards the kitchen. He didn't mind checking what time it was, knowing he needed an alcoholic getaway. The Winchester sat down, sharing a bottle of Whiskey with his shadow. How distracting it was to make his throat burn when an unpleasant thought attempted to take control of his head.

If he had dared to look through the room, Dean would have noticed the clock's arrow pointing at 10:50 am.

By noon he was already drunk, which took a lot of effort since his tolerance to drinks was a bar high set. Dean groaned, displeased. The buzzy feeling of befuddlement hitting him certainly helped, but he could still affirm that he had never felt less cool. His body was starving for something that wasn't there anymore. Dean's feelings were all over the place, and he didn't have the energy to pick them up at this point.

"I can't believe you are drinking already." Sam sighed, making himself known by Dean in the kitchen. In response, all he got was his brother holding the glass up and drinking all of its bronze liquid. "It's barely noon, Dean. You-- Wait. Are you drunk?"

"Don't start, Sam." He groaned, holding his own cheeks with fingers as his hands slid down to his chin. The gesture was a habit of Dean's when he was fed up with something.

The younger one offered him an indignant glare, which was soon replaced by empathy and sorrow as he watched Dean. His brother was broken. (Y/N) running away from them had really taken him down. Part of Sam was hurt as well-- after all, you were his friend and confidant. But, in all ruthless honesty, he couldn't speak out and point fingers at you on that. Not about the whole situation, at all.

Yet, if Sam was feeling abandoned by his friend, he could only imagine what Dean would be experiencing. You had been a hint of happiness in the middle of misery and combat for Dean. It had been so long since Sammy saw his brother like that, so very long. Suddenly, it disappeared like smoke. And the worst part was that he understood your side. Deep down, the long-haired man knew Dean did, too.

Trying to knock sense back into his brother, or at least a bit of normality, Sam spoke, "You can go out and buy some whiskey. Your bottle was the last one."

"Yeah, right." His voice was impassive, almost serious for such casual conversation. He got up, going to the table to grab Baby's keys.

"Hey, Dean..." Dean turned around to face his brother. Sam’s expression was cautious, voice soft when he continued: "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. It could help."

"I'm pretty sure you heard the screaming yesterday, Sam," Dean replied dryly, an unsettlingly wry smile surfacing. His walls were up. It was an old defense mechanism. "There is nothing to talk about. She left. The sooner we can accept it, the sooner we can move on."

"Move on? You want to move on?" he questioned suspiciously, eyebrows arching to match his inquiry.

Dean didn't answer. He only picked up the keys.

"Dean--"

"Yeah, I think we are out of eggs, too," Dean interrupted. He didn't need to talk about it. Not now. "Whiskey and eggs, got it."

Any other remarks from Sam were ignored as he walked through the door, trotting in direction of his beloved Impala. An old song on one of his cassettes was the soundtrack to his five-minute ride to the nearest store.

Dean went searching for eggs and whiskey, adding a lemon pie that smelled better than himself-- not that it was difficult considering he hadn’t showered since yesterday. The store’s cashier swiped his credit card and offered a polite farewell that was replied with a nod. Everything seemed so normal in the most boring ways.

In the parking lot, a familiar face appeared for the first time in a year. It was Thomas-- a hunter that Dean, you, and Sam had come across during a job in New Mexico.

"Winchester!" The blue-eyed man smiled, making the scar near his lips more evident. Being thrown out of a window left marks sometimes. "It's been too long, dude."

"Cavill." His lips curved into a small smile as he greeted his friend. Laying his green eyes on him, Dean couldn't avoid noticing a familiar shirt. Fuck, he must be hallucinating or thinking too hard about foolish subjects. "Where have you been?"

"Burning bones, decapitating vamps. Same old, same old." Thomas waved his hand, banalizing the supernatural routine as if it were nothing but another Sunday. For them, this was true. "I saw (Y/N) yesterday. She seemed fine. Separate hunts to take different cases?"

His blood burned through an emotional fever in realization. It felt like the boil was intense enough to melt his bones if he remained in front of the other men for too long. Thomas had never been subtle about finding you attractive, and neither was his constant flirting when your cases collided. It didn't help that you and Dean weren't together back then, even though the tension was obvious for anyone. The Winchester gripped his grocery plastic bag harder, offering him a sarcastic smirk.

"Something like that." He reached the car door and pulled out his keys. The familiar red flannel, your meeting with him-- it was so obvious it was basically written all over his face, and sadly, Dean could read it well. Fuck, he wanted to drop his purchases and punch that smile off Thomas’ face. That man probably had more of what was once his. “Gotta go. See you around.”

Sliding in the car to leave this conversation before his treacherous mind could reach more detestable conclusions, Cavill answered, "If you need help, give me a call.''

Dean mumbled something but didn't care enough to give him anything beyond a nod while the Impala finally drove away from Thomas.

At that moment, he wished a bit harder that Ellen was still alive or that another bar like hers existed. The hunters’ bar was full of people who understood that death was a part of the job. Somewhere he could swallow barrels of alcohol, play darts and tell bloody stories about his world-- about the quintessential things he did to get despair out of his system to the point that he felt comfortable on his own skin again.

So, that was it? You didn't just leave him and Sam, but you also accused him with all certainty you had of being a cold killer, and then you slept with the first man who showed up? Who was also a fucking hunter? Why the fuck didn't you tell him how you felt sooner? He wasn't an angel-- he would be even more of an arrogant asshole than he already was if that was the case, but you knew it all along. He didn't deserve anything good in his life. He should've seen it coming.

Dean pursed his lips, deciding for another ride to a normal bar. Home and all the beautiful, tragic ghosts inside could haunt him later.

It didn't take him long to park near an establishment. For once, he noticed the strong grip he held on the steering wheel, knuckles strained whiter than usual. He let out a tired sigh, glaring at the entrance of the place before grabbing his phone.

No calls from you. No text messages from you. Just the feeling of being a thirteen-year-old boy again, just like when he was waiting for Mary to send him a sign that she was all right.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean put it back in his pocket and made his way to the bar. No 'welcome' board light was shining yet, and he doubts anyone but he and the owner would be there. Once he got in, two guys were sitting in a table far away, and a girl was entering the bathroom. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching some game on the small television the place provided.

"Whiskey. No ice." His words came out harsher than he expected. The guy didn't seem to notice or care, simply nodding his head and turning around go get his client's order. One more time, Dean took his phone and stared at it. There was nothing but a text from Sammy that he quickly replied to, frowning in disappointment. It was rare for you to be the first one to break after a fight, but that was more than a stupid argument. You had left. You had fucking left. And he was the only one to blame.

Such a miserable routine kept its course. Dean would drink, check his phone, and hurt himself with his own thoughts. The night came with lurking shadows, and he couldn't care less. It seemed like the ghosts had replaced the bunker for his company. He didn't want to believe you would come back because hoping and being destroyed again was too much to bear with right now. Dean couldn't even breathe properly at the thought that he would never, ever see touch you, tease you, or be with you again. You had him wrapped around your finger since the very first day until you cut your hand off and left him. You left. How could you have left? But then, how could you had stayed if you had it all in your mind before?

Someone sat beside him. Still, it didn't catch the Winchester's attention until he heard her voice. For a flash of a second, he thought it was you. Dean looked up instantly, only to find himself incredulous.

The woman in front of him looked so much like you. She could easily be mistaken for your sister. Hair, eyes, voice. Everything but the lips were so similar. The unknown girl kept her gaze on Dean despite his strange reaction to her. Repeating her former words, she asked, "What are you drinking? Seems good."

Yeah, she wasn't (Y/N). You could tell what he was drinking from miles away, just because you knew exactly what he enjoyed. In addition, you’d seen his preferences so much that you’d memorized it all without even trying.

She looked like you, though. A lot. The earlier jealousy mixed with a dangerous quantity of alcohol and anguish made his decision. Move on, just like he told Sam. You didn't call him. You weren't coming back. That was your choice. He had to shut up the little hopes in his mind.

Putting up his best sultry smirk, Dean pushed the glass on the table towards her as he answered: "You tell me."

Two hours later, he was tilting his head to the side, watching the woman in his sheets peacefully taking a nap after a long run. Her hand covered most of her face, pillow carpeted with her messy hair.

"Wake up, (Y--)" Dean restrained himself from finishing that sentence. He almost said your name. It was hard enough to keep the woman's name, which he had forgotten by now, on his tongue during sex-- he wasn't going to give in at the end of it. Clearing his throat, the hunter started waking her up again. He needed to go.

In any other point of his life, he would've considered that night a success. A hot girl was sleeping beside him after he had a great amount of old whiskey. Sammy sent a text about a new case, and he had pie waiting for him in the car. At any other moment, that would be enough to put him in a good mood all day. In any other age, that would be considered a good day. No one died, he had sex and food and was about to hunt a thing and blow whatever it was up.

But you hadn't called.

It was probably a good thing in a messed up way. It was tranquil. There was no arguing, no fighting, no hurting from either side. That kind of hurt was quite similar to being comfortable, in a tremendously distorted way that he didn't wish to feel, like not putting medicine on the wound and just allowing it to heal by itself-- yet, occasionally scratching it. The idea of a comfortable silence was so overrated. Dean would rather be screamed at by (Y/N) by now than whatever this option was.

The woman woke up and left a note with her phone as she abandoned the room. Crumbling the paper, he threw it away and touched his face. A deep breath was taken.

He had work to do.

Maybe one day you'll call me

and tell me that you’re sorry too

But you never do

202 notes · View notes

softbiker · 5 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home.

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think!

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x y/n #steve x you #AYAOTDchallenge #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine

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cycwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Four Drinks I’m Wasted

Angst lite Staubrey standalone AU oneshot.

Something I didn’t plan on writing and then I had ideas while driving home. I’m annoyed that I’m writing angst. I’m even more annoyed I picked on Aubrey but it… fit.

Inspired by King Princess’ ‘Talia’ (YouTube / Spotify / Lyrics) but I’m a soft and useless human so the angst is merely ‘light medium’.

Thanks as always to @tiny-maus-boots for the beta and to @wlwoolf for helping classify the angst level.

Rated: Mature-ish. Drinking & almost driving.

Words: 3,286

Also on AO3 and FFN

Master Post

----------------------------------------------

~A~

Aubrey groaned quietly as she swam through the thick whiskey haze toward consciousness.

As had become standard, she ran through a mental hangover checklist to try and take stock of what she’d been up to the night before and how rough her morning might be.

Headache – check.

Feeling like something died in her mouth – check.

Nausea – check, though she knew it could be worse.

At home in her own bed instead of passed out on the couch, or the bathroom floor, or once in the shrub outside in her backyard… she listened for the comforting bubble of the aquarium across the room – check.

Imagined warmth of the woman who left her lying beside her in bed?

Fucking. Check.

Faint memories of the night before were slow to surface.

“Goddamnit Aubrey, give me your fucking keys.” Hands pulled at her arm, trying to pry her fingers apart.

“Fuck you, Beca.” Aubrey shot back, lifting her hand above her head. “Why do you even care? You’ve never really liked me, so what the fuck business of yours is it if I live or die?”

It wasn’t that she had a death wish. It wasn’t like she wanted to die. She had just stopped caring one way or the other.

“Seriously? You can say that to me?” Beca looked hurt – shocked and devastated Aubrey would think later – and even though part of her was horrified at what she was saying, it was at the bottom of a sea of liquor and she didn’t care. Wouldn’t let herself. “If I didn’t fucking care, Aubrey, I wouldn’t fucking be here stopping you from fucking killing yourself by getting into your fucking car!”

Aubrey sneered and keyed the remote lock. “Who asked you to?” She opened the door and prepared to get in when she was staggered forward by a weight on her back. Shock worked its way through the alcohol in her system as she realized Beca had literally jumped on her back and was trying to bodily prevent Aubrey from sitting in the driver’s seat.

“I am not going to let you leave us! I am not going to let you fucking leave me and Chloe behind to explain to Stacie what the fuck happened! I am not going to fucking let you fucking quit! Posens don’t fucking quit!”

Aubrey swung in a half circle, trying to dislodge the arms and legs that were wrapped tightly around her body. Beca’s words were bouncing around in her head, trying to remind her that she wasn’t truly alone, she had people who cared and it was she who was pushing them away. With a strength she didn’t know she had she flung Beca off her in an attempt to remove all the guilt that had slammed into her harder than Beca’s tackle.

Anger suffused her, made her want to lash out and in the cold light of morning she would realize it was at herself but at the time Beca had all her focus. She swung her fist at Beca’s head, noticing her friend’s (because she still was, despite everything Aubrey had been saying to her and Aubrey knew it) eyes widen in shock and move too late to miss it entirely but it merely skimmed off her cheek and Aubrey’s hand slammed into the metal frame between the front and rear doors.

“Aubrey!”

That explained the throbbing that had been slowly getting worse in her hand. Still laying with her eyes closed she flexed her right hand carefully, relieved that it didn’t seem to be broken, just swollen and painful. The rest of the night was only bits and pieces but she thought that a terrified Beca had frantically checked her for broken bones and carefully deposited Aubrey in the passenger seat and drove them home. There were flashes of red hair, ice packs and possibly someone had brushed her teeth for her? She also thought that Beca had undressed her and dumped her less than carefully into bed, but tucked her in.

She really had been shitty to Beca and Chloe since Stacie had walked out on her three months ago. She knew they loved her. That they had been there for her. Trying to keep her from the spiral they could see happening. Comfort take-out food and movie nights that Beca hadn’t said a word about. Nothing had helped.

The drinking hadn’t been the plan. She wasn’t an alcoholic, even though that’s exactly what alcoholics said. She came from a family of high functioning alcoholics and knew the signs. Even if she could lie to others, Aubrey could almost never lie to herself. Her self-hatred would have jumped at the chance to call her a failure for joining the ranks of her boozy relatives after a life of vowing never to become them. She could stop whenever she wanted. Except she didn’t want to.

Because the only time Aubrey could lie to herself was when she was drunk.

She could make herself believe that Stacie was still there.

Drink enough and she could see the love of her life in front of her, dancing; smiling that sexy smile that was meant for only Aubrey. The one that promised sinful things in silken sheets and made her body sing in anticipation.

Feel her touch. Taste her lipstick.

Feel her lying in bed when Aubrey finally collapsed into it, certain she would remain when Aubrey woke.

They had been together for years, waiting to get married until Aubrey had finished law school and got settled at a firm. The wedding was small, immediate friends and family only, and the honeymoon was heaven on Earth. When they got back, Aubrey began to work her way through the ranks, lured ever on by the promise of being made a junior partner if she just worked hard enough.

The fights began their second year of marriage.

“I’m doing it for us, for our future!” Aubrey slammed down the notepad she’d been writing on. “Why can’t you see that?”

“What future, Aubrey?!” Stacie stood in the doorway, back straight and eyes snapping fire. And, Aubrey would only realize as she played the memories back after it had all fallen apart, pain and loneliness. “What kind of future are you working towards if I never get to fucking see you?”

“I just need a little more time! They have to promote me this time!” She gritted her teeth. “I’m doing it for us!”

The fight was always the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

“I don’t think I have any more time to give, Aubrey. I miss you even when you’re here. Buried in the next case… and the next.” Stacie wasn’t sobbing but tears streamed down her cheeks and Aubrey’s chest went cold. “It hurts too much.”

Every night she would sort through her memories, pulling out favorites until she cried herself to sleep, wondering how she could be so stupid.

Three weeks after Stacie had walked out and not come back except to pack her bags, Aubrey had hurt so much she drank just to numb the pain. There was a block of ice that ached in her chest until she drowned it in whatever was handy. She’d mentally joke that she herself was on the rocks as she took another drink. She imagined what she would do if Stacie were there. What she’d say. How she’d vow to do better, be a better wife. Make up every missed dinner, missed phone call, missed nights on the couch binge watching Netflix.

As the night grew late and the bottle grew lighter, it was almost like Stacie had been there and Aubrey fell asleep thinking Stacie was beside her.

She was shattered when she woke alone in the morning and called in sick for the first time.

That was only the beginning.

She chased the dream every night, while growing more and more irritable at work. Stormed out of meetings after arriving late. Snapped at clients and yelled at interns. Counted the seconds until she could get home and open the bottle she’d buy on the way.

Two weeks ago she’d gone to work still half-drunk from the night before.

She was put on suspension pending a review. She’d been a model employee until then and her boss gave her three weeks to get her shit together. Personally she thought they were giving her a chance because she was their best researcher and the boss thought her legs looked great in a skirt.

Aubrey stayed home and drank for the first week.

Chloe and Beca had been alternately furious and cloyingly concerned when they found out.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve-“ Chloe somehow looked ready to scream and cry at the same time.

“Helped?” Aubrey laughed derisively. “No, you can’t.”

“We love you, Aubrey. We just want you to be happy.” Chloe’s hand on her arm had burned and Aubrey jerked free and stalked to the kitchen.

“Got a time machine in your pocket, Chlo?” Aubrey snorted and poured herself another shot.

It was the same old shit every time. They couldn’t help her and she didn’t even know why they would try. There was obviously something wrong with her; something that made her unlovable. She had ruined the one thing that gave her life meaning. Stacie had left her and it was just a matter of time before Beca and Chloe figured it out and left. She didn’t deserve them and maybe it was just better to lose them now than later when she failed them too.

She had started going to their favorite bar because there were different memories there that she wanted to relive.

Winning at darts despite Stacie’s long arms that Aubrey teased gave her an advantage.

Slow dancing to the jukebox in a dark corner as if they were the only two in the room.

Losing at pool because Stacie was a natural born hustler.

Unfortunately the problem with going to your favorite local bar is that sometimes they know you.

Sometimes they know your friends.

Sometimes they call annoying busybodies who try to tell you that you have to stop.

But she couldn’t stop because then the pain would find her and Aubrey had always been an amazing runner in school. It translated easily from physical activity to metaphorical sprints void of her own mind.

She had to drink to keep Stacie with her any way she could. Why couldn’t they see that?

She sighed and tried to find the energy to move. To dispel that feeling of warmth in bed with her. The more awake she was before she got up, the more that seemed to hurt. Bracing herself she reached out her left hand to sweep through the empty space that matched the one in her heart.

Her fingers brushed against warm, soft skin.

She froze, her mind somewhere between ‘I’ve finally done it - I’ve drunk myself into insanity’ and ‘Beca must have stayed to make sure I didn’t actually kill myself.’ She pulled her hand back to her side and clenched both fists, increasing the throbbing ache from where she’d punched her own car.

“Aubrey.”

Everything shut down. Because that wasn’t Beca.

She was afraid to look - it couldn’t be. She couldn’t be here. Because Aubrey had fucked it up, fucked it all up: her friends; her work; the reason for her very existence.

“Bree.” Warm living fingers took her cold nerveless ones and pressed them to lips Aubrey could see clearly in the screaming darkness of her mind.

“You can’t be here.” Aubrey’s voice shook so bad it was almost intelligible. “I pushed you away.”

“I’m here.” Warm breath skimmed over her fingers. It felt so real. More real than the alcohol dreams usually did. She must have really fucked up if she was still this drunk. “All you have to do is open your eyes and look at me.”

“I always see you,” Aubrey said softly. Since this wasn’t real, she squeezed the hand holding hers. “At least when I drink... You’re here. You’re in my arms. And I stop feeling like I’m dying in slow motion.”

“Oh baby.” The broken, sorrowful tenderness in it further opened wounds that had never even begun to heal. “This isn’t who you are.” Drops of liquid hit her hand and Aubrey wondered how a dream could cry. “I know this isn’t you.”

“I don’t know who I am without you.” Aubrey said softly. “I don’t know how to find myself without you to catch me.” Introspection wasn’t normal for her - overthinking, yes, but not this two way dialog with her subconscious. But she had to admit, she found it comforting to hear Stacie’s voice wrap around her once more.

“I’m sorry I left.” Lips kissed her hand again. “I shouldn’t have. I should have stayed and fought for us.”

“It’s all my fault. I was so wrong,” Aubrey stirred restlessly when the warmth shifted closer to her. “I couldn’t see I was working toward nothing at the cost of everything.” She gave a bitter laugh. “They weren’t going to make me a partner; I was just too blind to see he was just using me to win his own damn cases.” She shook her head against her pillow. “Doesn’t matter, they’re probably going to fire me.”

“You’re better than them, Bree.” Another shift and the long, lithe body that pressed against her brought tears to Aubrey’s eyes. “I’ve always told you that you need to find a place who appreciates you as something other than a drone slave.”

“Maybe,” Aubrey shrugged carelessly. “But what does it matter now? I’ve thrown away the only future that ever really mattered.” A sob choked her. “I miss you so much, love.” The advantages of hallucinating were you could say anything and the only person to hear it was you. “The world has no laughter. No color. No light. No purpose. No hope.”

“Honey.” Lips pressed against her temple. “Please look at me. See me.” She sounded so sad, so desperate that Aubrey felt new guilt lap at her.

“You’ll disappear. Like you always do when I wake up.” Aubrey licked her dry lips. “I’m not ready… for that yet.” It hurt, oh it hurt to feel her so clearly after months of smoke and shadows. But to lose this dream would be so much worse.

“I won’t disappear.” Another kiss to her temple as a long arm stretched across her stomach. “I promise you.” The sense of comfort – of home – the achingly familiar touch brought was so strong Aubrey’s body relaxed of its own volition.

“I’ve broken my promises so many times… ” Aubrey said wistfully. “I would give anything to go back and do it over. Treat you better – because you deserve nothing but love. Not be ignored or asked to wait a few minutes that stretched late into the night. Show you that nothing else in this entire fucked up world matters but you.”

“Do that now. Open your eyes and look at me, Aubrey.” The whisper in her ear was everything Aubrey wanted to believe. Everything she’d tried to believe before and woke to an empty bed. An empty house. An empty heart.

“I’m afraid to.” Tears slipped from her eyes as she began, for the first time, to wonder.

She was afraid to be alone.

Suddenly terrified she was not.

“Don’t be - I’m here, love.” Lips trailed over the side of her face. “I swear.” Hands took hers and pressed it against a strong and fast beating heart. “I’m here.”

“That’s why I’m afraid,” Aubrey whispered, unable to recognize herself in the broken voice that hung in the air.

“Please.”

Aubrey swallowed thickly as she balanced on the knife edge of indecision.

If she did and Stacie wasn’t there, the weight of loneliness would quite likely crush her.

If Stacie was there… Aubrey’s shame would kill her. She wasn’t proud of who she’d become. She knew she was out of control. She just didn’t care anymore.

If Stacie was actually there… Aubrey could smell the alcohol coming from her own pores. She knew the state of their house. The bottles left carelessly on counters. Take out containers piled up on top of a garbage can too full. She didn’t want to see the disappointment or, worse, the pity.

“I’m ashamed.” She hadn’t meant to say it and wished she could take the words back. “I’ve… I’m not… I don’t deserve…” she trailed off as a sob rose viciously in her chest and all but strangled her as it refused to come out. “You.”

“I love you,” Stacie said softly, still holding Aubrey’s hand against her chest. “We’ll get through this. There’s nothing that we can’t work through as long as we’re together. Nothing is lost forever.”

“You still love me? After… everything?” She didn’t want to believe… couldn’t stop hoping.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Aubrey Posen.” Stacie’s voice was still quiet but the truth in her words was louder than the rush of blood in Aubrey’s ears. “The past three months all I’ve done is miss you. I told myself otherwise, but when Beca called me last night… in hysterics… told me how you didn’t care if you lived or died…” A tremor shook the bed as Stacie’s breath hitched. “Nothing that had happened mattered anymore. I couldn’t live in a world where you were not. I came right over; Beca let me in. She and Chloe are passed out on the couch and I’ve been watching you sleep, afraid you’d slip away if I closed my eyes.”

“Funny,” Aubrey gave a humorless chuckle. “I’m afraid you’ll slip away if I open mine.”

“I know,” Stacie whispered. “But I’m here, love.”

Aubrey steeled herself. Tried to harden her heart so when she opened her eyes to an empty room it wouldn’t destroy her.

“Before I do, there’s something I have to tell you. While I can. Before you’re gone.” Aubrey took a careful breath. “You are the best part of me, Stacie. I was nothing before you and I’m less than nothing without you. You brought a love into my life I thought I didn’t need and I broke the promises I made when we got married. I took you for granted and mere words cannot express how sorry I am that I hurt you. If you were really here, I would spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of your love.”

Gentle fingers against her cheek followed as Aubrey turned her head, her heart trying to break its way out of the constraints of her ribcage.

“I know, Aubrey… but you already are. We just lost sight of that.” A gentle kiss was placed against her lips. “I promise we’ll be better. Both of us.”

Slowly, as if she were expecting a blow, Aubrey opened her eyes to stare into liquid emerald pools that shimmered with tears. She waited for several seconds, waiting for the mirage to vanish like so many had.

But she didn’t.

Stacie smiled at her, so tenderly that Aubrey’s heart almost broke with the love that welled up inside her.

Wonderingly Aubrey reached up and touched her jaw, tracing one thumb across her lips.

“Stacie?” Hopeful. Terrified.

“Always, my only.” Stacie pulled her in close and Aubrey buried her face in her neck, inhaling deeply as the scent that was uniquely Stacie’s filled her senses. One she had been unable to replicate no matter how much she drank. She shuddered as giant glaciers cracked and fell away, freeing her from the weight that had been pressing on her for months. Years. “Always.”

Real.

Solid.

Hers.

#Staubrey #Aubrey Posen #Stacie Conrad #Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe off page #angst with an implied happy ending #potential trigger warning #drinking and almost driving #self loathing #cyc writes #cyc oneshots

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beautifulterriblequeen · 5 years ago

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[Mu Shu “I live” gif goes here]

SO. TDP posted this today and now I have LIFE. Go read it if you haven’t! I’mma break down all the moonfam goodness I’m seeing peeking around the edges of this very very Moonshadow happysad birthday information.

Runaan and Ethari both like books now. Can you imagine them just sitting together under a tree, casually touching with feet or shoulders, each engrossed in their own book, being delightfully introverted together? Maybe reading each other the most interesting parts of their books as they come across them? Aahhh. It’s so soft.

Rayla is the one who insists on the adoraburr meadow picnics! She’s decided that her stabby dad needs these picnics! I love this so much. Ethari pretends he’s helpless in the wake of Rayla’s picknicky juggernaut, but I gotta ask you: who makes the picnic food? It’s definitely Ethari.

Also! Why does Rayla think picnics are birthday-worthy? I wonder if Lain and Tiadrin did this with her before they left for the Storm Spire. Whose birthday got a picnic? Was it each of them? A family tradition that Rayla adored and insisted on continuing with her new dads! Ohmygod it’s the sweetest thing!

And I’m so soft for the fact that Rayla believes Runaan deserves this birthday celebration ritual even though he’s quiet and stabby. She doesn’t care that he’s a natural loner. He’s family, and she’s going to care about him whether he likes it or not. ohgodmyheart

These big strong dads getting foiled--repeatedly--by a tiny elfling with pockets full of adoraburrs though. Halp.

Okay the moscato detail is sending me, guys. Before Rayla came to live with them, Runaan’s birthday probably consisted of reading under trees and then moscato and a quiet night in. Moscato is a sweet wine, and it’s not very high in alcohol content. Runaan doesn’t really do sweet, so I think he drinks this particular wine for Ethari. But if he’s a lightweight, it could get him tipsy anyway. This page started by telling us that Runaan has a hard time relaxing, so maybe the moscato is his way of uhhh letting down his hair, just for Ethari? holy shnikes it’s my mdzs headcanon

Ethari’s gifts have a whole bunch of little details tucked in there though! Ethari knew Runaan for what seems to be many years before they married. He knew him as a “young assassin.” Awww man, I need all kinds of details there! And of course he spent many hours working on a joke gift for Runaan. A sweet, cute tasteful jeweled mouse. That’s just... I can’t, Ethari is too pure! But I bet he loved to practice his craft and made fun gifts for all his friends. What dedication, though. A true jeweler at heart.

And he’s observant, watching Runaan when Runaan thinks he isn’t being watched. He does that, with Runaan and with Callum in the show. He just likes to watch everyone around him, to know them. Part of his friendly charm!

Can we get an awww for young Runaan petting an itty bitty Moonstrider? Because awww. Did he pick that one? Is that his mount? Did he insta bond with her and need to take her home that day? I think he might’ve! Runaan seems to make heartfelt decisions in a snap, despite his stoic exterior.

It’s literally a heartbloom flower, that’s its name, I hoped it was. I wanna know all the traditions around those flowers now. They seem very Moonshadow, tied so strongly with life and all its good things.

I’m angsty over the shift in Ethari’s gift choices though. When they were young, he made Runaan a mouse, because he thought the assassin was so quiet. Last year, his gift was supposed to be a three-eyed nightfox, a stabby hunter. Because he thought Runaan would like it. Runaan’s changed so much since they were young, and it makes me have feels. I mean, all the adults have changed. All three dads got harder. But this... ow my feels. Ethari’s just a craftsman in love, trying to make his handsome husband’s stabbiness beautiful. And he does. He looks at Runaan and he sees sleek efficient lines, an apex predator, perfectly suited for his job. He sees Runaan with an artist’s eye, and a lover’s eye. Every move Runaan makes is lovely to Ethari, the epitome of deadly grace. So he crafts his husband a dramatic, lovely fox while Runaan’s in Katolis.

Angst warning!

Runaan had his birthday in Katolis after all. He left home before his birthday, and Ethari took that time to craft the nightfox, to have it ready in time for Runaan’s birthday. But Runaan never came home. Whether he was in the dungeon or the coin, Runaan missed out on sharing that special day with Ethari and Rayla in the meadow. He missed out on those glasses of moscato, on letting Ethari surprise him with yet another jeweled trinket.

Runaan missed his birthday. If you have a birthday in the in-between space of the coin, do you really have a birthday at all? Maybe Aaravos knows the answer to that question.

Okay, more angst, but then a silver lining, okay? I promise.

When Runaan’s lotus sank and Ethari had to ghost Rayla with the rest of the village, he lost the last two members of his family, the two closest to him. In the last five months, Ethari lost every member of the moonfam, and he was completely alone. Three of them ghosted for cowardice, and one dead. Of course his husband remained honorable. But he still died. He still isn’t coming home. He still missed his birthday.

Moonshadows are tightly knit introverts. They need each other very deeply, even though they don’t go around expressing it with every breath. They spend time together and give each other gifts to show their love and affection, instead of blurting their feels with words. Runaan, Ethari, and Rayla were deeply rocked when Lain and Tiadrin supposedly ran away and abandoned their duty. They were each a different kind of mess as a result, but they clung together all the harder. And then, Ethari lost them both. And he was the only one left.

This is Very Not Good Tee Emm for a Moonshadow. They literally need other Moonshadows to be in their lives. And Ethari is so open with his feels, and they’re so strong for his sweet family, and especially for Runaan, that he was actually dying of his grief. Just like Zubeia, who’d been married to Avizandum for how many elven lifetimes. It’s impossible to live without your heart. You just can’t. And so, Ethari crafted a different trinket. Not one for Runaan. Not anymore. But a trinket in memory of Runaan. A dying weeping-tree leaf. Ethari was going to die of grief for all his lost family, for his lost husband. That trinket? That was for everyone else, after he’d gone. To tell them why he died. He spent hours on it, making it with all his usual focus and dedication. Because it was going to be his very last piece. He wanted it to be just right.

Okay now I’ll make it a little better, yeah?

First of all, obviously, Rayla came back! Ethari isn’t going to die. He’s living for Rayla, helping her out, supporting her with everything he’s got, fighting to get her un-ghosted. She’s the only family he has. She’s his world now, and he’s never going to stop loving and supporting her, ever again.

But secondly, *hands you tissues* surely Runaan knew his husband deep down, after all their years together. He may have been a stabby nightfox on the outside, but his heart was attuned to Ethari’s. When he saved Rayla, he did it for love of her. But when he told her to go home...

...He knew, guys. He knew how terribly Ethari would suffer if he lost literally everyone in such a short span. He knew it would be the end of Ethari, that he couldn’t take such a devastating blow on top of the one they’d already suffered.

Runaan didn’t just save Rayla for her own sake. He saved her so Ethari would still have someone to love and care for. So his husband would still have family.

Runaan’s mission was a disaster, and his whole team was lost. But he didn’t just save one life with his last sacifice. He saved two. Runaan saved the rest of his family by sending Rayla home to Ethari. He saved them both. The stabby dark nightfox is more than just a hunter. He’s a husband and a father, and he’ll do whatever he must for his family.

Ethari won’t need that dying weeping-tree trinket. And he’s already made something since: his lighthawk, that carries a message of life. Ethari only needed to know that Rayla was alive and well and needed his help, and he found his purpose again. The moonfam’s going to be okay, because Runaan sent Rayla home to save Ethari’s life. And sooner or later, they’ll save his in return.

#tdp angst #tdp meta #tdp theory #tdp speculation #tdp #rayla #runaan #ethari #lain #tiadrin #moonfam #runaan's birthday #thank you devon

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buckthegrump · 5 years ago

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The Marriage Pact

Summary: Finding the love of your life early in life can be amazing until life happens and you have to find your way back to them.

Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader

Word Count: 3341

Warnings: Smut (18+ babes), fluff, angst, character death(s) major and minor

A/n: I told y’all I was in a mood.

( based off this)

Life confused Bucky and any time he thought he’d finally gotten a grip on what was going on something would happen and totally throw him for a loop.

So when he met Y/n he knew that at least one part of his life would finally make sense.

They met in college at the age of 19, he was a transfer student from his community college back home. She’d just happened to be the first person he’d run into and she helped him find his way around.

Turns out they were both English majors and had overlapping schedules, the first term was a mistake all the other times they’d planned it. They were fast friends, it was the kind of thing where no matter how much they tried to remember what it was that solidified their bond they couldn’t. But they couldn’t remember what it was like to not be friends with the other, either.

The two of them were inseparable.

There was one party that changed everything.

* * *

“You’re really pretty,” Y/n mumbled into Bucky’s shoulder.

They were on the bus on their way back to the dorm rooms. They were mostly sober at this point, the alcohol had worn off for the most part about an hour ago now they were just tired.

“What?” Bucky chuckled his head leaning against the headrest.

“Your face, actually everything about you is too beautiful it isn’t fair to those of us who were not blessed by the gods.”

Bucky turned his head so his nose was resting on her head.

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky said. “You walk around looking like that, it’s no wonder everyone who meets you is in love with you.”

Y/n lifted her head slowly giving Bucky enough time to do the same without getting headbutted. They looked at each other for the last two stops without saying anything. They were so lost in each other that they almost missed their stop.

They didn’t speak a word the elevator up to Y/n’s floor, as luck would have it her roommate was out of town for the week.

Y/n unlocked her door painfully slow and walked in. Bucky stood at the threshold unsure of what to do. Normally he’d say bye but this didn’t feel like it was the end of the night. Y/n stood opposite him.

“Well I should -” Bucky was cut off by Y/n pulling him in for a kiss.

He didn’t waste any time in returning it. He stumbled into her room as she closed the door behind him. He pulled her closer unable to get enough of her touch.

Her hands raked through his hair and tugged gently pulling a moan from his throat. He felt her grin into the kiss. He couldn’t help but smile at her smugness.

They made their way deeper into the room until the found Y/n’s bed. He pulled away just long enough to remove his shirt and Y/n shed her dress leaving her in her bra and panties.

He went back in for another kiss. They seemed to share a thought about Bucky’s pants because they both struggled with the clasp and zipper. It took a moment but Bucky was finally the one to get them off.

Y/n turned them around so Bucky’s back was towards the bed and pushed him so he fell onto it. She straddled his hips and bent down to kiss him again.

Bucky’s hands kneaded at her ass and the instant she started grinding against his dick he almost lost it. He flipped them and kissed down her torso until he got to the hem of her underwear.

He removed them and looked up at her. She’d propped herself up on her elbows and looked directly at him. Without breaking eye contact he leaned down and licked her cunt in an almost teasing manner.

“Bucky,” she whined flopping her head back on the bed.

He smirked before burying himself deeper in her and reveling in her taste.

“Oh, fuck.” Y/n ran her fingers through his hair and lifted her hips desperate for more.

He snaked his arms under her legs and placed his hands on her hips forcing them back down. She let out a loud whimper as he took her clit into his mouth.

Bucky moved one of his hands and inserted his fingers into her entrance and pumped slowly.

“Bucky,” she cried out again.

He could feel her clench around his fingers so he sped up. It wasn’t long before she was withering beneath him.

When she finally came down from her high he sat up and removed his fingers. After licking them clean he removed his underwear.

Y/n leaned over to her nightstand and pulled out a condom and handed it to Bucky. He opened it and rolled it on.

He lined it up with her and looked at her one more time.

“Do it,” she commanded.

“As you wish.”

He slowly thrust into her giving her time to get used to the sensation. His thrusts started off slow but gradually sped up.

“Jesus,” he moaned.

“Nope, just me,” she smirked at him and he sped up again shutting her up with moans of pleasure. “Oh god.”

He placed his arms on either side of her head and kissed her again.

“Nope just me,” he whispered into her ear before kissing her just below her ear.

“Fuck you,” she muttered.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” He grinned.

This time she shut him up with a searing kiss. With a gasp, she came for a second time that night, the feeling of her coming on his cock sent him over the edge. With one last thrust, he removed himself from her and got off the bed.

He disposed of the condom before rejoining her on the bed.

They laid on their backs staring at the ceiling.

“That was different,” Bucky said and Y/n laughed.

He turned his head to look at her.

“Did you want me to leave?” He asked.

“No, why did you want to leave?” She looked at him her eyes widening slightly.

“No.”

“Good,” Y/n said and snuggled into his side. “We should do that again sometime.”

* * *

And they did.

Actually, they did it quite a few more times.

They spent a while as lovers. They never actually dated because neither one of them wanted to commit, but they also didn’t see other people not seriously at least. Sure they went on the odd date but they never went anywhere and it almost always ended with them sleeping with each other.

That arrangement lasted up until Y/n’s father and brother died. They were in a train accident and didn’t even make it back to the hospital.

Y/n was devastated but so was her mother. And in an attempt to help her mother through that she moved back home. Halfway across the country.

Bucky didn’t hear from her after that, no one did. It broke his heart but he understood, she had other things that needed her attention.

Until about three years later when they ran into each other again, they were both 24. Totally random circumstances but there they were in the same place at the same time.

* * *

“Y/n,” he breathed when he saw her again.

He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her until that moment. He thought he’d gotten over her but seeing her again brought everything back like a tidal wave.

“Hi Bucky,” she smiled.

Her smile reached her eyes but something different about it. There was something different about her. It was like in the short three years they’d been apart, she grew up. She had a different air about her.

Before she had been a buoyant, loud, self-assured person. She was always the one to speak up or get people to do something that they might normally not do.

Now she seemed to be older. Like those three years had aged her and made her quieter more likely to have the answer to a question you didn’t know you had.

But her smile, her smile hadn’t changed, not really. At least, not in the way it counted. Her smile still made Bucky’s heart stop then suddenly race.

“How’ve you been?” She asked.

And just like that, they were back. They went out to get drinks after the event and talked for hours. Caught up on each other’s lives.

At one point Y/n started talking about a good day that she’d had with her mother. Where they went out and just were and that was the turning point for her mom. And watching her talk about it set off something in him. It was like something finally clicked.

He was hopelessly in love with Y/n.

All he wanted was to take away her pain, fix everything that had ever gone wrong in her life because she deserved everything good that this life had to offer and more.

He also craved that closeness they’d once had. Not just the physical but the emotional part as well.

At the end of the night, Bucky walked her to her car and she stopped right before they got there.

“You’re going to hate me,” she whispered. Bucky barely heard her.

“I doubt it,” he said as he stepped towards her.

“Ok, first I need you to know that this has nothing to do with you,” she started and before she could continue Bucky spoke.

“Why does this sound like a breakup?” He halfheartedly joked.

Y/n stared at him sadly.

“I can’t be around you, specifically you,” she told him and his heart broke. “I - I’m afraid that if I fall back into old habits with you I won’t be who I’m supposed to be. I won’t know who I am in this world without half of my family around.”

“Ok, I understand.” Bucky nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed.

“But you also need to know that when I’m with you, I’m happy. The happiest I’ve ever been.”

And there it was, hope, just a flicker of it but it was enough to give Bucky an idea.

“Ok well, if when we are 30 and we’re both single, and if you’re ready, let’s get married.”

She laughed through her nose but a bright smile lit up her face. She stuck out her hand.

“Deal.”

Bucky took her hand and shook it one. “Deal.”

* * *

Bucky was fully prepared to wait the six years before reaching out to her.

But it wasn’t like he didn’t live his life, he did. He moved to Paris, got a job there wrote a book. The only thing he didn’t do was fall in love. It’s not like he tried to actively stop himself from falling in love, but he also didn’t actively try to. He maybe went on three actual dinner dates in the span of 3 years.

Then one fateful day while he was working on his next book he got an email.

Bucky,

I don’t know if this is still you’re email, or if you even want to hear from me. But something happened and I needed to tell someone who wouldn’t judge me for it.

Do you remember the one person in one of our lit classes that would always raise his hand to correct the professor on something that he clearly knew nothing about but somehow no one could find it in themselves to stand up to that prick?

Well, I saw him again. And he had the audacity to come up to me. First of all, how dare he. Second of all, what did I ever do to give him the impression that I could even tolerate him?

Either way, he started talking to me and at one point he started talking about how Shakespear is the greatest thing to have ever walk the earth and that Romeo and Juliet is his greatest piece of writing, and you know how I feel about that.

But once the words ‘greatest love story’ came out of his mouth I looked him dead in the eye and said: “I’m going to stop you right there”.

Then I walked away.

Suffice to say that he won’t try to approach me ever again.

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy that story.

But how have you been? I hear you’re in Spain (?). How has that been going?

Love, Y/n

Bucky laughed for a good ten minutes after reading her email. Alex was the man in question and not a single person liked him yet he had a big enough ego to believe that everyone did.

Once he composed himself, he typed and sent his reply.

Y/n,

Congratulations, this is still my email. However, I’ve recently become a Nigerian prince and need your help and if you could send me money that’d be great.

And of course I remember Alex, I also recall one time I had to talk you out of physically fighting him when you got drunk and he was sitting on the other side of the street smoking.

You don’t have to remind me that you think that Romeo and Juliet is the stupidest story you’ve ever read. But I will remind you that they are teenagers and that’s the point of the story.

Also, I’d expect nothing less from you.

No, not Spain but Paris. And I’ve been great. I’ve been doing my best to stay away from all the pastries but that hasn’t been going over too well, as you can imagine.

What about you? Other than putting assholes in their place, what have you been up to?

Truly yours, Bucky.

They emailed back and forth for months. Bucky had suggested some less archaic way of communication but Y/n told him that letters were the truly archaic way of doing it and then said that she liked the long-form of email instead of texts.

In one of the emails, accidentally, Bucky informed her that he still loved her and hadn’t fallen for anyone else. They still had 2 years before their pact would take effect.

Y/n told him that she was still very much serious about their pact and found herself in a similar situation. She also informed him that when he found himself stateside again, they should meet up because she felt she was ready.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to drop everything and go to her right then and there but he had to finish up his contract.

A year later he found himself finding a job in New York, which Y/n had mentioned was where she was living now.

They finally met up in New York and fell into each other easily. It was like whatever spark they had never left, like the fire they had for the other never died out just got turned down and now that they were no longer afraid to put labels on it or commit to the other it burned brighter and hotter than before.

They moved in together. A cute little one apartment that had a view to die for. They lived the domestic life that felt like it was straight out of a movie. Picture perfect.

Late nights on the couch wine drunk watching a TV show and getting way too into it, the occasional early morning making pancakes as the sun rose. Slow dancing to whatever song was playing over the Bluetooth speakers in the living room.

There was never any pressure to exchange ‘I love you’s honestly to Bucky it felt like they already had. But when she said it for the first time when they were actually going for it, his heart felt like it could explode out of his chest.

They were dancing to some cover of a song Y/n loved. Her head was resting on his chest and randomly and without warning she said it.

“I love you,” she said softly. “I’m in love with you, have been for a while I just didn’t know how to feel it without feeling guilty.”

“Why would you have felt guilty?” He asked as they continued to rock back and forth to the beat of the song.

“Because my brother won’t ever know how this feels, he won’t get the chance to fall in love with some.”

Bucky didn’t know how to respond to that so he just rubbed her back silently for a minute.

“I’m in love with you too,” he finally said.

“Good,” she joked, “Because this would’ve been really awkward if you didn’t.”

* * *

There was one night when they came home from hanging out with their friends when Bucky and Y/n were in the kitchen eating ice cream. Y/n was sitting on the counter and Bucky was leaning on it next to her leg.

Suddenly he put down his ice cream and walked out of the room.

“Is everything ok?” Y/n called after him.

“Yeah, just stay there for a moment,” he told her.

She did. She sat on the counter completely enthralled with her ice cream. Bucky stood at the edge of the tile and watched her for a moment. He wanted to savor this. She looked at him.

“What?” She asked.

He closed the distance between them and pulled out the little black box he’d had hidden in the apartment for months now.

“I know that we’ve only technically been dating for almost a year but I’ve known you were the woman for me since that event where we randomly ran into each other,” he opened the box revealing a ring, “Marry me?”

“That’s not fair,” she said, “I’m not 30 yet you have one more month.”

“Seriously?” Bucky asked wide-eyed.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded smugly.

“Fine.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “But it’s happening on your birthday in the most ridiculous way possible.”

“Ok,” she agreed and kissed him again.

* * *

A week before her birthday Bucky got a call.

The dreaded call that no one imagines getting, but he got it.

He doesn’t remember much about the ride to the hospital or what the doctor said happened.

What he does remember is that Y/n was hit by a drunk driver and ended up in the ICU.

For four of the longest days of Bucky’s life he kept hearing: “She could wake up. She’s getting stronger every day.”

Turns out they were all wrong because at 6:00 pm on the fourth day her heart gave out and they couldn’t do anything to restart it. He couldn’t find the strength to move they had to call some of his friends to help him out of the hospital.

Steve and Sam helped him back home.

He stood in their share apartment clutching the hospital provided plastic bag full of her personal items.

Steve and Sam spent the night, they crashed on the couch while Bucky struggled to find sleep in the bedroom.

She was everywhere no matter where he looked she was there. He didn’t know how to move on and at that point, he didn’t even know if he wanted to.

* * *

He couldn’t remember much of the funeral. He knows Y/n’s mom was there and that they spoke. Her mom gave him something an envelope that was supposed to hold something that she’d written years ago. But it sat unopen in the drawer of his nightstand and would for years.

He hasn’t spoken to her mother since he supposes at some point he should, but not yet.

* * *

“So that’s it,” he said tears streaming down his face, “That’s why I’m here.”

His therapist handed him a box of tissues and he took it.

“She learned to keep living and feel again. I want to do that for her, maybe someday I’ll want it for myself but for right now the only reason I’m here is for her. Because she’d want it for me.

“So, that’s my story, it’s the worst story ever, and I truly, truly hate it.”

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes AU #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes Fic

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nazariolahela · 5 years ago

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Something Domestic: Chapter 10

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

NOTE: This chapter contains adult themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119 @katurrade @blackcoffee85 @cynicalworlds-blog @hopefulmoonobject @beardedoafdonutwagon @cmestrella @sugarandspice-milkandhoney @superharrietsuper

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Things between Riley and Liam get hot and heavy after a tense standoff.

“That dinner was amazing. I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Hana exclaims as she pushes her plate away. Meanwhile, I scowl down at mine, picking at the entree with my fork. I’ve barely touched my food, too upset to eat. Why was Liam kissing Madeleine? Maybe I saw that wrong. Nope, pretty sure that was a kiss on the cheek. And the look on his face was pretty affectionate. I need to find a way to get him alone and figure out what the fuck is going on. Busboys come around to our table to collect dirty dishes. I drain the remainder of my wine and motion to the waiter for another.

The waiter sets another glass of wine in front of me and I immediately chug it. Hana frowns. “Are you okay, Riley? You should probably slow down. And definitely eat something.” I pick up my fork and violently stab several pieces of broccoli and carrots with it. I shove the vegetables in my mouth and set the fork down.

Dr. Ethan Ramsey takes the podium and begins his speech. He talks about his patients at Edenbrook Hospital and the rookie interns he’s mentored throughout the years. He also speaks about kids who have gone on to become successful physicians at his hospital because of the opportunities granted to them from this scholarship program. All eyes in the room are on him, except for two. I glance to my left and see Liam staring at me from across the room. I look from him to Madeleine, and back to him. Anger burns in my eyes. He gives me a confused look.

After Dr. Ramsey wraps up his speech, I get up from my seat and move to the bar to order another glass of wine. I lean up against the bar and survey the room. Most of the people here are networking. I see Hana talking to an older gentleman before they exchange business cards. I chug my wine and signal for another one when out of the corner of my eye, a tall, blonde man sidles up to the bar and takes the seat next to me.

”So, this is the amazing nanny.” I look to my left to see the man Maxwell pointed out earlier as Liam’s brother perched on a barstool. ”I have to say, my brother has excellent taste,” he says, looking me up and down. Up close, I can definitely see the similarities between the two of them. He has wavy blonde hair and the same piercing blue eyes as his younger brother. The lines around his eyes definitely give away his age. His sharp jaw is covered in a light stubble and he flashes me a mouth of straight white teeth. I understand now why the tabloids (and the ladies) love this guy so much. If I wasn't so hung up on his brother, I could find myself interested in him.

”You must be the infamous older brother I've heard so much about. Riley Brooks. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I extend my hand to shake his, and he brings it to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. My cheeks immediately flush. Obviously from the alcohol.

”Leo Rhys. Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine. It’s not every day a gorgeous woman falls into my lap.”

”Do wha…” before I can finish, he grabs my forearm and pulls me into his lap. I let out a yelp as he wraps his arms around my waist. ”Mr. Rhys. I see your reputation speaks for itself.”

He chuckles and signals to the bartender. She pours three fingers of scotch and slides the tumbler toward him with a wink. He grabs the glass and brings it to his lips, grinning seductively. ”If you really want to know about my reputation, I can show you.”

I look over Leo’s shoulder to see Liam staring at us from across the room, his expression unreadable. Oh, this is going to be fun.

I hide my blush behind my wine glass. ”Mr. Rhys. Are you coming on to me?”

He leans in closer to whisper in my ear and I inhale his scent. His cologne is intoxicating. He slides his hand down my back, coming to rest just above my ass. ”That is an amazing dress, Miss Brooks. Is this what you wear when you watch my niece and nephew? Cause if so, Uncle Leo needs to come and visit more. We could get to know each other over naptime.”

Whoa! This took a turn.

”Mr. Rhys…”

”Call me Leo.”

I clear my throat. “It seems the tabloids were right about you, Leo. I had heard you were a bit of a flirt.”

He laughs and squeezes my ass. “Sugar, you have no idea.”

Okay. As fun as this is, we’re getting a little out of control. ”Leo, I'm flattered, but I take my job seriously. And as much as I’d like to learn more about your ‘reputation,’ I have my eye on someone else.”

He grins. ”Don’t worry. I’m well aware. My brother wouldn't appreciate me trying to steal his girl. Nor would he like it if I banged his kids’ nanny. I'm simply trying to help you out. Don't think I haven’t seen the looks he’s been giving you from across the room. He might have everyone else in this room fooled, but he’s been eye-fucking you all night.”

I look past him and see Liam staring a hole through me. The intensity of his gaze sets my body on fire. His eyes move to Leo, then back to me. I raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to come over here and do something. He rises from his seat as if to head my way when Madeleine appears from behind and loops her arm in his, kissing his cheek.

“Excuse me. I need to get some air,” I say quietly — sliding off Leo’s lap — and make my exit. I spot Hana from across the room and she gives me a concerned look as I sneak out and make my way toward the front entrance of the hotel. I push open the door and the cool night air hits my face. I turn to the sky and let out an aggravated scream. People walking past me on the street shoot dirty looks as they pass. Deep breaths, Riley. Don’t let him ruin your evening. Is he doing all of this to test me? I keep thinking about what he said in the conference room. How his words sounded so sincere. Was it all bullshit? Was the whole court date story just a line to try and get into my pants?

I battle with my inner thoughts. Okay, so what if he is telling the truth? Does that mean that once the divorce is final, we can be together? What happens with my job? I’m pretty sure getting involved with him is a conflict of interest. Even though he’d technically be divorced, people would still frown upon the whole “sleeping with your nanny” thing. And what happens if we can’t make it work? I’ve only been with them for a few weeks, but I already care about Charlotte and Philip. They would be devastated. I lean against the side of the building, struggling to figure out how to handle this whole situation. The realization hits that I’ve been standing here for a while. What time is it anyway? I check the pockets of my dress for my phone and curse when I remember that I left it at the table. After taking a few more moments to calm myself, I head back inside. I’m greeted by the sight of Liam standing in the lobby. My mouth waters as my eyes rake up and down his body. His black suit fits like a glove and I find myself struggling to breathe.

“Where did you go?” he asks. I regain my composure and shoot him a glare before brushing past him. He catches my arm, stopping me. “Riley? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Liam. You tell me?” He stares at me for a long moment, trying to figure out what I’m talking about. I roll my eyes and try to jerk out of his hold. His grip tightens. “What happened to ‘the divorce becomes final on Wednesday?’ It sure didn’t look that way when you were cozying up to your ex.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I reply and pull free from his grip.

He laughs sarcastically. “Yeah, well what about that little show you were putting on with my brother just now?”

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Since that’s the game we seem to be playing tonight.” I attempt to walk away and he grabs me again, shoving me into the nearby coat check closet.

“Riley. Listen to me. It’s not like that at all. This whole evening is for show. It’s my last gift to Madeleine before the divorce is final.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Your last gift? You don’t owe her anything, Liam. She cheated on you. Or did you forget that?”

He sighs and puts his hand on my chin, tilting my face up. “You’re right. And no, I didn’t forget. But I agreed to ‘play nice’ with her tonight to keep up appearances with her friends and our colleagues. They don’t know about the divorce, and she doesn’t want to tell them until it’s done. She said if I went along with it, she wouldn’t give me any trouble with the custody hearing.”

“And you believe her?”

“I have to. I just want this whole thing to be over, so I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen.” He leans in and presses his forehead against mine. “Please understand me when I tell you that you’re the only woman I want. Any love I had for her is gone, and the only thing I want from her is to go to this hearing, say there are no unresolved matters, and get out of my house.” He reaches out and touches my arm and my body tenses. He notices and pulls away. “Riley, please. It was an act.”

“Well, someone should give you an Oscar, because that was very convincing,” I snap.

His expression hardens and for the first time in weeks, I see a different side of Liam. Sure, I’m being stubborn, but I feel like it’s warranted after being strung along all this time. He gives me an almost unreadable look. “Is that what you think of me?” he barks.

“I’m starting to question everything I think about you.”

He grabs my hand, pressing it to his crotch. His erection strains against his pants. “You feel this? This isn’t because of her. This is because of you. Every night, when I get myself off, it’s not to images of her. It’s to images of you.” He leans in brushes his lips against mine, whispering, “I don’t want her. I want you right here, right now, in this coat closet.” I look around the closet. It’s small, but there is just enough room for the two of us, even with all the expensive coats and jackets. The hunger in his eyes for me is carnal; it makes me physically shudder.

“Prove it,” I challenge.

He pushes me against a rack of coats, his face against mine, and pulls my skirt up. I wrap my arms around his neck and nibble on his earlobe. He grunts and slides his hands in my underwear, finding my wet clit. I swallow hard, letting my legs fall open at his touch. “You’re so wet for me. Your mouth says that you’re still mad, but your pussy says you’re all mine.” He slips one finger into me and I nearly explode on the spot.

He pulls his hands away and I gasp in disappointment. He smirks and drops to his knees, lifting my skirt and draping it over his head. “Lean back. Grab that closet rod and hold on tight.” He moves his mouth down my stomach before grabbing my underwear with his teeth and dragging them down my legs. Once I step out of them, he puts both hands on each of my legs and slowly drags them up toward the apex of my thighs, spreading my legs. I grip the closet rod, my knuckles turning white, as he rubs his nose along my clit. He lifts one of my legs and rests it on his shoulder. In one motion, he flicks his tongue against my clit and my knees buckle.

“Ohmygods, Liam,” I cry. I immediately slap one hand over my mouth. He laughs softly before giving me another long, luscious stroke. I allow a whimper to slip out, then bite down on my palm to keep from screaming. The last thing we need is for someone to hear us and come barging in. He pushes my dress off his head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare!”

He grins and returns to massaging my clit with his tongue. He slips a finger inside me and begins fucking me with his hand, causing my body to tighten. It doesn’t take long before I’m gasping and shuddering, my orgasm powering through me. With one last kiss to my inner thigh, he crawls out from under my skirt and rises to his feet.

“Holy shit,” he says, pressing a kiss to my lips. I taste myself on him and it’s the hottest fucking thing ever. I reach down to undo his pants when he grabs my hands, stopping me. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean? It’s my turn to take care of you.”

He shakes his head and kisses my forehead. “Another time. Tonight was for you.”

I nod and take a few moments to come down from my high. We straighten ourselves out and exit the coat closet, making sure no one saw us. He takes my hand in his and we make our way back down the hall towards the ballroom. When we reach the doors, he brings my hand to his lips and softly kisses the back of it.

“If I don’t talk to you again tonight, I’ll see you Monday morning, okay?”

I nod, avoiding eye contact. After what just happened in that coat closet, it’s going to be hard pretending we’re just associates. He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“Hey. I know what you’re thinking right now, but remember what I told you. We just have to get through these next few days.” He leans in and presses one last kiss to my lips. “You go ahead. I need to hit the men’s room before I go back in there.”

I smirk. “Behave yourself, Mr. Rhys.”

He groans and taps me on the ass before turning and making his way down the hall towards the bathroom. I chuckle and enter the ballroom, making a beeline for Hana.

“Riley? Are you okay? You ran out of here pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed some air. You ready to get out of here?”

She nods and heads over to our table to retrieve our things. We say our goodbyes and make our way out of the ballroom arm-in-arm. Before the doors close, I take one last look back and see Liam standing next to his brother. He shoots me a wink and my cheeks flush. As Hana and I make our way outside to wait for our ride, I feel a little better about our situation. We just have to get through these next few days. I repeat his words in my mind, willing myself to believe them.

#something domestic #nanny au #trr au #trr fanfic #playchoices fanfic #liam rhys #riley brooks #n*fw #nazariolahela fanfic

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insfiringyou · 5 years ago

Text

BTS - Aftermath (Jungkook x Young-soon)

Contains: Angst. Mentions of smut. Mentions of cheating.

Set almost a week following the disastrous events of ‘A Celebration to Forget’, Jungkook’s girlfriend finds out about his moment of weakness at the party.

This fic contains all members of BTS but centers around Jungkook and Young-soon. Jimin’s breakup with Angel is also mentioned as well as Suga’s relationship with Jeong-sun.

This is a major chapter in our headcanon universe (find out more about our headcanon universe plot and characters here).

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE

"You're pretty chirpy for someone who just got dumped." Taehyung commented from across the dining table, chopsticks in hand. Jimin swallowed his mouthful of Bulgogi, his bright smile slipping a fraction.

"I wasn't dumped.” He protested, lowering his chopsticks. “It was mutual..."

"You mutually decided Angel would rather be fucking Donghyuk?" Asked Taehyung, dryly, his eyebrow cocking slightly.

"They've known each other for ages." Jimin replied easily with a shrug. "It was bound to happen." The breakup had come as a relief, if he had been honest with himself. Instead of feeling irritated by his nerve, he had been quick to reassure Donghyuk over text with a simple “Yeah, we’re cool,” and left the matter at that.

Sensing that the topic was closed, Taehyung turned his attention to the three seated at the end of the dinner table. "How come you all got back so late anyway? Did you get lucky, Yoongi?"

The elder of the three did not look up, sipping from his glass without much expression. "No."

"We were waiting for Jungkook," piped up Hoseok, carefully avoiding eye contact. Taehyung suspected that no amount of sunshine yellow punch could have erased the memory for Hoseok of catching him perform oral sex on his girlfriend in the bathroom the previous evening. He sipped his glass of shiraz slowly, savouring it’s sweet, spicy flavour on his palette as he regarded the statement with intrigue.

Jimin spoke first, his eyes sparkling with glee towards the maknae. "Did you get some?"

"He has a girlfriend."Namjoon interjected, as though this settled the matter. The youngest man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face appearing a little blotchy in the light of the nearby wall lamp.

"I fell asleep." He squirmed.

Nobody but Yoongi seemed to pay any attention to the way Jungkook tapped his chopsticks agitatedly against the edge of his bowl, its contents as full as it had been when he had received it. Feeling irked, Yoongi picked unenthusiastically at his own food, not really tasting it. Whilst he knew that whatever had happened with the woman in the blue pyjamas would not have happened were he sober, he simply could not understand how Jungkook could allow a moment of drunken boredom to escalate so wildly. The absent, sickly-looking expression on his face told Yoongi that he was also struggling with the thought and the older man felt a fleeting stab of pity for his friend’s inner turmoil, wondering whether he would be able to come to terms with what he had done. He thought, were Jungkook's relationship anything like his own with Jeong-sun, the damage would be too devastating to repair.

When they had all eaten their fill, it was the youngest of the group who was first to gather his jacket and make his way to the exit, closely tailed by Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi sat for a while, in no real hurry, as he pulled his phone out from the pocket of his jeans. It had vibrated against his leg a few times in quick succession, and a small smile broke as he stared at the new messages in his inbox.

The first was a picture of a man who regarded the camera in surprise, clearly caught off-guard as he turned in mid-speech to the photographer, his stubby fingers gently freeing a hook from the mouth of a large, slimy-looking trout. The next made his heart skip inexplicably, and he chuckled softly against the palm of his hand. Jeong-sun, out of focus and half-obscured by a thumb on the lens, looked put-out at the small minnow dangling from her own fishing wire. The wide-brimmed hat and khaki body-warmer clearly belonged to her father. Even despite this, her resemblance to him was immediately obvious.

A firm pressure on Yoongi’s shoulder made him look away, and he lowered the screen discreetly.

"Are you coming? The taxi’s are here." Jin prompted.

"Yeah…I’ll join you in a minute." He slipped his phone back into his pocket, getting up slowly as he realised that the others had already left. The brief glimpse of Jeong-sun was welcome, but bittersweet. His heart ached, thinking that the next few weeks couldn't pass quickly enough, and how he wished he too could have gone on the trip with her.

***

"Was that him?"

"No." Young-Soon slid her phone back onto the table, her disappointment obvious as she sighed and took a sip of the sparkling, baby pink beverage in front of her. The ice cubes rattled as she set it down, now half-empty, and picked out a fat, red strawberry from the glass and popped it into her mouth. "Just a reminder that my phone bill's due."

"He probably just has the world's biggest hangover." Her colleague, Mi-Ja, commented coolly.

Young-soon smiled back half-heartedly, unable to find comfort in the thought as an odd sensation of nerves fluttered in her stomach. It was unlike Jungkook to stop responding to her messages and calls, and she couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The group looked up in unison, momentarily startled as a howl of cheers and screams erupted from across the bar. A petite, blonde-haired woman was staggering towards the group in absurdly high heels, balancing a tray of neon-coloured shot glasses and a bottle of ominously clear liquid. Mi-Ja looked up with a smirk, twirling the shocking pink straw idly around her glass. ”Why don't you just try calling him again?"

Young-soon sighed, sliding her thumb across the screen of her phone. Her boyfriend answered on the third ring.

“Young-soon?” Came Jungkook’s voice, swallowed slightly by another loud yell from the rowdy table. Young-soon got to her feet, sticking a finger into one ear and wandered over towards the direction of the bathroom. “What's the matter?”

"Nothing... I just wanted to see how you were." She purred, relief flooding her at the sound of him on the other end of the line. "Why didn't you answer before? I was worried."

"I'm fine...I just had it on silent... are you okay ?”

She thought he sounded a little strange, but perhaps this was just the effect of the pink gin. She did feel a little light-headed, now she was alone and away from the sickly sweet smell of the alcohol.

"Yeah. I'm out with a friend. She's moving floors at work so we're having a few cocktails to celebrate."

"That's nice...” Jungkook said softly, and there was a slight pause before she broke it, enjoying the sound of his breathing through the receiver.

"So did you find anyone to pair up with last night?"

"What?" The response came, a little sharply, and Young-soon clarified, toying with the fluffy keychain on her purse.

"At Cassandra's party. You said Yoongi was busy."

Jungkook cleared his throat. "Uhm, there were a lot of people,” He hesitated. After a pause, he sighed heavily and continued. “I really wish you could have been there."

"Me too. I really miss you."He sounded so gloomy, and she rested her head lightly against the velvety texture of the wall by the ladies' bathroom. The solution was suddenly obvious. “Can’t you stay over tonight?"

There was silence. Thinking maybe she had accidentally ended the call, she pulled the phone away from her ear and saw that it was still connected. Young -Soon frowned, her stomach turning unpleasantly. Gently, she called his name, wondering whether he had heard her.

“Uhm, I probably shouldn't..." Came his voice, uneasily.

"Oh," Young-Soon said, feeling a little stunned. The guilt in his tone was hard to ignore. "Alright.”

She tried hard to listen to him over the sounds of music and merry bar visitors. It was growing steadily rowdier as another large group entered through the double-glass doors, and her head had begun to pound. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine… I just really need to pee.” He replied, a little unconvincingly. “I'll see you on Tuesday."

“Okay, well if you change your mind….” Young-soon sighed, trailing off as a woman in red heels stumbled, cross-legged in her direction. “ I love you.”

“You too. Get home safe.”

The call ended and it had not had the comforting effect that Young-Soon had hoped for. Her fingertips paused over his name in her contacts, but she resisted the urge to call him back, knowing it'd do no good. If her instinct was right, he would likely tell her what was bothering him when he was ready and no sooner than that.

***

Jungkook slipped the phone from his ear listlessly and turned it over on the bedsheet, making the room black once more. He was laid in the dark, the duvet cool as a breeze fluttered over him from the nearby open window. But he couldn't settle.

"JK…?" A familiar voice called, soft and low-pitched, from the other side of the bedroom door.

Jungkook turned over onto his side, trying to ignore it. He was quite sure that Yoongi would not tell the others, but still, he did not think he could bear to hear whatever he had to say. He felt bad enough.

After a moment's silence, Yoongi's shadow shifted and disappeared, leaving an uninterrupted strip of light glowing from beneath his door. The sound of chatter and noise drifted over from the living room. He could barely even remember the face of the woman in blue pyjamas anymore. Miserable, he rolled over once more and tried to forget everything.

PART TWO

It took a little longer than usual to dress when Tuesday finally came around. Feeling too sore to keep up with the new routine, Jungkook had skipped practice and instead spent the past hour numbly searching online. The same type of articles and forum posts from teenagers with incredibly bad spelling had kept popping up, and after a while had resigned himself to deleting his browser history and getting dressed. He gingerly adjusted himself beneath the waistband of his jeans. He would have to deal with his little problem later. Grabbing a spare pair of underwear from his cabinet, he shoved them into his gym holdall along with the silver gift bag.

He waited outside her front door, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. When she answered the doorbell a minute or two later, he stepped back automatically, his eyes wide. Young-Soon, her body wrapped in a fluffy lilac towel, looked at him in a little surprise as he corrected himself.

"What's wrong?" She asked, wearily, adjusting her make-shift clothes a little around her breasts.

"You're wearing a towel." Jungkook answered quickly, eyes lingering for a fraction on the pattern of moles disappearing between the crevice of her breasts.

Her voice was momentarily prickly. "Well, I wasn't ready." But to his intense relief she stepped aside to let him in, knowing that perhaps he should have given her better warning.

"I decided to drive myself. And your neighbor let me in downstairs." He explained, shuffling off his shoes as he closed the door gently behind himself. A large sea-green candle in a glass jar was burning lazily on her coffee table, filling the room with the fresh, clean scent of eucalyptus. Somewhere from the apartment upstairs, the muffled pop music changed into a slow, soulful ballad. Her wet footprints, trailing from the bathroom down the hall, were still visible on the bare wooden floorboards. She had clearly been mid-shower when he had knocked. He couldn't help but watch her as he set down his bag on the coffee table, her long dark hair slightly tangled as she ran her fingers through it and swept it back over her shoulder.

"Is it really that distracting?" Young-Soon asked, catching his gaze as she tugged the towel back up a little.

She felt strangely self-conscious, wishing in hindsight that she had spent the extra minute or two to dress before answering the door. Her expression softened however when his plump lips parted in a slight stutter, his eyes wide as they flickered to the glistening crevice between her breasts. She moved instinctively towards him, her arms folding around him into the warm, chocolatey fragrance of his skin. Their lips met tentatively and brief. His pulse quickened as she pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling its frantic rhythm. Gently, she kissed the exposed area of his neckline, feeling him sigh deeply at the feel of her lips. Her meaning obvious, she continued to press delicate pecks to his collar and throat, aching for him to reciprocate.

But a firm pressure on her hips held her back, and Young-Soon couldn't help but feel bemused and hurt as he unraveled himself from her and began to unzip the large holdall. Jungkook looked strangely pained and embarrassed as he handed her the silver gift bag.

"I got you something whilst I was in China," he said quickly. She took the package with a quizzical expression, suddenly feeling nervous too as she pulled out a plush panda from tissue paper. "It's from the reserve...the guide says all donations go to their breeding program."

"It's...it's really cute." Young-Soon said blankly, unsure of what else to say.

"Don't you like it?"

Young-Soon shook her head slowly, trying hard to verbalise the suspicion churning in her mind. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate it. Truthfully, it was the nagging feeling that maybe he was trying to keep her at a distance which made her feel so confused."It's not that. It's just...you're being weird."

"No I'm not." Jungkook replied, suddenly abrupt. The defensive edge in his voice took her off-guard, and she met his eyes in surprise, scrutinising him.

"Yeah... you are."

He looked away and gave a shrug. This irritated her, but not wanting to start an argument, she took a deep breath and set his gift on the coffee table.

"I'm going to get changed." She said, a little more coolly than she usually might have done. "You can go through to the bedroom if you want.”

***

She found her boyfriend fiddling with the TV remote when she returned from the bathroom 15 minutes later, wearing a simple pair of spotted pyjama shorts and a loose-fitting shirt. Her period was due in the next week or so, and she felt a little too bloated to opt for the matching tank top.

Looking up at the sound of her footsteps, he watched as she tied back her now dry hair in a ponytail and settled in the bed next to him. "You don't want to go out?" He asked.

Young-Soon adjusted the pillows behind herself, shaking her head. "Not really. I hoped it would be just us."

The channel flicked onto a historical drama; judging from the outfits she guessed it was based on the Joseon era, the main actor one she vaguely knew from a series she had enjoyed in her late teens. Jungkook slipped the remote onto the bed-stand, his arm curving behind her. The soft impression of his lips against her hair made her stomach churn guiltily. Up close, Jungkook really did look tired and a little ill, his skin sallow and lacking its usual glow.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to snap at you earlier." Young-soon said, awkwardly, shuffling closer into him. "Hormones..."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. "...You don't have to apologise."

"My mom said that she saw you on TV," She continued, remembering the phone call she had received the previous night. "...When you landed back in Seoul, it was on the news."

"Was it?" He said in mild surprise. The journey from the airport to the private cars had been so brief that the thought of it being news-worthy was a little ridiculous.

"Yeah. She said my dad decorated my old room and got a larger bed so we can stay over more often. But they know how hard it is for you to get time off."

The mention of her parents, and what should have been a warm gesture, made Jungkook's insides burn. Young-soon's mother and father had accepted him as part of the family without hesitation and he felt ashamed for their trust, his breath growing shallower at the thought as his eyes began to prick with tears. He couldn't bear it.

"Kook...?" She murmured, her blood running cold as she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.

“I’ll just be a moment...” He quickly murmured, getting to his feet and heading to the bathroom through the door.

Young-soon watched him go with an equal amount of confusion and fear. He had looked ghostly pale at the mention of her parents and, when he did not come back a few minutes later, she found herself following in his footsteps, her heart thudding hard as she walked quietly down the hallway. There was a fraction of light spilling from the gap at the edge of the bathroom door from where he had left it slightly ajar in his hurry and she knocked nervously upon the wood, watching as it swung open on its hinges.

It took a moment for Jungkook to notice her in the doorway, allowing a moment for her to regard his pained expression as he clutched himself between his thumb and index finger lightly, his face scrunched up and eyes shut tight as he tried to direct the weak stream into the toilet from his standing position. He gasped, letting out a small, frustrated sound as the flow stopped abruptly before a few more trickles leaked out from the tip and he finally looked up. His eyes widened in horror and he quickly covered himself, swiftly shaking his flaccid cock a couple of times before slipping it into the confines of his boxer shorts.

Young-soon felt her heart sink at the sight, realising immediately what was wrong, despite the part of her which protested against her better judgment that there was probably a simple explanation for this; that everyone got infections from time to time. His guilty look, however, combined with the way he had been acting for the past few days confirmed to her what he had done and she found herself staring at the tiled floor from the shadowy hallway, unable to speak or move until his frantic protest a moment later caused her to look at him once more.

“Young-soon...” He called out. “I...”

“Have you been to see a doctor?” She interrupted, her voice strangely numb and empty. He paused at the unexpected sound of her voice, blank and indifferent. He could see from her pasty face and dark eyes that there was no hiding what he had done from her; she had figured it out from the moment she opened the bathroom door and he could no more lie to her than he could himself. He didn’t know how he had expected her to sound, but her calmness frightened more than if she had shouted.

He hesitated. “Not...not yet.” He said weakly.

She nodded slowly. “You should.” She murmured. “It looks infected.” She reached out to touch the wooden edge of the doorframe with the palm of her hand, steadying her tall body. “Does it hurt?” She asked.

He paused before nodding, his eyebrows furrowed. She recognised he was worried about this. “Yes.”

“Good.” She muttered collectedly, turning to leave the doorway.

“Young-soon!” He called after her, his voice panicked. She slowly turned back to him.

Her emotions were slowly starting to return and she felt a stab of pain at the sight of him. She knew she would be furious in an hour or two, that no amount of camomile tea or Kalms would stop her from hyperventilating in the lofty confines of her bedroom as the events of the evening hit her, but for now, her voice remained serene.

“Was it while you were in China?” Young-soon asked, wondering whether he would try to lie about this. He surprised her by meeting her gaze as he shook his head. She pressed on, realising when it must have been. He had seemed on edge and uncharacteristically jittery since the party at the country hotel the week before and, even on the phone, a part of her had known something was seriously wrong. “Do you know her?” She continued.

He shook his head again. “No.”

She thought for a moment, her gaze returning to the floor. “What if you got her pregnant Jungkook?” Her voice trembled, but only a little. “Did you think about that before you put your cock in her?” He was silent and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, knowing his inevitable panic would set her over the edge.

Instead, she took a breath of air before turning on her heels and heading down the hallway, hearing his footsteps slowly following a moment later. She reached the front door and unlatched the safety lock, holding it open and waiting for him to catch up. Clenching her jaw tightly to avoid it shaking, she refused to look up, even when he hovered in front of her for a moment, wanting to say something and thinking better of it. She remained silent until he was safely on the other side of the door and she returned the latch to its usual place.

She hovered for a few minutes, gazing into space as her heart began to slow in her chest, before walking into the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of tea. She forwent the chamomile for a regular black tea bag which she placed into her favourite mug, waiting for the kettle to boil patiently and wondering how she was managing to cope so well in light of what had happened. It wasn’t until she was back on her double bed, vaguely surprised to find that the episode of the drama she had been watching earlier had not yet finished, that the first sob escaped her lips.

She quickly put down her steaming cup on the bedside table before she had a chance to scold herself, before clutching her palms to her face, her cries echoing through the empty space and bouncing off the decorated plaster of the high ceiling. How could she have been so foolish as to let herself fall for him? She had been so reluctant to do so, knowing he was young and naive and too ridiculously famous for his own good. It had taken her months to acknowledge it, refusing to believe she truly loved him until her entire body ached with it; the thought of his smile making her stomach lurch and groan for hours until she could deny it no more.

“I didn’t want to...” She found herself sobbing, barely able to hear her own voice, low against her wet hand. “Stupid...stupid...stupid...” She murmured, silencing the blare of the television at the obnoxious sound of credits with the remote and throwing it harshly across the room where it echoed loudly against the bare wooden boards. The worst part, she thought as she wrapped her body in her warm piles of covers, her tea quickly forgotten as she pulled a warm patchwork blanket over her torso, was that the thought of him in pain had made her stomach pang miserably, despite what she had said to him. The sight of him, clutching himself so pathetically as he dealt with the aftermath of his grotesque misjudgment, had filled her simultaneously with anger and pity. How did he hold the power to do that to her?

She wondered if he would try to call and if she should turn her device off, before realising she had left it in the living room earlier that day. Too far away to bother with it, she wrapped herself up in a cocoon of bedsheets, unable to stand being awake a single moment longer. She urged sleep to come quickly.

PART THREE

Despite waking up two hours after the start of her shift, Young-soon considered going in to work the next day if only to distract herself. She had booked the day off as holiday time, hoping to spend it with her boyfriend, but the thought of being alone in her apartment filled her with dread. She got dressed in a smart pair of trousers and a patterned blouse, filling the kettle with a fresh bout of water to boil for her morning cup of tea, before a thought occurred to her. She didn’t know if it was the sight of the cold liquid in her mug from the evening before or the loose AA battery she trod on as she tried to find her work shoes, the little cylinder having been dislodged from the remote control she had lobbed at the floor, but the image of Jungkook, his features scrunched up tightly in distress, flashed before her eyes and she sighed heavily, opening up her laptop.

A quick search gave her an address and she jotted it on her phone in the notes app., followed by a brand name. On her way to the front door, a large object on the table caught her eye and she wondered how she had missed seeing it last night after letting Jungkook out of the apartment. Slowly, she pulled the stuffed panda from the confines of the bag and regarded it listlessly. Refusing to let herself get upset again, she slid it back in and walked through to her bedroom, discarding it at the back of her wardrobe, behind a messy pile of unironed clothes.

Getting into her car ten minutes later, she inputted the address she had found on the internet into her satnav and headed towards Eunpyeong-gu. The pharmacy had been the closest which sold the product she was looking for without a doctor’s note according to the search engine on her computer, but she looked around the store anxiously before entering as a matter of course; Wednesday mornings were clearly not the busiest time of day to be a pharmacist. She walked over to the counter at the far end of the room, passing through the aisles of medicine and toiletries before fishing in her jacket pocket for her phone.

The young woman hovering awkwardly behind the stacks of prescriptions looked barely old enough to have left school but one quick look around the room told Young-soon she was the only person serving today. She was bent down, shifting through a tray filled with cardboard boxes of pills and didn’t look up until Young-soon cleared her throat a little impatiently. Smiling shyly, the girl muttered an apology before heading towards the counter and asking if she could be of service. Young-soon showed her the screen of her phone, trying to show an air of indifference as, expectedly, the young woman blushed. Despite having been able to foresee this detail, Young-soon found it irritating and wished she had been served by someone older.

“I searched online...it said you stock these.” The older woman murmured cooly as the girl practically squirmed before nodding.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just be a moment...” She promptly disappeared into the back room behind the boxes of prescriptions and disappeared from view. Young-soon pocketed her cell and waited, shifting around anxiously at the sound of the bell over the front door tingling as an elderly male entered the store. She sighed and moved from foot to foot as he moved slowly past the glass cabinet of fragrances, walking with a cane towards the medicine aisle. Glancing back at the stockroom, she mentally cursed the young woman for taking so long before breathing a sigh of relief when she came into view.

“I’m sorry I took so long...” The young woman muttered, clutching something in her hand. “My colleague usually covers the stockroom but she’s in Gwangju...” She explained clumsily, more to herself than the woman on the other side of the counter as she placed the box down on the mock-marble countertop.

“Thanks.” Young-soon murmured indifferently, casting a quick glance to the front of the store and letting out a slow exhalation as she saw the elderly man was still a distance from the pair.

“I knew we had them around there somewhere...” The girl smiled nervously, turning the box over to read the instructions on the back. “So, uhm...you can get an accurate chlamydia screening with a urine sample...” She explained painfully, her cheeks stained pink as she squinted a little to read the small text. “If you bring it back to a registered health practice you can get the results in five to ten days.”

Young-soon listened politely but felt herself growing frustrated as she removed her purse from her small leather handbag. She could just have easily paid for the item and read the back of the box by herself in the comfort of her car.

The girl continued. “ But for gonorrhea, a urine sample only works for men. It is recommended that women are tested via vaginal swab...”

Young-soon handed over the correct change in deliberately small notes as she took the box from the woman. “It’s not for me...” She snapped coldly as she turned to leave.

“Wait...” The girl called weakly after her, clutching the handful of change. The older woman turned. “You’ll want a bag for that...”

Young-soon sighed, accepting the carrier and heading out into the deserted streets. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt for snapping at the girl and creating more work for her, realising as she walked towards her hastily parked car that it wasn’t her fault the person she loved had cheated and gotten himself an infection. The situation was almost laughable; she looked at the bag in her hand with perplexity. A shrink would have a field day questioning why she had just bought a chlamydia test for a man who had betrayed her.

Shaking her head, she buckled her belt and tossed the bag on the back seat, adjusting the satnav on her dashboard to input a new address.

Young-soon didn’t notice Yoongi’s eyes dart towards the carrier bag in her hand as she hovered awkwardly on the doorstep to the group’s shared apartment. He hesitated before speaking, recognising the logo in the centre immediately. She noted that he looked vaguely surprised to see her, though she didn’t believe Jungkook would have the nerve to admit his blunder to the other members so soon.

“He’s in his room.” The man muttered, side-stepping carefully and opening the front door wide for her to enter.

“Thanks Yoongi.” She replied as he closed the door behind her, his socked feet almost silent against the carpet as he re-attached the safety lock and headed into the adjoined kitchen.

Hoseok looked up from the steaming bowl of stew he had finished dishing up at the sound of the door opening and handed it to Yoongi, turning back to the counter to get his own. “Who was that?” The younger man asked, contemplating a clean set of chopsticks before settling on a spoon to capture the sauce.

“Young-soon.” He murmured, not expecting the other man to pick up on his surprise. He had slept through most of the party, after all.

“Oh.” Hoseok said, taking a slurp.

They ate in silence for a few moments before the younger man spoke up. “When does Jeong-sun get back from her trip?”

Yoongi paused, his spoon mid-way between his parted lips. The mention of his girlfriend was unexpected, even from his best friend, and he tried to swallow the stew as quickly as he could. “Not until Friday.” He murmured.

“Oh.” Hoseok thought for a moment, realising the implication. “That’s a shame.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nodded before taking another spoonful of food, closing the matter before it had the chance to take root and make his chest ache.

Young-soon knocked quietly upon the door, her action causing an unexpected and unpleasant moment of deja vu. She fought through it and opened without waiting for a reply, the door revealing Jungkook’s room in a state of chaos. At first she worried that he had thrown half of the contents of his wardrobe on the floor in anger; piles of shirts and jeans lay messily around the carpet, rendering it virtually invisible. Her eyes flicked towards the figure kneeling topless on the floor, Jungkook’s tanned chest visible above the waistband of his plain blue jeans. The sight would usually make her heart flutter, but for now, it felt stony and still in her chest. She realised he was crouching beside a large suitcase and had began the process of packing for his upcoming trip to Japan.

He looked up and jumped in shock, quickly shuffling through the few items of clothes that had been folded in the case for a t-shirt to cover himself. She waited dispassionately for him to dress. His hair was unbrushed and slightly wavy and he ran his hand through it agitatedly as he got to his feet.

“Young-soon...” He stumbled, taking an automatic step towards her as she closed the door firmly behind her, making sure she heard the sound of it clicking in the frame. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes dark and troubled beneath her eyebrows before they flickered to the floor. “When do you go away?” She asked, her voice nonchalant.

He followed her gaze to the suitcase hesitantly. “Tomorrow evening.”

“Oh.” She murmured, reaching out to give him the carrier bag. “I got you this...” He grasped it from her automatically as she continued. “The instructions are on the back.”

The cold tone of her voice alerted him to the fact that whatever was in the carrier was not a gift, but he was surprised to read the label as he pulled it from the plastic. He stared at it stupidly, unable to speak.

“Just...follow them.” Young-soon sighed, frustrated with herself as she turned towards the door and grasped the handle. “And make an appointment with the doctor.” She turned the knob and stepped into the hallway, closing the door before Jungkook had the chance to follow her out.

***

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76 notes · View notes

xiaojusaur · 5 years ago

Text

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Oral, Unprotected Sex (stay safe, my children)

Word Count: 5.1K

Description: After a devastating breakup, you were looking for something meaningful in your life again. Your friends abandoned you, so you decided to dance your heart out at the club. That’s when you met the Adonis that took you out to dance and bought you many drinks. You didn’t know his name until you were both tangled between the sheets of a cheap hotel room.

It has been three weeks already that Hoseok finished his 3-year-long relationship. He was devastated, as expected since you can’t just let go of 3 years that easily.

He didn’t go out like he used to, he didn’t even want to go to dance practice. When Jungkook and Namjoon noticed his behavior, they paid him a visit to find him laying on the sofa, watching Netflix and stuffing his face with food, totally not Hoseok.

“Hey, do you plan to waste 3 more years trying to overcome this? Come on, get up, get ready and let’s go,” said Namjoon when he saw the conditions he was in.

“I don’t feel like it,” he whined.

“Enough whining Jung Hoseok, you need to go out,” Namjoon said, almost annoyed.

“Yeah, you know what you need? You need to get laid,” said Jungkook with the brightest smile on his face.

“That too,” Namjoon said pointing at Jungkookie.

“I don’t wanna get laid, I want her...” Hoseok said sighing.

“She’s gone, man. She hurt you pretty badly, you don’t deserve that. Come on, let’s go to the club, find you a dancing partner, dance with her all night. Maybe you’ll have a change of heart if she’s too hot,” Namjoon joked and Hoseok finally smiled.

“Come on, get ready, we’ll wait for you.” Jungkook and Namjoon sat on the sofa while Hoseok went to get ready.

After finding out your boyfriend cheated on you with none other than one of your best friends, you tried not to look devastated, instead, you acted as if nothing.

Your remaining friends were worried for you since you didn’t go out often and seeing you going party after party they knew you weren’t okay. But since you didn’t want to talk, they just flowed with you.

“Where are we going tonight, girls?” You said acting all joyful.

“Y/N, you need to stop and talk to us, yeah? You are not like this,” one of them said.

“What do you mean? I’m totally fine,” you scuffed.

“Sit here,” another one pat on the sofa, inviting you to sit between them on the sofa. You did as told and looked at both of them.

You hated having to face your emotions and they weren’t helping at all.

“We know you are hurt with whatever happened between your boyfriend and that bitch, but you can’t keep running away from your feelings, it’s not healthy,” one said as she placed her hand on your thigh.

“Yeah, and also, we are getting tired of running around to watch you because you are out of control. You can’t drink away your pain always, you need to overcome it,” the other added.

“Hey, it’s not like I'm getting laid with every guy I see, I just go to dance because that’s how I cope with it...and yeah I drink a lot but you’ve never had to drag me here, right? If you don’t want to go you just gotta tell me, I can go alone.” You were mad, how dare they try to make you feel bad after all?

“Please don’t get angry, we just want the best for you.”

“I also want the best for me,” you said locking yourself up in your room. You were going out, accompanied or alone.

The lights in the club moved around in every way and Hoseok wanted to leave already, but for the sake of his friends, he would prove them he could have fun. They quickly walked to the bar and ordered drinks, dragging him with them. After a few drinks, he was all happy, smiling a lot and dancing to the rhythm of every song.

Namjoon and Jungkook were looking at the crowd, probably trying to spot a nice girl to talk to or to take to a hotel room tonight. Hoseok joined them and Jungkook told him over the loud music “Hey Hobi! What do you think about that blonde chick with the red dress? Hot right?” He just nodded, but Jungkook continued “Maybe you can take her tonight, what do you think?” Hoseok rolled his eyes, trying to see what was so special about that chick when suddenly you caught his eye.

You were dancing by yourself in the middle of a crowd, dancing with random girls but you looked like you were having the time of your life. He liked that.

“Hey man, are you listening to me?” Jungkook said.

“Honestly, no. A girl just caught my eye so Imma talk to her, be right back.” Joon and Jungkook looked at each other and looked so confused but followed him with their eyes.

You were moving at the rhythm of the song that was playing, surrounded by girls you met there. You needed no one to be happy... or at least to pretend.

Suddenly a guy joined your little group, he was dancing funny, but you could see he knew how to dance, he was doing it on purpose, maybe to get someone’s attention. You girls started laughing at his weird moves but made him feel welcomed.

When the song ended you all laughed together as you said “Nice dance moves.”

“Thanks, I learned around,” he giggled. He was actually really cute. His rounded cheeks raised every time he smiled, not to mention the cute dimples that appeared on every side of his lips, his little eyes sparkled with the lights and his body wasn’t bad at all. He was wearing a high waist pair of black pants and an oversized black button shirt with embroidered dragons, the first two buttons were undone, exposing his honey-colored chest. His hair black as the night, was all messy and wavy, divided on the middle, accentuating his sharp jawline. Fuck, he was gorgeous.

You didn’t notice you were staring but he did and he let you know, “Like what you see?”

Your eyes widened and you panicked, your cheeks going as red as your lips.

“Don’t sweat it, you’re really cute,” he said so confident. You liked that about him.

“Can I invite you a drink?” he asked.

“Sure, let’s go,” you smiled.

You walked in front of him, between the crowd until reaching the bar. You didn’t notice, but Hoseok was checking out your behind in the tight dress you were wearing.

He took out a chair for you to sit and he sat by your side. “What do you drink?” he asked.

You decided to flirt with him a little so you laid your elbows on the counter top and took a strand of hair behind your ear. “Whatever you drink,” you said smirking and he got the message because he smirked back.

After you had your drinks he asked, “So...do you have a name? Or do you prefer to remain a mystery girl?”

“I might do that, to keep you interested,” you said mixing the drink with the straw.

“Hmm.. that’s fair, but I won’t tell you mine either,” he smirked.

“Fair enough.”

“So then, why are you here?” He asked interested.

“Just dancing. I might be running away from some emotions but that’s okay,” you confessed.

“We have something in common then. My friends brought me here to distract myself from thinking about a devastating breakup,” he half smiled, letting you know it hurts still.

“I’m sorry about that, did she cheated on you?” you wanted to see if the story was the same.

“Yeah, with her coworker.”

“That sucks... My... boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend,” you said, finally finding someone who understood.

“Wow, that’s gotta be harder,” he said actually shocked,

“It’s fine I guess, I discovered that snake on time.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But why would someone cheat on you? You are gorgeous!”

You started blushing again, “Thanks, that goes to you too. You’re really cute. But... are we going to keep being sad here or are you going to take me out dancing?”

He laughed his 10000 watts smile, almost making you faint, but he got up the chair and gave you his hand to take, to then take you to the dancefloor.

The song was one with a mellow beat, so you laced your arms around his neck, he quickly took you by the waist, pulling you closer. You started moving your hips sexily, looking directly to his eyes, eyes full of lust. You wanted to play tonight, something like this didn’t happen every night.

You felt him getting closer to your lips and that’s when you turned around, he chuckled but you kept dancing like that, feeling the music, feeling his body behind yours, feeling his hands on your hips and how they ran to your thighs and up, exploring your reactions.

If he behaved, you would take him with you. And if he wanted to, of course.

You had him wrapped around your finger with your moves. You danced until you couldn’t anymore. You decided to get another drink. When you checked the time, it was 3:00 am.

“Are you alright?” you asked him.

“Never better,” he smiled.

“Did your friends leave?”

“No, they are around, why?”

“Since you haven’t gone to them...”

“Oh, they are in their own thing. Probably with some chicks, you know?”

“What about you? What do you wanna do?” you were suggesting something.

“Kiss you,” he said being honest.

You laughed at his honesty. He hadn’t tried again.

“Do you wanna dance one last time, stranger?” you asked.

“Sure, stranger,” he laughed.

He took this as if you didn’t want to kiss him back, so he just followed your lead.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started moving, but this time you made the move. His lips were so pink, you wanted to taste. Was it the alcohol or was it that he was really attractive? You don’t know, all you know is that in the middle of the song you pulled him closer and kissed his lips. They were soft and tasted sweet, mixed with alcohol. He pulled you closer, the lights shined around, you were in the middle of the crowd but it felt like it was only you two.

He leaned his forehead on yours, your noses touching gently, but you never stopped dancing. He whispered, “You’re so sexy,” his breathe blowing on your face gently.

“That goes for you too,” you whispered back.

“I’ve never done this, but... do you wanna go?” He was a little insecure about asking.

Playfully, you said, “Where to?” You were trying to boost his confidence.

“I don’t know... my apartment, a hotel room? Wherever you wanna go,” he was desperate already, his hands squeezing your sides.

“To the end of the world,” you joked again.

“I can take you there,” he said in a lower tone, which gave you goosebumps.

“Stop playing baby girl, tell me if you wanna go,” he was serious this time.

“You know I want,” you assured.

He took your hand in his, pulling you to the exit of the club. You saw him making signals behind, you supposed to his friends.

“I know a really good hotel near, nothing fancy but not the cheapest either,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t judge you,” you elbowed him and he instantly threw his arm over your shoulders.

A Taxi passed and Hoseok stopped it. He opened the door for you and you both got in. He gave the address to the man and he proceeded.

You were at the front gate of the hotel, looking everywhere out of curiosity. When you entered, you understood what he meant: it was a nice place, humble, nothing too fancy but not the cheapest. You walked around the lobby while he paid.

He came back and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You giggled, it was like you have known each other for a long time ago.

“Shall we, stranger?” he whispered in your ear, making you giggle from the tickles of his breath.

“Can’t wait,” you said smirking.

As soon as he locked the door behind him it was like a magnetic attraction. You crashed into each other, full of lust. You could feel how needy he was and he could definitely feel the same. He quickly took off his shirt, trying not to be away from your mouth for too long. He kept guiding you until reaching the bed, where he laid you down softly.

He climbed to the mattress, on top of you, and started kissing your neck softly. His lips felt like heaven, so soft, so wet, you couldn’t wait to feel other parts of him. And then you remembered you didn’t know his name.

“H-hey...” you said while he kissed down your neck. He just hummed.

“I need to know your name,” you caressed his hair.

“What for?” he kept working you unbothered.

“What if I- god...” he interrupted you bitting your neck softly.

“You were saying?” he chuckled. Such a tease.

“What if I want to scream your name?” You asked panting, touching his perfect back.

“You can just call me daddy,” he said in a playful tone.

“Yeah right,” you rolled your eyes. He started raising your dress with his delicate hands running on your thighs. He looked at you and for a moment you thought he was going to stop, as he had a strange look.

“Are you okay?” You asked worried. “We can stop if you changed your mind”.

He smiled and said, “I was just admiring your beauty and asking myself why haven’t I met you earlier.”

“We met at the perfect time,” you said caressing his cheek. He smiled and continued taking off yor dress. Since it was a dress with a low cut, you didn’t wear bra, so he met with your bare breasts and a pair of deep green lace panties.

He hissed, frozen, not knowing what to do next. You saw him confused and took the chance to ask again. “You might start by telling me your name.”

He chuckled and said, “It’s Hoseok.”

“It fits you well. My name is Y/N.”

“Pretty like you. But it might sound prettier when I moan it.” A cocky tease.

“We’ll see about that.” And you pulled him by the bac of his neck. Kissing him again. He didn’t lose time, his hand landed on one of your breasts, groping it, his delicate fingers playing with your nipple. He got lower, leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw till reaching your breasts. He looked at you through lidded eyes while taking your nipple in his mouth. His lips surrounded it and he was working his tongue on it, licking it up and down and in circles. He then sucked it and let it go with a pop.

You closed your eyes of pleasure and groaned, “Ugh! So hot...”

He then moved to your other nipple, but thid time his hand moved down your torso, and while he kept you distracted, his hand rubbed your heat over the thin fabric of your lingerie. Later, his hand snaked its way inside your panties, his fingers spreading your folds skillfully to rub your clit.

You seemed to have forgotten how it felt since you were so responsive to everything. When he reached your clit you jolted from the sudden pleasure. He hadn’t stopped playing with your nipples either so the sensation was double.

“God! You’re amazing with those fingers,” you moaned.

“Hmmm... you’re so wet for me baby,” he said letting go of your nipple finally. “Let’s take these off, they are a nuisance already.” He kissed down your torso till he reached the hem of your panties, which he took between his teeth and with the help of his hands, he took them off, throwing them to the floor.

His eyes were focused on the middle of your legs. He laid between your legs, admiring in awe. He spread your lips and gave a peck to your throbbing clit. “Hoseok, please...” was the only thing that came out of your mouth.

He smiled and whispered, “Such a pretty pussy. Im gonna shower it with kisses.” So close that the breeze caressed your bundle of nerves, making your eyes roll back. Without warning, he gave you an experimental lick, making you gasp. He pushed your legs up, spreading you more and that’s when he started the action.

He kissed, sucked and even nibbled on your pussy. “Fuuuuck!” You moaned, pulling his hair. You started grinding yourself on his tongue. “Mmmmm yes! Please don’t stop!” You wanted to cum, you were just a string sway to snap but he stopped, making you whimper in frustration.

“Don’t worry love, I will give you the best orgasm of your life, you won’t be able to forget me,” Hoseok said in the sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

“I wanna suck you off, please,” you said panting, sitting on the bed, grabbing the button of his pants.

“Fuck, that’s hot. Come here,” he said as he took off his pants. You got the chance to admire his perfect body. He wasn’t the most built but he had a good figure. His skin shined, his thighs were amazing and the way his muscles flexed had you wondering how would it feel to be between his arms.

He was left in boxers when you came back to your senses, laying on the bed, waiting for you. “Do the honors, baby,” he said inviting you to pull down the elastic that was holding the only piece of clothes he had. You straddled him to give him a kiss and then sat on his thighs to pull his boxers down.

His member sprang free the moment you slipped the piece of clothing down. He wasn’t really big but he was perfect and the girth was promising. “It ain’t gonna suck itself. Don’t be shy...” he said. But you weren’t shy, you were just admiring him.

You slipped down the bed to be able to reach and while you were about to start, you gave him a glance full of lust he would never forget. He hissed in response and then said, “So sexy, you’re so sexy.”

“Are you clean?” you asked before starting.

“I am, I can show you the papers if you want, they’re in my wallet.” He said without hesitation.

“I trust you,” you said winking. Then, you grabbed him by the base and licked his tip. He watched attentive, waiting for your next move. You sucked gently his glistening tip and heard him sigh. And then you sank slowly, your mouth full with his length, and when you went back up, you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him.

“Mmmmm... fuck,” he whispered, giving you the hint that he was liking it. You started bobbing your head, combining sucks with licks, he quickly grabbed your hair and started to thrust in your mouth. You were so full of him, you were dripping of only thinking how much he could please you.

You never thought of him being very vocal, but he surprised you. With every lick and every suck, a new set of hums and hisses emanated from his lips He also praised you a lot, saying things like “So good, that mouth is so good,” or “Just like that.”

But now you wanted to hear him moan, so you got an idea. You went down slowly, inch by inch, until your nose was touching his pelvis. His mouth was an O, he took you by the chin and said almost whimpering “Fuck, look at me princess.” You did as told and saw him almost going undone when you swallowed, your throat muscles contracting. clenching around his manhood. “Oh baby, fuck!” he moaned loudly, the sound of your victory. “Oh my god stop, stop... I’m gonna cum if you continue.” You let go of him, smirking. He was in awe.

“Woah, you’re something else, really. But now, I wanna fuck you. Can I do that baby?” He asked as he pushed you on the mattress, your legs flying up. You laughed and responded, “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll make you regret it.”

He hissed and said “So sexy, can’t wait to be inside of you.” He was looking for something in his wallet but his expression changed when he couldn’t find it. “Shit. I don’t have a condom with me.”

“You said you are clean, right? You got nothing to worry about then...” you said inviting him back to you.

“But my pull-out game is weak, once I start I can’t stop.”

“I’m on the pill, come here and fuck me like you know me.” You got all dominant on him and he seemed to love it because his eyes got so fierce and he licked his lips like he was savoring you.

He was crawling on the bed like he was a lion and you were his prey. You were all sprawled on the bed, waiting for him. He finally reached you and he kissed you with fervor. You tangled your fingers in his dark locks. “Come on Hoseok, make me yours,” you whispered on his lips, looking directly to his eyes. He sighed and said, “With pleasure, princess.”

His dick was standing proudly between your legs, waiting to burry inside you. He took it by the base and started grinding the tip on your heat, collecting your arousal. He never stopped looking in your eyes, capturing every expression you made. You were ready to take him.

He placed his length at your entrance and with a little push, the tip got in, the sudden stretch burning, but you eased up with a sigh. Then, he pushed slowly, making you feel completely full with him. He went as deep as he could and then went back out a little faster.

“Oooh my god...” you moaned, squeezing his biceps.

“Are you okay?” He asked worried, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Mhm...” you just could answer.

“Fuuuck... you’re so fucking tight,” he said sliding in again.

“And you’re so fucking big!” You screamed, unable to contain it.

After that, you both became a hot moaning mess. He was going at a regular pace, not too slow but not too fast either. It was almost as if you two were making love even though you didn’t know each other. His hip thrusts were a sin, he moved sexily with precise moves. He liked eye contact, studying every nose crunch, they way your eyes rolled back every time he reached certain place deep inside you or how you closed your eyes succumbed into the feeling.

“Look at me baby, please look at me,” he whispered, and you did. In that moment he started going faster, the sound of skin hitting skin envading the room. “Ouh fuck... yes!” You moaned, finding your preference right there.

“You like it like this? Yeah?” He moaned back at you.

“Mhm! Please don’t stop Hoseok, you’re so good!” Your nails digging on his sexy back.

“Fuuuck... I don’t wanna cum yet, you feel so, so good, baby,” he groaned. He then kneeled on the bed, took one of your legs and placed it on his shoulder. In this position he was able to resch deeper into you. It was obvious he wanted to make you cum.

“Shit! Ah~ Oh my god right there!” You couldn’t control your moans now, he was hitting you right where you needed.

He was hypnotized, looking at the way your breasts jumped. “Look at you, those tits are amazing! Mmm... so delicious,” he said as he grope one. He reached for your throbbing clit, neglected till the moment, aching to be touched, and he started drawing circles with his thumb. You felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh yes, yes, yes! Please Hoseok,” you whined.

“Please what, babygirl?” He smirked.

“I’m gonna cum so hard,” you were twisting on the bed.

“Great, that’s what we want,” he said all cocky while giving you a deeper thrust.

“Let me ride you,” you said out of breath and out of nowhere, even Hoseok got so confused he stopped.

“Huh?”

“I wanna ride you, I don’t wanna cum yet. Pretty please?” You smiled innocently even though you were a sex mess.

“Okay then...” he said with a confused look but he actually laid back on the bed, his length still standing proudly, glistening with your juices.

Your legs were jelly, but you managed to crawl over him and straddled him. He looked at you smirking, waiting for you to sit on it.

“I just wanna make you remember me,” you whispered in his ear and then bit his earlobe, making him hiss. His hands caressed your back while you kissed his neck, nibbling gently.

“Fuuuck... you’re a sin...” he moaned lowly, you smiled on his neck.

Then, you took him by the base and started looking for your entrance. Once you did, you sat slowly, the new angle making you feel like heaven. He placed his hands on your sides, guiding you how to move. You started bouncing your butt, making his dick go in and out of you.

“Ohh, baby...” he moaned groggily. “Can you go faster?” He asked and that’s when you started jumping rapidly. The movement was making your swollen clit to brush with the base of his lenght so you moaned.

He started thrusting, meeting your hips halfway to help you. You started moving your hips in circular motions, which Hoseok seemed to like because he throw his head back.

“My god, princess, you’re so good with those hips. Keep moving like that...” he groaned.

“You like it like this?” You asked out of breath.

“Fuck yeah, keep it like that please.”

When you got tired of the same movement you started jumping again, he again started meeting your hips halfway, reaching deep inside you.

“Fuuuck Hoseok...” you moaned and bit your bottom lip. You held your breasts and he pushed himself at you to reach one of your nipples and suck on it. He kept thrusting deep inside you, hugging you close to him.

You felt the knot on your pelvis trying to snap and you told him, “Hoseok... I’m gonna cum...”

“Cum for me babe, I want you to cum all over my dick.” His dirty talking driving you insane. He kept whispering dirty things in your ear and like that, you came undone. Your eyes rolling back, it was so intense you held yourself from his shoulders tightly.

The only thing you could hear from the distance was “Oh my god... fuck! So tight!”. He didn’t even wait for you to come back to your senses, he flipped you over, laying you on your belly.

You were so confused but he guided you, “I wanna take you from behind, I’m so close babygirl. Can you do that for me?” He said as he brushed your hair out of your face. You nodded, unable to talk yet, but obeyed, stretching yourself on the bed, ass high up for him.

He slapped one butt cheek and later he groped it, like enjoying all of your behind. “Fuck, such a pretty ass...” He held his length to then start thrusting you again, the overestimulation kicking in.

You hissed in response and he understood so he went slowly. He grabbed yoj by the hips, pulling you to him, looking amazed at how he entered and got out of you. Only looking at that he already wanted to cum, feeling the tingles starting inside of him.

“Mmmm... fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard in that little pussy...” He ran a hand up your back. You moaned in response.

He started going faster and faster, trying to reach his high, his pants could be heard all over the room along with the sound of your buttocks hitting his pelvis. “Oh my god, Hoseok...” you whined, muffling it with the pillow.

“So close, baby, so close...” he groaned, unable to stop now.

His thrusts started to get sloppier. Suddenly you felt his warm seed inside you, making you shudder. “Mmmmm... fuck...” he sighed, letting go in his orgasm.

He plopped by your side, smiling. You looked at him and said groggily “What’s with you?”

“You’re incredible,” he said in a breathy tone.

“So are you,” you said looking at him.

“Can I cuddle you?” He asked, suddenly turning to the sweetest being.

“Sure, I always appreciate some cuddles,” you smiled, caressing his cheek. His arm snakes around your waist and you lay your head on his chest. He’s running his hands on your back absentmindedly and you’re feeling like dozing off.

“How random is this...” he says, bringing you back to reality.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“I’m in bed with a stranger but you have made me feel things I haven’t felt in so long...”

“Just so you know, I’ve never done this before... Jumping to bed with a stranger I mean... What did you do to me?” You laughed silently.

“I guess we both needed this,” he said looking at the roof.

“I don’t regret it. At all, just so you know...” you said, making it clear.

“I don’t regret it either.” It’s the last thing you hear before dozing off completely.

A ray of sunshine seeping through the courtains woke you up. You were lost, you didn’t remember where were you. Your body ached from the past night activities and that’s when you remembered.

You rolled on the bed, panicked, suddenly remebering you spent the night here without saying a word to your friends. It got worst when you met Hoseok’s sleeping naked figure by your side. He actually stayed. You thought he wasn’t going to be there in the morning, but here he was, sleeping peacefully.

He felt you twisting on the bed because he pouted and then hummed like he was complaining because he had to wake up. So cute.

“Hoseok...” you whispered. He seemed to ignore you.

“Hoseok!” You whispered-shouted.

He furrowed his eyebrows and mumbled a “What’s wrong?”

“You stayed?” You whispered again.

“Yeah... is that bad?” His voice was so groggy, a few tones lower and so sexy.

“No... not at all. It’s just new to me.”

He finally opened his eyes and while pulling you closer said, “Well get used to it, I plan on taking you to more dates if that’s okay with you.”

“I’d be glad,” you said pecking his pouty lips.

“I wanna get to know you, Y/N. And I wanna take you out to dates, and visit you at home, take you out to dance...” He was so romantic.

“I’m in if you’re in,” you said smiling.

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