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moonstrider9904 · 2 years

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Castle Town

Chapter 3 of Night Personified

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WitchHunter!Crosshair x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Maul

Chapter Summary: You and some of your fellow witches find yourselves at a social gathering, and as much as your mind lingers on the mysterious warlock from the forest, you end up joining hands with someone else.

Tags: Mature. Mentions of persecution and being hunted. Alcohol consumption.

Word count: 4.1k

Songs: my castle town

A/N: At long last, the next chapter is here! I am so sorry for the long-ass time between updates. Please know that, despite my focus on other projects, my love for this story never faded, and your comments and praise and excitement has helped keep that alive as well. I continue to be grateful for all your love and support.

I cannot promise you that updates will be coming more regularly or frequently as things are still hectic. Please, accept this as a Samhain gift for now, and I hope to be writing on the regular again someday.

If you like, please consider reblogging!

Also, please enjoy this beautiful new banner made by the incredible @eloquentmoon whom I adore with all my heart!

Hiding in plain sight. That is what you thought you would be doing, what you hoped wouldn’t turn against you. If it did, it would be deadly.

“Not going will be more dangerous,” Ahsoka’s voice tore you from your trance. “With his sheer amount of cunning, he’ll know perfectly well who didn’t show up, and why.”

You managed to look away from the dress resting on your bed to meet Ahsoka’s blue eyes, your face rendered a question mark.

“He?” You asked.

She hesitated, as if she feared speaking. “The emperor. Who else?”

You gave a quick shake of your head, embarrassed to have forgotten such a key detail.

“Right,” you answered. “Sorry, it just feels as if it’s been so long since this began.”

“And yet, it’s only been a week,” Ahsoka spoke, her tone lowering again.

One week since it had begun—the realization hit you as well when, looking out at the dark window, you realized that night would mark the night of Samhain.

And you wouldn't be dancing with your fellow witches. You wouldn’t have your hands joined with them, you wouldn’t be chanting around the fire, making spell jars, cooking and baking and brewing with the season’s many spices that delighted your nostrils even in dreams.

You and Ahsoka let your gazes travel to the floor, both in heartbreak at the notion of a coven being forced apart.

“Hosting a ball at the height of the social season,” Ahsoka commented with a grim laugh. “Do you think he knows what we celebrate today?”

You absently looked at the fabric of your dress as you picked it up in your hands. “It’s disgusting to think we’re going to have to spend Samhain under his eye rather than in the forest with each other. Yes, I think he knows. I reckon he thinks he couldn’t have chosen a better day.”

“That wicked man,” Ahsoka said.

You gave a sad smile as you looked at your roommate; Ahsoka was already dressed with one of her finest gowns, one dark brown in color with lace-like patterns embroidered on the fabric with thread only a tone darker than the base, making it barely noticeable, but not less beautiful once it was noticed. You then looked at the dress in your hands again, one of a similar trim to Ahsoka’s but with a rich, burgundy fabric, excluding the lace patterns. Your gown seemed simple, at first, but its color would be what truly caught others’ gazes. Its skirt was not too frilly yet not too slim, it was a perfect A-line that would flatter you for the night, but your favorite detail was, by far, the deep red satin that lined the edges of the sleeves and the bust.

“At least we’ll look pretty,” Ahsoka grinned, though you didn’t know how much truth she held in her optimistic intention.

“Suppose so,” you answered. “I should put this on.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ahsoka said as she gave you a more sincere smile before leaving your room.

With a doubtful glance at the mirror, you began to undress, replacing the reliable old clothes you wore with the elegant ball gown. Though you were surprised at how much you liked the look of red on your skin, you couldn’t shake the thought of how many more things you would rather be doing on such an important night. This night, a Samhain night that happened to fall on a new moon, was supposed to mark the height of your power, the essence of being a witch.

And you would have to spend it fending for your life in the act of stepping into the Emperor’s castle. What a cruel irony, you told yourself, that even if the Emperor didn’t capture a witch, he would still inflict his own type of torment onto her by making her go if she didn’t want to raise any questions. That alone marked a victory for him, at least for that night.

Grooming your hair was not a task that took you very long, and you decided to simply add a little heirloom crowning the top of your head. A carefully woven golden tiara lined with artificial flowers and gemstones. It not only harmonized with your gown, but the flowers and gems made you think of herbs and crystals. It wasn’t obvious that it would be owned by a witch, but it would be enough for you for that night.

You and Ahsoka left the house together and walked in silence towards the castle. You decided against arriving separately—everyone knew you lived together, and not arriving that way would probably cause suspicion. As you arrived at the castle, you avoided eye contact with the royal guard, not that it wasn’t customary to do so, at least with the ceremonial guards who were armored and standing completely still. They were so still and fully covered in iron that you’d heard people around town speculating they were merely empty suits of armor.

You knew better than that. You knew the Emperor preferred his illusions of power different, but anything regarding military strength would never be a fake for him.

You began worrying, however, when you noticed figures between the armored members of the royal guard. People who were clothed differently wearing only partial sets of armor, mainly chest plates and shoulder pads, and who were dressed elegantly enough to partake in a soirée such as that one.

They’d be in the ballroom with you. The witch hunters themselves.

As you walked on, you tried your best to push the image of the silver-haired man out of your mind.

You and Ahsoka got in without a problem, and it felt like a good sign when you didn’t see too many pairs of eyes on you. It wasn’t a long way between the castle’s entrance and the ballroom, large and blindingly bright with the many chandeliers that dangled from the ceiling, their gleam enhanced by the diamond-like gems reflecting their light. At the other end of the rectangular room, across the center that already had some couples dancing, was the string band whose players were all dressed in the imperial color scheme. The melodies they played were beautiful, so much that a part of you felt it could dare to feel safe, as if you were in the ball of your dreams about to meet a charming prince.

But above the band, there was a balcony where three figures watched over the ball. The two guards flanking the sides were already ominous, but at the center was the Emperor himself, hooded and menacing.

You felt dread shower itself over you.

“Any chance the drinks are poisoned?” Ahsoka teased in an attempt to brighten the mood.

“He wouldn’t take such a big risk,” you answered. “How many people in this ballroom do you think want him dead?”

Ahsoka snickered. “Can’t be just the two of us.”

You walked shoulder to shoulder with Ahsoka through the sea of people that had gathered in front of the refreshments table—it appeared you wouldn’t be the only ones in need of a drink to get through the night. For a moment, you remembered you were at a social gathering when you felt the gazes of two men across the table on you, both looking at you with polite smiles, and one of them even raising their drink at you.

Even so, you couldn’t figure yourself less interested in them, and beside you, Ahsoka giggled.

“Right,” she said, flooded with sarcasm. “We’re here to find husbands, aren’t we?”

You gave her a playful eye roll when you finally reached for a drink for yourself, and without paying anyone any more attention, you and Ahsoka gracefully walked away.

“We’re here to prove a point,” you said.

“And what point is that?” She looked at you confidently.

Her smile seemed to spark something within you, a tiny gleam of will to fight back. Then, you met Ahsoka’s gaze and you returned her smile, fostering the little flame within you.

“That he can’t take our night,” you answered. “That we’re going to go back home tonight free as the birds in the forest, and he’ll be none the wiser, even with his little spectacle.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Ahsoka, clinking her cup with yours.

The two of you walked around the dance floor watching the couples there and briefly commenting as though it were any other occasion, and for a moment, nothing seemed wrong with the world. You could tell which couples were serious about their courtship and which ones weren’t just by the way they danced, but you particularly enjoyed looking at all the different gowns. Each one was exquisite and it reflected the personality of the person who wore it, and in little time, you gained a bit more love for your own gown and its rich red color.

Then, across the ballroom, you saw a familiar face. Fennec stood there wearing a deep orange gown that looked divine on her. Your features lit with a smile, and with your newfound confidence and sense of rebellion, you felt you’d walk across the floor and say hello to her. The conversation would certainly be merrier with someone else you knew, and it would take power from Palpatine if you were with another one of your kind.

But just as you began to move forward, an intangible force showering itself over you made you come to a stop, and a wave of cold coursed through you.

Don’t.

Your eyes widened the slightest bit in surprise, though you managed to control the rest of your body to not make your reaction as obvious.

You recognized that voice. Deep, smooth, sensuous, filling your senses as if he were standing right next to you, hovering over you the way he had at the forest when he spoke of chaos, of running away, of freedom. Slowly and with a serene expression, not daring to express the fear and delight you felt, you turned your body to face the window that led to the dark night.

Two yellow eyes watched you, but as soon as you blinked in disbelief, they were gone.

Was he really there? Was he watching you?

Why did you love the idea of him watching you so much?

“Look!” Ahsoka called with a brief little gasp. “The miss with whom the duke was dancing stepped on his toe!”

You grinned as you heard Ahsoka desperately try to hold in her laughed, and you had to do the same while watching a fully grown man with noble blood stumbling away from the dance floor wheezing in pain, leaving the young miss flustered on the dance floor, but not sorry in the slightest.

“You’d think a man of that rank and size would be able to handle more pain,” Ahsoka sneered.

Whispers and mumbles could be heard around you; everyone clearly talked about the same thing. It allowed some of your optimism to return, but you found yourself looking out the many large windows of the ballroom in search of the beautiful, haunting yellow eyes. You never found them, and you figured perhaps you’d be able to see them among the people gathered at the ball.

As the current song the band was playing drew nearer to its end, you looked around the crowd watching the dancing couples in search of Maul’s eyes. To your disdain, you didn’t find them there either, and instead you were left observing the people. Some were commoners, like you, but others were clearly of rank, like the duke whom you had a hunch had that toe step coming.

A few other faces called to you, such as the young and hopeful debutantes, or the widow who watched the dancing couples with a melancholic smile, or the man who’d tattooed half of his face as a skull and wore a red vest under his black coat—he called out to you the most. He had the same brown eyes you’d been thinking of earlier, the only ones capable of pushing those bright yellow irises out of your mind, but you’d been reluctant to dream of.

You still hadn’t apologized for hitting him with the branch.

The music ended and intelligible chatter filled the room. Just as your gaze was lost among the sea of people, you felt Ahsoka shifting next to you, her hand tugging at your sleeve just as you felt a new presence appearing next to you. You gave Ahsoka a quick look but she was already looking past you, and when you turned around to meet the new face, your heart made a leap.

Piercing brown eyes, one with a reticle tattoo over it, crowned by beautiful silver hair.

And you knew he meant you no harm, but a part of you still waited for the smooth voice to sound in your head, telling you to run away. Instead, it remained silent.

“May I?” The man then held his hand out to you, gesturing at the dance floor with his head low.

You looked over at Ahsoka, who already gazed at you with mischievous eyes that whispered get it. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, and you found yourself looking at the archer again, who looked strikingly handsome in his black clothing topped by the chestplate of armor.

The armor reminded you what he was, but it didn’t stop you. To dance that night with one of the Emperor’s witch hunters, right in front of him, and getting out of there unharmed, it could be no bigger testament to the power you held, to the power you took from him and his henchmen. You felt pairs of eyes falling on you, those of people suddenly wondering if you would take the hand of the man proposing a dance to you.

You took it and followed him to the floor. His touch on your skin felt like a flame, a feeling enhanced when he held your hand out at his side, and his free hand went to your waist. You then took his shoulder, looking up at him, realizing just how much taller than you he was.

It was impossible not to smile.

The music began; a gentle and delicate tune on the piano to a tempo of three-quarters, perfect for a waltz. You and the archer bowed down as you held each other, and you rose to begin moving across the floor in tandem with the other couples who had joined.

You glided as if you’d known how to dance your entire life; he was great at leading you, his grip firm and tender on you, his gaze like a veil on your figure. The melody you danced to had a magical touch to it, one that seemed to isolate you from the rest of the couples on that floor and take you to a whole other realm.

Magical as it was, you were only brought back to the real world when you saw the pair of yellow eyes watching you outside one of the windows—or had you imagined them? Your attention was brought back to the archer almost as quickly as it had left him, though it seemed your little hiccup hadn’t escaped his observative gaze.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice a whisper of intimacy.

You felt heat rushing to your face. “N-Nothing.”

You had to find something else to focus on quickly, otherwise you’d come across as strange, or in the worst of cases, suspicious. It came to you as both a blessing and a curse when the archer smirked at you, amused; the confident, alluring curve of his lips made you shiver as you danced, and you were taken rather by surprise when he spun you delicately before holding you even closer to him, as the music in the background sounded like stars dropping on a lake.

“I…” your gaze fell on his cheekbone, causing you to chuckle nervously. “I’m sorry about that cut on your cheek. I’m afraid it looks as if it’ll leave a mark.”

To your surprise, he gave a smooth laugh. “I have many, don’t worry.”

Dancing with him softened your grip on reality, and sooner than you may have wanted, the beautiful piano melody drew to an end. You and the archer gave a final bow at each other before going your separate ways on the floor; you found your way towards Ahsoka, but it wasn’t without looking over your shoulder at him more than once.

“Something you want to tell me?” Ahsoka walked up to you, smiling. “You seemed pretty taken by your mystery man.”

You would have denied it, but the breathless laugh you let out gave you away. Had you been one of the young debutantes, you would have begun fanning yourself, possibly even fainted if only to let him heroically catch you.

“Will you dance with him again?” Ahsoka wiggled her brows at you.

“I’m not sure,” you giggled. “All I know is that it was wonderful.”

Ahsoka gave you an approving smile; she was never one to distrust you, and the previous week had only solidified that. Her cup had emptied while you were dancing with the archer, so she made her way back to the refreshments table with you following behind her.

As you did, you looked over your shoulder again, though this time, you didn’t find the archer with your gaze. You looked at one of the windows, hoping perhaps you’d still see the yellow eyes after your stunt on the dance floor.

But all you saw was darkness.

That one dance had been a highlight, and though your eyes had met with those of the archer a couple more times in the remainder of the soirée, you hadn’t been blessed with his proximity again. The night drew to its close and you were back at your house with Ahsoka, with no suspicions risen, no danger following you.

And yet, you sat in your bed, sleepless in the dark. There was less than an hour left of Samhain, and out there in the forest, a magic remained beckoning you to step outside. In a fit, you gathered your cloak and silently stepped out of the house, making your way through the forest towards the remains of Redwood House.

It was still a place of magic; you could feel it when you arrived. And, despite everything, you didn’t want to end Samhain without somehow visiting your coven.

The only source of light was the torch in front of you, and you noticed how dark it truly was without the light of the Moon. It seems there was no escaping the fact which that darkness represented, the dark times you and your fellow witches had been shrouded with against your will.

You thought back to the confidence you felt back at the Emperor’s ball, the way you’d told Ahsoka you’d take power from him, that he couldn’t take anything away from you so long as he didn’t know what you were. But there, standing in the darkness among the ruins of the beautiful Redwood House, you felt differently. You wouldn’t claim that you didn’t mean what you said; you did, more than anything.

You just didn’t know if it would ever amount to anything other than not letting the Emperor catch you, and that was something you weren’t fully alright with.

A twig snapped behind you, and you turned around, aiming your torch at the source of the sound. Could it be another witch? An animal? Or perhaps someone dangerous who would discover you and turn you in? You looked closely into the darkness in search of yellow eyes, finding hope within yourself.

Soon, however, you were met with the figure of a witch hunter, and yet, you managed to relax.

He looked at you not unlike he had when you’d danced with him, and his brown eyes looked down at the ground covered in ashen wood. His confidence faded when he looked at you, apologetically, returning to seriousness.

“Why have you come?” The archer asked you.

“Why have you followed?” You countered. “You’ve completed your mission here, you’re standing on the evidence. Why come back?”

He chuckled. “I got the feeling that a certain little witch would be stubborn enough to come here tonight.”

“Why tonight?” You asked, defensively. “Of all nights, why this night?”

“I’m a hunter of your kind,” he replied calmly. “We were told of any… important dates witches have. We’ve been ordered to hunt on those nights.”

You felt your body going cold. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, his voice smooth and coiled. He took a couple of paces closer to you, and you didn’t move away from him. The archer looked up at the pitch black sky as though he were lost in it, and oddly, you saw a bit of yourself in him.

“No moon tonight,” he commented.

“She’s there,” you replied. “She always is, she just isn’t shining right now.”

When your words were spoken, you two met eyes again, and only then you realized how close he was to you. His usually hard gaze had softened, and he looked at you as if he were trying to figure you out. After what felt like an eternity, his lips curved the same way they had back when you were dancing, but he managed to return himself to seriousness soon enough.

“Look, you shouldn’t be here,” he told you. “A horde of hunters will be here in less than an hour, and they’ll take you in for interrogation in the best of cases if you’re found.”

You wanted to trust him, to heed his words. You wanted to get out of there, and tell him to come with you, to not concern himself with the Emperor and his legions. But a part of you hesitated; you’d encountered this man on the night all this terror began, after all.

“What is your name?” He asked you.

Finally, you took a step back, your figure hunching in the slightest.

“How do I know I can trust you?” You whispered.

The archer wouldn’ question your doubts regarding him; you’d met him with his bow pulled on you, after all. He didn’t try to get closer to you, but you watched as he reached into one of the pockets on his vest and pulled out a tiny crystal attached to a chain. You couldn’t believe your eyes at first—it looked like a quartz, one of the most prominent crystals in a witch’s world. You paid close attention to it, and you couldn’t help but stare at it when you realized it was indeed a quartz.

Astounded, you met eyes with him again.

“Where did you get that?” You asked.

“It’s been with me for years,” he said softly. “I didn’t pry it off anyone you know, relax.”

You knew he was kidding, but your subconscious verified you’d never seen any fellow witches wearing a quartz necklace like that one.

“Why do you have it?” You asked him.

The archer finally sighed and let the hand holding the necklace drop at his side. “I’m not a stranger to magic.”

“Then why’d you burn this place down?” You challenged.

His gaze darkened as it averted from you, as though a phantom had slithered in front of him, freezing him with its presence.

“I had orders.”

The look he had in his brown eyes when he said the words wasn’t that of a man who’d followed them gladly. Then, when he finally looked at you again, seemingly snapping out of his trance, he held the quartz out again.

“The person who gave this to me said it’s for protection,” he said. “I…”

“You’re giving it to me?” You whispered.

He hesitated, looking away from you. “I guess I am.”

The archer then walked up to you and put the quartz in your hands, sealing your fingers around it. When he touched you, you felt the familiar heat, and you looked up at him with big eyes sparkling, suddenly compelled to embrace him, if only in gratitude.

He stared back at you, and you wondered if he felt the same.

“I have no desire to hurt you,” he broke the silence. “And that is why I’m begging you to leave now.”

You gave him a slow nod and turned around, and you were about to walk away before you stumbled to a stop, turning back to look at the archer one more time before telling him your name. His gaze fell on you again when you said it, and you noticed a brief smile appear on his lips at the sound of it.

“Crosshair,” he responded with his own name.

You managed a soft smile back, pleased to finally know his name as well. But you also knew it would be best for you to leave, and you were in no position to take more risks. Finally, you turned around and, clutching the quartz in your hand, you disappeared into the forest.

Taglist: @coffeyorky @and-claudia @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @stardust9905 @stardustbee @misogirl828 @nunanuggets

#night personified series #moonstrider writes #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #darth maul x reader #maul x reader

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sharpen-your-hatchet · 2 years

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Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 13

Description: Now aged 22, Wednesday Addams is an up-and-coming author. Her time at Nevermore is well behind her, and she is alone, and that suits her just fine...But when a 'new' neighbour shows up in her apartment building, she'll truly be tested on whether her "bad habit" of caring truly has been broken. (Hint: It hasn't.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Teens & Up (subject to change in future)

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Date.

D a t e.

A simple yet powerful word; the word now stuck in Wednesday’s head. Thirty minutes have passed since the phone call with her mother ended, and she finds herself sitting, staring at the ceiling. She should be getting ready… but she’s stuck. Just thinking - Thinking about that ridiculous word.

Date.

She and Enid are meeting up. That much is true, but it is NOT a date. It can’t be. They are friends… and barely so, at that. Wednesday cannot even begin to consider anything more than a friendship at this point regardless. It has been a long and painful road to get to where she is and she is already exhausted from navigating it. There are hurdles she has jumped in the last week that she has not approached in years and frankly, it has been quite enough. She is content in approaching this friendship and thinks it silly - nay, insane - to carelessly toss out the word ‘date’ as if it’s just another goal to aspire to. Rest assured, it is not a goal of hers.

Date. Pfft.

Wednesday thinks her mother is cruel for putting such a thought into her head. Which is fitting, to be fair. Love and cruelty may as well be one and the same with her family, but this does little to settle the growing frustration at her Mother’s words. Is the constant reminder of her intentions to remain alone not enough?

Wednesday huffs out a small sigh.

“This is pointless.” She mumbles to herself.

And it’s true. Just because they are her mother’s words, does not allow them freedom to writhe under her skin like parasites. It is time for her to ignore it; move forward.

Wednesday pulls herself from the floor. She traipses around, stringing together an outfit. Her and Enid’s meeting place is a sushi restaurant - Nothing fancy, but certainly more formal than Wednesday’s regular coffee bar. As such, she smartens up a little; redoes her braids, and reapplies her makeup. Casually, of course. Wednesday simply wishes to look presentable; as an Addams, she is always aware of not being underdressed.

And to reiterate (once again!): It is not a date, and she’s going to stop thinking about it. Wednesday doesn’t want it to be a date, anyway. Courting another person is an old fashioned patriarchal tradition and Wednesday wishes - more than anything - to be as far from such traditions as possible.

And it is not because it’s Enid. Enid is, by all accounts, an objectively good person. She would perhaps make a good match for anyone - Well, someone who is looking to date, that is. Which Wednesday is not.

Enid is strong willed, intelligent, and attractive. She will find someone to date in this miserable city soon. Pretty girls like her always find someone to date: no doubt some instagram famous influencer with a million brainless followers. It’s wretched to think about.

Wednesday blinks back her disgust at the imagery in her head. Enid being the living embodiment of a golden retriever is quite enough; Wednesday cannot stand the thought of another one by her side…

She glances at herself in the mirror.

Pale, perfectly symmetrical hair, and not a touch of makeup out of place.

She looks half dead. Like an embalmed corpse prepared for presentation.

Perfect.

And as if on cue, a text message pings through to her phone.

‘Hey Wends, im just finishing work! Will b there in 20 mins :)’

Wednesday types back a quick reply.

‘Thank you for the update. I shall prepare to leave.’

Wednesday takes one last look in the mirror. Dropping her neutral expression into her signature scowl, she gives a small nod of approval: She’s ready.

Now, the walk to the restaurant takes approximately 16 minutes by foot. When accounting for her higher than average walk speed, Wednesday knows that means 13 & ½ minutes, so she leaves her apartment promptly to make good time. Her Addams’ family values once again assist her, knowing full well that arriving early is good etiquette.

The journey itself is uneventful. It’s late and also a weekday so the general day-to-day commuters have long since gone home, meaning the streets are quiet…well, as quiet as New York gets, anyway. Wednesday is glad for it. She finds the crowds excessive.

Despite the lower foot traffic, Wednesday still gets a chance to play her usual game - picking out faces, envisioning their violent deaths, or tragic backstory for later use in her book. It is a welcome distraction to keep her thoughts from wavering back to the in-depth analysis it had previously stuck itself on.

Wednesday, in fact, barely registers the distance she’s walked until her feet find themselves coming to a stop outside the buzzing neon sign of the restaurant.

She pauses, exiting her thoughtful trance. She checks her phone and true to form, 13 & ½ minutes have passed. Perfectly executed.

She looks around and Enid is nowhere to be seen, so Wednesday takes initiative and heads inside to get a table.

Once sat, Wednesday notes that the restaurant seems purposefully chosen. It is not excessively bright nor busy - There’s a few quiet patrons scattering the various tables, but they blend into the subtle decor. Wednesday is able to order a drink whilst she waits without any excessive conversation, and as she sips, she feels an appreciation for Enid’s evident care put into her choice of meeting place.

There’s a subtle warmth in Wednesday’s chest as she considers the effort. Whilst it is a strange feeling, Wednesday is quick to remind herself that this is an effect of friendship. She must grow accustomed to it.

Enid arrives moments later. She strides into the restaurant looking somewhat weary from what the day has served her, but is still cheery nonetheless. She smiles sweetly at Wednesday and sits down with a relieved sigh. Wednesday does not return the smile. Although, her gaze softens slightly, which may as well be the same thing.

“Hey Wends,” Enid greets, “I’m so glad I asked you to meet me here, I am starving.”

“Hello Enid,” Wednesday replies, “Did you have a busy day?”

It is a thoughtful question; a gentle enquiry into Enid’s day. Though this may seem simple to most, to Wednesday it is perhaps one of the biggest things she has had to re-learn when it comes to caring about another person. It is not enough to simply acknowledge that caring - it must be expressed. Supposedly, most people enjoy being asked about their day.

Of course, it doesn’t come naturally to Wednesday at all so her tone is stilted, but she has asked all the same.

Enid notices immediately, and her smile has a hint of something extra that Wednesday cannot discern… she is impressed, perhaps? Wednesday is not sure, but the expression doesn’t seem bad by any means.

“Yeah it was pretty crazy,” Enid hums, “And y’know, it’s nearly the full moon, so I’m just hungry all the time.”

The conversation doesn’t proceed much further as they are promptly approached by a waitress. The two deliberate their food options briefly before deciding on a platter between them, with some individual side dishes. Whilst Wednesday would not typically choose to share food, she can only guess it’s more normal for friends to do such things, so she pushes back the minor discomfort. She would not be caught dead doing this for anyone else.

As the waitress walks away, Enid offers Wednesday an empathetic look.

“I can tell what you’re doing.” She says knowingly.

Wednesday’s glances down to stare at the table. Looks like the honesty begins now. That familiar tightness in her chest makes an appearance again - A stark reminder of how she will continue to fight her nature when it comes to sharing her more emotional-leaning thoughts… but she hasn’t spent the last 6 days or so figuring things out for nothing. So she will continue, despite it all.

“I am attempting to ‘make an effort’.” Wednesday states, “Our conversations over text have been quite informative. Though I neglect to express my inner-most thoughts about it, I would like to succeed in being a good friend this time.”

Enid breaks out into a smile again. She is shaking her head slightly, as in disbelief.

“I appreciate it… but it’s weird for real, like, who are you and what have you done with Wednesday?” She jokes.

Wednesday’s expression drops into a death glare.

“Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

Enid smirks.

“You got it” She hums.

There’s a moment of eye contact as Enid - without thinking - places her hand on Wednesday’s. It is a simple affectionate gesture that holds some implication of “your secret is safe with me.” Frankly, it’s nothing out of the ordinary for someone like her…but it is not something Wednesday is able to welcome, let alone reciprocate. It’s too much; too soon.

Wednesday snatches her hand away; Enid’s eyes bulge in realisation. She blushes furiously, anxiously pulling her hand back to her side of the table.

“Shit- Ah. Right. Not a touchy person. Sorry.” She mumbles.

Wednesday holds onto the bubble of irritation that follows the interaction. She breathes out a tense breath, steadying herself. She will not snap at her. It isn’t fair if she does - after all, Enid has been more than patient with her.

“It was a mistake.” Wednesday acknowledges, “We are still adjusting.”

Enid visibly relaxes, and her smile creeps back onto her face, albeit shyly.

“You’re right.”

There’s a moment of quiet. The waitress brings over Enid’s drink, whilst Wednesday nurses her own. Despite the silence, it is comfortable, as they bathe in the ambience of their surroundings.

Wednesday admits to herself that it is actually quite pleasant. It seems their communication over the last few days has built a solid foundation between her and Enid - and now, neither of them are scrambling as they had been prior.

As Enid swallows a mouthful of her drink, she makes a small ‘hmph!’ noise to grab Wednesday’s attention.

“Y’know, I just realised…I’ve never told you about my job, have I?” Enid asks, frowning slightly in thought.

Wednesday scowls herself and realises that - in fact - Enid has not. It’s quite strange, come to think of it.

“You have not,” Wednesday confirms, “It is a line of conversation that has escaped us both it seems.”

Enid hums amusedly. She takes another sip of her drink, eyeing Wednesday thoughtfully as she considers her words.

“I’m a journalist.” Enid says with a proud smile, “Entry level so far…but, it’s going well.”

Wednesday’s expression softens. Though she will not smile for anyone, she finds herself reasonably glad to hear Enid is not stuck in some dreary dead-end office job or soul crushing retail position. Such careers are beneath her. Journalism suits Enid, if her incessant gossip blog from their teens years is anything to go off.

“It’s kinda funny actually, how we both followed our passions from school.” Enid adds.

“It is to our advantage. Not many figure out their lives so early.” Wednesday muses.

Enid agrees with a hum.

Their food then arrives moments later. Convenient timing, as it provides Wednesday a moment to assess the situation so far. It’s going well, she thinks, better than she could’ve expected. She had thought it would be a more tense and awkward atmosphere due to her own difficulties but - yet again - Enid comfortably fits against her jagged edges. Though, Wednesday will give herself credit for making a conscious effort to file those edges down.

As they eat, the conversation continues, and it flows unlike any conversation Wednesday has held in years. It is not flawless; there are moments of pauses; of uncertain social cues and macabre deadpan that doesn’t land quite right…but, it flows nonetheless. It is as though it shouldn’t work, but it does. Enid holds Wednesday’s attention with her grin, laughing and smirking along, occasionally teasing Wednesday’s nature - And Wednesday returns with her own version of enthusiasm: killer glares, murderous snark, and just occasionally a softened gaze or two.

Now, it cannot be overstated that ‘natural’ is the incorrect word for these interactions. They are still constructed and carefully weighed, at least on Wednesday’s behalf… but she will quietly admit that by Enid’s virtue, it is becoming increasingly easier to handle as time progresses.

As such - They eat. They talk.

And it feels perfectly fine.

In fact, over two hours pass in the blink of an eye. Enid is midway through an anecdote when they are approached by the staff who regretfully announce they are closing for the evening.

Enid glances down at their long-since finished food and drinks. She pulls out her phone and gawks at the time, blushing slightly. Wednesday scowls but thinks better of questioning it. Having a look at her own phone, she suddenly understands - The time is fast approaching midnight.

“I guess time got away from us!” Enid laughs, “Can’t believe it’s been nearly two and a half hours.”

“It is strange to lose track of time like this.” Wednesday says, “This usually only happens to me during tasks I enjoy such as my writing sessions, or my occasional visits to lay in a morgue cold room.”

Enid grins.

“You realise you just admitted to enjoying my company, right?”

Wednesday glares at Enid blankly.

She blinks once, then twice.

Well shit, she kinda did.

“Your company tonight has not been torturous.” Wednesday states.

It is the most she’ll give for now. It is the most she can give. Fortunately, Enid seems to understand and she doesn’t press further, simply moving onto paying the bill and making sure they can vacate the restaurant ASAP to avoid further inconveniencing the staff.

As they walk back to the apartment block, there is another comfortable silence. There’s occasional interjections: small stories of Enid’s new experiences of the city, and Wednesday’s gruesome trivia about which alleyways have recently had stabbings.

Wednesday also offers information on safe routes for Enid to take during her werewolf outings, and though Wednesday considers it just wise tidbits of knowledge, Enid’s gentle smile as she listens tells Wednesday that she has likely done something thoughtful without realising.

And what a peculiar realisation it is. That strange warmth in her chest returns for a moment, but it is fleeting. Wednesday barely even gets to acknowledge it, as it disappears upon their arrival to the apartment block a few minutes later.

She and Enid walk upstairs together.

“Well, it’s been great hanging out again,” Enid says cheerfully, lingering on the bottom step that leads up to her level, “I think it went well.”

Wednesday nods.

“I agree. It was a marked improvement over our last in-person interaction”

Enid lets out a slight chuckle. She lingers for a moment, looking down at Wednesday with a thoughtful look. Though Wednesday cannot be certain, she swears Enid’s gaze drops even further but it happens so quickly that it may have simply been a blink and trick of the light.

It is probably nothing, she decides.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Enid hums as she begins to slowly traipse up the steps.

“Of course.” Wednesday replies.

And with that, Enid disappears up the stairwell.

Wednesday wordlessly returns to her apartment. She steps inside the pitch black interior, sighing with relief as the cold air hits her skin. Despite the less-than-terrible time she’s had over the last few hours, it is always a welcome moment to be back home, so she can detox from the colourful outside world.

Wednesday makes no hesitance in changing out of her outfit and settling onto the couch for some light reading before bed - She’s recently found great interest in a book about torture methods from the medieval era, finding it to be the perfect relaxing read after a busy day.

Unexpectedly, her phone buzzes with an incoming message.

Considering she and Enid just bid farewell, it seems strange for a text so soon. Perhaps this is just a normal friendship thing that she has forgotten about? Regardless, she grabs her phone from the coffee table and takes a look.

‘Just wanna say thank u for tonight. You rlly tried and I appreciate it.’

Wednesday stares at the text.

She feels her chest tighten.

And because of that oh-so strange recurring feeling, she neglects to notice the tiniest curve of a smile that suddenly plays on her lips.

#wenclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #fanfic #AO3

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negrek · 2 years

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One of my new year's resolutions was to talk about Salvage a little bit more. Chapter commentaries are fun, but they're pretty high-effort, and I think I'd like to put some shorter, but more frequent updates out there, too. I've been doing regular word sprints on Discord and posting a little about what I did during each, but it would be nice to put something a little more permanent out there, too.

I recently posted Salvage Chapter 52 (working on that update post and commentary, heh), and after a break to work on a one-shot for a bit, I started in on 53 tonight. This chapter has four scenes, and I'd already written the last (and most important) one. Since 52 is actually a smash-up of what used to be 52 + 53, I'd actually put that final scene in a document for Chapter 54. First order of business was just to rename that and then go out and find any other relevant bits I'd written.

I was thinking I'd written two of the scenes for the chapter, and that there was one in particular that was an important one and would likely be tough to pull off. But it turns out I actually wrote at least some version of all three remaining scenes for NaNo last year! I had absolutely no memory of this. And pulling them all into one doc, they only added up to about 6k words! A nice, manageable chapter size, though I expect I'll end up adding a bit before we reach the final total.

While thinking over this chapter I also adjusted some of my plans for the upcoming arc as well. Previously, I'd expected this arc to run through Chapter 59. Then I combined chapters 52 and 53, moving it up to 58. But looking at things again tonight, I think I'm going to need to insert another chapter--things take a turn too quickly late in the arc, I think. So the ending's moved back to 59 again! It's quite close, honestly, but it feels so far away.

...this "quick update" turned out to be something substantial enough that it could be published on Dreamwidth, didn't it? Oy vey.

#writing #fanfic #salvage fanfic #salvage talk

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years

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A Cure for Insomnia CH 1.

This is a reader insert I originally started posting on AO3. I’m cross posting here because I know some of the fandom still lives here.

Quick Disclaimer:

This is a fic I'm writing for my own comfort.

I was inspired by RaeBees (you can check out their works over on Quotev and AO3), and how they characterize the "proxies". Having always seen the characters different than most of the fandom I've interacted with I never really shared my thoughts until now. This work is only placed in the Creepypasta tag so it reaches its demographic. However, I am fully aware of the fact that no main character is considered a Pasta.

It may also appear to lean more Toby X Protag in the beginning but end goal is protag with all three, and Brian and Tim already in a relationship. How I picture it now is a slowburn but Toby and Protag will be in a friends with benefits relationship before either has any feelings, so I think that counts. Some may be confused by the asexual protag tag but it'll be explained in story, as an Ace myself I get frustrated with media that only show one version and say it goes for us all. That being said I don't represent the whole Ace community but I hope to provide a bit more representation for some others out there.

Protag will be depicted as agender, and will have a few tics that stem from their Autism. Again I don't speak for any others with Autism but I hope to provide some representation for those in similar positions.

Tags will be updated as the story progresses. Canon-Typical violence and mental health issues are to be expected if you feel uncomfortable with those aspects I advise you to not engage. This story will also have a lot of NSFW themes and scenes so I highly discourage anyone under the age of 18 from viewing this work. You will get warnings on chapters with NSFW and I will make it skippable as well.

I'm also very nitpicky and gave the main characters birthdays just because it irritates me when it gets mentioned once and you have to do the math or imagine your own conversation when a birthday was too close to a character's.

Tim January 1st, home state Alabama

Toby April 28th, home state Virginia (saw this years ago no clue if it's accurate)

Protag May 13th, home state Virginia

Brian May 23rd, home state Alabama

Connor the service dog July 18th, home state Kentucky

I've referred to Protag as Protag here but in story they're referred to as YN.

Everything felt impossibly dull; your senses, the dark room you're currently in, the noise coming from the fan just to the left of the bed on which you laid. Turning to the window beside your head you stare out into that weird midnight summer sky. More of a gray than a true dark blue night, cast in an orange glow that made the night seem closer to day than it truly was. While the time was just half past twelve, you felt it may have been more accurate to say it was closer to four in the morning.

You're exhausted but that true sort of exhaustion where whatever energy you have left buzzes all around. It consumes your entire being, dances between being deafeningly loud in your ears to giving you twitches in your legs. You'd laid down hours ago thinking you'd be tired enough to sleep once your tics started to spasm in closer intervals, but to no avail were you able to rest. That buzzing preventing you from dreamland. Maybe the hum of your body was right, you didn't really need to sleep, you just wanted it to feel normal.

Knowing the battle had already been lost you push yourself off the bed and grab a pair of shorts off the floor. Slipping them on you contemplate your options for the night. Going into town was out since it was Sunday...well Monday now, but there would be nothing but bars open and you were never one for drinking. And as fun as a drive sounds right now, you feel the buzzing in your bones grow stronger, you need to move. A late night hike should keep you occupied, with it being so quiet and the middle of the night you wouldn't even have to take your headphones to cancel out the sounds of other people, you aren't likely to run into many people tonight.

Deciding on a hike you grab a mask and car keys and make your way to your yellow Kia Soul. A going away present from your parents that they gave you the moment you got your driver's license after your 24th birthday. Having anxiety throughout your life you'd never been in the head space to start driving till later on, and while you still don't enjoy driving you are pretty good at it even with your “late” start. Surfing through radio stations as you let the car warm up you find your latest obsession, it's a conspiracy theory podcast that someone in Kepler managed to blast through the limited air ways of the town. Impressive considering Kepler was in a radio quiet zone and even cell phones couldn't work in the small town, luckily you lived just outside of the zone so you could send texts and call your parents every weekend.

It seemed today's episode was a rerun, Mothman: Murderer, Man, or Myth. It was actually one of your favorites, the paranormal stories tended to be more entertaining than hearing about how a man could murder sixteen people while working as a cop ruining evidence to lead the others off his trail. Humans could be more vial and cruel than any little gray alien from the future or tall Fresno Nightcrawler could ever be. And they weren't as entertaining to hear about, nor were their exploits as impressive. You could always see patterns, either connecting clues first or finding connections no one else saw, it was never hard to tell where a certain case would lead so you'd always end up disappointed in humanity when they overlooked such obvious clues. Though that often led you down a path of deep diving for information to see just how obvious it was, more often than not you'd find that the most logical conclusion was shady public officers. After investigating so many cold cases you're sure if you're ever in trouble you'll never involve the police, in the end they'd probably just ignore you and rule your case closed if anything ever did happen to you.

'I'd haunt them if they did.' You decide and you shift gears and begin driving to the Monongahela National Forest, as the timeline of Mothman sightings and events play out before for your ears.

Instead of going through town and possibly loosing the signal of the show, you drive on the old dirt road that runs along the very edge of the town, partially covered in trees. This over grown road is the main reason Kepler doesn't see many visitors, the second someone makes their way onto it coming off the interstate they floor it until they see civilization. Over the few months you've been here you've nearly been run right off the road by spooked tourists, trying to escape whatever ghouls their wild imaginations created. The only real thing on this road was a mini mart gas station, and even though it was shady as hell the cashier didn't bug you too much when you came in in the dead of night. Plus they had a cat, how could you not stop in and say hi to little ole Magnolia?

Speaking of which you should probably get a drink for your hike, you could already feel your throat drying out. Turning into the parking lot you're happy to see no other cars around, putting your face mask on you make your way inside. As usual the store is dead at this time, and Ronnie is manning the desk. What's unusual is the man also behind the counter, he has dark brown hair that he's tied into a small and low ponytail, thick sideburns frame his face. You immediately take note of the slight imperfections of his face, most would see the slit in his eyebrow as following the current trend or even just a genetic thing, but you can see the slightly off color of a healed scar that starts just above his eyebrow and ends mid eyelid, he has a few smaller discolorations on his crooked nose, you'd guess he's had it broken at least twice.

Briefly taking a glance to his brown eyes before looking away, today is not an eye contact day. Nodding in their directions, the best acknowledgment you can give right now, you make your way to the freezers. From the freezer section you can hear Ronnie “explain” you.

“That's YN, a regular mainly at night though. A bit skittish and rarely ever says more than 'thanks have a nice day'” Even though she's whispering you can hear everything. Including the high octave her voice takes to mimic you, it feels more like mocking.

If being mocked hadn't already put you on edge the eyes boring into you have. The eyes may not be roaming over your body but the icky crawling of your skin sure makes it feel that way. The feeling of being put under a microscope has always made you sick, the stares, the leers and sneers, and the judgment just makes you want to implode on the spot. Cease existence, be swallowed into the abyss. You're about to set yourself into an anxiety attack with all these thoughts.

'Mask, mask, mask' you repeat over and over in your head, it's the only thing you can focus on. You are wearing a mask, there is one thing they can't perceive, the face is the most important for humans to perceive, your mask protects you.

Without looking you pull a water bottle from the cooler. You don't think you like this brand but the sports mouth makes up for it, and you can't focus enough to grab another. As the imaginary spiders crawl their way under your skin and your breath hitches you make your way over to the counter head down, never looking up at the employees beyond the counter. Your vision is blurring in time with the beating of your heart, you can't tell if it's due to nerves or from being up for five days in a row.

“Hey YN, how're you?” Ronnie asks, her tone is different from the past times you've been in. It's higher and has a lilt in it that you'd expect from a teasing friend. But Ronnie isn't a friend and has never spoken to you like this, you hate it. You nod to politely move on with the process, between the crawling of your skin and the buzzing underneath it you feel sick. And you're now very aware of the existence of your eyelids, you try to focus on ignoring that awareness. You need to move.

“Hmm, that's good. Anyway this is Tim! He's just started so go easy on him.” you hear the sound of a hand hitting fabric and assume she's patted Tim's shoulder as she introduced Tim to you. Why was she doing this, what purpose could introducing you two have? You nod again, was anyone going to ring you out?

“Hi, this all?” a deep voice asked, it isn't extremely deep more of a standard baritone that has a slight raspy quality, probably a reformed smoker. You don't smell cigarettes currently so he could've quit after years. Unfortunately despite your efforts to stave them off your blinking tics emerge. Making it difficult to keep your eyes open for longer than a nano second.

Startled and ticcing you look up and catch his eyes, you see pity in them, before casting your glance back to the counter. You can never tell what's worse people seeing you as weird or seeing you as something needing to be fixed. Nodding again, Tim tells you the total; a dollar fifty eight, and you hand him two dollars from your wallet.

Tim doesn't ask if you want the receipt or a bag, he prints out the receipt and hands you your change. The change goes immediately into the cat food fund for Magnolia. She got diagnosed with diabetes about a month ago and having worked in shelters and pet stores you know just how expensive her prescription food is. After folding the receipt into your wallet, Tim gently slides the water bottle over to you.

“Have a good night.” he says it so low and gentle, as if he thinks you'll shatter in front of him. As kind as the gesture seems, you aren't that fragile...or maybe you are if you have to keep repeating 'mask' over and over in your head to ground yourself. With a final nod you turn and make your way to the door, and just as you open it you hear Ronnie call out.

“Awwww, c'mon YN at least say 'Hi' to Tim.” You really don't like how she squeaked out 'hi'.

Taking a deep breath you prepare yourself, you'll show them both you can do this simple task. Even if you can't stop blinking long enough to see straight. Once you've steadied yourself you turn and look at Tim. He's sending you a look that says 'You don't have to' all that's missing is a slow head shake to complete his unease with this “peer pressure”.

But you can do this you can say 'Hi, Tim.' Two words super simple, nothing complex like 'Hi, Tim, nice to meet you.' and so much better than the option of your next meeting saying 'Hi, Tim. Sorry for spazzing out the other night.'. Yup you can do this just breathe, you open your mouth and...and you've forgotten what to say. Looking like a deer in headlights, well at least the tics stopped, you say the first thing that pops in.

“Mask.” You've said it loud and clear both cashiers heard you.

Tim stares with wide eyes and you see Ronnie failing to hide her laughter. Out of all the ways this could've gone this was probably the best outcome for her. The blinking has started up again, this time growing more frequent. You can't even hold your eyes open, to the two cashiers it must look like you're in pain or crying. And while you want to die of embarrassment, crying is a bit of an extreme for you.

So with red face and the inability to see you leave through the door, and try to make your way back to your car. Once in you lock the doors, switch the car on, and rest your head on the steering wheel. Out of every way this stop could've gone, being perceived by a new comer and Ronnie was not what you expected. While this hadn't been the worst five minutes or so of your life, it definitely would be another thing keeping you up at night for the next twenty years.

Calming down in the cool quiet dark of your car your slowly brought back to the world by the beginning of a new episode. This one talking about the Tailypo legend. A favorite story of yours from when you were a kid living on the coast of Virginia. So with yet another deep breath and the wave of nostalgia, you pull out of the parking lot and slowly coast down the old dirt road. Heading yet again for the Monongahela forest.

It's nearly two in the morning when you roll up to see an RV parked by the forgotten entrance of the park. It isn't surprising at all to find an RV out here since the Monongahela Forest is one of the most beautiful parks you've ever been to. You also don't think anything of them being parked by this unused entrance because you use it all the time since finding it accidentally. Figuring they just wanted to camp and be left to their own devices rather than use the RV sites and be bothered with other campers here for the summer.

Climbing out of your car you notice the RV isn't new by any means but it isn't a total rust bucket either, looks like it's been passed around throughout the years. There isn't anything to suggest it's been here a while, nothing left set up outside, must have just gotten into town then. You do happen to notice dog tracks around the sandy dirt you've parked in, good to know they have a dog before you slammed your car door. Closing the door gently behind you so you don't startle a pup and wake up it's owner or owners, you make your way through the woods. No real direction in mind, with no real thought in your head. Just the thought of moving and to keep on moving.

You could walk the same path every time you came through and always find something different. In fact that's exactly what happens, you're almost positive that you've deepened the imprint of the path just from walking through several times a week. Following the same winding path you usually do, climbing over the fallen tree, and through a scattering of blueberry thicket's you find yourself on the edge of one of the forest's many streams. It's your favorite spot in the forest so far, and about as far as you've gotten considering these hikes of yours take place during the dead of night.

The wind picks up and sends a chill through you, taking that as a sign you slide down to sit by the stream. Vans placed to your side as you sink your feet into the cool water. It's peaceful out here, so cool, and quiet, save for the slight noises the stream makes, various bubbling and drips. You try to think on things like your recent move, your job, the embarrassing 'mask' incident, just life in general. But you can't seem to form a single thought, this happens a lot, you've recently been conscious of the fact that you've been running on auto pilot for the past two months, hell a lot longer than that. You think everyone must get like this from time to time, but you think you've always been this way. Keen to dissociating and slipping in and out of existence.

It's quite nice really, except for the times like right now where you'd love to figure out why the silence in your head is so painfully loud. The more you think on it the louder it gets and the stronger the buzzing under your skin feels. And right now the static in your mind has been getting louder and louder for the past few minutes. You feel your head jerk to the right of it's own accord, moving back in place it happens for a second time, and then a third, then jerks up, before jerking a forth time to the right effectively cracking you neck.

“There we go.” you mumble, you can relax a bit as the verbal tic indicates the end of this round of tics.

Sighing you look at the sky...that can't be right. The sky has been painted it's fresh baby blues for the day, but again that can't be right. You just got to the stream, that path is a thirty minute walk meaning it should be just about two thirty in the morning, but the sky suggests it's five or six at the latest. Reaching for your water bottle you find it empty next to you. You didn't fall asleep you know that much, perhaps you did dissociate tonight. Well this hike was disappointing if you knew you were going to dissociate you'd have saved yourself that embarrassment and stayed home. Maybe done some painting or tidied up.

Sighing you push yourself off the ground, collecting you vans you're about to put them on when you notice a figure off in the distance. You freeze out of shock and stare at the figure, it stares back. The figure is about ten yards away, god your near sighted ass should really remember to not leave your glasses in the car when hiking. The figure starts to make it's way to you and after a few steps you realize it hasn't moved from it's spot. Rolling your eyes you ignore the hallucination.

You'd really needed to get sleep last night, today is day six of no sleep and though you haven't had many episodes these past few days, you have a feeling they'll start to get more prominent today. Hopefully tonight you can manage to get some rest, the longer you go without sleep the more realistic the hallucinations become. But for today you're content with the knowledge that it's just shadow like beings that you'll be seeing.

After putting on your shoes you start the thirty minute hike back to your car. You're thankful for the weather in Kepler, nothing like back on the coast. Here you can go for a morning hike through the forest while a gentle breeze passes by and the sun starts to give the area a pleasant warmth. Back on the coast you couldn't run and grab the mail without getting drenched in moisture from either sweat, humidity, or a mixture of both. The coast sucks, hell Virginia sucks altogether, you're glad to be in Kepler.

“I want to go home, home.” you say out of nowhere.

Before you reach the entrance you hear barking, oh the RV campers must be up. Should you be careful not to scare them, or just walk normally and say 'Good morning' in passing, maybe just nod your head in greeting. Oh and you've stopped just beside the entrance as you got lost in your rambling. You didn't mean to come to a stop here, and as you try to move you notice how silent it's gotten. Did the dog go inside, maybe they've already passed...no it's too quiet for that. No the silence is oppressive like the one you deal with nightly, there's a reason for the silence. The situation's making you feel uneasy, but that could be the sleep deprivation talking.

You're about to brush it off and move when you hear a whispered, “Seriously man, I don't think anyone's out there. Let's get inside.”

There's a noise of agreement before you hear shuffling. Oh no, you zoned out and now you look like a weirdo stalker. Just perfect, maybe if you wait around a little more you'll seem more normal or at least feel normal. Not knowing how long to wait you walk along the tree line for a bit, looking at the ground as you do making sure you won't step on any snakes. In you quest to not step on any snakes you spot something suspiciously off white. It seems purposefully buried under a dead blueberry bush and some fallen branches.

Having listened to too many true crime shows, you know better than to implicate yourself in a murder. Grabbing a stick off the ground you gently brush the foliage away from the supposed corpse. No way, you can't believe your luck, it's an actual fucking skull. An intact skull of a deer! That is so cool, you've only seen taxidermists on TikTok getting so lucky and finding these dudes. Since the jaw bone is connected by tissue it of course isn't with the skull but maybe it's close by? Clearly this got planted or hidden by someone, maybe they were planning on pranking a friend by 'uncovering' a skull later. Oh well, finders keepers and all that, you have way better plans for this guy, hopefully you can find that jaw bone.

You set off searching through the foliage and near by bushes with the branch while holding the skull in your other arm. After searching about three feet around and finding no more bones you decide that this is the only part of the deer's skeleton in this area. A little disappointed but still thrilled with your find, you decide it must be a good time to go back to your car.

Surely you won't look weird now. You a little forager with their treasure in hand. Looks like you'll be busy cleaning, then bleaching, and cleaning these bones today. Is that the order to treat found bones? You aren't sure but you can look into that later. Placing the skull in the trunk so it doesn't roll about and get damaged you make sure it's secure before closing the trunk and getting into your car and locking the doors.

Not once did you notice the pairs of eyes that had been watching you. One watching as you found the deer skull, and the other set seeing you place bones into your car. They kept watching as you fiddled with the radio while the car was starting up. They watched as you pulled out of the sandy dirt lot and drove back down the old road a little faster than before now that you could clearly see.

#creepypasta fanfic #ticci tobyx reader #brain thomas x reader #timothy wright x reader #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #reader insert #no clue if I'm reaching a wider audience than AO3 but I'll try this out #Crossposted #as of now 13 chapters are over on AO3 if you wanted to read #other wise I'll post a chapter every 3 days on here until I catch up with AO3 #Ao3 has priority #A cure for insomnia

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Text

Head Over Feet (2/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other’s orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Since the first chapter seemed to be such a huge hit - I'm dropping this today. This was all originally supposed to be the first chapter anyway! Going forward, I'm going to try to update once a month. Thanks for reading - and I hope you enjoy! :)

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 2: Loser Like Me (Part Two)

Kurt Hummel loves sex. He loves the feeling of strong hands holding his body, rough lips against his skin, and a hard cock buried deep within him. And that morning he had woken up feeling particularly horny. He isn’t sure what exactly he had been dreaming about but his dick aches to be touched. And luckily he shares his bed with a very hot guy who doesn’t mind taking care of it for him.

He and Ian have been together a little over a year now, though this moving in together thing is new and still taking time to get used to. Sex, however, is not an adjustment they need to make. Ian doesn’t seem to mind Kurt waking him up with a hand on his cock, desperate to be fucked. Ian might be a little slow to wake, but not long after they start, Ian’s already pulling Kurt to a quick orgasm; Kurt spilling all over Ian’s fist as Ian pumps his hips into Kurt from behind.

The thing is, as much as Kurt loves sex, he’s not one to draw it out. Kurt finds himself holding steady onto the bed frame, staring at the wallpaper, as Ian takes his time fucking him. And the wallpaper is incredibly ugly. Seriously. He knows that Ian isn’t the one to have picked it out, but it’s a striped puke-green, burnt-orange, and tacky-gold, left over, most likely, from a renovation to the old building from the sixties. It’s a travesty that it’s remained on the wall so long, and if Ian would just fucking come already, he wouldn’t be forced to stare at it for so long.

Kurt fucks his hips back a little, hoping that Ian will pick up the pace. He leans back for a kiss (that wallpaper is seared forever in his head, god) and gives out a little moan. It’s a tiny bit performative, but it seems to do the trick, and Ian’s hips finally begin to snap, pushing him to his own orgasm.

“Fuck, Kurt, I could wake up this way every day for forever,” Ian says, sucking a kiss to his shoulder.

The word ‘forever’ echoes in Kurt’s brain uncomfortably. Kurt turns in Ian’s arms, quieting him with a kiss. “Happy to oblige.”

Ian goes in to deepen the kiss, but Kurt pulls away. Now that he’s feeling a bit satisfied, he wants nothing more than to take a shower and get ready for the day. He’s got about a thousand things to do, and he’s eager to get started. Ian tries to keep him close -- he’s always wanting to make out after sex -- but Kurt manages to slip out of Ian’s light grasp.

“Shower time,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Mmm, let me join you.”

The thought suddenly makes Kurt twitch but he tries not to show it. What is wrong with him? His incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his disheveled dark hair and playfully pleading light eyes wants to join him in the shower for a possible part two of morning sexy times. But having Ian shoved in next to him in their tiny shower stall makes him feel claustrophobic.

He pushes past his discomfort to allow Ian to join him. He even gives in to a little light making-out. But there’s no way sex is happening in that bathroom.

They do their morning routine together, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom. The sink is covered in bottles and sprays, creams and soaps, razors and combs, and they have to reach over each other to grab what they need. Kurt is normally a very organized person, and when he moved in, he took the time to organize a side for each of them. But since then, Ian’s stuff has slowly migrated over to his side, and Ian’s slowly been using the products on Kurt’s side. And mostly, he’d be fine with the sharing if things would just keep their place. However, he doesn’t say anything, enjoying Ian’s good mood.

Ian suggests breakfast, wanting to go to the little bagel shop a few blocks down. He asks Kurt to walk with him but, just wanting a few minutes to check his emails alone, he declines. Ian throws a look of disappointment but heads out, stating he’ll bring Kurt something back. Kurt tries not to feel guilty about it, and reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a few minutes to yourself. Besides, Ian’s still excited that they’re living together. He’ll calm down. Surely. Right?

Ian being gone gives Kurt a few minutes to pick up the apartment. There are clothes discarded in the living room, where they had been left after starting sex on the couch the night before. There’s an old pizza box sitting on the coffee table, a few mugs with half-drunk tea, and a scattering of papers. And underneath a pile of Ian’s sheet music is the mail from the previous week, most of which is Kurt’s. He clenches his jaw as he goes through it, annoyed that he’s just now seeing it.

There are a couple of old bills in here that need to be paid, as well as a bright red envelope that looks like an invitation sent from McKinley High. He looks over the invitation with curiosity, though something else quickly catches his eye. It’s a jewelry catalogue sent to Ian. Specifically, a men’s jewelry catalogue. And Ian doesn’t wear jewelry. Highly suspect of it, he looks it over, and a growing anxiety starts to spread. This could not possibly mean…

The door slams shut and Kurt jumps from his spot on the couch. It’s just Ian home from the bagel shop.

“I got your favorite, multigrain with that fancy whipped cream cheese that you like,” Ian says. He hands him the bag and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to him.

“You didn’t give me my mail,” Kurt grumbles, taking the bag. Then adds a quiet, “thank you.”

Ian shrugs it off. “I figured you’d see it eventually. I’ve been wondering when you’d open that red envelope. I wanna know what it is.”

“Oh,” Kurt places the bag with his breakfast on the coffee table and picks up the envelope from his lap, opening it. He gives it a fond smile. “I guess my old choir director is retiring. There’s a party for him back in Lima.”

“Well, that’s cool,” Ian says, grabbing the invitation out of his hand. “Quaint. I’m guessing you aren’t going? I mean, other than mentioning your dad, I’ve never heard you talk about your time in Ohio. Hell, I’ve never even heard early New York stories. All I know is one day you walked into my piano bar, a full grown man, mysterious and sexy.” Ian wiggles his eyebrows. “Hard to imagine you in high school.”

“Well, I can assure you I was anything but sexy,” Kurt says. A flash of a memory crosses his brain - one of a performance in a warehouse, lots of boys in blazers, and a really uncomfortable situation for young Kurt. He shakes his head, ridding his mind of it.

“So, are you going to go?” Ian asks, far more interested in the idea than Kurt is.

Kurt scrunches his nose at the thought. He hasn’t stepped foot in Ohio for a better part of a decade. There aren’t even people from high school he still talks to, not on a regular basis anyway. It’s sweet of Will Schuester’s family to think of him, but maybe he’s better off sending a card or something.

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, he stares at the invitation, unsure of how he feels about it. “I don’t know.”

***

Wednesdays mean that Ian is home all day. He is a classical pianist by trade and his day job is playing with one of New York’s symphony orchestras. In the evenings, he usually plays gigs at local bars. But on Wednesday, he has time off from both jobs to be home all day. Wednesday used to be the day where Kurt spent all his time with Ian. Now that they live together, Kurt usually spends his Wednesday anywhere but home.

It usually lands him at his own job, running a small theater that he co-owns with his old friend, Elliott Gilbert. Technically, Elliott’s rich grandmother’s money bought the theater, and Kurt had been brought on to manage the projects and productions that happened there. It’s still quite a work in progress, as the building had been nearly condemned when they originally bought it a few years earlier. But with all their hard work, they’re beginning to draw in better productions, and this might be the first year they actually draw a profit.

When he gets in that afternoon, he finds Elliott up in the rafters, working on some of the lights. Kurt watches for a moment as Elliott finishes whatever he’s working on. It’s hard to say, but he has the toolbox with him, so Kurt can only guess it has to do with the lights nearly coming down the other night. They really need to get an electrician in, but Elliott’s pretty handy about these things, and will at least try to do what he can before they have to ask for help.

Kurt watches a good few minutes as Elliott finishes up and comes down the ladder.

“You’re being quiet,” Elliott says, carefully bringing down the toolbox as he reaches the bottom of the ladder. Kurt, hands in pockets, just gives a gentle shrug. “You’re not usually quiet, which means it can only be one of a few things. Something’s up with your dad. You want a favor. Or it’s boyfriend problems.”

“Well, my dad is fine, and I don’t need anything,” Kurt says. “So….”

Elliott lets out a heavy sigh, and places the toolbox on the ground. “It wouldn’t kill you to go to therapy, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist?”

“Alright, so this session is going to cost you three-hundred dollars,” Elliott looks at his watch. “You have twenty minutes. Go.”

Kurt lets out a laugh as he follows Elliott to the edge of the stage. Elliott jumps off but Kurt lowers himself to sit on the edge, his legs hanging off. Elliott makes a shrug for Kurt to get on with it.

“So, I was going through some mail, and I found this jewelry catalogue. It had a lot of men’s engagement rings,” Kurt says. Elliott makes a face as if to say ‘and…?’ Kurt purses his lips. “I think Ian might ask me to marry him.”

“Have you guys even talked about marriage?”

“Definitely not.”

Elliott doesn’t seem at all convinced. “Maybe it was just an ad then. I get shit like that all the time. I somehow managed to be subscribed to a women’s lingerie catalogue for years.”

Kurt still can’t rid himself of the low-level anxiety he’s been feeling about it all day. “Even so, I just… don’t like the idea.”

“I thought you and Ian were doing great?”

“We are, we are,” Kurt says. Elliott, again, doesn’t seem convinced. “Ian’s in the honeymoon stage of wanting to do everything together, and I don’t know. We’ve been together for a year. We know how we are. Do we really need to do everything together now that we live together?”

Elliott folds his arms across his chest. “Kurt, if this is becoming an issue, why did you agree to move in with him in the first place?”

Kurt stares up at the ceilings. The old, red curtains have a few fringes and tears, and Kurt wonders vaguely, if they should get new ones or if anyone would really notice. He kicks the stage lightly as he avoids Elliott’s question. “I mean, my apartment lease was up, and they were going to double my rent.”

“Oh, god,” Elliott chokes out. “Please tell me that wasn’t the only reason.”

“It’s not,” his voice squeaks a little too much on the words. “I also, you know, love him.”

Elliott shakes his head. Kurt knows judgment when he sees it. “This is just classic Kurt,” he says.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with having an adjustment period with having to live with someone after I’ve had my own place for so long,” Kurt says, defending himself.

“Uh-huh.”

“I just like my independence.”

Elliott’s eyebrow is arched high. “Or you like sabotaging your relationships.”

Kurt scoffs, looking off to the side of the stage. They’re going to need to scrub this whole place down before allowing anyone to do a production here again. Elliott, however, is not letting him off the hook, and eyes him hard. “I do not do that.”

“Then why have I seen you more in the past couple of weeks than you’ve probably seen him?”

It’s a fair question, Kurt admits to himself. “Well, I do find you tolerable.”

“Kurt, you don’t find any of your boyfriends tolerable,” Elliott says. He almost sounds annoyed, but he knows Elliott’s limits and he knows he hasn’t reached them. But truth be told, he’s as sick of himself as Elliott probably is. “Who was that guy before Ian? That Matt guy? Why did you break up with him?”

He picked the scab, of course Elliott is going to rip open the old wounds. “Because he wanted me to be ‘a part of the family’,” Kurt replies, using air quotes to highlight his point. Matt had been a sweet guy, but his family had been his life. He hadn’t been ready to be a part of any family, let alone one that had been as close as Matt’s had been. He felt as if he had been suffocating every time they went to visit. “His family was crazy. I didn’t need to be a part of that.”

Elliott nods, continuing on. “Okay, and Joey was the one before that. I remember him because he helped clean up this place when we bought it.”

Kurt bites his lip. He did feel bad about that. Joey had been so quick to offer his time. But Joey also had been there. All the time. It had been too much. “He was super clingy,” Kurt says quietly, though he hates that he’s seeing the trend.

“Sure he was,” Elliott says. A grin slips onto his lips. “And then there was Steven.”

“He wanted to marry me six months into the relationship,” Kurt says. He snaps a little too loud, his voice echoing in the empty theater. Elliott remains amused, even if Kurt is not. “Who knows they want to get married six months into a relationship? Why are you getting on my case about this? It’s not like you don’t go through, like, three guys a week.”

Elliott throws his head back in a laugh. “Well, I am at peace with my slutty ways. Look, Kurt, it’s not about the number of guys you go through. It’s just that, well, honestly, I’ve known you forever. And I know you’re this old school romantic and the slutty ways will never be satisfying for you. Did it ever occur to you that the reason it doesn’t work out with these guys is not because you’re this progressive independent, but because deep down you want to be an old school married, and haven’t found the right person to be with yet?”

The gnawing pit in his stomach starts to fade as he thinks about the old fantasy -- the one he had as a kid, where you met your prince, and you lived happily ever after. Only, real life doesn’t happen like that. Most guys are not princes, and the ones who are don’t always lead to happily ever after. He knows better than to be unrealistic, but maybe he’s pushing people too far away.

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake?” Kurt asks, he begins bouncing his foot against the stage again.

Elliott goes soft in deposition. “You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Kurt says. He thinks of Ian - of his kind smile and good heart. He shouldn’t be running, even if every ounce of him feels like it’s too much. “Ian is a good guy, and I’ve been…”

“Difficult?”

“I was going to say myself, but thank you.”

“I do my best.” Elliott playfully taps his knee. “If you want, though, you can crash at my place for a few days. I’m gonna be out of town. Some third cousin is getting married, and Mom insists that everyone be there.”

“No, I’m good,” Kurt insists. And then an idea hits him. “You know, I got an invitation to go back to Lima. Old high school choir thing. Maybe I’ll take a long vacation and do that. It could give me some time to clear my head -- reflect on my questionable life choices.”

Elliott gives a hearty laugh. “You haven’t talked about Lima in years. Besides, going back to Lima might force you to dig into your past, and we all know how much you enjoy doing that.”

Kurt swats at Elliott. “It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

After work, Kurt doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he opts to walk around the city for a while. There’s a slight chill, causing him to bundle his jacket a little tighter, and the sky is overcast, threatening a storm rolling in. He won’t be out too late, but he knows Ian is back home waiting for him and he’s just not ready for it yet.

His conversation with Elliott plays over in his head. He does like his independence. He always has. Even when he had been a little boy, his parents had let him play on his own. And after years of rejection from kids his own age, he learned that sometimes being on your own is your best bet. It’s not that he doesn’t like the company his boyfriends have brought him over the years. He just likes his space. And his peace and quiet. And his room to move about as he pleases. And sometimes boyfriends make him feel too tied down.

But he can’t help but think about what Elliott had said. The thing that seems to stick in his brain, wiggling to the forefront of his thoughts. Maybe he wants to be an old married? Maybe he does want that connection, that one person who seems to know him, who understands him enough that there will be days when they’re inseparable, and days when they’re apart. He likes the idea of coming home to the same face every day to see someone who can read him like a book, who will enjoy the same things as him, who will love him for the insufferable human being he always seems to be.

But are there really people out there like that?

Maybe he’s not giving Ian enough credit. When they had decided to move in together, Kurt thought it had been the most optimal choice. Living costs would come down. He’d have a partner to spend his time with. And the sex. God, Ian knows how to have sex.

But permanently? The buzz of anxiety begins to grow at the thought. There are too many little things about Ian, too many things about himself that just don’t feel right. It’s not perfect. Well -- it’s never going to be perfect, he argues with himself. But still…

The storm breaks sooner than Kurt expects, a sudden heavy rain coming down. Kurt stands on the street corner, looking up at the sky as he gets drenched. Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something, and he can’t help but laugh as the rain splashes his face.

Just as he’s about to head home, however, he catches a sign on the corner of a building. A sign advertising an open leasing on a loft, with a number attached. For a moment, he’s transferred back in time to all those years ago, when he lived in a loft in Bushwick with four other people all of whom had been trying to make it in the city. He hasn’t thought about that loft in ages. Hasn’t thought about those people in ages. God, what even happened to…

He tries hard not to think of the name that first pops in his head. But he can’t help but see the face. He shakes his head, as if attempting to get rid of the image.

Nostalgia hits him just then.

Nostalgia for a place he left long ago, for people whom he never thought he’d miss. He is going to take that trip to Lima. He does need a break from Ian. He does need to get his life sorted out. But mostly, he feels a soft ache for returning home -- even if he’s not sure where that is anymore.

***

A week later, Kurt finds himself rolling up to one of Lima’s three motels in a car he rented at the airport. It’s strange coming back to the city he grew up in and, yet, not returning back to his childhood home. He had thought about driving past, but he hadn’t necessarily wanted to see through the window to see whatever happy suburban family had bought the place. Instead, he had driven straight to the motel that he had booked himself the moment he knew he would be coming back.

There is something surreal about returning to the place you grew up after so much time has passed. It’s like time has frozen, remaining exactly the same as the moment you left, even if there are new storefronts in the old buildings, expansions where wooded areas used to be, and a real attempt, it seems, to clean the place up. It feels unchanged, and Kurt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s just a thing.

It’s evening by the time he gets in. The motel room is bland and tiny, and the four channels on the TV don’t offer much entertainment. He lays down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, thinking if there’s anything he could do. Most places in Lima shut down before eight, even on a Friday night. And it’s not like he has anyone to call. He had been texting Mercedes Jones earlier in the week, shocked that her number had still been the same, but she had explained that she wouldn’t be getting in until very late and implied that whatever plans she had wouldn’t be with him. He had understood, and it’s not like he won’t be seeing her the next day anyway. Scrolling through his phone, he finds that he doesn’t have a single other contact from high school he could call.

Maybe he should just text Ian -- but as his thumb hovers over his boyfriend’s name, he remembers that Ian is probably playing a concert that weekend. And even if he waits until later when Ian’s home, he just doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s good time by explaining that he can’t quite quash the crushing sense of loneliness that seems to be his homecoming.

Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a neon flashing light, and through the window he sees a building that he hasn’t thought about in years. Thinking anywhere is better than being stuck in that sad motel room for the next twelve hours, Kurt heads out into the night.

***

Scandals is, if nothing else, exactly how he remembers it. Not that his memories are anything more than fuzzy blips of moments from long ago. He remembers the same posters being on the wall, in the same tattered state. He remembers the huge, neon signs lining the walls. And god, the music even feels strikingly similar. There aren’t, he thinks with a laugh, any drag queens though.

The atmosphere is quiet for a Friday night. There are a few guys out on the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company, but most of the people in the bar are huddled in the darkened corners. No one looks up from their conversations to notice him come in. The bouncer is too busy flirting with a denim dressed, bearded guy leaning against the wall to notice him slip by.

He’s not a few steps in when he realizes coming out to a bar seems like a silly thing to do, but makes a deal with himself to have one drink before he heads back to the motel and to do the sensible thing in calling Ian.

But as he heads to the bar, he sees something that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Is that…?

It can’t possibly be…?

Blaine Anderson is sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender as he sips a beer. Kurt is stunned to see him, his mind reeling at how this is even possible. There is only one gay bar in Lima. And he’s probably here for the reunion.

But still… Blaine Anderson, of all people.

There’s a tiny part of him that wants to run. Turn on his heel and walk right back out of that bar and not even worry about the formal meeting they’ll inevitably have tomorrow at the reunion. He doesn’t though.

He watches Blaine for a moment, in his element, throwing his head back to laugh at something the bartender said. It’s astounding to Kurt at how much and how little Blaine has changed. Age, it seems, has done him well. There’s less gel in his hair, allowing the natural curls to reveal themselves. His face is harder, jawbone more defined. He’s wearing a dark sweater vest, but no bowtie, and the shirt underneath is unbutton, revealing a wisp of hair on his chest. Blaine is no longer that young boy he once knew. Sitting at the bar is a man.

And yet… his movements are exactly the same. The way he crinkles his eyes when he laughs, the way he lightly touches the bartender’s arm while expressing his point, the way casually plays with the napkin on the counter. That’s still the Blaine he used to know.

Kurt takes a deep breath, releasing the tension running through him. He could leave… but he doesn’t really want to. It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other. That’s enough time to let old wounds heal, right?

Kurt takes the plunge.

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Blaine turns around, utterly shocked to see him there. Kurt’s confidence slips as the silence lingers. Maybe this had been a bad idea. But then, Blaine breaks out into a grin.

“Kurt?” He says his name slowly, as if it’s unfamiliar in a way, but easily slides off his stool, going in for a hug. It’s awkward -- where do you put your hands and arms? How close do you stand? How do you properly greet someone you once agreed to share your life with? Someone who is a relative stranger now. It’s bizarre to him that somehow, Blaine still feels so familiar in his arms. “Please, join me.” Blaine offers the stool next to him as they slip apart. “I’ll definitely take you up on that drink.”

Kurt sits down, suddenly feeling much more nervous than he had been. Blaine waives down the bartender -- asking for beer, while Kurt shortly asks for an amaretto sour. He definitely needs something to calm him down. How is Blaine being so calm? Is he hiding it better? Or is it that he’s soon to be on his third beer?

“So, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, placing his head on his hand, now looking amused. There’s no anger there. No resentment, or negativity. Blaine genuinely seems to be happy to see him. Based on how they had left things all that time ago, Blaine could have harbored some ill will towards him. But they are both adults now. And it had been a long, long time ago.

“I’m in town for Mr. Schue’s retirement party,” Kurt says. He rubs his legs, not sure what to do with his hands.

Blaine nods, finishing off the beer he had been drinking when Kurt had arrived. “Oh, yeah, I figured that. I meant, what are you doing here ?” He uses both hands to point down.

“Oh!” Kurt feels a little silly not understanding. Thankfully, the bartender brings them their drinks. Kurt wastes no time gulping half of it down as if it were a shot. “I saw it from the motel window. Call me crazy, but I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Huh,” Blaine takes a long sip from his bottle, narrowing his eyes as he thinks it over. “You’re not staying with Burt?”

“Oh, god, right you wouldn’t know,” Kurt laughs as he stirs his drink. “Dad retired a few years ago. He and Carole moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“I guess I could have stayed with Uncle Andy,” Kurt continues, remaining fixated on his drink as he talks. “He and his sons took over the tire shop. But we’re not exactly close. And he has, like, ten dogs. I’d rather take my chances with the motel.”

Blaine nods, sympathetically.

“What about you?” Kurt asks. “How’s your family?”

“They’re pretty good,” Blaine says, easily. “Cooper has three little girls. Here, let me show you.” Blaine wastes no time fishing out his phone, scrolling through the roll for a picture of three gorgeous young girls who all, clearly, take after Cooper. Kurt coos accordingly but he can’t help but notice Blaine’s left hand, and the indentation of skin where a ring used to be. It makes him wonder.

“So, what are you doing now?” Kurt asks, trying to relax on his stool. He rests his elbow on the wooden bar, and his head on his hand.

“I teach, actually. New York Institute of Fine Arts,” Blaine says, taking another sip of his beer with a laugh. “I mean, I still perform every now and then. But an adjunct professor was needed, and a friend of mine pulled some strings, and I just kind of fell into it. I love it though.” There’s no lie in Blaine’s voice. Blaine had always been a passionate person, but it’s clear by his demeanor that he loves his job.

Kurt smiles meekly, happy for him. “A private school, of course. How very you. Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not far from my theater.”

“You have a theater?” Blaine’s eyes grow wide with interest.

“Well, half a theater,” Kurt rocks his head from side to side, as if it’s a silly little thing, and not the pride and joy that he’s sunk most of his adult life into, now. He plays with the nearby peanut bowl. “The Gilbert Theater.”

“Oh, I know that place,” Blaine says. There’s excitement in his voice. Kurt isn’t sure why this makes him happy. “I thought it had been condemned. I mean - I’m sure you’ve fixed it up.”

“Oh we have,” Kurt says, thinking about all the work he’s put into it over the years. “Elliott and I renovated it. You wouldn’t even recognize it now.”

Blaine takes another slow slip of his drink. “Elliott? Like from college?” Kurt nods slowly. “Ah. So are you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Kurt quickly corrects. “God, no. Business partners only.” It’s such a funny thought to him. Elliott. They’re like brothers. No, he’s definitely not romantically linked with Elliott. There is someone else… but he quickly pushes Ian out of his brain. He doesn’t want to think about him. “So this is crazy, right? That we both ended up in the same sleazy place? Maybe the universe was trying to push us together again.”

Blaine gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, there is only one gay bar in Lima, but I suppose…”

An awkward silence grows between them. Blaine bops his head to the music. Kurt munches on some peanuts. They both avoid direct eye contact. The uneasiness that Kurt had felt when he first walked in begins to return. Maybe he should go.

The bartender breaks the silence, asking Blaine if he’d like another drink. There’s an ease there that Kurt picks up on. Blaine knows the guy -- like really knows the guy. Kurt shifts from side to side not sure what to say or do. He eyes the door, he can still slip out if he needs to.

“Man, I cannot believe how little this place has changed since I used to come here,” Blaine says, taking a look around.

“You mean when we were in high school?” Kurt asks. He’d hardly say coming the three times that they did a lot.

“No, it was actually after…” he trails off but Kurt picks up on what he’s saying. After they broke up. After he broke Blaine’s heart. Blaine kind of skips past the beat. Why dredge up all that old stuff. That’s what the reunion is for, right? Something turns in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. “When I moved back to Lima, I used to come here a lot. Thought maybe throwing myself into this place might make me feel better. Not so alone, you know?”

“Did it help?” Kurt’s voice is small.

“Maybe,” Blaine says with another laugh. “I don’t know, it was so long ago. You know it…” he pauses, thinking it over. “Alright, if I tell you something - do you promise not to run screaming?”

Kurt’s intrigued. “Of course.”

Blaine stares intently at his bottle. “After you and I ended things -- I came back to Lima. And I sorta, kinda dated Dave Karofsky for a while.”

Of all the things that Blaine could have said -- that is the last thing Kurt expects to hear. It makes Kurt chuckle into his drink. He can’t even picture it, it’s such a wild thought. “Wait, seriously?”

“Shocking, right?”

“A little. More so that you were into a bear.”

The tension breaks as they let go into easy laughter. The conversation becomes lighter as they begin to discuss old things. They talk about Dave Karofsky, and how someone who had once been Kurt’s ghost had turned into a friend whom Kurt sees every few years for lunch. Blaine mentions he had attended Dave’s wedding. Kurt mentions he had lunch with Dave and his husband last year. It’s strange how things can change so much in twenty years.

They talk about Dalton -- though not about that staircase. The staircase that will forever be burned in his memory for better or worse. Instead, they talk about Sebastian Smythe with fondness, though neither could say where he ended up. And about the one time Blaine sang at the Gap to impress a guy whose name neither can remember.

And for a moment, unprovoked, Blaine mentions his husband. It’s a startling jolt into reality, but Blaine doesn’t give him any more than a name and a passing story about having to explain to his husband why he refuses to shop at The Gap. It’s not like Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine had gotten married. He doesn't remember who had told him or when or even how he had felt about it. Blaine had wanted to be married. He got his wish. And Kurt is happy for him. He wants to be happy for him. Still, that missing ring…

As they reminisce, the bartender brings them more drinks. The room begins to feel warm and familiar. Kurt isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or Blaine that is making him feel so comfortable so far from home. They talk about high school and old friends, people whom they’ve lost touch with and people they’re looking forward to seeing tomorrow. Kurt learns that Blaine developed a surprisingly deep friendship with Santana Lopez. Blaine learns that Kurt hasn’t talked to Rachel Berry since college.

“I just couldn’t after that show,” Kurt explains. They’re both giggly from drinking too much - Kurt having to hold his hands up when the bartender offers him a third. “I mean - not that she even tried to keep in touch with me. But my god did you watch that thing? It was terrible! She was fine - she was always fine. But who decided that would be what America wanted to see for a decade?”

Blaine snickers into his drink. “Well, personally I was offended. ‘Slaine’,” he uses both hands to make air quotes around the character’s names, “was written out after year two. I was like ‘fuck that’. It’s just as well. Had he stayed on, I might have had to sue their asses for defamation of character.”

“You are not wrong,” Kurt says, unable to stop laughing as he thinks about it. He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to balance himself so as to not fall off his stool.

Blaine notices and smirks. “How drunk are you right now?”

“Less drunk than you are,” Kurt smiles into his glass. He is buzzed but not at all drunk. In fact, he feels good and relaxed and happy. When had he last been this happy? “Anyway… All I know is that a terrible writer wrote ‘Cert’ as the sassy yet sexless gay best friend. And he stayed on the show. The. Entire. Run. If anyone has the right to sue, it’s going to be me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I don’t think Cert was anything like you,” Blaine says. He leans in close. Kurt can smell the sweet scent of raspberries. “Personally, I thought you were always sexy.”

Something in the atmosphere shifts. Suddenly, Blaine is close. Close enough that he can see the depths of Blaine’s golden eyes. There’s something there that Kurt hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes him to break.

He’s not sure what it is that makes him say it. He’s not sure if it’s the heaviness of guilt, or the friendliness of Blaine’s demeanor, or the fact that all of this nostalgia is causing him to reflect on his life’s choices - but he can’t help but let the words stumble out. “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

Blaine looks at him, genuinely confused. “For what?

“For a lot of things, I feel like I owe you an apology for so many things,” Kurt rambles on. “I was not in a good place and you… I shouldn’t have ended it. I mean I shouldn’t have ended it the way that I did. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that. And I’m sorry that I did.”

Blaine takes a moment to think it over, as if he’s processing everything Kurt’s saying. “Kurt…” he lets out a sigh. “You weren’t the only one who was a mess back then. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. We had a good thing. We had a great thing, even. But it’s fine. It’s all in the past, and I’m fine.”

Kurt feels a bit of relief wash over him. Maybe this is why he needed to come back. Maybe he had just needed to bury his demons. He feels lighter than he has in, well, a while. He reaches out for Blaine’s hand and squeezes it. It feels comforting in his own.

“Look at us now, all grown up,” Kurt says, a smile sliding across his face. “I mean, you’re married and I’m…”

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an open marriage.”

Blaine places his free hand just above Kurt’s knee and squeezes, ever so lightly, he holds it there, stroking his thumb along the side of his thigh. It’s an invitation. His cock gets there first, as he watches Blaine’s hand, firm and strong. His brain becomes fuzzy, but all he can fixate on is the urge to have Blaine’s hand travel up. This is closure, right?

“Come with me,” Kurt makes the quick decision not to second guess this. He grabs onto Blaine’s hand with purpose, sliding off the stool and taking Blaine with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine smirk as he throws out a few bills on the counter to pay for the drinks.

***

They’re in the bathroom stall, where Kurt vaguely remembers making out once back at the end of his senior year. They never would have done anything as daring as have sex in a public place, but just kissing, even in a place that accepted it, felt naughty and fun back then.

Now, he couldn’t care less that there are people who might know what they’re doing. His desire is too strong, his brain clouded in a haze of need to taste Blaine again; the wonder of if it will feel so good after so long. The room is broken up into stalls, dimly lit, and smells as if they are the next in a long line of gay men who will use this place to relieve themselves in more ways than one. Kurt pulls Blaine back to the farthest stall, ignoring that there’s another couple occupying another stall, the panting sounds of their fucking echoing in the room. It only turns him on more.

Once the stall door is locked, Blaine looks at Kurt, his large, dark eyes more sure than Kurt is about this. It almost throws him off kilter but Kurt looks to Blaine’s mouth, and suddenly he remembers all the things that can be done with it. His resolve broken, Kurt lunges for a kiss.

Blaine kisses back with force, pushing Kurt back into the wall. Kurt doesn’t even care that the metal bar for handicap use is pressing against the back of his thighs. He just wants to feel Blaine. They kiss deeply, wantonly. His sense memory returns and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, hungry for Blaine back when he had been first discovering what sex is. Kurt moans into the kiss that encourages Blaine to slide his tongue against Kurt’s.

They’re all hands and mouths, wrapping themselves around each other as they make-out. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, combing his fingers through Blaine’s curls as he pulls Blaine closer to him, enough so that their bodies are sliding against each other. Blaine brings his hands down to Kurt’s ass and squeezes with both hands. Fuck. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard so fast.

They begin to rock against each other as they kiss. Kurt can feel Blaine’s hard cock pushing up against his own. If they keep going at this speed, he is not going to last long, and dammit, he refuses to come in his pants.

Kurt breaks the kiss, only for Blaine to start kissing along his jaw and down his neck, Blaine’s touch is electric, and Kurt can’t help but feel dizzy with pleasure. He loses himself in Blaine’s embrace, soaking up the feeling as much as he can. It’s been fifteen years since they’ve fucked - how can this possibly feel so good?

Blaine works his way back up to Kurt’s mouth, though this time, Kurt is able to slow it down. Kurt busies his hands with the buttons on Blaine’s pants. Blaine takes a slight step back, allowing for Kurt to pull him out. Kurt takes a quick second to look down at Blaine’s cock; his thick and delicious cock. If only they weren’t in a bathroom stall right now, Kurt would take his time devouring that cock. Instead, he takes to stroking it, becoming satisfied with the low moans and grunts that are eliciting Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine steadies himself against the wall, as he begins to pump his hips in time with Kurt’s strokes, fucking himself into Kurt’s hand. “Let me,” Kurt says, in a low whisper, biting gently at Blaine’s lips before they fall into a sloppy kiss. Blaine is close - he knows Blaine is close, he can feel it as Blaine arches further into his hand. Kurt speeds up his hand, deliberate in his strokes. It’s a little rough, but Blaine becomes more and more undone, uttering little obscenities as he closes eyes and allows himself the pleasure. Blaine comes, jolting into Kurt’s hand, and lets out a moan that Kurt covers with a kiss.

“Give me a second,” Blaine says, breathlessly, holding firmly against the wall as he comes down.

Kurt smirks, licking the come off his fingers. His own cock is throbbing with need but there’s something incredibly satisfying seeing Blaine loose and fucked out.

Blaine takes a second to put himself back in his pants and then goes down on his knees. This isn’t at all what Kurt had been expecting, and his eyes go wide as Blaine sucks a kiss over Kurt’s clothed cock.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, feeling a little guilty. Blaine’s legs are sticking out of the stall door and anyone could interrupt them.

“Shut up and let me blow you, Kurt,” Blaine says, a wicked grin on his face as he unzips Kurt’s zipper. Kurt’s cock bobs free, and like a man allowed to drink water after years in the desert, Blaine sucks Kurt all the way down in one go.

“Jesus, fuck Blaine.” He really doesn’t care if there’s anyone else in there who can hear them. Blaine had always been good at blow jobs; always so eager to give them, and Kurt’s glad to know that Blaine’s enthusiasm hasn’t changed. Blaine sucks him down, greedily, and he loses himself in the sensation of Blaine’s velvety mouth on him.

“I’m curious about something,” Blaine says, pulling off. Kurt can’t imagine what, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Blaine begins to stroke him, slowly, drawing it out. Then sucks a kiss to the tip of Kurt’s cock, using his tongue to swirl and tease it, before he sucks him down once more. Kurt lets out a heavy groan as his knees nearly buckle. “Huh. So that really still does things for you?”

Kurt can’t help but give a little laugh. “Shut up and finish me off, Blaine,” Kurt manages the tease despite him now being desperate to come.

Amused, Blaine obliges, sucking Kurt into his mouth again. Kurt closes his eyes, taking it all in as he lets Blaine take him over the edge. He spills into Blaine’s mouth, Blaine being able to swallow with ease -- something, he notes, Blaine hadn’t been able to do before. As Blaine pulls off, he licks his lips, and remains on his knees for a long moment.

The atmosphere then shifts suddenly. Blaine looks down for a long while, and Kurt can’t tell what Blaine’s feeling -- Guilt? Sadness? Regret?

“Thank you for that,” Blaine says, his sincerity layered with something that feels like finality. Blaine gives Kurt’s hip a kiss before helping put Kurt back into his jeans. There’s something strangely intimate about it, and despite the fact that Kurt is feeling blissed out from his orgasm it’s now tinged with a heavier, unknown feeling. Blaine gets to his feet. There’s a lot going on behind his eyes that Kurt can’t read, but Blaine says nothing, only gives Kurt a soft kiss on the lips. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blaine leaves the stall but Kurt stays, unsure what to make of everything that happened. A lot just happened. A lot. And as the buzz of sex begins to wear off, a sickening gnawing grows in his stomach. He just had sex with his ex-fiancé whom he hasn’t seen in years. He just cheated on his boyfriend. But what makes Kurt feel the worst, as he slides down the wall to sit on the sticky floor because his legs can no longer hold him, is the realization that for Blaine - that might have been his way of saying goodbye.

#s.o. writes things #head over feet #klaine #klaine fic

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btswrckd · 4 years

Text

Hunting a Hybrid VI

Black Panther!Hybrid Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Summary: Four years after it’s made illegal to acquire hybrids as pets, you’re approached by the daughter of your former employer to hunt down one that had been gifted to her

Warnings: violence, mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood, slight fluff, angst, poorly written smut

A/N: It’s here! I apologize for taking so long and truthfully, this chapter isn’t as well edited as I wanted it to be, but it’s been so long since I updated and the longer I waited, the more guilty I felt for not getting on my own ass and continue writing. I actually wrote more than this but it’s not polished enough for me to add on. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy!

Oh, and the songs I listened to while writing were Heaven Help Me by RAIGN, Inside of Me by RAIGN, the Eric Lee Gravity Remix of Unsteady by X Ambassadors, and Walk Through the Fire by Zayde Wolf

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The wet smell of dirt invaded your nostrils, making you scrunch up your nose in discomfort. Allergies were a bitch but Sangchul didn’t sympathize with your stuffy nose and pounding headache. A sharp hiss escaped you as your grandfather tightened the blindfold around your head with more force than necessary. The added pressure against your temple made your eye twitch and your fingers curl into tight fists.

“The comfort and ease of having all of your senses is a privilege, not a right. Some people have all of them, some people only have a few and must learn to adapt to the world around them.” Sangchul rasped as he stepped in front of you. “You may have all of them but what happens when some of the most important ones are taken away? Come at me.”

The urge to roll your eyes was great but what was the point when he couldn’t see you do it? Defying Sangchul was not a smart decision and years of punishment for the smallest of things should have taught you to know better. But defying him also gave you a sense of pride knowing that no matter how deep his claws ran, it wasn’t enough to have complete and total control over you.

You huffed and lunged toward his voice but found yourself landing flat on your face. He was quick for an old bastard but he’d also had more training and experience than you did. You stood slowly and listened for the barest hint of where Sangchul may be but so far the only thing that caught your ear was your own heavy breathing. Birds chirped, the wind whipped against the trees, leaves fell to the ground, and somewhere a twig snapped in two.

You whirled around, thrusting your fist into what you hoped was your grandfather’s face but he gripped your wrist tight and used his other hand to land a swift jab to your stomach. It was quick and painful, leaving you to double over and dry heave as you tried to catch your breath. Sangchul was strong despite looking fragile, and that strength was made known every time you trained.

He didn’t give you the time to recover, instead moving to land a heavy kick to your rib cage. You coughed and lifted yourself with one arm while the other wrapped around your torso. The sound of his boot leaving the ground once more gave you the chance to gauge how far he stood from you, but you hadn’t realized how close to a tree he’d cornered you. Your back hit the trunk so hard that it knocked the air from your lungs and Sangchul was shoving his steel toed boot into your windpipe. You gasped for air but he kept you pinned, pressing on your neck until you were sure you’d pass out. One of your hands curled around his ankle, desperate to pry his foot away as your other hand tapped against his calf in surrender so he’d let you go. Neither of which happened.

“You have two free hands, you moron.” Sangchul’s voice was calm as if he weren’t about to choke his granddaughter to death. “You want to live? Then fight.”

Air was becoming minimal and your already obscured vision was beginning to darken. There was always a small part of you that knew your grandfather would some day kill you, but here and now would not be the time. Your nails sunk into the fabric of Sangchul’s pants deep enough to break through to his skin and he hissed as you raked your nails up his calf, slicing and marring the flesh as you went. You weren’t allowed a knife or any kind of weapon when in training so you had to improvise, tearing at Sangchul like a wild animal until he was forced to remove his boot from your neck. You slumped to the ground and gulped in as much air as you could, gasping and coughing until your throat was raw and burning. Prying off the blindfold, you looked up to Sangchul with murderous intent.

“You son of a bitch!” You sobbed, frustration and pent up tears surfacing without your permission. “What the hell is the matter with you?! You were really trying to kill me!”

“I was teaching you, you ungrateful brat!” He roared back, clutching at his injured leg. He lifted the leg of his pants and clenched his jaw at the blood trickling down his calf. “Where is it? Where’s your knife?!”

“I don’t have one,” you panted as tears rolled down your cheeks and you swallowed another sob threatening to wrack your body.

“Bullshit!” Sangchul seethed before limping towards you and crouching down to grab at your already sore throat, forcing you to your feet. “The rules are no weapons during training, Y/N! You expect me to believe this kind of damage was done with just your fucking nails?”

You clawed at his arm, but the lack of strength and breath wasn’t nearly as harmful as the adrenaline filled attack from earlier. You kicked your leg out as a last ditch effort to push him back, landing a surprisingly solid hit to his gut and he stumbled back. You weren’t sure what came over you or what kind of games your own body was playing, but there was enough left in you to tackle him to the ground. Using one knee to pin Sangchul’s bicep to the ground and the other knee to pin his wrist down, you raised your fist high in the air and brought it down across his face three times before he was fighting back.

Sangchul pushed against your frame, rolling atop you and taking hold of your neck once more to keep you in place while he delivered blow after blow to your stomach more so than your face. The metallic taste of blood coating his gums fueled every punch and became the driving force behind the final hit to your cheekbone. He stood over you ruthlessly as you groaned and turned on your side to painfully curl into a ball, blood gathering on the corner of your mouth.

“Your father might not have been as talented as you’ve become at hunting but he was never stupid enough to go against me either. You must get that from your mother.” Sangchul used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood gathered on his own lips and spat globs of it on the ground. “Get up and find your way back to the house or lay out here all night and freeze to death.”

Mud, tears, and blood stuck to the side of your face that now sported a broken cheekbone as you listened to his retreating footsteps. A heavy moan sliced the otherwise quiet air and it took you a moment to realize the sound came from your own mouth. You could already feel the bruises forming on your torso and wondered if he’d broken a couple of ribs. Taking in a sharp breath only made the pain worse and another wail shook the trees, scattering the birds that had witnessed your beating.

You were unaware of how long you stayed on the ground, but it was dark by the time you managed to gather enough resistance to the ache in your bones before carefully standing up. You limped slowly through the desolate woods that only your grandfather could navigate and found yourself at his home almost the next morning. He stood with crossed arms and a cruel smirk on his lips, leaning against the door frame and greeting you casually. He took in your disheveled state, from your torn up pants and shirt to the swollen welt on your cheek.

“Well,” Sangchul chuckled as your body shook with the attempt to keep yourself standing, “I honestly didn’t expect you to make it back. It would take your father days before he recovered from his lessons. Your strength comes from your will to live, Y/N, and your father didn’t have enough of it. Let’s not make yesterday a regular occurrence. I’d hate to have to kill you before you’’ve reached your full potential.”

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“Blood,” Jungkook breathed, dropping his chopsticks to his plate and standing from the couch quickly. His sudden outburst made Seokjin jump in his seat before he was up and trailing closely behind Jungkook.

“Does it smell familiar?” Seokjin questioned. If it was your blood then he wanted to be prepared for how Jungkook may react.

“No,” The panther scrunched his nose up in disgust, “It’s not a lot either, it’s faint. It’s not Y/N’s.”

His senior huffed out a breath of relief, placing his palm against his chest and letting his posture sag a little. The tension in his shoulders was long gone by the time they made it to Taehyung’s apartment, Jungkook stopping at the foot of the door. Seokjin pulled his eyebrows together in confusion before he heard the muffled conversation.

“Holy shit, you should have seen it!” Hoseok was giddly explaining the fight to Taehyung, whose arms were crossed and glare focused solely on you. “She beat the shit out of them! And scared Suho! I mean he pretty much pissed his pants!”

“Hobi,” Yoongi interrupted his friend with a pat on his shoulder, nodding to a decidedly unamused Taehyung and your sheepish face as you bowed your head in apology for getting into another fight. “Maybe spare the details, okay?”

“Oh, right,” Hoseok flushed; he hadn’t meant to get caught up in the excitement but he’d only ever heard stories of your fighting skills and barely caught a glimpse of them when the fight broke out with Xiumin and Kai.

“Are you out of your mind?” Taehyung hissed after Hoseok finally calmed down, bracing his hands on the kitchen table and leaning over to scold you like a parent would a child. “You were only supposed to meet with the detective, not start a brawl with Suho and his men. You said you didn’t need backup so I let you go alone and now you’re in our kitchen covered in someone else’s blood. You know there’s a hybrid upstairs right now who’s probably already caught on to your scent and he’s going to come rushing down here any second to check on you. I don’t need a pissed off panther busting down our front door because you’re too stubborn to let anyone help!”

Yoongi and Hoseok exchanged a surprised glance, neither of them ever hearing Taehyung lecture you as harshly as he had been in that moment. Yoongi whistled low as Hoseok looked to the ground in hopes of avoiding Taehyung’s wrath after expressing how much he admired your skills. Yoongi wasn’t all that surprised to find that you didn’t even bat an eye at your friend; you’ve obviously gone through this argument before.

“Are you done?” You sighed, standing from your seat at the table to head for the sink and run your hands underneath hot water. Scrubbing at the blood staining your knuckles, you hissed at the cuts lining them and cursed at the thought of your hand swelling. “Jungkook isn’t going to come down here. In case you’ve forgotten, he hates me right now so I don’t think you need to worry about that, Tae. It wasn’t like I was looking for Suho, he came to me so what was I supposed to do? Let him and his men beat the hell out of me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Taehyung argued, “I’m---.”

“It’s not like I’m proud of what happened today,” You interrupted him, shoulders dropping. “It wasn’t exactly fun to use Suho’s trauma against him. You think I don’t remember what I did to him? How twisted I used to be?”

Taehyung opened his mouth to disagree but the beeping of the keypad caught his attention, the door swung open as Seokjin stepped inside with Jungkook behind him. Everyone stilled as the panther came into view, your back still facing him at the kitchen sink.

You could feel Jungkook in the apartment. The pull of his mark was so intense that you were tempted to throw yourself in his arms. You sighed as you felt a headache coming on stronger than usual but addressed Taehyung, “you could have gotten killed that night and I admit, the way I handled it bordered on unhinged. When I hurt Suho, he was just a new hunter looking to make a name for himself and because of what I did...I made him who he is. I’m not proud of it, Taehyung, and running into him today just reminded me of the kind of person I used to be.”

Jungkook’s spine straightened as you finally turned to face him, locking eyes with him as he listened when you said, “I used to be a lot worse than what I am now, Jungkook. You may think Suho is just another idiotic hunter but the truth is that I did that to him. No hunter comes without a story and Suho? I’m his.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze, “now might not be the best time.”

“You marked me, Jungkook,” You continued, stepping away from the sink and towards him, “we’re bonded and that was something you chose for us. You can hate me all you want because let’s be real, I deserve it. But everything I’ve done was to keep myself alive and then when Tae came along...he was my priority.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened when he saw the tears building in your own, threatening to fall with each step you took towards the hybrid. True, when he first met you the friendship was rocky, the ice in your veins making it difficult to gain your trust. He remembered when he finally broke through the wall you’d built and he became the most important person to you. He also remembered the night Suho had made a mistake and you nearly tore his head off for being incompetent.

“And then you,” Your broken whisper to Jungkook made Yoongi’s heart ache at how fragile you seemed compared to a few hours ago, “when you came to me, I knew there was nothing I wanted more than to protect you. So I reined a lot of myself in because I didn’t want to scare you. Last night when I said I’d always be a hunter...it was because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore. Hunting is who I am and yes, I’m scared of what could happen when this is all over. I’m going out of my fucking mind trying to figure out how...who I’ll be if I won’t be a hunter. I’m nothing without it but when you came into my life, being happy was the first thing that came to mind and you were right when you said I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Jungkook hadn’t noticed he’d been crying until you reached out to wipe his tears away, his cheek turning into the palm of your hand and his eyes falling shut. The ache in his chest grew larger the more you spoke, the pain becoming too much until finally, you touched him. Your fingers gliding along his cheek soothed him and the agony in his heart.

You gasped when he pulled you into his chest, arms embracing your frame to his tightly as you buried your face into his shirt. You could feel his hot tears sticking to your skin when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His body trembled in your hold much like Suho’s had earlier but this was for an entirely different reason, his gasping breaths flooding you with guilt that you’d made him feel so awful.

“Please stop being mad at me,” You whispered, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt, “I can’t...be away from you.”

Jungkook could only squeeze you tighter and nod silently. He couldn’t be apart from you either and even though it had only been a day, he felt as though it had been an eternity since he last saw you. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to keep you pinned to him. Holding you close felt like he could finally breathe again, his large frame slumping in your arms as his body betrayed him and let everyone in the room know just how exhausted he was.

One of your hands slid up the length of his chest to run your fingers through his long hair while the other wrapped around his broad shoulders. A relieved sigh escaped as you found yourself relaxing in Jungkook’s hold, the tension in your neck finally gone.

“Can I?” Jungkook mumbled into your neck, his lips brushing against the mark and canines tracing along it. The desperate need to freshen his claim clawed at his insides, especially with the faint smell of Suho all over you. Admittedly, he was planning on reclaiming you as it was, pissed at you or not, because he hated the smell of another man on your clothes and skin.

“Not here,” You blushed and tucked your face further into his chest, knowing full well that he could hear the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Why not?” He nibbled on your skin as if prepping it for the sting of his teeth.

“Because we’re here!” Yoongi interrupted with a gagging noise so convincing that you had to jump back to see if he actually puked all over the floor. His joke, but not really a joke, serving as a reminder that you were not alone in the apartment.

“Dinner?” Seokjin suggested loudly, face flushed and eyes boring into the floor. If anyone in the apartment knew just how intimate marking could get, it was him. He’s married to a hybrid, after all, and the times his wife reclaimed him often led to a night of passion so intense that they would forget they weren’t alone in the house and their daughter was just two doors down.

“God, please!” Taehyung scrambled for his shoes and quickly shoved his feet into them. “I’m starving!”

“You were home all day and you didn’t cook anything to eat?” Hoseok scolded but was just as quick to throw on his own shoes and dash out the door.

“We’ll bring you something back,” Seokjin offered since going out for Jungkook wasn’t an option and figured it would do some good to leave the two of you alone. He shoved Yoongi to the door while the younger struggled against him, reluctant to leave you with Jungkook after your last night alone ended in disaster. “Come on, Yoongi, they’ll be fine.”

“But I—-AGH!” Yoongi yelped as he tripped over his own feet and nearly face planted in his attempt to get away from Seokjin.

When silence filled the apartment, Jungkook went back to laving at your neck with renewed vigor now that there was no one to interrupt. He heard the breathless call of his name but couldn’t really be bothered to fully understand what you were trying to say.

The heat of his palms sliding underneath your shirt left goosebumps on your skin, a shiver running down your spine. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands travelled lower and lower, stopping briefly to squeeze the cheeks of your ass, and cupping the backs of your thighs to lift you onto the kitchen counter. Leaning back on your elbows, you laughed as Jungkook followed and loomed over your entire body.

“As sexy as this is,” You joked and smiled fondly at the twitching of his ears, “the marble of the counter is cold as hell, Kook, so maybe the bedroom…”

Jungkook was hauling you off the counter before you could even finish the sentence, your arms and legs clinging to his body, winding tight as he pressed your back to the wall instead. His eyes lit up that beautiful shade of emerald you came to love, irides slitting in true cat form and his canines elongating. The sharp prick of said canines made you squeak as they pierced your skin, a sound he seemed to take quite a liking to.

“Oh,” You breathed, grinding against his crotch in a desperate search for friction. One hand tangled in his long hair while the other pulled at the button and zipper of his jeans until you were able to snake your hand inside.

Jungkook groaned against your throat at the feel of your fingers wrapping around his length. He pulled away to lean his forehead on your shoulder, fingers gripping your thighs and parting them further to press against you even more. “Tell me, Y/N,” He whispered against your skin, “who is this I smell on you?”

“That answer depends on how pissed off you’ll get,” You laughed sharply at the feel of his claws poking out to grab at the muscle of your thighs possessively. “Judging by your claws, I’d say very.”

He growled out, using one hand to snatch yours from his jeans and pin it to the wall. “It smells like gunpowder.”

Gunpowder?

“Set me down,” You pushed at his chest, rolling your eyes as he grit his teeth and released his grip. With both feet firmly on the ground, you brought a hand up to run through the tangled mess of hair in order to think. “Suho’s guys, maybe?”

“They shot at you?” Jungkook couldn’t stop the growl rumbling from his chest if he tried.

“No, but they must have fired their guns at some point during the day,” You looked at his face and winced at the shadow crossing his features. “Well it’s not like I would have been able to smell it on them. They ambushed me, all I did was fight back.”

“Yes. Against guns.”

“They didn’t have any on them when we fought,” You defended yourself but it really was just a poor excuse for not thinking Suho’s guys would be carrying.

Jungkook sighed heavily and slammed his eyes closed before you could see the green coming forth. “Take a shower, Y/N, get the smell off you, and then we can go to bed.”

A scoff nearly made its way from your throat but he was right. Jungkook was sensitive to gunpowder and any kind of firearms; it stemmed from his less than pleasant encounters with them. You brought your arm up in a mock salute, earning yourself a glare as the words, “Yes, sir!” echoed down the hallway.

“Go,” He bit out and moved away to give you space to walk down the hall. Truthfully, he needed time to gain his bearings after catching a familiar scent. Not the gunpowder, but Suho himself. Suho’s stench had been all over Ye-Jin’s room when he first arrived at the Nam home. Judging by how much the smell lingered, Jungkook could only guess why the hunter spent so much time there. Ye-Jin’s escapades with Suho made Jungkook’s skin crawl, thinking of how hard she’d tried to seduce the panther himself.

When the scent hit his nostrils, the panther in him was coming out full force and he needed to create some distance before he snapped. Now that he’d claimed you, the last thing he wanted was to cause harm by becoming feral.

The sound of running water made his ears and growing bulge twitch. He really needed to get a hold of himself. That thought had no time to be registered before his feet carried him to the bathroom. The handle was cold against his heated skin and he wasn’t at all surprised to find the door unlocked. A small nudge against the wood revealed your scattered clothes along the tiled floor, your scent invading his senses. Little by little, he shed his clothes as quietly as possible in hopes of giving you a small scare.

You really should have been paying more attention to your surroundings. Jungkook was the only one left in the apartment but you still should have been more careful in your decision to leave the door unlocked. The guys could have come back at any time.

“You should be more careful, baby,” Jungkook purred against your ear, hands snaking around to rest against your stomach and pulling your back to his naked chest.

“Oh?” There was no reason to hide your amusement and he knew it. Your intentions were quite clear as you tipped your head back and met his shoulder. “Why is that?”

“Anyone could have walked in here,” He growled low, one hand clasping your hip while the other slid up to palm your breast.

“Anyone did,” You teased, gasping sharply at his wandering hands coupled with the feel of his lips at your neck. Steam enveloped the room and clouded your eyesight, leaving you at Jungkook’s complete mercy as his rough hands groped and ran about your torso.

Water pelted Jungkook’s skin as he came to the realization that bathing with you would be his second favorite activity in a long time. The hand on your hip traveled lower between your legs until the tip of his index finger pressed against the bundle of nerves. The whining and whimpering had his ears flattening against his scalp as he pressed, circled, and worked at your clit ever so slowly. “Soon,” He promised softly, though for you an impending orgasm wasn’t soon enough.

“I will cut your tail off, panther,” You threatened lightly and his chuckle vibrated against your back. He enjoyed tormenting you, that much was obvious, deft fingers gliding lower and his other hand cupping your breast gently. “You’re an ass, Jungkook.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook smirked against your wet skin, sinking two fingers knuckle deep into your heat. “No ‘Kook’ this time, baby? That’s not very nice considering where my fingers are.”

“Please,” You groaned, head lolling forward and arm shooting out to press against the shower wall, pushing back against his erection. His tail wound around your thigh to pry your legs open, fingers pumping in and out ever so slowly.

“Please?” He mocked, ears twitching curiously at what may come out of your mouth next. In the short while he’d been living with you and Taehyung, he’d seen enough to know that you were not one to yield. To anything. So to have you begging and pleading for him was a pleasant surprise. “You want something from me, Y/N?”

“No ‘baby’ this time?” You hissed at the prodding of his fingers, deep and steady, and curled your own into a fist against the wall. “That’s not very nice of you, Kook, considering where my hand was earlier.”

“What if Taehyung had come in?” Jungkook hummed in your ear and let his thoughts run much wilder than necessary. What if Taehyung had come in? Or Yoongi?

He wasn’t very fond of that idea given how close you were to them. His hand moved from your hip up to your throat, squeezing gently while you panted and squirmed against him. “Has he ever seen you naked?”

“Not now, Kook.” You groaned because yes, yes Taehyung had seen you naked before. He was the one you lost your virginity to years ago but Jungkook didn’t need to know that. “You really want to talk about Tae of all people right now?”

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing in tight circles as your thighs trembled and you whimpered out his name. “No, I’d much rather be inside of you but since the subject was brought up…”

“By you!” You yelped at the small press of his fingers against your throat and the way his fingers pumped faster. Your hips rocked in time to his hand, grinding into his hand and reaching your own hand back to tangle in his hair. “Jungkook, please.”

He smirked against your skin, ears perking up at the mix of pleas and threats spilling from your mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why you were deflecting and though usually he’d be upset by this new information, he was surprised to find it didn’t bother him as much as he’d first thought. His lips moved up the side of your neck, teeth nipping and sucking your skin. “You’re mine, sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Possessiveness was never really a turn on for you, but with Jungkook you found yourself clamping down on his fingers and nodding quickly in agreement. This, this was the panther in him and it was a huge relief to have him becoming more confident and comfortable.

“Say it,” Jungkook hissed, pressing firmly on your clit as you tugged at his hair. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”

“I’m yours,” You moaned loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. “All yours, Jungkook. Only you.”

Your back was hauled against the shower wall unceremoniously, hands gripping your thighs, parting them as he sank deep inside in one solid thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to break skin but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips were on yours roughly, muffling the strangled moan leaving your throat.

Jungkook didn’t move, instead savoring the feel of your walls clenching around his cock. The kiss slowed to a languid press of your lips to his, your fingers combing through his shaggy hair and tugging on it to have better access to his neck. He closed his eyes, sighing in pleasure and winding his arms underneath your thighs, pulling himself back before surging forward again and again. The slow roll of his hips against yours had you panting and gasping with each solid thrust. You wound one arm around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his shoulder while the other hand gripped his hair so tight that you were sure he’d be bald by the end of the night.

This wasn’t the same frenzied pace as the previous night, you realized. It was sweeter, softer in the way he moved and peppered your shoulder in kisses. Honestly it probably wasn’t a good idea to take your time since neither of you knew when Taehyung and the rest of the guys would be back. The last thing you needed was any of them walking in to see you and Jungkook going at it in the bathroom of all places.

Seokjin, the maturer of the group, would most likely be the one to herd them all out yet again, but even he would crack some kind of joke about it.

“I missed you,” Jungkook rasped against your mouth, breaking you from all thoughts as his thrusts became quicker and sloppier, one hand snaking between your legs to thumb at your clit once more. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

You wanted to tease that it hadn’t even been a full day but you knew exactly how he felt. How empty and hollow your chest seemed with the distance and while you had spent most of your day occupied with the detective and Suho’s gang, Jungkook spent his holed up in an unfamiliar apartment with nothing but his own thoughts. Your nails bit into his scalp and he hissed at the feel, teeth coming down to clamp on his mark and tongue lapping at the skin.

“I missed you too, Kook,” You whispered as his canines sank deep into his already prominent claim. You convulsed around him, body shaking and thighs trembling with the intensity of your release. “Fuck!”

Jungkook’s hand moved from between your legs to brace against the wall next to your head, a deep groan of agreement reverberating from his chest. The press of your knees against his rib cage, squeezing him tight, pushed him over the edge and he spilled into you. His mouth found yours in a deep kiss, tongue slipping past your lips as his hands massaged the tops of your thighs in soothing circles.

Three loud bangs against the bathroom door made you tense and pull away from Jungkook but he only shushed you as Taehyung’s deep voice boomed on the other side.

“There better be hot water left, goddamn it!” Taehyung joked before striding back down the hall to the kitchen. He really wouldn’t have even gone to find you if Seokjin hadn’t insisted on it.

“Jungkook didn’t eat much earlier,” Seokjin had said when they returned to the apartment, “and I can bet neither has Y/N. They need something in their system.”

“But they already have each other,” Hoseok had mumbled and earned a nice slap across the back of his head from Yoongi.

Taehyung shook his head before walking back into the kitchen to find Seokjin rummaging through his cabinets to find plates and cups. If anyone had told him a year ago that he’d have his best friend, a hybrid, and three older men that treated him like a kid rather than a hunter in his apartment, Taehyung would have laughed in their face. Still, it was comforting to have someone care for him like a person instead of a killer. His childhood was less than pleasant, his own father acting as if Teahyung were a nuisance and not the son he was responsible for.

“Tae,” Seokjin frowned at the distant look on the younger man’s face, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Taheyung shook his head with a chuckle. “I was just thinking.”

Hoseok sat at the dining table with a tilt of his head, waiting to hear if Taehyung would elaborate further but Seokjin simply set a plate down in front of him before moving on to an empty space.

“Then sit,” Seokjin smiled warmly and turned to the abundance of food waiting on the counters.

Yoongi peered down the hallway to the now empty bathroom, watching the swirls of steam seep out from the open door and grimacing at the thought of what happened while they were gone.

“Yoongi,” Seokjin called from the counter as he dug through a bag of food, “they’ll be out here when they’re ready. Come sit down and eat.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to protest when your bedroom door swung open and Jungkook strolled out fully dressed and running a towel through his hair. You weren’t far behind, also dressed in a baggy shirt and sweats, wringing out your hair in a towel.

“Sorry, Tae,” You mumbled as you plopped down on a chair and avoided eye contact with everyone.

“Just as long as there’s hot water left.” Taehyung playfully poked your side before you could scramble away from him.

“No, don’t!” You squealed, actually squealed, and launched yourself onto Jungkook’s lap as Taehyung reached out to tickle your side.

Jungkook was sure he’d never heard anything sweeter than that. The sharp pitch of your voice slicing the air cutely before you were in his lap and clinging to him like a child. There was a grin on your face that no one except Taehyung had seen and Jungkook decided in that moment that he’d do anything to see it again.

“You’re such a baby,” Taehyung teased you, oblivious to the other men’s wide eyed expression, all four of them shocked that you could even smile that big.

You yourself hadn’t even noticed it and Yoongi caught a brief glimpse of the little girl you used to be in that one smile. It shook him to the core to realize how different you’d become and sure, he was used to the woman you were now but to see that little part of you from childhood still existed nearly made him tear up.

Jungkook’s arms were tight around your frame and he buried his face in your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of your shampoo, gripping your waist so hard that he was amazed you could still breathe. The small giggle that floated around the otherwise quiet apartment warmed his chest and he peeked up from your head to watch you poke Taehyung’s leg with your bare foot.

“Gross!” Taehyung wiped away at the invisible dirt on his pants as if you hadn’t just spent an entire hour in the shower. It eased the tension in his shoulders to be able to make you laugh again, something he hadn’t been able to do in the past few months. He watched as you leaned into the crook of Jungkook’s neck and tucked yourself into the hybrids’ arms, a soft smile spreading across his lips. Taehyung often forgot how little of a childhood you actually had and that affection wasn’t something you easily accepted. But seeing you now, curled into the embrace of someone who looked at you with stars in his eyes, Taehyung had to tamp down the sob threatening to escape his mouth. He loved you like a sister and had wanted for so long to be able to escape the wretched life you’d known, but for years he didn’t think a semi-normal life was a possibility, until now. Now the dream of being able to walk the streets without looking over both of your shoulders was slowly but surely becoming a reality.

Seokjin leaned his chin against his palm and wanted to scowl at how happy Jungkook was compared to two hours ago. The grin on the hybrid’s face was enough for Seokjin to forgive the way Jungkook had spent the entire day sulking about the upstairs apartment and mumbling under his breath all the ways the argument could have gone if you hadn’t been so stubborn. Love was a fragile thing and while Seokjin was sure neither you nor Jungkook had fully realized just what was happening between you two, it was quite clear the kind of lengths each of you would go through to keep the other safe. It could be argued, mostly by Yoongi, that the relationship was more lust than anything else but Seokjin knew Yoongi’s obsessive need to protect you stemmed from his knowledge of your upbringing.

“Can we talk about your meeting with Namjoon?” Yoongi raised a brow in your direction. “If I’m not mistaken, it didn’t go entirely as planned but he didn’t shut down the idea either.”

You felt Jungkook tense and press a kiss to the top of your head. “He’s well aware of the risks being taken if he chooses to help us with this, but he’s on board. We’ll set up another time and place to meet soon. Hyungsik’s expecting progress too and he’s agreed to have Suho back off for now. I’m not sure how long that will last or if it even works at all, but our run in today will keep him at bay for at least a week, maybe two.”

“Depends on how fast he’ll recover.” Taehyung shoved a good portion of jjajangmyeon into his mouth and followed it with a long drink of water. “Suho’s never been quick to jump back into an assignment no matter how much he was or wasn’t injured. Despite his reputation, Suho only gets his hands dirty when it comes to showing up Y/N, but even then it’s usually as a last resort. I was surprised to hear how fiercely he was going about this one, then again it could be the reward money that’s keeping him so driven.”

Hoseok huffed from his seat and raked a hand through his hair. “If we can’t steer Suho in a different direction even for a little bit, then this will all be for naught. Two weeks sounds like a long time but not for us, especially with Hyungsik breathing down Y/N’s neck. Taking care of Suho should be the first priority right now.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Taehyung nodded his head in agreement and looked to you, watching the gears in your head turn as you became quiet. “Whatever you’re planning against Suho might give Hyungsik a reason to give you some breathing room. Suho’s a good hunter but he’s messy and not exactly shy about how he makes a living. Hyungsik is in a hurry to get Jungkook before Suho can make a public spectacle about all of this. With him out of the picture, it could give us the opportunity to ask Nam for more time to find Jungkook.”

You knew Tae was right. Hyungsik was always quick to hire you for a job because you were quiet and undetectable, something a lot of other hunters hadn’t quite mastered and with the new laws in place, it would be disastrous if the news that Hyungsik was still harboring hybrids became public knowledge. You also knew that Hoseok was nervous about Suho popping up unnecessarily but you looked to him and said, “Suho’s recovery time isn’t something to worry about. Like Tae said, it could take two weeks before Suho shows himself again and maybe even more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Suho, it’s that he can’t take the chance of not being at full strength when he goes up against me again.”

“Why were you able to bounce back from his men so quickly but it’ll take Suho weeks to come back from almost nothing?” Hoseok wondered with a curious tilt of his head. He didn’t notice the tight grip of Yoongi’s hand on his cup, or the way Taehyung winced at the question. He only noticed the smallest hint of your nostrils flaring before you covered it up with a smirk.

“Endurance training.”

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

“Again.” Sangchul’s command was sharp. His fighting skills even more so as he dodged another swipe of your fist.

Blindfolded. Again.

Which meant relying on your ears and nose to detect him. He’d started out the day clean but as training went on, he began to sweat and while the smell was not revolting, it was also not flattering. The sound of his heavy boot alerted you to his movement as you thrust your elbow back and connected with the palm of his hand. Damn. He’d seen it coming and managed to counter your hit.

He pushed your elbow forward, sending you staggering out of reach. He watched as you whipped around quickly and brought your hands up to defend yourself if need be. Slowing his breathing and staying entirely still, he watched the fleeting look of panic in your frown. He didn’t want to admit how much you improved since your last session a few weeks back. The lessons would have continued the next day but there was tension in the air every time you were in the same room as him, the kind of tension that made him uneasy. He wasn’t willing to find out how far that tension would push you, so he made himself scarce far more often than he should.

A hunter with skills such as his should not be scared of a sixteen year old girl. He’d have laughed in someone’s face if that person had told him that his granddaughter would one day unnerve him. The day he left you in the woods after beating the ever loving hell out of you had changed something else in you. Something mischievous, rebellious, and down right evil had swirled in your eyes the moment you stepped out of the trees and into his line of sight. You hated him, he knew that, but he wanted to think that you were reliant enough of him that you wouldn’t use the skills he taught you against him.

Last time he didn’t give you time to recover, so you had expected him to attack you as soon as he let go of your elbow. You grit your teeth when he didn’t take a swing at you as he had before. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out any kind of noise Sangchul would make. He had to have known you couldn’t hear anything but the deafening sound of your own breathing. What could only have been seconds felt like hours before he finally moved, the soft crunch of boots on dead leaves had you ducking an oncoming punch. As you crouched to the ground, the quick woosh of his other boot kicking up dirt had you placing your palms out towards his kick, blocking his assault. You were on your feet quickly, the heel of your steel toe boot catching on the root of the tree behind you but you held steady and acted as if you were going to fall backwards.

Sangchul lunged forward even further, attempting to grip your shoulders to pin you down, but you gained your footing not a second later and he found himself pressed face first into the rough bark of the tree.

Your forearm was at the back of his neck, only one of his hands wrenched behind his back because there wasn’t a way for you to grab both. Your tiny victory was short lived as he used his free hand to push off the tree and spin around. His wrist rotated out and around to take hold of yours and pull it taught in the air. You cried out in pain after a sickening pop sounded around the woods.

“Clever.” Sangchul admitted with reluctance. “You’ve paid attention. Attempting to get out of my hold will only result in dislocating your shoulder. Which is exactly what needs to happen to get away from me. What will you do, Y/N? Are you willing to pop your own arm out of its socket to escape me or will you---?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing his question before you were twisting your body out of his grip, shoulder popping out of place so unnaturally that Sangchul could have thrown up if he weren’t so damn impressed. Dropping to one knee, you panted out of exertion and the scream echoing through the trees.

Sangchul could count on one hand the amount of times he’d had to teach the same lesson to his own son only to have it end in Donghoon crying and cowering in the corner of his room all night. His eyes were comically wide as you stood from the ground with a renewed sense of purpose, your shoulder hanging limp as sweat beaded across your forehead. It was as if the pain was your sole purpose to keep going and the determination to remain unafraid of him propelled you forward.

Your shoulder was hot, your body gradually warming with it before it started to feel like your whole being was on fire. The flames licked the back of your neck and shoulder blade, rendering your arms useless but not your legs as you swung around and landed the most satisfying kick to your grandfather’s jaw. The crunch of his bones and the thud of his body hitting the ground had a grin splitting your lips viciously, a smile cold and cruel that you’d seen him don thousands of times before. You didn’t have to see his face to know the power shift had begun. You could hear it in the way he struggled to breathe.

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

Taehyung quirked an amused brow at the way Yoongi burrowed further into the couch like a petulant child when Hoseok was trying to get him to leave.

“Hyung, come on.” Hoseok ran a hand down his face, unwilling to believe that his senior could be so immature. “We’re due to open the bar in an hour and it’s a 30 minute drive from here. We need to leave now.”

“Let’s take a night off,” Yoongi suggested with a fake yawn and stretched himself across the length of Taehyung’s couch. He crossed his feet and brought his arms up behind his head as a makeshift pillow. “One night won’t hurt us.”

“I don’t think Taehyung appreciates you taking over his home without talking to him first.”

“I have extra blankets and pillows.” Taehyung offered up as Hoseok shot him a glare from across the room. “Though if you’re only staying to keep an eye on Y/N, then it would probably be better to camp out in front of her door.”

“That’s not happening.” Jungkook came up beside Taehyung with a stern look on his face. Two weeks ago, he would have cowered at the sight of Yoongi after getting a gun pulled on him, but now Jungkook refused to be scared.

Yoongi’s nostrils flared at being challenged by the younger hybrid and he scowled at Jungkook. “Oh yeah, kid? What makes you think she’ll be as quick as you are to kick me out?”

Hoseok buried his face in his hands, tired and sleep deprived from the long nights at the bar and the long days spent helping his new found friends. “You have a couch at home that you can sleep on, hyung.”

“I like Taehyung’s couch better.”

When Hoseok looked to Taehyung for help getting his friend out of the apartment, Taehyung simply hid a smile behind his hand. He opened his mouth to argue with Yoongi once more when you came down the hallway, footsteps so light against the carpeted floor that nobody would notice you if you hadn’t said anything.

“Go home, Yoongi.” You slapped at his feet before plopping down on the couch and tucking your feet underneath your thighs. “If Tae wanted you to invade his space then he would have said so.”

“He offered me extra pillows and blankets,” Yoongi sat up to face you, “I’d say that counts as an invitation.”

Jungkook had made his way to you at some point and scooped you up to take your spot on the couch, sitting you in his lap. The fresh smell of vanilla and lilac intoxicated him enough to press his face into the crook of your neck.

Yoongi frowned in mock disgust and scoffed at the way Jungkook shot him a sly smirk. “The idea of sleeping outside Y/N’s room is tempting, but I think I’d rather sleep inside.”

Jungkook’s growl rumbled from his chest and against your back. You knew Yoongi was only teasing and meant no harm but Jungkook didn’t seem to share your amusement. “Maybe you should sleep in Tae’s room, Yoongs. He’s just as touch starved as you are.”

“I like to cuddle.” Taehyung nodded with the most serious look he could muster, blinking in surprise when a faint blush crept up Yoongi’s cheeks.

You shot Yoongi a teasing smile, “what a coincidence, so does Yoongi. There were some nights he wouldn’t let me pry myself away.”

Heat prickled your bare rib cage as Jungkook’s fingers discreetly slid underneath your oversized shirt, the rough pads of his fingers leaving behind goosebumps. His palm flattened just underneath your breast bone, thumb teasing the hem of your bra, and pushing under the wire to skim across your nipple. You’d never pulled your knees to your chest quicker than in that moment, hoping to keep his hand from being seen roaming around. With the press of your knees, it kept Jungkook’s hand in place so he couldn’t venture further but he was not one to be deterred, instead wiggling his hand free enough to slide completely up and cup your entire breast.

“It’s not like you were complaining,” Yoongi’s voice brought you back to the present. “You showed up every night anyways so you can’t tell me that you didn’t like cuddling up to me just as much.”

Jungkook lightly squeezed your breast, kneading and pinching, all while keeping a face so impassive that you were starting to believe you were imagining things. His head tilted at the small hitch in your breath, ears twitching in delight, and he grinned when Yoongi caught a glimpse of your shirt moving where it should not be.

“You--,” Yoongi began but Seokjin’s voice stopped him.

“I think everyone should call it a night,” Seokjin suggested after catching the dark look in Jungkook’s eyes before Yoongi could call him out. “I also think if you’re going to stay here tonight, Yoongi, then you should be advised that this is also Jungkook’s territory now. Invading it aggressively will only end in less than pleasant results. Tread carefully.”

“Bed time.” Jungkook whispered against your ear, nipping it in the process and standing from the couch so quick that it made you dizzy. He laughed as you clung to him, padding down the hallway to your bedroom while Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Seokjin continued on with their conversation.

Taehyung threw his head back with a laugh that nearly shook the apartment. He hadn’t been so amused in such a long time that watching Yoongi scramble after Jungkook only to have the door slammed in his face had Taehyung doubled over in glee. He could hear Yoongi’s shocked sputtering all the way from the living room.

Hoseok didn’t seem to be faring any better, clapping his hands while howling with laughter as well. It took a great deal to rattle Yoongi and Hoseok had only seen it happen a few times in all the years they’d known each other. Now that Jungkook was starting to show more of himself and how comfortable he’d become, Yoongi was left slack jawed a good portion of the time the group spent together.

Seokjin couldn’t hide his chuckle as Yoongi came back down the hallway with a tic in his jaw. He was aware that the amusement and playfulness wouldn’t last long and the reality of the situation would once again crash into everyone like a brick wall. But for tonight, he would enjoy every smile, every laugh, and every teasing glance that passed between everyone because it would be short lived, and there was a high possibility of it all crashing down in flames. The odds against you were great and while you were stronger than most people, you were still human. With Jungkook at your side and bound to you, the hard shell of the woman you’d become was beginning to crack and Seokjin knew that if anything happened to the panther, you would lose yourself in your own head once more.

It was no secret how special of a person you were to Yoongi. It was why he was still sulking around Taehyung’s living room instead of sleeping in his own bed. He was aware that Jungkook would sooner tear off his own arm than hurt you, but Yoongi still worried. The look of defeat after your fight with Jungkook was still fresh in Yoongi’s mind, and the way you fought against Suho earlier was just a taste of what could happen if you lost Jungkook again. There had been rumors about the vicious way you fought and he’d seen it first hand, but the encounter with Suho was on an entirely different level. Something in your eyes was inhuman, the curve of your smile struck a wicked resemblance to the grandfather you loathed, and Yoongi spent the entire time watching your eyes practically light up at the way you scared Suho.

The person you transformed into the second Jungkook was back in your arms was startling. Yoongi didn’t think you could even still be that person, but Jungkook’s presence reeled in the part of you that lashed out against everyone and everything. You were starting to become that same little girl who would move heaven and hell to protect the ones important to you. Growing up, Yoongi had watched you save your mother from the drunken mess that was Donghoon. He’d seen you constantly jump in front of her, taking whatever slap or punch was meant for Iseul, and raising your head high as you hadn’t just been struck by a heavy hand. Time and again, you were scolded by your mother for getting involved, and time and again you would beg Iseul to pack up and leave Donghoon. The arguments often ended in you storming out of the house and stomping across the street to Yoongi’s house where he would clean you up and hold you in his arms until the crying and shaking stopped.

The night your parents died, you were meant to be home. Meant to be helping your mother pack a weekend bag for a trip with that monster. But you’d argued with her before leaving for school that morning, screaming at her that one day Donghoon will do irreparable damage and you would not be there to pick up the pieces. Yoongi could still remember the agony on your face and in your voice when you ran up to the home that had become a crime scene in a few short hours. He remembered the screams, remembered the tears streaming down your face, and the desperate pleas for Iseul. He remembered being angry with his own parents for keeping him away from you when you needed him the most, but also remembered the way his father pulled him close and whispered in his ear that Sangchul was watching him carefully, that if he truly cared about you then he would let your grandfather handle the situation. He knew it was wrong, knew he should have fought harder to get to you, but then Sangchul was at your side and had taken hold of your shoulders with a solid grip. Yoongi wasn’t close enough to know what was being said or what could have caused the light to die in your eyes, yet he was able to watch what could only be explained as a switch being flipped and then you were no longer Y/N. Not the human part anyways.

A large hand clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, shaking him from his walk down memory lane, and he looked over to find Seokjin’s brows pinched together with worry. He shook his head and gave his senior what he hoped was a smile. Seokjin could read Yoongi’s bullshit better than anybody and lately he’s been keeping Yoongi closer than ever, as if your presence would cause him to spiral down like it had when they’d first met in college. Yoongi couldn’t blame Jin for wanting to make sure he was okay, especially not after the frantic reaction he had when Jin called him the night you were injured. In all their years of being friends, Seokjin had never heard that type of fear in Yoongi’s voice or seen the trembling of his bottom lip once he saw the state you were in after leaving his bar.

“It’s late,” Taehyung’s deep voice cut the tension in the air as he watched something pass between Seokjin and Yoongi. “We’re all exhausted and I’m sure none of you are up for the long drive home.”

Hoseok had already settled on the couch once he realized Yoongi would have to be dragged out of the apartment kicking and screaming if Taehyung really wanted him to leave. His eyelids were heavier than he expected them to be and soon his soft snores were drifting around the living room. His sudden slumber left Taehyung scrambling for a pillow and blanket so Hoseok wouldn’t be uncomfortable the rest of the night.

“The offer to share my bed still stands,” Taehyung grinned at Yoongi after settling Hoseok in. The last thing he expected was for Yoongi to stomp down the hall to his room as if he owned the place. He turned to Seokjin and offered to sleep on the floor of his room so Seokjin could have the bed. “I really don’t mind, hyung. I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Seokjin’s smile was endearing, a flutter of pride in his heart at being accepted by Taehyung. “Sleeping on the floor won’t be a problem for me.”

Taehyung nodded and led him down the hall where he flung his door open to find Yoongi spread out on his bed. He grumbled underneath his breath and shoved Yoongi to one side, creating space for himself before digging through his closet for the sleeping bag he’d bought years ago. He handed Seokjin an extra pillow and blanket, bidding him goodnight and good luck. “I had to sleep on this floor when I first moved in and I can tell you, it’s the most unpleasant night’s sleep.”

Seokjin bobbed his head and yawned, offering good luck to Taehyung in return. “Y/N’s right, you know. Yoongi likes to cuddle.”

Taehyung was ready to laugh at what he thought was a continuation of the joking from earlier but the arm that was quickly wrapped around his stomach made him squeak. He didn’t mind it and he certainly wasn’t going to object to Yoongi’s heartless facade finally crumbling. There was a deep and raspy chuckle that echoed around the room and he wasn’t sure if it was from Seokjin, or Yoongi.

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

The faint smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting up Taehyung’s nostrils made him believe he was still dreaming, but the constricting hold of someone else’s leg curled around his was enough to startle him. He tried to bolt up and assess his surroundings until his back was squeezed to a solid chest, and it was then he remembered what had happened the night before. He looked at the hand pressed to his chest and trailed his eyes up the owner’s arm and to Yoongi’s sleeping face.

Min Yoongi wasn’t just a cuddler, he was a goddamn boa constrictor with the way he clung to Taehyung with a surprising amount of strength. He wasn’t usually one for physical affection but he hated the feeling of an empty bed after you’d left years ago. To have someone next to him, be it man or woman, he didn’t care. He wanted the warmth of another body, the comfort of knowing the space next to him would be occupied when he awoke. He was well aware of the hesitation that came from Taehyung after the stunt Yoongi had pulled on Jungkook with a gun, which is why it had surprised him that Taehyung would offer his home as a place to sleep despite Yoongi having his own apartment. He liked to think it was because Taehyung was finally starting to accept him the way he accepted Hoseok and Seokjin.

A loud and obnoxious slurping coming from Taehyung’s bedroom doorway had both him and Yoongi groaning at being woken up before they were ready. Yoongi was tempted to throw a pillow at whoever it may be and seeing as how Taehyung fumbled around the bed to grip a loose one, it was clear that Yoongi was not alone in despising the morning sun.

“Well,” Your voice was dripping with amusement, a teasing lilt to it as both men’s eyes shot open to find that you were the one interrupting their sleep. “Don’t you two look cosy. I take it you’ve forgiven Yoongs then, Tae? Or this is a forbidden kind of thing that we’re all supposed to just pretend we don’t notice?”

“Get out!” Taehyung hissed, horror written all over his face as he noticed your phone poised and ready to take a picture. He was sure you already had a dozen or more since you took your sweet ass time waking them up. He would yell at you to delete them but there was a maximum of one photo on your phone, it being of you and your mother when you were still just a toddler. The fact that you were willing to keep a memento of a fonder memory at his and Yoongi’s expense was honestly okay with him.

“Jin made breakfast.” You sauntered away from Taehyung’s room with your coffee mug, loudly announcing to Hoseok that he ‘just had to see this’, and Hoseok chirping ‘no way!’. Setting the mug down on the kitchen table, you heard fumbling, a thud, and then a loud groan before Yoongi came barreling down the hallway with accusatory eyes. “Good morning, Yoongs. How’d you sleep?”

“Don’t try that cutesy act on me, you little brat.” Yoongi glared at you, his eyes roaming your body in search of your phone. “Hand it over.”

“No.”

Yoongi balked at your refusal, lunging after you and finding himself having to chase you across the length of the living room. He came close once or twice though he was sure it was more because you were just giving him a chance rather than he was actually as fast as you. Nearly tripping over the coffee table, he was appalled to see that you’d hidden behind Hoseok, and that Hoseok was full on shielding you from Yoongi’s hands.

At some point, Taehyung had finally emerged from his room and stopped short at the sight of a mischievous grin on your face. He didn’t think you even knew what fun was, but he had to remind himself that there had been a time when you were loved and cared for, and the man currently threatening to strangle Hoseok was one of the people who’d known you before your training. He had to wonder why Jungkook hadn’t stepped in yet when he looked to the kitchen and saw Seokjin setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of the panther.

The breakfast Seokjin had cooked up looked so mouthwatering that Jungkook didn’t even bother paying attention to you and Yoongi. In fact, it was entertaining to watch Yoongi attempt to keep up with your speed and agility. You moved so fluently and swiftly that Jungkook wondered how it was possible for a mere human to move the way he could in his panther form. When you launched yourself over the coffee table flawlessly and sprinted to him, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist as you plopped down in his lap.

Yoongi was panting and two seconds from collapsing to the ground. You’d always been fast and nimble, two traits Yoongi wasn’t exactly envious of given the circumstances you’d gone through to obtain those abilities. He did, however, envy that you weren’t out a single breath while he was close to being dehydrated just from running around the apartment. “I swear to God, little one, if you don’t hand that phone over…”

“I don’t have it.” You smirked at him, accepting a forkful of eggs from Jungkook’s waiting hand. You had your own plate waiting right next to him, but given how long you left them to get cold, you couldn’t imagine they were appetizing. A fact Seokjin also factored in when he heard the commotion, now picking up the plate and shoving it in the microwave to heat up. You’d be surprised if it weren’t for the reminder that he was a parent, and that he must have gone through the same thing a million times with his young daughter.

Taehyung had left the room a few minutes before and was now wandering back in with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Toothpaste was slathered all over his lips as he scrubbed at his teeth, not wanting to miss what else may occur in the battle between his best friend and Yoongi. He caught Yoongi’s eye and sent him a teasing wink, watching as Yoongi’s face flushed a bright red before he was sitting at the table to eat breakfast.

Seokjin stood at the stove, munching on a strip of bacon and watching the scene unfold before his very eyes. The stark difference in your attitude and demeanor in the last few hours compared to the last few weeks since he’d known you left Seokjin baffled. The obvious flirting between Taehyung and Yoongi, who seemed to longer detest each other, caught him off guard. When he’d joked about Yoongi being clingy the night before, he did not expect to have seen Taehyung so comfortable in Yoongi’s arms. Seokjin didn’t want this to end, he realized. He wanted this every day and to introduce this new part of his life to his wife and daughter, to have his two worlds collide without the threatening weight of Hyungsik on his shoulders.

Hoseok set his empty plate in the sink, frowning as he turned to the table and brought up the crushing subject of the problem at hand. “I woke up to some disturbing texts this morning.”

You stilled in Jungkook’s arms, eyes flicking to Hoseok’s approaching figure.

“A hunter, Lee Dongwook, stopped by the bar last night because he had some information that he thought we’d find interesting.” Hoseok sighed and hung his head in frustration. “Some detectives were snooping around some local dive bars, said they were asking questions about previously known hybrid collectors. They wouldn’t tell anyone why but Dongwook was sure it had to do with some hybrids that had been found dead and their bodies dumped.”

“Meaning?” Yoongi wanted to shake Hoseok by the shoulders and hope that whatever he was hesitating to say would spill out.

“It was the way their bodies were dumped.” Hoseok explained, his eyes boring into the side of your face. “No identification, no missing persons reports, no trace of the hybrid even existing. And the places they’d been dumped were void of any kind of evidence as to who could have done it.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to yours, which never seemed to leave the table. Bile gathered in his throat as he watched a sense of recognition flash in your eyes. “Get to the point, Hobi.”

“There’s only one hunter known to pull off a job like that.” Hoseok tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down so hard that he tasted blood. “Only one hunter that’s known to move like a ghost, blending and moving with the shadows.”

“You didn’t.” Yoongi whispered over the silence that befell the apartment. “Little one, tell me you didn’t.”

“Not for a long time, Yoongi.” You stood from Jungkook and distanced yourself quickly. “Back when I first started hunting, it was easier to do a body dump than it was to actually catch a hybrid. At sixteen, nobody believed a girl like me could get the job done, so they saddled me with getting rid of the bodies.”

“God,” Yoongi breathed and stood up from the table, one hand propped on his hip while the other came up to cover his mouth lest the vomit stuck in his throat come spewing out. “What even…? How…?” He didn’t know what he was trying to ask, or why he was asking at all. He understood what you did as a hunter but he was under the impression that all you did was hunt. Somewhere down the line, he’d pushed the knowledge of your killings to the back of his mind and locked it away.

“I was a kid.” You inhaled deeply and looked to the ground, not sure you could bear the look in Yoongi’s eyes, or Jungkook’s for that matter. “Nobody would have suspected a kid, let alone question them for murder. Sangchul taught me how to get rid of evidence and set me out into the world of hunters and before I knew it... I was that ghost. I was that thing that could move in the shadows, Yoongi. My reputation started with those jobs.” Teahyung winced at the change of tone in your voice. To him, it wasn’t a surprise to hear about the beginnings of your hunting days. You’d told him all about it when you’d first met in hopes it would scare him away. But no. There was no scaring him away from you.

“Are you trying to justify your shit by saying you were only sixteen?!” Yoongi’s voice boomed around the apartment and Hoseok had put a comforting hand to Jungkook’s shoulder. “All of it should be forgiven and forgotten because you were just a kid?! The world doesn’t fucking work that way, Y/N! Of course, those hybrids would never know because they won’t be getting the chance because of you! You destroyed them, you got rid of them, and didn’t turn back because it wasn’t your fucking problem anymore, was it?! Can you even tell me their names?!”

“Yoongi!” Seokjin tried to step in, watching the darkness swirl in your eyes as your gaze shot to Yoongi.

“Seo-yun, Seung, Hyunwoo, Juwon,” You listed off name after name, your hands curling into fists at the memories each name brought up. The things you had done, the lives you had taken, and the slow, agonizing pain in your chest with each hybrid. “Changmin, Geon, Seokhoon.”

“Y/N, stop.” Taehyung pleaded, standing from the table and moving across the room but you stepped back. His heart cracked at the way you rejected him.

“Jeni, Areum, Bona,” You continued, chest heaving with anger as more names came spilling out. “Haneul, Nabi, Hwayoung. And so many more. Yes, I did that to them. Yes, I made them untraceable. But I was never the kind of ruthless that my grandfather wanted me to be. They died, Yoongi, but they weren’t tortured, at least not by me. To say their deaths were peaceful would be selfish, but they certainly weren’t painful either.”

“You killed them, Y/N.” Yoongi raked a hand through his hair, bewilderment and disbelief etched all over his face. “You ended their lives and you mean to tell me that you did it peacefully? Is there anything even remotely peaceful about being murdered?”

Your jaw clenched at his question. “What would you know about murder, Yoongi? You think because you happened to catch a glimpse of the damage my mother’s death caused that you’re an expert in the repercussions of it?”

“Don’t do that.” Yoongi hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t try to justify your actions with your past trauma like you were the only one who lost something that day.”

Taehyung’s eyes darted to you as you took in a sharp breath. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He was downright terrified of the look in your eye. There had been but two times in the past years that Teahyung had called you out on your bullshit and excuses, and both times had ended in disaster.

“Iseul was important to me too.” Yoongi continued and watched as tears welled in your eyes at the sound of your own mother’s name. He could only guess that you hadn’t said her name out loud since the day she died, and hearing it now made you falter. “She wasn’t just your mother. She was the woman who made sure you were safe at all costs, made sure I was safe at all costs because you needed me. I needed you. We needed each other. She asked me to take care of you, asked me to love you the way you deserved to be because she knew that one day, your father would take her away from you. Iseul always knew that she wouldn’t live long enough to watch you grow all the way up, so she made me promise that I would always look after you no matter what. When she died, my heart felt like it was shattered into a million pieces, and then you were gone too.”

Seokjin’s shoulders stiffened. He had never heard the full story of why Yoongi was so closed off and unwilling to make friends with anyone in college. Here and now may not have been the most ideal, but it was time everything came to light.

Yoongi’s hands shook as everything from that time came rushing back to him. The sleepless nights, the loss of appetite, the depression. All of it after you left town and not once since his reunion with you was he given the chance to let you know just how messed up he’d become.

“You were gone,” Yoongi continued, “and I couldn’t find you. It was like you fell off the face of the Earth. Do you know how helpless I felt? How desperate I became? For years I went out of my fucking mind because I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I may not have had the same experiences as you after that day, but you can damn well bet that I was suffering too. Losing you and Iseul fucked me up just as bad, but I didn’t go off and become a murderer.”

“No. How could you?” You gasped through the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. The look on his face after learning the truth of who you’d really become reminded you of the time your mother had first looked at you the same way. Like you were the devil. “You weren’t born to the same monster that I was, Yoongi. You weren’t meant to be what I am. I know what you were going through. Every chance I had to get away from Sangchul, I went to find you. You were so broken that I couldn’t show my face knowing I’d have to leave again. When we got older, and Sangchul was dead, I kept my distance and you know why? Because you were finally happy again, and I thought if I showed up that I would only disrupt the new life you built. Look at you, Yoongs, you can barely look me in the eye knowing what you do now.”

Jungkook fought hard to resist his urge to spring up from his chair and hold you. He had admonished your decision to keep hunting, but that didn’t mean he didn’t fully understand what the life of a hunter meant. Yoongi’s bar was open to anyone and everyone, and although 90% of those people were hunters, he had never been fully immersed in their world. It wasn’t easy for Jungkook to forgive you and it certainly wasn’t easy to see it from your perspective, but surviving was your instinct just as it was his. Sometimes surviving meant doing things one would never be proud of and he understood that better than Yoongi did.

“The only reason I can’t look you in the eye is because I’m not sure who I’ll see when I do.” Yoongi blinked away his own tears, his chest aching with the newfound knowledge that you’d always been looking over him. “You have this mask that you put up whenever you start to shut down or need to keep someone at bay. That mask looks so much like Sangchul’s and Donghoon’s that I don’t even see Iseul in you anymore, Y/N.”

“That’s because she’s none of those people,” Taehyung had finally inched himself across the room enough to stand at your side without touching you. “Y/N is herself. Those people may have shaped her but over time, she created her own mould. Yoongi, you only want to see the little girl you took care of and no matter how many times you thought you could handle who she was, it wasn’t real for you. This, here and now, this is the reality we’ve lived and become accustomed to. You’re not ready for it. I don’t think anyone but me, Jungkook, and Y/N are, and yet here we all stand willing to take risks bigger than any of us had expected. I’m not saying you need to open your eyes and take in the cruelty of our world if you want to help, but that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“When was your last clean up job?” Seokjin didn’t want to ask. In fact, he was content with staying the hell out of the argument entirely, but someone had to shift the conversation back to where it began.

“6 years ago,” your answer was immediate, giving Yoongi a little bit of relief that these last few bodies were not actually your work. “After I got my first tracking job, I never took on another clean up again.”

Hoseok perked up as if suddenly realizing something important. He dug his phone from his pocket to scroll through the text messages.”Dongwook said the other hunters didn’t give up your name to the detectives, but he heard chatter that maybe you’d started taking on clean up duty again.”

“How did he know to text you?” Yoongi asked him, almost glaring at Hoseok’s sheepish face. “Hobi?”

Hoseok scratched at his head nervously. “Dongwook was in the bar the night Xiumin and Kai attacked Y/N. He saw us take her to the back and figured we had dealt with her a different way but then he saw her leave and pieced it all together.”

“We’re really that transparent.” Yoongi sighed heavily, massaging the tension building at the nape of his neck. “If Dongwook figured it out then there’s no doubt that other hunters have as well.”

“Well yes, but who would really try and use it against us?” Hoseok shot a knowing look in your direction. “To them, the fact that we let Y/N go so easily that night just means we’re important to her. Nobody’s ever bothered to try and hurt Taehyung because they know what will happen if they do. In a way, the bar and us are under her protection.”

“Then who’s dumping the bodies? And who would be stupid enough to try and pin it on Y/N?”

“I’m still here.” You reminded them, tired of hearing them speak about you as if you weren’t present. Looking at everyone around the room, your eyes softened on Jungkook in apology. “I have to contact Namjoon today, before things get more out of hand. I’ll be gone for most of the day and maybe even tomorrow.”

Jungkook wanted to argue, wanted to lock you in the apartment even if he had to tie you up to do so, but he couldn’t do any of that. He could definitely try, and he didn’t think anyone else would object to it. Still, he couldn’t keep you from your nature or from your desperate need to keep him alive and well. Two days would be too long and that was just the minimum amount of time you’d estimated your absence. “Will Taehyung or Seokjin hyung be going with you?”

No, you said at the same time Taehyung said “yes”. You spun around to face him, lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re not going, Tae. I need you here with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook’s a full shifter,” Taehyung argued, “if anyone needs protection, it’s whoever is dumb enough to storm this apartment. Plus, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Yoongi can stay here with him, right Jungkook?”

“I’d feel better if Taehyung went with you.” Jungkook nodded at Taehyung in agreement. “It won’t be safe by yourself, and I’d rather not have a repeat of the night I had to stitch you up.”

You rolled your neck in irritation. Suddenly everyone thought arguing with you was a good idea and nothing pissed you off more than when Taehyung refused to see reason. You didn’t know what would happen when you met Namjoon and you didn’t want Taehyung in the middle of it. After spilling the secret of your grandfather’s death, you were sure Namjoon had something planned in order to bring you to justice. He wouldn’t be a good cop if he didn’t have a larger perspective.

Without a word, you were storming to your room, changing from the baggy sweats and shirt to a pair of black tactical pants, a tank top, and a long sleeved thermal top over it. You pulled your hair into a low ponytail with a heavy sigh. “It isn’t safe to take Taehyung with me,” you called over your shoulder.

Jungkook wasn’t at all surprised that you’d sensed him in the room even if he hadn’t made any noise. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your stomach to pull your back flush against his chest. “I don’t even want you to go in the first place. If you don’t want Taehyung to go with you, then you’ll just have to stay here.”

You turned in his arms, resting your palms against the hard planes of his chest and sliding them up until your fingers were fiddling with the leather band around his neck. An ominous feeling came over you as you tapped on the tracking chip embedded in the charm adorning it. Something was going to go wrong, you could feel it, but voicing this to Jungkook would only further prove that whatever you have planned was not a good idea.

“The longer I wait to set the rest of the plan in motion, the riskier it gets for you,” you stood on the tips of your toes, fingers sliding into his long hair, and pulling his mouth down to yours. It wasn’t a goodbye kiss, but it wasn’t an I’ll-see-you-soon kiss. You could tell Jungkook knew this with the way he secured your waist with one arm and his other hand tangled in your hair, tugging at the elastic band.

He pulled you hard against him, deepening the kiss and nipping at your bottom lip until he was able to slide his tongue through your parted lips. He felt your nails dig into his scalp gently and he groaned against your mouth, savoring the taste of coffee on your tongue. He didn’t want to let you go, but the push of your hand against his chest forced him to release his grip.

You pulled back to touch your forehead to his, both of you breathing heavily. You didn’t open your eyes to see his, it hurt enough that you were leaving, you didn’t need the image of his pleading brown eyes to be the last thing you’d seen before taking off. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He whispered against your swollen lips. His hands fell to your waist where he bunched up the fabric of your shirt, his grip becoming too tight. “I thought you were a better liar than this.”

“I can’t lie to you no matter how hard I try.” You pressed a softer kiss to his mouth this time, bracing your palms against his chest and pushing away from him. Without giving him one last look, you were stalking out of the room. Your chest constricted with the ragged breath he puffed out to keep himself from crying.

#hunting a hybrid fic #jeon jungkook smut #bts hybrid au #bts smut #jeon jungkook imagine #bts imagine #bts fanfic

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 12]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, sex toys, overstimulation, tiniest mentions of daddy!kink, a lil bit of a filler chapter!, this is the most btsvt chapter that it’ll ever get so i’m sorry if you dont like that!! 😭😭, a bit of a lighthearted chapter too tbh to ease everyone back into cherry bomb! 💕 I know its been like two fuckin weeks since the last update which is honestly insane to me! I almost couldnt remember where we even left off lmao kdjfhds 😩💕💕 Thank you for being so patient with me and waiting it out while we had two weeks of Monster Mash! Starting Monday, I’m gonna be going back to my normal posting schedule! 💕 have a great rest of the weekend, yall! 🍒

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - ?

“Wait, seriously? You want to work here? But--but I thought you were from out of town?”

Jun’s eyes light up with excitement; fingertips crushing the resume you passed to him moments prior. “Um, well, there was a change of plans… and I’d really like to work somewhere where I have a friend! If you guys are still hiring, that is...” You reply back meekly.

It’d taken you all morning to write up a resume, blushing a little when you realize most of your income had been from camming. It’d also made you pause for a moment when you realized that it meant Jun would also know your real name too; as well as everyone who came through the diner and all of your coworkers.

“Yeah, of course! I, um, just give me a second to pass this to my manager, okay? I’ll be sure to put in a good word!” Jun shoots you a wink before he turns to leave.

You take the opportunity to sit down at a nearby booth, fishing for your phone to text Seungcheol.

‘I think I might be getting the job!!’

cheollie ✨: oh? Not that I doubted you, but is it confirmed already?

‘Mm… Jun is trying to put in a word for me! But I’m confident!’

cheollie ✨: thats my baby ;)

You hear someone call your name hesitantly, only to find Jun standing a few feet away looking at you sheepishly. “Um, sorry, your name’s on the resume so I figured…”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s fine!” You awkwardly giggle. “I figured writing ‘Cherry’ as my name wouldn’t be too smart when you need to cross-reference my ID if I get the job.” Jun laughs as he takes the seat across from you in the booth, papers in hand.

“Well, I convinced my manager to let me interview you. Told him that if we’d be workin’ together that I’d want to scope you out for myself! He bought it, can you believe it!?” Grinning, he sets your crumpled resume down next to a small stack of papers. “I don’t doubt you’d pull your weight around here but I do have to ask… Why here of all places? I thought your, uh, other job was enough? Or I guess I assumed...” You bite your lip, flip-flopping on whether or not you wanted to let him know exactly what happened that led to your sudden decision.

“Um… There were just some big life changes I had to make on the fly and I’ll be living around here now! I’m trying out some new things… I also figured if I worked with you, then you’d know my schedule the best too! And you seem like a really nice and cool guy.”

Jun nods, smiling back at you.

“You got that right!”

“You’re seriously going to start working there?” Jeongguk raises a brow, cables in hand as he sets up the extra PC in his streaming room. “And the guy working there knows you? That doesn’t bother you?”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath, “Yeah and he knows me now too. And knows I’d kick his ass if he tried anything.” You pout from your place in the expensive gaming chair; eyes focused on Jeongguk who shimmies under the desk to start plugging in the cables.

“Well, yeah he does know me, but he’s also one of my regulars and knows the schedules I’ll need, so I think we can trust him!” They both nod and Seungcheol is quick to cross the small room until he’s right behind you.

“He seems like a nice guy though, I don’t think we have to worry.”

Jeongguk slides out from underneath the desk, dusting off his pants as he stands. “And if he does end up being a weirdo, there’s always a place for you at the roller rink!”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, hands gripping onto the backrest of the chair.

“No.”

“Hey guys, welcome back to Golden Closet Gaming! I’m JK, your regular host! Today, we have a suuuper special guest! Why don’t you introduce yourself, pretty lady~”

You take a deep breath as you lean in close to the mic; somewhat nervous and a little out of your usual element. “Hi everyone~ I’m Cherry! Some of you may know me from, um, the other side of the streaming-sphere but I’m joining my friend today in hopes of boosting our channels together and having a ‘lil bit of fun!!”

Seungcheol sits at the side as he watches the two of you; a small smile painted on his lips at the way the two of you seem to fall into your characters easily despite the somewhat different platforms and influx of different viewers.

The sound of donations and comments pour in a lot quicker than Jeongguk, himself, is used to; eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he pauses to watch them flood the screen.

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

xcaliburDK has donated $100

sleepy_wonu: never thought i’d be donating here but here we are

xcaliburDK: i was always a silent watcher but u kno i had to donate for my favorite girl!

seokGENIE: i feel like i’m entitled to something for taking your shift so i wont be donating, sorry pretty girl

j__min: can’t believe this kid got a collab with you before i did :(

j__min has donated $200

dtsug__a: i dont normally watch streams either but im curious

Jeongguk laughs, still in disbelief as the donations continue to pour in from a combination of your viewers and his. He always made a decent amount from his viewers but he couldn’t deny the pull you had from your viewers as well. “Wow, um okay, my donations are adding up a lot quicker than they usually do. That’s… Hey, whaddya say to streaming with me regularly?” He jokes.

A shy laugh bubbles up your throat; ears and cheeks burning hot at the idea. You had never collabed with any other streamer before and despite your initial hesitance and unsureness, you too, were shocked to find how well the two of you were doing without your usual content.

“Erm, I’m not very good at gaming though… I don’t think your viewers would like it very much...”

seokGENIE: thats ok jk sucks at gaming too, it wouldnt be too different

j__min: lmao fkjdhf

dtsug__a: does he get roasted often on this channel? If so i’ll be tuning in more often

dtsug__a has donated $100

dtsug__a: for your troubles, pretty gal

“On second thought, let’s let this be a special occasion, huh? Maybe collabs for the holiday, Cherry?” Jeongguk grumbles and Seungcheol has to bite his lip to keep in his laughs from his side of the small room. You start to feel more and more comfortable at the lighthearted atmosphere; tucking a stray hair behind your ear before you lean in towards the mic again.

“Ah! Speaking of, don’t forget to tune into my camshow tomorrow~! JK and I will be gaming on there as well but… with some added fun to match my channel~! 21 and over only~” You blink at the computer screen, still a little unused to the idea that you weren’t technically being filmed. Although, it was a nice change for once; not needing to be all done up for a show and simply just talking to your viewers and reading comments.

sleepy_wonu: is dom daddy gonna be on the show too?

“Dom daddy? Oh you mean Se---”

“Yes! Kind of!” You cut off, laughing nervously. Nobody knew Seungcheol’s name except for Jun and you were trying to keep as much of him private as possible, until he was ready. “In a sense, he’ll be there! You guys will just have to tune in to find out!”

Jeongguk laughs into his own mic, scooting in closer to his desk as he loads up the game.

“I think that’s enough chatting for now, huh? Let’s get started! Tonight we’ll be playing Phasmophobia! We’ll be playing something more lighthearted on Cherry’s channel, as she requested. So tonight we’ll be playing something I picked out. You ready, baby?”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes, quietly taking a sip of his water.

“Ready when you are!”

“I gotta say, sweetheart, for someone who doesn’t play video games too often, you’re not too bad.” Seungcheol comments, nodding his head in amazement as the three of you exit Jeongguk’s PC room. He’d had a hard time keeping in his laughs as he watched from the side and he had to admit, you were even cuter when you were outside of your usual element.

“I have to agree with hyung, but maybe it was also the adrenaline and screaming that kept you goin’.”

The two males share a laugh as you pout and plop down onto Jeongguk’s living room sofa. “Hey, how were the numbers for tonight, by the way?” You ask quietly.

“Honestly? I think we made almost triple of what my channel usually sees. I know I don’t really make a ton off of my streams since I don’t really do anything, like, crazy but shit… Even I’m shocked at how much we made.”

Seungcheol’s lip ease into a smirk; Jeongguk really had no idea how much the two of you had made off of a couple videos alone.

“We still have one more stream to do and then we can just pool up the money and split it down the middle!”

Jeongguk nods, stretching as he sits himself down onto the other end of the sofa. “I’ll bring my spare PC stuff so we can set up a little early tomorrow, if that’s cool with you two? Maybe have some food before we get started too ‘cause god knows I’m gonna be starving.” You look to Seungcheol who nods and checks his phone for the time.

“Yeah, we need to set up the cameras and lighting a little differently too so we’ll probably start earlier. Just text me before you drive over so we know when to expect you.”

You yawn next to Jeongguk; adrenaline having worn off as the tiredness finally sets in. “It’s so weird, usually I’m only just starting my stream right around this time but I’m so exhausted now...” Seungcheol’s eyes from cute crescents as he smiles down at you, stepping closer as he goes in to smooth down your hair.

“You really were screaming a lot, to be fair. How about we head home and you can sleep in the car?”

“Okay~”

Seungcheol lets you sleep in on Saturday morning, watching as your chest rises and falls with soft breaths.

He takes a moment to think over the last few weeks of his life and he can’t help the disbelieving expression that crosses his features when he realizes just how much had changed over the course of just weeks.

When the two of you had met, he wasn’t expecting much. He expected the two of you to hang out for a few days before you went home and forgot he even existed outside of your camshows and the comments section. But now that so much had happened between the two of you, Seungcheol felt a deeper connection to you and felt the need to protect you even moreso than ever.

He sees you shift slightly, sleepy eyes blinking open as you peer up at him. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Mm… g’morning ‘cheol…”

You grimace sleepily at how hoarse your voice sounds, “Ew, I sound so… gross.”

Seungcheol moves to get out of bed, leaning in to kiss your forehead before he shuffles towards the bathroom. “I’m going to wash up but you can stay in bed if you like. I’ll make you some tea for your throat, okay? We have a long day ahead of us and I don’t think you wanna sound like that later tonight.”

Nodding sleepily, you lay back down as you yawn and let the sleep take over once again.

“Are you really sure ‘bout this?” Jeongguk takes a bite of his pizza as he watches Seungcheol pull the desk closer to the bed.

“What do you mean?” You ask; readjusting the light that was closest to the younger male. “Like, I dunno, I’ve never been on a cam show like this so… I mean do I have to do anything different?” You laugh lightly as you go in to pat Jeongguk on the shoulder.

“No, just be you. And we went over it already earlier, the only thing that’s different is going to be me! No weird tricks or anything, I promise.”

Seungcheol places another monitor on the tabletop, grunting as he goes. “Yeah, and in all honesty, I would hate to have to watch you get off, ‘Guk.”

“Oh shut up, hyung. You say that like I don’t know what you’re packin’ under those sweats. I think it’d only be fair! Just two bros getting to know each other.” Seungcheol pretends to gag just as you double over in laughter. “No, absolutely not, ‘Guk. And also, nobody told you to watch those videos!”

Jeongguk pauses, lips pressing into a firm line. “You right, you right…”

You leave to get changed just as Jeongguk starts to help Seungcheol set up the last few bits of equipment. He leans in close to the older male, eyes glancing around the space to make sure you were completely out of earshot. “Hey, hyung, honest question.”

“Sure.”

“Are you really okay with all this?” Confusion crosses Seungcheol’s features as he raises an eyebrow at the younger male. “What’s ‘this’ exactly, ‘Guk?”

“Y’know, her living here and you camming all of a sudden, among everything else really… And the question if you’re in love with her which, by the way, we still all know that you are.”

A blush coats Seungcheol’s skin, fingertips almost losing grip of the camera he was about to mount to the desktop. “Listen, yes, okay, I do… like her a lot. But she’s going through a lot right now too and I don’t want to freak her out either. There’s a lot of life changes we’re going through so I’m just going to ...wait.”

“You’re a good man, hyung.”

“Hi everyone!”

You wave to the camera, winking and blowing a kiss to the camera propped up between the two monitors on the table. “I know, this setup is a little wild and not my normal but this is part two of my collaboration with Golden Closet Gaming! Do you want to introduce yourself to those who missed our other stream?” You turn to Jeongguk who nods; this time a little nervous as he stares directly into the camera.

He’d said he was okay with being filmed since he wasn’t actually part of any sexual acts, but he still found himself a little camerashy now that the two of you were live.

Seungcheol sat directly behind the monitors and cameras; his phone open to your cam show to watch from a different angle.

“Ah, hello! I’m JK of Golden Closet Gaming! I’m a friend of Cherry’s and no we won’t be fuckin’.” Jeongguk ends with an innocent smile that has you holding back your laughter.

therealchan99: i dont think dom.cheol would like that very much anyway

universe_WZ has donated $100

universe_WZ: unless he’s into watching

dom.cheol: no

alphagyu97: oh shit hes back

angelhan: huh, so hes not there?

“Oh, he is! He’s behind the camera~” You gesture beyond the camera to where Seungcheol sits and he leans over to quickly wave upside down in front of the camera to prove his existence.

j__min: ah, of course~ we know your daddy would never let you play with anyone else~

j__min: he likes you too much ;)

emerald.tae: oh? also hi new watcher!!!

emerald.tae: ur videos were great!!

emerald.tae has donated $200

therealchan99: im gonna need to start fighting ppl for ur attention i swear

gentleman_josh95: implying u had it

chwenon: yooooooo lmao

“You guuuuys, be nice! Just for that, I’m gonna be sending you a special private pic, okay ‘therealchan99’? You guys pick on him too much!” You pout.

therealchan99: hahaahhAHhhahaHAAHAA FUCKIN LOSERS SUCK ON THAT

tangerine_kwan: bruh

chwenon: damn guess we should can it

You respond to a few more comments as Jeongguk sits by and watches the way you interact with your viewers. He also takes note that you had a donation minimum before you started actually doing anything on your channel and that you’d already hit it pretty quickly.

“Okay! I think we should start now, huh? Oh, I should explain what’s going on!” You giggle cutely, settling into your space on the bed. “So JK and I will be playing this stilt man game! We have to get our character to the finish line without falling or the level restarts! JK has to get to level 30 and I have to get to level 20 and whoever reaches their goal first, wins!”

“I have a higher level to reach ‘cause our skillsets are different and we all know I’d smoke her if we both had to reach the same level.” Jeongguk grins.

seokGENIE: sure

seokGENIE has donated $69

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

hoshi_tiger_xx has donated $100

“And the reason why ‘dom.cheol’ is behind the camera is because...” You pause, eyes twinkling with playfulness as you stare directly into the lens. “In order to get me to do my best, he’ll be controlling a special toy I’m wearing~ Hehe, if my character falls, he’ll raise the vibration setting each time as punishment and leave it on until I cum…”

“Which we are assuming will be a lot. Unfortunately, no medic on standby.” Jeongguk jokes. Seungcheol rolls his eyes as he laughs from behind the camera.

“We have a safeword, don’t we, sweetheart?” You nod in response, “Mmhmm!”

“Let’s get it!”

It takes all of four stages before your character falls for the first time.

Seungcheol turns the vibrating panties on and you immediately jolt as you try to keep your character upright on screen. “Oh, f-fuck!”

kitty_junjun: uh ohhhh it begins

artist8hao: i don’t think she’s gonna last.. babygirl is so sensitive, she’ll probably cum soon

xcaliburDK: i’m giving it until level 6 before she cums

emerald.tae: oh are we placing bets

“Noooo~ Don’t place bets on me, I’m weak!” You whine; already squirming as the vibrations attack your clit. Seungcheol grins from in front of you as Jeongguk laughs from your side, already on level 7 on his own screen.

You had to admit, it was a little weird for someone else to be in the room with you while Seungcheol basically used a toy on you, but the younger male seemed to not care about it at all. Although, he had already seen most of you and Seungcheol at this point.

Your fingertips are shaky on the keyboard and computer mouse; already fearing the way Seungcheol’s eyes almost become darker the longer you struggle.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Is the game too hard?”

“A-ah, n--no, it’s not that b-bad…” Squirming, you grind down a little harder onto the bed just as your character falls on screen and Seungcheol raises the setting to the second highest in the blink of an eye. “Ngh, fuh---fuck!”

“Uh oh~ Should I slow down to let you catch up?” Jeongguk teases.

“N-no, I can beat y-you!”

The donations and comments pour in as you struggle to keep your calm and get your character to the finish line; letting out a sigh of relief as you finally enter the fifth level. You let out a choked sob as you already feel your panties starting to stick to you like a second skin from how wet you were getting and Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle.

“You know, you’re technically allowed to cum whenever you want. It’ll just… slow you down, is all.” Grinning, he watches as you look beyond the camera towards him as you pout.

“But I--I wanna win!” You cry; palms clammy as you try to rush through the fifth stage, only for your character to fall almost immediately. “Nooo~”

Seungcheol clicks the vibrator to its highest setting and your body goes rigid as the vibrations wreck your body. You start to grind against the toy as you chase your orgasm and forget about the game almost completely. In a perfect world, Seungcheol would have his cock snug between your walls, but instead you clench around emptiness as you crave his cock.

artist8hao: ah shes already cumming lol

seokGENIE: on level 5? Fuck

universe_WZ: her cute lil cunt cant take it, poor babygirl

seokGENIE has donated $50

emerald.tae has donated $75

alphagyu97: cum baby, u kno u wanna

alphagyu97 has donated $75

A small choked whine is all you can manage before you do cum; eyes clamped shut and fingers wrapped tight around the computer mouse as the waves of pleasure crash down onto your body. Donations and comments flood the side of the screen from a combination of your viewers and Jeongguk’s as they watch your face contort in pleasure.

“Ah, sweetheart, you’re really falling behind~ JK is going through the stages so quickly while you’re sitting there cumming~” Seungcheol teases. He licks his lips, simultaneously wishing you were sitting on his cock while you played your game.

That’d have to be for another time, he thinks.

It takes a second for Seungcheol to turn the toy off and your body immediately slumps forward as you catch your breath. “Ngh, d-damn it…” You grimace when you re-adjust yourself and find your panties soaking wet.

“I’m already on level 17, babe. You gotta catch up!”

You can only groan in response, flexing your clammy fingers before you try to focus on your own screen again.

kitty_junjun: oho looks like our princess is focused now

tangerine_kwan: u got this baby

j__min: show ‘em who’s boss, babygirl

You tune out the sounds of the comments and donations as you manage to get yourself to level eight without falling, but level nine proves to be just a little too hard as your character falls and Seungcheol turns the vibrator back on to its lowest setting again.

“Be careful, baby. Wouldn’t want to fall behind again would you?”

Seungcheol feels his cock throbbing in his sweats as he watches you bite your lip. And for the first time all night, he wishes that Jeongguk would just win and go home so that he could have his own private time with you.

“I’m on level 22 already. D’you think she can even catch up?” Jeongguk teases. He spares you a side glance, taking in your form slumped closer to the table as you try to fight the vibrations.

Your body was already extremely sensitive from your first orgasm and you quickly losing your confidence as you struggled to keep your character upright. If you came even just one more time, there was no way that you’d be able to beat Jeongguk with how quickly he was going through the stages.

therealchan99: she’s cumming just as quickly as JK is getting thru the stages hfdsf

gentleman_josh95: shes so cute when she cums tho

angelhan has donated $50

angelhan: thats the real prize angel

“T-thank you…” You whimper out, fingertips twitching against the keyboard and mouse as you focus your attention to the game to the best of your ability.

You manage to get to level ten with no more issues just as Jeongguk gets to level 25 and you let out an exasperated sigh as your character falls over again. “Uh oh~ I think I’m gonna win!” Jeongguk cheers; giddiness washing over him as he works to get to the end.

“Nooo~ That’s n-not, ah, fair!” Whining, you grip the mouse tighter as Seungcheol raises the setting on the toy again, watching as you rub your thighs together at the feeling.

hoshi_tiger_xx: sadly nothings fair in the gaming world babe

hoshi_tiger_xx has donated $50

dtsug__a has donated $50

dtsug__a: cute for thinkin so tho

“I don’t th--think I can, hah, c-catch up...” You moan. Your character on screen falls over one more time and all you hear is Seungcheol’s small ‘tsk’ under his breath as he sets the vibrator to the highest setting and leaves it there.

It doesn’t take long before the vibrations prove to be too much for you and you let go of the keyboard and computer mouse as your hands ball up into fists on top of the table.

The pleasure washes over you in sharp pin pricks; small whines and whimpers falling from your lips as your eyes completely clamp shut.

Jeongguk lets out a surprised noise at the way the donations and comments almost make the screen lag and for the first time, his character on screen falls over at his split second loss of focus.

“Ah, fuh--fuck!” You start to squirm once the pleasure starts to bleed into overstimulation and Seungcheol is quick to respond, “You’re gonna cum one more time as punishment for giving up, sweetheart.”

alphagyu97: ooo she's in troubleeee

gentleman_josh95: ahhh daddy still has to punish you after all

seokGENIE: damn is this what this channels abt? this is hot

artist8hao: babygirl always misbehaves

chwenon: she seems to like it too much 😏

dtsug__a: hooooo shit, thats hot

“It’s n-not my f-fault, hah, JK is j-just good at g-gaming...” You mumble.

Jeongguk manages to get to level 30 within the time you sit and grind against the toy; small noises of excitement falling from his lips as he cheers for himself!

“Aww, poor baby. Maybe you’ll focus a bit better next time, hmm?”

You nod frantically as a small tear slips down your cheek and your lips part in a breathy moan. “God, I--I’m c--cumming!”

Your body locks up, ears ringing as you cum one more time. Seungcheol wishes he could work you through it; hands massaging your skin as you take your pleasure or thrusting his cock into you as he chased his high with you.

Instead he watches from across you as your body twitches as your face contorts in unadulterated bliss, licking his lips the entire time with images of what could’ve been dancing behind his eyelids.

Jeongguk watches as the donations far surpass what the two of you made on his channel; brows disappearing into his poofy head of hair. “Wow, uh, y’all seem to really like it when she gets punished, huh?” He mutters under his breath.

“Don’t you?” Seungcheol teases.

“Truuuuue.”

A garbled moan has both of their attention on you as you try to shy away from the toy still vibrating against your overly sensitive clit. “Ah, ‘m too sen--sensitive now...” You cry.

Seungcheol turns the toy off completely as your chest heaves in deep breaths; pouting at the fact he wasn’t able to enter the camera frame to take care of you.

Jeongguk grimaces slightly at the way your body sways in tiredness next to him, unsure of what to do next now that he’d won.

“Haha, um, medic?”

#cherrybomb!cheol #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt fic #seventeen fic #scoups #seungcheol

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erensonly · 3 years

Text

Cuddle Buddies (Bakugou x Black! Reader)

[series masterlist], [previous chapter], [next chapter]

Chapter 13: Mall Time

(song of the chapter)

(this is a slight filler bc i have no clue what to write about and i'm working on another one rn)

Today was the day Aizawa finally gave everyone permission to go and do what they wanted. The whole class decided to go to the mall in the group chat you all were in.

"Kacchan! Are you ready yet?"

"Stop calling me Kacchan. Give me a second." He was lacing up his shoes (no more church3000s)

Stepping into his room, you see him fixing the cuffs of his pants and walking to the mirror to make sure the fit was clean. He looked good, per usual. (my fashion sense is horrible, especially for boys so imagine what you want him to wear.)

"You look nice, Kacchan," you smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Reaching up, you peck his lips lightly. "You ready to go now? Everyone is getting ready to be on their way."

"Yeah, let's go." He grabbed your hand, walking with you down the stairs. "You know what you wanna get?" he asked you.

"Of course not. I was thinking you could pick my outfits for me."

"Then you have to pick mine." You had a pretty good understanding of his style and how he picks his clothes. Picking his clothes should be pretty easy. The question was, 'Was he able to pick your clothes?'

(start song)

Walking outside to the parking lot, he opened and closed the door of his car for you and got in himself. You hear a knock on the window and you see Kiri and Denki standing there, smiling. "Hey, y'all!" you exclaim. Doing the made-up handshake the three of you made, they started greeting you and Katsuki.

Plugging your phone into his aux cord, you open spotify. Clicking 'OhMami' by Chase Atlantic, you teasingly start to sing to Katsuki.

Cuban link, diamond cross I got a spanish chiquita, no habla ingles, not at all, no

Katsuki by now had started driving, and he was already tired of the three of you. The condiments in the back and started to sing along as well.

And I got a kilo, no kilimanjaro, baby just a mountain of coke

Looking back aft the two boys in the backseat, nodding at them to make sure they got the message.

OHMAMI, THIS A NEW 'RARI

The three of you screamed the lyrics of the song playing. Katsuki was slowly shaking his head at the three of you, slightly grinning.

"C'mon Katsu,"you whined playfully, "Sing with us. I know you know the song."

"Yeah, Kacchan. Sing along,"said Denki.

"Tch..."

OHMAMI, I GOT BLUE MOLLY

The four of you sang loudly. Katsuki started to drive a little faster now, making you, Kiri, and Kami hold onto the little handle thingies on the roof of the car.

You all started giggling and laughing at how Denki got thrown at Kirishima when Bakugou did a sharp turn. Turning around you ask him, "Y'all okay back there?"

"Yeah," Kirishima said, fake crying. "Kinda hurt."

"Shut up, shitty hair. It didn't hurt that bad. Aren't you supposed to be a rock?"

"Damn, Bakugou. Why you going so hard on him," Denki laughed.

"Because I can. You next."

Slapping his arm, you tell him to stop messing with them.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pulling up to the mall, you see everyone else outside, more than likely waiting for you four. "Hey bestie," you greet Midoriya.

"Hey friend." You turn and see Todoroki next to him. The two of you didn't speak much but when you did, it was usually either a dry 'Hi' or him saying something that he doesn't realize is funny.

"Hey friend," Todoroki said as enthusiastically as he could. You chuckled a little bit. This was new. He usually just said your name, but not today.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Of course not. You just surprised me. Hey Friend," you smiled at him.

"Baby, let's go. I wanna get your clothes." Entwining your hand with your significant other, you wave bye to the two friends and let yourself get dragged off.

Walking to (favorite store), you let him walk you to the shirts. "You want a crop top, tank top, cut off shoulder, regular tee-shirt, or what?"

"I don't know. You're supposed to be picking it out for me."

"You're no help," he grumbled.

"I know," you smiled. Walking away from him towards the accessories, you hold up earrings and necklaces to see which ones you wanted.

"Baby, I'm done. Don't pick the accessories for this outfit, I wanna do it."

You see him hold up accessories to the clothing to see which ones you would match.

"I'm paying, no arguments allowed."

"I wasn't gon argue anyway," you sassed back. "My turn. What store do you like?" Walking to (his favorite store idfk🤷🏾‍♀️), you immediately see a shirt that would look amazing on him.

"Don't look, nosey." He looked away, surprised you caught him trying to peek without looking at him. "Go look around and find something you like. I'm paying."

Walking around begrudgingly, he looks at the other shirts they have, some catching his eye and some making him question who made it.

When he looks up a second time, he sees you already at the counter. "Did you find something you like?"

"Yeah, I'm paying for it."

"No, I'm paying for it. We already agreed."

"No, I don't wanna owe you nothing."

"I don't care what you don't want. I'm paying. Hurry up, we still gotta get shoes."

Hesitantly putting his stuff on the counter, you pay for the things and drag him to the foot locker that wasn't too far from the store you were just at.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

By now, you both had picked everything and bought matching shoes. You were now in the food court trying to decide what to eat so you could meet with everyone else.

"Kacchan, I want pizza," you groan.

"Then get it. I don't want pizza."

"But I want you to order it for me."

"No."

"Fine, I'll get Midoriya to do it for me." Walking away from him to your best friend, you pay him on the shoulder and ask him can he order for you. (social anxiety go brr)

Making your way back to the table, you sit in between Midoriya and Katsuki. Todoroki was next to Midoriya making small talk with him.

You start to eat, but you feel someone staring at you. Looking up and around, you try to spot who can't keep their eyes in one direction. Then you see it. A girl with dark hair and eyes and is fairly curvy, not as curvy as you but you get it.

You see her gaze shift to Bakugou. The you got the message. You scoot closer to him, trying to politely give her the message he wasn't available. She just wasn't getting it.

Then she decided to get bold and start to walk towards the table everyone had pushed together. "Hey, I'm Meiko." She tried to scoot bin to sit next to Bakugou, but you were quick to scoot closer to him.

At this point he had no space to move his arms and he was confused why this random was talking to him. "Me?" he questioned, pointing to himself.

"Yeah, who else would I be talking to. No one else here is on your level."

"Ok... You need something?" He was just trying to eat and go back to his dorm with you to re-watch Haikyuu. (kenma is so fine man 😡😭)

"Yeah, your number." Who does this dry flirting ass girl think she is.

"He's not available."

"I didn't ask for you opinion," she rolled her eyes and turned back to Bakugou.

"But you're talking to my man. So Imma give to you politely before I have to beat your ass, Kay?"

"Why are you dating someone like... that when you could have me?" That's more than enough.

"I don't know or like you." He's trying to keep his composure since he's been working on his temper.

Standing up, you feel someone grab your wrist and someone else grab your hand. "I'll say it one more time if it didn't register in that small ass head of yours. He's not available, especially not to you. If I have to say it again, I'll be going to jail. Got it?"

She tried not to show she was intimidated by walking closer to you, getting in your personal bubble.

"Then do something about it." She threw, or tried to throw, a punch at you, but it didn't connect. Now you could say it was self defense (be smart kids👩🏾‍💻)

There was no time to waste. Connecting a punch with her face, you drag her on the floor to get the advantage, even though you already had it.

You didn't stop. Your brain had went into autopilot and your body just did what it wanted to do.

The next thing you know, there's people trying to pull you off. Multiple people. You couldn't hear anything, ears ringing from the anger you were feeling.

"Baby, let's go." He had finally grabbed you off, dragging you away from her. "Deku, grab our food and bring it back will ya."

There was still anger in your system, but you just let him carry you back to the car. Denki and Kirishima already arranging for them to ride with someone else.

"You ok?"

"Mhm." You turned your head and looked out the window as he was pulling out of the parking lot.

He grabbed your hand and stayed silent. You both were similar in the aspect of not wanting to talk when angry.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Arriving back to the dorms, you see Aizawa already sitting on the couch waiting for you. How does this man get information so fast?

"I heard what happened."

"It was self defense." You weren't even going to put up a big fight against him. You had a better chance arguing with a raccoon than with Aizawa.

"I don't care. You still did that in public. You're lucky people didn't take pictures and videos."

"Ok..." you said, waiting for him to get to the point.

"You're on cleaning duty by yourself for three days and you have to do extra training."

"So I we just supposed to let her hit me and flirt with my boyfriend in front of me?"

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"At this point, I don't care." Stalking off to your room, you sulk on your bed. Feeling Katsuki plop down on your bed, he pulls up netflix, playing Haikyuu.

"C'mere sweet thing." You both cuddled up, excited to rewatch the volleyball anime for the 3rd time.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

and that is a wrap. i haven't updated in forever don't bash me too much. i hope you enjoyed it and these outfits i envisioned bakugou picked out for you 🖤 (I chose different styles bc i know ppl have different tastes :))

#bnha #mha #mha fluff #mha bakugou #black reader #bakugou x black reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #kenmasblackwife

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keigoslovebird · 4 years

Text

The Cat That Caught the Canary

Pairing: Hawks/Keigo Takami x Fem!Reader

Warnings: violence/threats of violence. A bit of swearing. Reader is fem and has a cat mutant quirk.

Genre: fluff, some suggestive content near the end

Word count: 7k

Author’s note: This is my very first MHA fic and I am so excited to share my love of Hawks with you all! There will be multiple chapters and smut, angst, and the like later on. I can’t promise any sort of regular updates, but I will do my very best to be semi-consistent. It is very self indulgent and very sweet because I’ve got the big dumb for the bird man. Please enjoy 7k words worth of Hawks fluff and let me know what you think!

Also, “koneko” means little cat or kitten in Japanese.

You don’t know how it happens, but it does.

You’re walking home from the train station, cutting into a secluded alleyway because the sun hasn’t set yet and there’s still sunlight spilling over rooftops. Your perceptive ears twitch and turn towards the sound of rustling and the shuffling of feet. Your instincts tell you to speed up, to run because there’s something out there, but a lifetime of fighting those instincts forces those feelings down. It’s probably someone else just trying to walk home, it’s fine, you tell yourself. Just to be safe you carefully turn around to look behind you, hoping to see some kind old lady walking down the street.

There’s no one in sight but you just know there’s somebody out there. You sense their presence, their movements but you can’t see them. It feels as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, a sickly chill settling deep within your bones. Something is wrong, very wrong.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you,” You call out into the seemingly empty valley between two houses. When no one responds you quickly turn on your heel and head towards the busy, bustling street a few hundred feet ahead.

“Not so fast, kitty cat,” A low, gravelly voice breathes into your ear. They’re so close you can feel their breath on your neck, tainted with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. Panic seizes and constricts your heart so fast that you don’t even think before you break out in a sprint. If you can just make it to the street you’ll be okay. The second your shoes hit the pavement, a hand grabs you by your shirt collar and harshly yanks backwards. You’re pulled further into the alley and into the shadows beginning to emerge from above as the sun starts to set.

You feel your back slam into a concrete wall, head bouncing off of it so quickly and forcefully you see stars and a dull ache begins to form at the back of your skull. You’re momentarily dazed, vision slightly blurry but you’re still able to make out two large figures looming over you menacingly. One of them has you caged between their thick, hairy arms, effectively trapping you in place, not that you could’ve outrun them anyhow. You’re small and agile, but they’re just so much bigger than you, or at least it seems that way. It takes a few seconds for your vision to clear, but now you see that your captors are two very large, very intimidating men. The one caging you in is much taller and more muscular than the other. The man to his right has chin-length black hair that’s greasy, likely unwashed for several days, if ever. He’s thin and spindly and the look on his face is reminiscent of a spider awaiting its prey. Your ears flatten against your head, tail tucking between your trembling legs as you realize the gravity of the situation you’re in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing walking around alone?” You recognize the voice as the one who called out to you before. He’s standing beside his burly friend who has you trapped. You can smell the cheap alcohol and smoke on the man’s breath even stronger now that he’s so close. “It’s far too dangerous at night. You never know what kinds of things could be lurking in the shadows, just waiting to take a bite into a sweet, tasty morsel like yourself.”

Your heart races, hammering so furiously that it feels as if it’ll beat out of your chest. You’re frozen and silent from the fear overtaking your entire body. The feeling of dread and terror is icy and sharp in your veins.

“I’m curious, kitty cat. Are these real?” The long-haired man reaches a gangly, too long arm over and grabs your ears in a punishing grip. You reach up in an attempt to bat his hands away but the muscular man moves his hands from the wall to hold your hands at your sides. The long-haired man’s other hand snakes between your legs, reaching for your tail and yanking it with a force that makes you yelp. You can feel tears prick your eyes and you shut them tightly to avoid letting them see you cry.

“Yes! They’re part of my quirk. Please stop, that hurts,” You whimper, lip trembling with unshed tears. The hold on your sensitive ears is beginning to overwhelm your senses. “I don’t have much money on me, just take whatever you want but please don’t hurt me.” You plead with them, just hoping they were looking for an easy target to get some quick cash from.

Before any of you can react, there’s a flash of crimson and suddenly the man who had been holding you in place is knocked off his feet. “Wha-,” The long-haired man doesn’t get a word in before he too has his feet swept out from underneath him. You look over in the direction where the projectiles came from and nearly faint at the sight of number two pro hero Hawks perched atop a building above you. He swoops down from his perch, his huge scarlet wings seeming larger than life as he lands beside you. The two men who attacked you are laying on the ground, feathers wrapped around their wrists.

“Miss, are you alright? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier, there was another situation downtown that made me late for my patrols,” Hawks looks genuinely apologetic and the whole situation is just so overwhelming and your head is reeling at how fast everything has shifted since he arrived. The chemicals coursing through your body are making your head swim and your thoughts are so jumbled and fragmented you can barely string together a coherent sentence.

“Y-yes, I’m fine! Thank you, Hawks, I am grateful that you came to rescue me.” You manage to stutter out, bowing at the waist to show your gratitude. In your state of confusion you forgot to address Hawks formally, making you squeak at your carelessness. “Ah! H-Hawks-san I’m sorry for being so casual.” A fiery blush begins to spread across your cheeks from your embarrassment and Hawks’ close proximity. You’ve seen him in tabloids, plastered across social media, and on local news stations, but this is the first time you’ve seen a pro hero in person, let alone such a handsome one.

Hawk’s cool, collected persona rarely wavers, but what does make it waver is the warm, rosy glow of your cheeks and the way your eyes sparkle as you talk to him. He notices that your fuzzy little ears are twitching and he wonders how soft the fur would feel between his fingers.

“Ah, no need to be so formal with me. I don’t mind when people talk to me casually.” He waves a gloved hand in the air dismissively. Smiling brightly, he shows off his perfect, pearly white teeth. His smile is so warm and infectious that you find yourself smiling back at him. “Especially when they’re as pretty as you are.” He winks and you feel your blush deepen and spread even further across your face. You knew about Hawks’ flirtatiousness from social media posts and tabloids that detailed his various flings, but you never expected it to be directed at you.

Hawk’s eyes flick down to your mouth, hoping it’s too brief for you to catch or that you’re too frazzled to notice. He finds his gaze lingering a bit too long on how your glossy, pink lips part and the way the corners upturn when you smile. He analyzes your face, taking in every painstaking detail to commit it to memory. He takes note of the beauty marks and dimples that frame your pretty, tender smile. It’s a genuine expression of gratitude that makes his insides fuzzy and warm. He wants to wrap himself in the feeling, revel in it, and never let it go.

“O-Oh well thank you and you have my gratitude, Hawks,” You look away shyly, scratching the back of your head sheepishly. You can feel the tip of your tail begin to flick out of anxiety and attempt to subtly reach down and grab it to still its movement. You hope and pray that he doesn’t the way your voice wobbles.

“It was my pleasure, miss. I’m always here to help, it’s my job after all,” He looks as if he’s about to say something else when his phone buzzes from his pocket. He pulls it out and sighs tiredly. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly but duty calls. Don’t worry about these guys, I’ve already called the Police Force and they’re on their way. Those feathers will restrain them until the police get here,” He flicks his visor down over his eyes and his wings begin to flap, stirring the air around you as he gets ready to take off toward wherever the Commission has called him to.

A part of Hawks wishes to stay here with you a bit longer, a part of him that he’s been taught to rein in and repress for the sake of his hero duties. He can’t stop and comfort every civilian that he saves when there’s countless more that need him. The frightened, nervous look in your eyes tugs at his heart strings and he just wants to tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t let himself indulge in those thoughts for very long. He’s Hawks, number two pro hero, the man who’s a bit too fast. He has too many people relying on him, counting on him to even entertain the thoughts in his head.

“W-Wait! I want to thank you somehow.” You blurt out, cringing at the way your voice squeaks. There’s a weighty beat of silence while you dig around in your purse to retrieve a card. “I work at a cat café… Here’s a gift card for a free drink. It’s not much but I wanted to at least give you something.” You awkwardly thrust the card in Hawk’s direction, eyes wandering to avoid making direct eye contact with him. He takes the card and smiles at you again but this time it’s softer, sweeter and it stirs something deep in your belly. This smile feels more authentic and less rehearsed than the kilowatt smile he flashes for the cameras. He takes the card and gingerly tucks it in the pocket of his coat.

The card, emblazoned with the cafe’s name and decorated with paw prints, radiates warmth against his chest.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll drop by sometime when I’m not busy saving the world.” He winks, giving you a two finger salute and in a flourish of brilliant vermillion feathers, he’s gone just as quickly as he came.

He regrets saying that he’ll stop by because truthfully, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to. The Commission has him working more than ever and he never gets a day off, if the dark circles hidden under the concealer underneath his eyes are any indication. He knows he shouldn’t have given you false hope that you’ll see him again, but the way your smile constricts his heart and your scent steals the breath from his lungs, he knows that if you called out for him, he’d come running.

━━

Many weeks pass before you see Hawks again and you begin to think that he has simply forgotten or is just choosing not to see you, a thought that makes your shoulders sag and your ears droop. But really, what would a talented, successful guy like Hawks want with an average girl like you? Sure he said you were cute, but he probably tells lots of people that.

It starts out just like any average day at the cat café you work at. You show up to work at seven am, three hours before opening so you have time to prepare for the day. You unlock the front door with your key and your boss calls out a hello from the back where she’s tending to the cats before they’re allowed to roam the café.

The café itself is small but cozy and intimate, sandwiched between a bookstore and a thrift store. It always smells like chamomile and daisies, both for customers’ and the cats’ enjoyment. The overhead lights give off a soft, warm glow. There’s several tables and chairs set up along the walls, cat trees and scratching posts taking up most of the free middle space. It’s never terribly busy, just enough to keep the café open and the cats cared for.

You begin your opening duties, starting with sweeping the floors and wiping down surfaces. This part takes the longest because you have to be thorough and diligent in your cleaning, lest you want another visit from the Tokyo Health Department. You decorate the cookies and cupcakes your boss’s wife makes with cat faces and paw prints and arrange them in the dessert display case. Once you finish your duties, it’s time to let the cats out to roam. You open the door that separates the café from the room that the cats play in before opening and five cats come prancing out, the little bells on their collars jingling softly as they move. One of the cats, a grey Scottish fold, rubs against your legs and meows cheerfully at you.

“Good morning Chibi, it’s nice to see you too,” You lean down to scratch between her ears and she purrs, enjoying the affection. “I’ll check with the boss soon to see if we can get another one of those mouse toys that I know you like, how does that sound?” The cat chirps appreciatively and head butts your hand before walking off to convene with the other cats. They’re surrounding the 5 cat bowls nestled in the corner of the café, noticing the blatant lack of wet food in their bowls. Their eyes are dilated, ears pointed forward to express their annoyance. One of the cats reaches his paw into the bowl and pokes the little bits of dry food around it. “I know what you guys are thinking and you’re not getting more wet food after yesterday when Shiro and Kuro ate so much they threw up in a customer’s lap. The same customer. Dry food only today,” You warn over your shoulder as you go behind the counter to put on a clean apron. One of the cats makes a noise akin to a grumble and another seemingly rolls her eyes.

Ten a.m. rolls around and your boss unlocks the front door for the public. A handful of people come in and order the typical fare of cappuccinos and lattes while they play with the cats. You busy yourself with making drinks and cleaning up any messes the cats make while your boss mans the cash register. The sounds of the café blend and intermingle into an ambient, comfortable backdrop to a pleasant atmosphere. A few patrons scattered throughout the cafe are chatting quietly with their companions and the cats are chasing each other around their cat tree, the bells on their collars gently tinkling.

It seems like just a normal day. Until he shows up.

You’re in the middle of making a customer’s cappuccino when you see Hawks through the café window. Your body jerks so hard you almost destroy the cat face that you were drawing in the foam. You never actually expected him to show up and now your head tingles at the possibility that he’s here to see you, although your voice of reason tells you to dampen your excitement. He’s probably here just for the cats or the drinks, nothing more.

Hawks is in his civilian clothes and has a pair of sunglasses on, but those scarlet wings are recognizable anywhere, despite how much smaller and sparser they are. You notice by the way he moves he’s tired, a little worse for wear.

The bell above the door dings as he swings it open, his presence seeming to suffocate the entire room. Any source of conversation ceases and all heads turn toward the door, including the cats. No one would expect for one of the top heroes in Japan to visit a tiny cat café on the outskirts of Musutafu, in fact, this is one of the last places one would expect to see him in. He’s rarely seen outside of the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan areas, and even rarer seen off duty and out of his hero costume.

A couple of people go up to him and ask for pictures of autographs, which he graciously gives with that signature million-dollar smile on his face. He’s inwardly thankful that the café is in one of the more sparsely populated areas of the city so he’s not caught up in entertaining the public when he’s really here for just one thing. You.

You’re standing behind the serving counter, a determined look on your face as you use a toothpick to draw in the foam of the cup in front of you. Your hair is pulled into a ponytail and you’re wearing a cream-colored apron with the cafe’s logo on it. Your tongue is cutely poking out between your lips, eyes thoroughly focused on your task and the sight is so endearing that he feels warmth spread throughout his body. There’s a tingling in his spine that he knows he should ignore, but the temptation to come see you again was too great to ignore.

“Welcome Hawks-sama! Please sit down and relax. Whatever you would like is on the house, just please let us know and we’ll get it for you right away!” Your boss rushes to Hawks and excitedly babbles at him as he approaches the sale counter, awe-struck and taken aback by the hero’s unexpected appearance. She bows deeply and not-so-subtly gestures at you to bow as well, mouthing “be respectful” and jerking her head in his direction. Flustered by her threatening passion at properly greeting Hawks, you put the cappuccino you were holding onto the counter and bow.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome, ma’am. I insist on paying for anything I order, but I happen to have a gift card from a certain employee of yours.” He grins in your direction, his eyes full of mirth and amusement at your boss’s enthusiasm.

“Of course, sir! Please let the barista know when you’re ready to order and feel free to stay as long as you’d like!” She speaks a bit too fast and a bit too loud, a few customers turning their heads in the direction of the commotion, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind, likely used to these types of reactions. The ringing of a phone is heard from the back of the store and a conflicted look crosses your boss’s face, not wanting to leave and miss the opportunity to talk to him. “I apologize for the rude interruption sir, but I have an important phone call I must answer. Koneko-chan here can take care of anything you need. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Your boss bows again, hesitating to actually leave but eventually she does, leaving you alone with Hawks.

“I’ve asked her many times not to call me that in front of customers. I have a name but she refuses to call me by it, saying it’s important for the theme of the café, or something like that,” You smile shyly at him, unsure where to look or where to put your hands so you put them behind your back. Your tail is flicking again from your uncertainty and in your head you’re willing it stop.

“Well, what is your name? I never got the chance to ask the day we met and I regret going all this time without knowing your name. Unless you'd like for me to call you Koneko-chan, it’s a pretty cute nickname for an even cuter girl.” Hawks’ tone is laced with a teasing flirtatiousness that makes your heart flutter. He leisurely leans on the shop counter, propping his chin up one of his hands.

“Ah, well, Koneko-chan is a childhood nickname so I don’t mind being called by it, I even enjoy it. I prefer to be called my name by customers, but you can call me whatever you’d like, Hawks.” You look up at him through your lashes and shyly tell him your name, hoping you’re not mistaking his friendliness for flirtatiousness and that he really is expressing an interest in you.

“Koneko-chan it is.” He declares, flashing you another glimpse of that perfect smile that makes your heart skip a beat. He nods in agreement with himself, as if he was closing some sort of negotiation. “But say, I think you owe me a drink. Could I get an iced coffee, extra sugar?” He scans the menu for a brief second but you know he’s just looking for some caffeine, judging by the slight drooping of his shoulders and the exhaustion you can see through his jovial expression. He hands you the card that you gave him several weeks ago. What he doesn’t say is that he’s kept it in the pocket of his coat since that day, periodically patting it to make sure it was still there, even pulling it out when he had a free moment to spare, despite how far and few between those moments tend to be.

He almost doesn’t like how easily you’ve managed to get inside his head. The part of his brain that was trained to be a hero tells him that he shouldn’t entertain the idea of anything more than a friendship with you, let alone show up to your job and continue to stoke the fire that’s building inside him. The other part of his brain tells him that he deserves to have this sweet, secret little thing with you, even if it’s only for a little while because right now he doesn’t feel like Hawks, number two pro hero of Fierce Wings. He feels like Keigo Takami, an average 23-year-old guy trying to talk to a girl he likes, dare he say, a girl he has a crush on.

“Of course, I’ll get right on it,” You turn to start preparing his drink and check the watch on your wrist. “It’s almost my lunch break, would you like to sit and talk for a bit?” You can hear the insecurity in your voice and hope it doesn’t make him rethink whatever this thing is that’s blooming between you.

“How could I turn down good coffee and good company? Of course, I’d love to.” Hawks eagerly nods his head in his palm, beaming with pleasant agreement.

“Feel free to sit down while I make your drink. I’m sure the cats would love to meet you.” You start pressing buttons on the coffee machine and look over your shoulder to give him a warning. “Although, I would be careful with those wings of yours, they might mistake them for a toy.” You giggle to yourself at the thought of the cats cornering him, looks of curiosity and wonder on their faces as they use their little paws to bat at his feathers. You don’t notice that Hawks is watching you with a feathered eyebrow raised out of his own curiosity and wonder of what’s going through your head. What he wouldn’t give just to know what you’re thinking about, what you think about him.

“I don’t mind, at least I’ll be useful for something while I’m plucked this thin!” He shakes his sparse wings for emphasis, showcasing the fact that they’re little more than tufts of feathers about the size of your palm. He removes himself from the counter he’s been leaning over for the past ten minutes and walks over to a table to sit and wait. He waves at you from his seat, pointing to the chair across the table from him and grinning, reminiscent of a child that spots their friend from across the cafeteria.

You don’t know why such a talented, handsome, accomplished guy like Hawks wants to spend time with you, a quiet, ordinary girl but you’re not about to question it. You want to cherish this moment and take advantage of the time you get with him because you know nothing is guaranteed or assured in his world.

After you finish making his drink you hang up your apron and make your way to the table in the corner where Hawks is sitting. You set the cup down in front of him and slide into your seat, a cat hopping into your lap not seconds later. He’s a little ginger cat named Mikan and you scratch behind his ears absentmindedly while he makes biscuits on your thighs.

Now that you’ve changed out of your work apron, Hawks can really take in your appearance. He already knew you were pretty, but he didn’t realize just how stunning you are. You’re wearing a pair of well-worn light blue denim jeans, they’re form-fitting and accentuate the swell of your hips and he has to resist ogling your butt as you walk over. Your top is form fitting as well, the material stretched over your breasts enticingly. He gives you a quick once over before you sit down, hopefully subtle enough that you don’t notice his eyes wandering. He wills those thoughts away in favor of focusing on how thankful he is to even be sitting here with you.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you. I don’t get a lot of time off, but they just had to give me some after they saw the state of these things.” Hawks’ tone is joking and light, but you can hear the exhaustion and weariness that tinges his words.“ They’ll regrow soon, it just takes a few days, but I can’t save the world without my wings so I get some time to visit my favorite cat girl.” He winks, his flirtatiousness causing you to quickly avert your eyes to the cat in your lap. You coyly look back up at him and smile when you find his gaze unwaveringly trained on you. Each time you look at him, it feels as if those piercing golden irises are analyzing your every move, every change in your expression.

That’s not really too far from the truth. A part of Hawks’ hero training was dedicated to recognizing body language cues and facial expressions. It’s been ingrained in him to search for dishonesty, any hint of wrongdoing in the way a person carries themselves. When he looks into those wide, inviting eyes of yours that seem to put him in an unbreakable trance, he doesn’t even know if he could resist you even if you did turn out to be malicious. It should scare him, and it does, but not as much as it should. As much as he’s observed you, he knows you aren’t being disingenuous by the open, unguarded expression on your face and the way you’re casually leaning towards him as he speaks.

Your voice interrupts his internal monologue, his racing thoughts coming to a screeching halt.

“Oh, I’m sure you know lots of girls with mutant cat quirks. Even if you do, I still better be your favorite.” Judging from the way a smirk is tugging at the corners of your lips and the playful inflection of your voice, you’re teasing him.

Oh, he likes that. He likes it a lot.

It sends a delightful shiver down his spine and he’s silently thankful that his wings are much smaller than their usual size, otherwise you would notice the way they’re twitching.

He’s only just met you and he’s already so smitten he would do anything for you. He would rip the moon and stars out of the fucking sky with his bare hands if you asked him to. The effect you have on him is dangerous, he knows this, but he’s never been one to shy away from danger.

“You know you are, Koneko-chan. You’re the only kitty for me.” He sighs dreamily, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. The lights overhead reflect off of his pupils, highlighting the mischievous glint in his half-lidded eyes. You laugh, high-pitched and contagious, and he’ll do anything to hear it again. His head is swimming with the swarm of emotions he’s experiencing all at once and it feels as if he’s simultaneously drowning and taking his first real breath of fresh air.

Hawks seems to be deep in thought and you take it as an opportunity to admire his beauty. Your eyes follow the angle of his jawline, the high, regal slope of his nose. You focus on those mesmerizing golden eyes and the black markings that give them a more avian-like appearance. He really is devastatingly handsome and to make matters worse, he knows it and he knows you’re staring at him by the way he’s smirking.

You’re so taken by one another that you don’t notice Mikan climb up on the table to meow at you loudly, demanding your attention by headbutting your arm. You chuckle lightly at the cat’s jealousy towards the man across from him, who he sees as the one who’s stealing all of your attention. Hawks watches, fascinated by the way you and the cat have this wordless, unspoken conversation through your eyes. You notice the way he’s watching you two with quizzical interest and you smile, knowing exactly what’s going through his head.

“Despite what many people think, I can’t communicate with them. Our physiologies are just too different.” You explain as you scratch Mikan’s chin, the cat purring in contentment. “But I am more attuned to their emotions and I empathize with the way they’re feeling because I often feel the same way. It’s an essentially useless quirk but it has its perks, especially here.” The cat rubs his chin against yours and you lean in closer to let him rub his scent on you.

Hawks smiles and can feel his heart swell at the sweet, tender moment between you and the small animal in your lap. He chuckles to himself when he notices that both of your tails are twitching, a sign that a cat is happy, if the extensive Googling he’s done about cat behavior is worth anything. He wants to remember this moment forever, just him, a pretty girl, and a cat in a little cafe miles from the city center. He wants to keep it, tuck it away in his pocket to covet for himself. It feels as if you’re the only two people in the world and for now, you are and that’s all that really matters.

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud in some faraway land, just waiting for the sobering free fall back down to earth. The way the sunlight hits his flaxen hair like some sort of halo makes him look like an angel and you think he may as well be one. He’s so radiant and ethereal that you feel like you’re being burned alive but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t mind as long as it’s his light that burns you.

You’re suddenly jerked from your shared reverie by your boss yelling at you that your break is over. Mikan darts from your lap at the sudden outburst and you both jolt in your seats as well.

“I’m really sorry, I have to get back to work.” You get up from your seat, trying to look and sound as apologetic as you feel. “But if you want to hang out some more, I’ll be off in a few hours and there’s a cute little park a couple streets from the café that we could meet at… Only if you want! You’re probably busy...” You speak quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Koneko-chan.” Hawks says it with a wink, but he really means it. Bar a national disaster, he’d be there just to see you for a little longer.

Hawks hangs around the café for another hour before leaving to stroll through the streets of your quiet little corner of Musutafu, appreciating the lack of attention he gets as he walks around.

You get off around 4 p.m. and rush to the park you had mentioned to Hawks. True to his word, he’s there, leisurely leaned back on a bench in the middle of the park, watching the birds fly amongst the trees. You join him on the bench, sitting an appropriate amount of space away from him, close enough to be friendly but far enough away to give him adequate personal space.

“You’re here.” You sound a little breathless and surprised and it almost comes out like a question.

“Of course I am. I said I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” There’s no teasing, no flirtatiousness in Hawks’ voice and the way he speaks so matter-of-factly momentarily startles you. You know this isn’t a side of him that many people get to see and you’re thankful for it.

You talk until the sun hangs low in the sky, learning whatever you can about one another. Your voice feels scratchy from overuse and you feel like you’re dominating the conversation, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Hawks is more than happy to let you do most of the talking. You likely already know most of what’s publicly known about him and what isn’t public knowledge he knows he can’t tell you, at least not yet. He wouldn’t really know what to talk about outside of heroism, he doesn’t have the same opportunities that any other guy in his early twenties does and he knows it would be hard to relate to him. So, he lets you lead the conversation, hanging on to your every word, adding his own input every once in a while.

You know you’re talking a lot, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind so you don’t mind either. You’re mostly content with doing most of the talking, but there’s a question burning a hole in your chest that you have to ask him. You pivot your body towards him, placing a gentle hand on top of his and he has to ignore the tingling sensation where your skin meets his.

A serious look takes over your features and anxiety steals the breath from Hawks’ lungs, worried that you’ve completely changed your mind about him, that you’re going to tell him to go away and leave you alone because you don’t need the drama in your life that will inevitably follow you if you were to ever pursue anything with him.

“Hawks...” You start, apprehensive as you struggle to find the right words to say. “You’re always so busy saving and taking care of other people, but who takes care of you?” The moment the words leave your lips you want to take them back, his happy expression quickly fading to a look of somber contemplation.

Hawks is stunned into uncharacteristic silence by the seriousness of your words and the vulnerable expression on your face. No one has asked him about his own wellbeing before, excluding people who ask whether he’s physically fit enough to keep doing his job, whether he’s still of use. His entire life he’s been worked to the bone with little regard for his health, let alone his happiness. He’s been trained to be the government’s human weapon against evil and he’s damn good at being a weapon, but it’s often forgotten what he really is.

A human.

“I… I don’t know,” Hawks’ voice is filled with a rare uncertainty that he’s not sure that he likes. He sighs tiredly, running a hand through his already unruly mess of blonde hair. “I haven’t really thought about it before.” He sounds defeated and it’s the most heartbreaking thing you’ve ever heard and you can feel a lump form in your throat. He has spent every moment of his short life helping people, preventing disasters, saving the world while carrying that heavy burden on his shoulders. He’s Winged Hero Hawks, number two pro hero and his persona is so grand, so great that he feels larger than life. But right now he looks so small sitting next to you on the park bench you’re afraid he might disappear right before your eyes.

You’re looking at him with those pretty eyes yours that are so full of warmth and love that he just wants to kiss you. He doesn’t give himself time to think about the consequences of what he’s about to do, moving faster than his brain can react.

He puts a rough, calloused palm on your cheek, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. Your pulse quickens from his close proximity, his breath fanning over your cheeks and you can smell the sweetness of the coffee that he drank earlier.

With a slight nod of your head Hawks closes his eyes and leans in, his lips getting closer and you swear your heart is beating so loud he can surely hear it. Your stomach is in knots and you’re not sure you’re taking in enough oxygen. You let your eyes flutter shut and part your lips, your breath quickening as you feel his body press against your own. When your lips finally meet it feels as if the world and time itself have stopped. Your senses are overwhelmed by his musky cologne, his vanilla lip balm, his soft lips against yours.

Him.

You can’t see or feel anything but him and you’re so overwhelmed you think you might die, filled with Hawks in every sense of the word, but you can’t even think of anything but him.

Hawks, Hawks, Hawks.

You’re repeating his name in your head like a mantra, hoping it’ll keep you grounded. His fingers are tangled in your hair you think, but you’re not really sure, not with the way his lips are moving, needy and insistent against your own. You let out a squeak of surprise when you feel his hot, wet tongue probe between your lips and he swiftly loops one arm around your back and hooks the other around your thigh, half pulling you onto his lap.

The cute little sighs and hums you’re making fill Hawks with more satisfaction than they should. He opens one of his eyes to take a guilty peek at you and he can’t think of anything prettier than the sight of your blushing, squirming body in his lap. He experimentally licks at the inside of your mouth, gauging your reaction before sliding his tongue against your own.

A voice, albeit a very small one, in the back of your head tells you to stop, you’re still in a public park and the sun is halfway hidden behind the landscape. You try to pull away from Hawks but he just leans in further, his lips following yours, so you gently but firmly push against his chest to separate yourselves.

When your lips part there’s a string of saliva that still connects you and Hawks thinks it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

It takes a few seconds for his higher thinking to return, but when it does worry he begins to etch itself into his features when he realizes you’ve pushed him away, wings pressing against his back.

“Hey, did I do something wrong there? I thought it was pretty good, and I think you did too judging by those noises you were making.” He always falls back on old habits, trying to mask his insecurity with flippant arrogance. You shake your head, a look of apology on your face.

“As much as I’m enjoying myself, I’d rather not grope each other in the middle of a park like a couple of teenagers,” you muse, “But I would love to see you again and pick up where we left off.” Your tone is suggestive and Hawks can feel his jeans tighten from the implication of your words.

“Ah, of course. I should be treating you like the proper lady you are, and here I am disrespecting your honor in a park.” Hawks tries to lighten the mood, his nerve endings still singing from your little make out session. The air around you feels hot and sticky against his skin and he’s trying to calm the blood rushing in his ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I really, really liked it.” You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks once more, despite the fact that moments ago you were almost dry humping in Hawks’ lap. “But it’s getting late and we both should head home.” You sigh, not wanting to leave your little bubble away from the chaos of the world. You stand up, holding your hand out to him.

He takes your hand and rises from his seat on the bench. The way that your head just barely grazes his chin makes him realize how small you are. Have you always been that small?

“Hey Hawks?” Your eyes are shining again and you’re playing with a loose thread on Hawks’ jacket.

“Yeah?” There’s a sort of pleading in your eyes and Hawks wants so badly to give you whatever you want, whatever you’re about to ask him he knows he’ll say yes.

“About what I said earlier…” You start, reaching for his hand and lacing your small fingers with his and squeezing. “I’ll take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

#my hero academia #mha #hawks #takami keigo #hawks x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #mha fic #mha hawks #bnha hawks #bnha writing #reader insert #bnha reader insert #hawks x you #bunny scribbles

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 3: Boundaries and Text Messages

Regular weekly update! Look at me go! This one took me ages to write for absolutely no reason, and then ages to edit because the AO3 text editor kicked my ass. Hopefully the formatting isn’t a dumpster fire, and hopefully you enjoy! Sidenote: you are always welcome to scream about Hotch, nsforwork or not, in my inbox.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 3, Boundaries and Text Messages

Chapter Summary: You discover that the unsub isn't what he seems, and overstep some boundaries you probably shouldn't have.

Words: 2291

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Back in Hotch’s hotel room, the three of you were sitting on the ground, surrounded by textbooks and torn-out pages covered in the seemingly mindless scrawls of the suspect. Well, you and Morgan were on the floor; Hotch was at the desk chair. Hotch wasn’t really a sit-on-the-floor type of person.

Morgan groaned and rubbed his temples for the third time in an hour. “It means nothing, man. He researched all this shit so he could commit the crimes in a way that would fuck with us.”

Hotch sighed and nodded in agreement. “It certainly seems that way. That explains the inconsistencies in the profile. However, we can still understand the subject by the signatures he chose.” He pointed to a scribbled note in a textbook section about the psychology surrounding different methods of murder: “Slashing throat? Effective + easy.”

He looked at you. “What can this note tell us about our subject?”

“Um, it doesn’t sound like the cause of death is important to him. Like it’s just something he needs to do. A necessity. Right?” you responded, somewhat unprepared for this sort of pop quiz.

“Exactly. And this tells us more about him. This isn’t about the kill; it’s about what he does beforehand. It’s about the rape,” Hotch said. “Don’t be so humble. You know more than you think you do.”

Your face felt hot, and you looked at the floor - an increasingly regular occurrence around him.

Morgan spoke up, still visibly exasperated. “If he spent so much time trying to throw us off, why did he pick victims that were so easy to tie to him?”

“He’s an idiot?” you offered before you could stop yourself.

Really professional. Holy shit, please shut up.

The faintest trace of a smirk graced Hotch’s face. “You’re not entirely wrong. He isn’t particularly intelligent, based on the information we’ve gathered so far. Not nearly as complex as we initially assumed.”

“Yeah, well, either way, he’s a nut. And Gracia can’t find anything about where he might be, and I’m starving,” Morgan said, standing up. “I’m gonna pick something up. You guys want anything?”

“Get me whatever looks good,” replied Hotch, focused on whatever written ramblings he was currently dissecting.

“You?” Morgan asked you.

“Just get me whatever you get him,” you said. “Thanks, Morgan.”

Morgan nodded and grabbed his jacket. “Be back soon.”

He closed the door, leaving you alone with your boss that you definitely didn’t have an erotic dream about the night before. You tried to focus on the textbook, but the words swam. After a few minutes, you huffed and set the book down.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for him right now instead of reading his weird psychobabble?”

Hotch looked up from his work with a raised eyebrow.

You continued, “I just mean, isn’t it more important to stop him from killing again? We already know he did it based on the stuff he wrote in the books, we don’t need to fully understand his motivations to confirm that.”

“Yes,” Hotch said, “but these offenders rarely cease their behavior out of nowhere. His appetite is alarming; he took three victims at once. We don’t know if those were even his first assaults or kills. Given that Garcia couldn’t locate any family or friends, we have no idea where he might be, so our time is best spent learning how to predict his actions and respond if someone else goes missing.”

He was correct, of course, but it just didn’t feel right - like you were sitting and waiting for something terrible to happen before you could do anything. Hotch must have sensed your frustration, because he leaned forward towards you, elbows resting on his knees, and continued in a slightly softer tone, “I know you feel helpless. We all do in situations like these. But trust me, we’re accomplishing more here than we would be trying to canvas the entire city.”

“I know,” you mumbled. “You’re right. It’s just, seeing the photos of those girls, knowing the type of person that’s out there, it’s hard to convince myself I’m doing enough just sitting here.”

“You’re not just sitting here, and you know that,” Hotch said, sternly. “You’re doing your job. People will die with or without us; our job isn’t to save them. It’s to catch the people that kill them.”

“But how do you deal with it?” you asked, growing more bold than you probably should be. You weren’t just asking about this case anymore, and you weren’t sure whether or not you wanted him to understand that. You wanted to ask him how he did it - how he woke up every morning alone, how he suffered an unimaginable loss at the hands of some of the purest evil society could produce and went back to the job that showed him more of that evil every day.

Judging by the hard set of his jaw, he knew exactly what you were getting at.

“I do it because I have to,” he said. Every word sounded measured, like he was explaining something he had dozens of times before.

“You don’t,” you whispered, but you knew you were wrong, at least to him. You knew he felt it was his responsibility to shoulder the burden so other families didn’t have to experience what he did. You had a background in psychology, and this was pretty low hanging fruit. A therapist would have a field day with him, but you weren’t a therapist, and you certainly weren’t in any position to tell your boss, a leader with decades of experience in the field, that he shouldn’t be taking all of this on.

He evidently didn’t find your comment worthy of a response, as he went back to picking through the pile of evidence. You’d hit a nerve though - his posture was more rigid, his almost-permanent scowl even more pronounced. The tension built with every second of silence, and you suddenly wished you could go back and erase the conversation.

Thinking better of trying to repair the damage you’d done, you kept the subsequent conversation focused on the profile. By the time Morgan got back, you had a fairly good idea of the suspect’s psychology, and after a quick break for fried rice and a video chat with the team, JJ set up to deliver a press conference from the police precinct in Vegas. Hotch switched on the news on the hotel TV, and you sat back to watch.

“The man currently suspected of committing the triple homicide that left bodies here in Vegas, in Phoenix, and in San Diego is an obsessive sexual predator,” JJ said to a waiting crowd of reporters and police. “He displays characteristics of a stalker, and women who interact with him may describe him as creepy or off-putting. Though murder is not his ultimate goal - in fact, he may not be completely comfortable with the act - he views it as a necessary step to dispose of his victims post-assault.”

“Do we usually do this?” you whispered to Morgan, “Release the whole profile publicly?”

“Nah, but with this guy, we want him to know we’re onto him,” he said back, trying not to disturb Hotch, who was watching JJ’s address intently. “He put so much effort into throwing us off, we gotta let him know we see through his bullshit. It’s the only play we got right now, considering we got no idea where he is.”

You turned back to the screen, where JJ had moved on to talking about the suspect. “His name is Ellory Matthews,” she said, holding up his ID photo. “He’s a 24 year old white male, about 5’9” and 200 pounds. We have strong reason to suspect he is involved and currently trying to evade the police. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous, so if you see him, please do not approach and call 911 immediately.”

Hotch, apparently having heard enough, stood up and turned off the TV. “Hopefully someone has seen him and can tell us where he is. If not, this should be enough to scare him into making a mistake.”

You tried not to think about the fact that a mistake still probably involved someone being hurt or killed.

“Get some rest. I’ll clean up here. Morgan, before you head to bed, call Garcia again and see if she’s found anything that can point us to where he might be.”

“Got it, I’ll let you know. Night, Hotch,” Morgan said.

You echoed Morgan and headed back to your room.

____________

After getting ready and tucking into bed, you found yourself completely unable to fall asleep. The conversation with Hotch kept replaying in your head - how resentful he’d looked when you asked him how he does his job, knowing that you were asking about it in relation to his family members’ deaths. He was a reasonable man, and you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong on the surface, but you shouldn't have pushed it, especially since the events you were referencing had been relayed to you by JJ in private. You weren’t even sure he wanted you to know about what happened to his wife and kid.

Shit, I might have really fucked up.

You rolled over and yanked your phone off the charger, and before you had time to convince yourself it was a bad idea, you sent him a message.

Me: Hey, sorry to bother you, I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize if I offended you during our conversation earlier. You’re an incredible agent and boss and I didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t be in the field for any reason.

You scrolled through Instagram mindlessly, waiting for his response, but he texted back almost immediately. Knowing him, he hadn’t even made an attempt to go to bed; he was probably still up reviewing the case.

Agent Hotchner: I understand. No need to apologize. I knew you’d hear about what happened sooner or later, and it’s natural to question my judgement, considering. I hope my actions in the field haven’t done anything to lend credence to that concern.

A weight lifted from your shoulders at his response, knowing he wasn’t angry with you.

Me: No, not at all, Sir. You and the team have been incredible and I’ve already learned so much. If I ask a question, please know it’s for my own learning rather than questioning your decisions!

Agent Hotchner: I’m glad to hear that. Please always feel free to ask questions.

Me: Thank you so much! Will do!

Satisfied with conversation, you set the phone back on the nightstand and rolled over. A few moments later, though, it buzzed again, and you looked at the screen.

Agent Hotchner: “Sir” is a little formal for text messages though, isn’t it?

You blinked, struggling to process the tone of the message. Was Aaron Hotchner making a joke? You messaged him back hesitantly.

Me: Can never be too formal! :) Is there something you’d prefer?

Agent Hotchner: Oh, I’m sure you can figure something out.

Your eyes widened at that, and you sat up in bed, staring at your screen. If you thought he was messing with you before, this was more; this was almost… flirting.

Ok, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, you thought, trying to calm your embarrassingly high heart rate. He’s older. Way older. He probably doesn’t text that much, and he probably doesn’t realize how that came off.

Me: I’ll let you know when I do.

Agent Hotchner: Please do. Sleep well.

You placed the phone back on the bedside table, almost shaking with adrenaline. What was wrong with you lately? First you have a sex dream about your boss (who’s old enough to be your parent, you might add), and now you’re freaking out because he texted you something that could possibly be, in some interpretations, construed as flirting.

Hotch was attractive, of course. You’d have to be an idiot not to admit that. He was handsome in a way you didn’t see often - not the obvious, in-your-face stunning like Morgan was, or even the adorable, put-together look that Reid gave off. Hotch was old-school handsome, like he should be in a black and white movie smoking a cigarette while his doting wife made him dinner.

Or something. It’s not like you’d thought about this before.

But even if he was handsome to such a degree that seeing him with two buttons on his dress shirt undone nearly gave you a heart attack, leaning into this fantasy you were unconsciously creating where your relationship was anything more than boss and intern had the potential to destroy your career. Hotch could read people like a book, and if you were unable to conduct yourself normally and effectively at work for any reason, your internship and aspirations would be tossed out to the street.

Time to stop being an idiot.

Sometime during your mental dissection of the text conversation and its implications, you must have fallen asleep. You were awoken to a still-dark room and someone gently squeezing your shoulder, saying your name.

“Wha- oh, it’s you. I’m so sorry, did I miss something? What’s going on?” you asked, still not fully conscious.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hotch replied, standing over you. You were suddenly thankful for the dark room and the blanket that were covering your lack of pants. “I tried calling you and knocking, but you didn’t respond. I figured you’d forgotten to turn your ringer on.”

“Shit, yeah, I did. I’m so sorry,” you said, sitting up. “What did you need?”

“It’s Ellory Matthews. Police caught him trying to kidnap another girl. He’s in custody.”

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whateveriwant · 4 years

Text

Luck Be a Lady: (1) What Happens in Vegas

Mob AU & Pretty Woman AU

Summary: As a lady of the night, you service many clients on the Strip. But one night, you meet a man who isn’t like your regular customers; a man much more dangerous than normal men. Will his life drag you down, or will luck be on your side?

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Prostitute!Reader

Word Count: ~7.9k

Warnings: language, smoking/drinking, mentions of guns/drugs/death, SMUT 18+ (cunnilingus, vaginal sex), overall gross misrepresentations of mobs/prostitution (this is fanfiction, afterall)

Moodboard: #2 (included at the end)

A/N: UPDATE: THIS SERIES IS NOW DISCONTINUED! SO SORRY! Hello! So, this is my first series. As you can see, it’s inspired by the film Pretty Woman (1990). While this first chapter is the most heavily influenced by the movie, I promise that the story will significantly diverge from the film (what I have planned is a doozy). I was sitting on this series for a while with no idea of where to take it, until I saw the amazing moodboards created by @simsadventures and was hit with sudden inspiration. Thus, this is written for her 3k Challenge! Congrats on your (now 4k) followers! I’ve included a few links in the chapter that I recommend you all check out. To any and everyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy!

Bucky sits in Asgard’s dining hall, shoulders tense and jaw clenched. Rolling up his sleeve to check his watch, he sees it’s half past 10. He knew this meeting wasn’t going to be quick – not with the way Pierce likes to run his mouth – but he hadn’t expected to be sitting here for over two-and-a-half hours. He could be doing much better things with his time. They all could be doing much better things with their time.

Given that Pierce prefaced this sit down with a, “Gentlemen, you know as well as I do, I’d rather be nursing a scotch at this hour on a Friday evening. But... business is business,” one would think he’d have wrapped it up by now. Apparently, listening to the sound of his own voice creates a buzz enough to rival a top-shelf liquor.

Bucky checks his watch again; a whole three minutes have passed since he last checked. He stifles the urge to roll his eyes as Pierce continues to drone on and on. Glancing over at Steve, Bucky can tell he’s similarly disinterested, but Steve is much less obvious with his frustration.

As for Bucky, however, he’s well and truly had enough.

“We almost done here?” Bucky manages to sneak in when Pierce’s spiel momentarily lulls.

Pierce looks stunned for a beat, almost incredulous that someone would dare interrupt him. But Bucky couldn’t give two shits about Pierce’s wounded ego; he just wants to leave the man’s presence and go home for the night.

While meeting in neutral territories is necessary to ensure inter-mob safety, that doesn’t mean Bucky has to particularly like it. Right now, he’d rather be surrounded by his own tastes in decor – something much less gilded and gaudy than Asgard's decorum.

“Eager to leave so soon?” Pierce finally snaps from his daze. “You’re usually quite keen on going over business, Barnes. On more than one occasion, you’ve spoken about how... hands-on you like to be,” he notes, squinting slightly as he regards Bucky.

Bucky’s jaw ticks in annoyance. He opens his mouth to retort, but before he can say something that will undoubtedly stoke the flames, Steve speaks first.

“Look, Pierce, we’ve been here for hours. We’ve already discussed at length what went wrong with that last deal with Klaue – how we all suffered losses. I’m not sure there’s much more to be said.”

“Perhaps you weren’t listening closely, Rogers,” Pierce shoots him a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, it’s true all three of our groups lost profit. However, I feel as if I’ve gotten the short end of the stick,” he sneers. “Whereas yours and Barnes’ men walked away unscathed, I lost five of my men on that arms run.” He emphasizes his point by holding up five bony fingers.

“Comes with the territory,” Bucky shrugs flippantly.

Pierce clicks his tongue, a scowl just beginning to form on his face. “I’ve never suffered a loss of this magnitude before.” He shakes his head. “At least... not when Rogers or Brock has led runs in the past.”

“Yeah,” Brock chimes in, “everythin’ went tits up when you decided to lead this run on your own, James.”

Bucky’s lip curls at Brock’s attempt at familiarity. “That’s ‘Barnes’ to you, Brock.”

Pierce turns to Brock, raising a hand to stop him from speaking further. Bucky knows Brock has a lot more he’d like to say, but like the loyal dog he is, he obeys his master’s bidding. Pierce turns back to Bucky and Steve, looking between the two men.

“Unless we’re going to retaliate against the Red Skulls for intercepting this run…,” Pierce proposes, seeing Steve and Bucky shift in their seats – both hesitant to agree. He continues, “...I think the only logical move from here is that my men get a larger percentage of this run's profit.”

“What?!” Bucky slams his hand on the table. “Like fuck I’ll give you a bigger part of my cut!”

“It seems only fair,” Pierce’s voice drips with mock sincerity, “given that I now have to devote resources to replacing the men I lost.”

“Lost under your lead, Barnes,” Brock points out, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Bucky grits his teeth, fighting hard to keep his composure. As the tension ripples off of Bucky – obvious to everyone at the table – Steve tries to take lead of the conversation.

“How much are we talking about here? How much do you want from us?”

Pierce purses his lips as he muses for a second, doing the calculations in his head. “I figure 20% from each should suffice.”

“Twenty percent?” Bucky jolts forward in his seat. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”

“Buck….,” Steve says under his breath, trying to placate him. He shoots Bucky a look saying ‘don’t push this’ before turning back to Pierce – only his eyes betraying his own irritation. “That can be arranged.”

Pierce nods in acknowledgment. “I’d prefer to receive my payment as soon as possible. Cash, of course.”

“Neither of us carry that much on our person,” Steve explains. “The earliest we could do is... tomorrow morning.”

“Fine, fine,” Pierce waves dismissively. “Eight a.m. tomorrow at The Panther. Does that work for you both?”

Steve agrees with an eager nod. With a sly elbow in the ribs from Steve, Bucky eventually offers his own curt nod, accepting Pierce’s terms.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll meet again tomorrow morning. Have a good rest of your evenings, gentlemen,” Pierce smiles, incredibly pleased with having won this argument.

Bucky springs from his seat and storms away, not even bothering to re-button his suit in the process. As he makes his way towards the casino’s entrance – intent on leaving immediately – he's suddenly stopped by a dainty hand on his bicep. He spins around, meeting the eyes of someone he forgot had been waiting by the bar throughout the meeting.

“Hi, Bucky,” Dot says, voice low and breathy. She bats her eyes, “I’ve missed ya.”

Bucky withholds a groan at her attempt at seduction. He saw her hanging off of Brock’s arm the minute he entered the casino. She’s apparently his ‘girl of the week’.

While Bucky and Steve deal solely in “safe” sources of income, primarily guns, loans, and bribes, Pierce likes having his finger in every kind of pie – ranging from guns, to women, to occasionally drug-muling.

Brock especially loves to pride himself on “sampling the merchandise” by having a different one of their girls by his side every other week. “I like knowin’ what the customer pays for, he relayed after one meeting. Seein’ if our girls are any good is the best part of my job.”

Despite knowing her employer – ‘pimp’ being the more appropriate term – Bucky had no qualms in hooking up with Dot once or twice. However, with the shit storm that brewed afterwards, he was quick to drop her and has tried to avoid her ever since.

“Call me James,” he says as he brushes her hand off of him.

“S'not what ya used to like me callin’ ya,” she tries teasing. “Back when we were together.”

“Let’s get this straight,” Bucky’s gives her a sharp look, his tone harsh. “We were never ‘together’, alright? We hooked up a couple’a times but that was months ago. There’s nothin’ between us anymore.”

“But there can be,” she prods, stepping closer to trail a finger along his jaw.

Bucky immediately grabs her hand and removes it from his face. “No,” he speaks with a conviction to show he’s unyielding on this topic.

He gives her another stern look, making her cower slightly. Once she finally backs down, Bucky turns and makes his exit from the casino.

Finally out on the sidewalk, Bucky takes a deep breath to try calming himself. As he waits for his driver to bring the car around, he runs one hand through his hair and fishes for his cigarette case with the other. Just as he lights one and releases a puff of smoke, Steve also makes his way out of the casino.

“I thought you quit,” Steve remarks, indicating Bucky’s cigarette. “When’d you pick up the habit again?”

“Recent,” he breathes out another puff. “Been on and off. Only do it when I need to cool down; need to relax.”

“Yeah, I could tell you were tense in there. And I saw Dot accost you afterwards. That definitely didn’t help.” Steve shakes his head.

“No, it fuckin’ didn’t,” Bucky exhales sharply. “Dot, Pierce, Brock… God, why does he let that asshat sit at the table? Fuckin’ prick doesn’t know his goddamn place.”

“I hear he’s grooming him to take over soon.” Steve’s comment makes Bucky shoot him a questioning brow, encouraging him to continue. “Well, since his wife and daughter want nothing to do with this side of the business, Pierce has no choice but to look elsewhere for his successor.”

“That means asshat’s gonna be at the table a lot more, doesn’t it?” Bucky sighs, voice laced with contempt.

Steve sucks his teeth in response. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well that’s just fuckin’ great. Guess I’m gonna be burnin’ through these real quick.” Bucky wiggles his cigarette in the air, taking another drag before stamping it out on the pavement.

“I mean, there are other ways to blow off some steam.” Steve gives him a look, knowing Bucky understands what he’s implying. “And you might want to do so since we have another meeting in the morning.”

Bucky checks his watch. It’s just past 11. While the Chicken Ranch is open 24/7, Bucky’s not sure he wants to make the drive out this late at night – especially since he has an early morning tomorrow.

Deciding against Steve’s suggestion, Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, it’s too late for that.” As his driver finally pulls up, another idea pops into his head. “Think I’ll just go for a drive. Try to clear my head that way. Would you mind havin’ your driver take Bernard home for me?”

“Of course, it’s no problem,” Steve says, his mouth suddenly shifting into a smirk. “But... didn’t you just buy that car?”

“...Yes?” Bucky’s response is hesitant, almost questioning – unsure of Steve’s motives behind his inquiry.

“Have you driven it before?”

“No... it’s brand new. Just off the lot.” Where is he going with this?

“Can you drive it?” Steve quirks a teasing brow.

Bucky sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s a stick shift, not rocket science. I’ll figure it out.”

“If you say so, punk.”

Bucky scoffs as he gets into the car, rolling down the window so that Steve can see him past the tint. As he pulls away from the curb, he gets the last playful jibe in.

“Fuck off, jerk.”

He peels away in a blur of silver, speeding down the street. While having three pedals is an unusual experience for first time manual drivers, Bucky seems to get the hang of it in no time. He rolls his window back up as he drives, enjoying the smooth ride.

Well... smooth for a few blocks.

Bucky doesn’t even make it to the end of the Strip before something goes wrong. He isn’t sure what exactly happens – he still knows dick-all about driving manual – but he suddenly finds his car stalling. He manages to pull over and stop in the closed-off right lane, utterly relieved for the first time in his life for the constant construction work in Vegas.

“Fuck,” he hisses, punching the steering wheel. This night just keeps getting better and better, he internally remarks. How the fuck am I gonna drive all the way home now? He takes note of his location, knowing he’s dozens of miles away from his house.

Might have to find a closer alternative for spending the night….

~~~~~

You wake up to your six o’clock alarm, the sun ready to set in an hour. Hearing her alarm ring through your paper-thin walls, you know Stephanie is similarly rousing from her sleep in the next room over. You yawn and stretch, feeling your joints click after hours spent on your lumpy mattress.

Once you drag yourself from bed, you greet Stephanie as you simultaneously emerge from your rooms. You both head into the kitchen, seeing if anything magically appeared in your bare cabinets and refrigerator overnight. Luckily, there’s still some leftover take-out from yesterday. You and Stephanie split the stale Thai food, hurrying as you see the clock nearing 6:45.

After cleaning up, you both get ready for your long night. You dig through your drawers to choose your outfit for the evening. The early spring weather is finally warm enough that you can comfortably show some skin without worrying about later freezing due to a temperature drop. Settling on mismatched underthings, a short skirt, low-cut top, and ratty heels, you and Stephanie make your way out of the apartment just before seven.

Since your apartment is only a few blocks away, it doesn’t take long to reach your designated section of the Strip. For several hours, you stand on your segment of the sidewalk, looking to entice any willing customers. Unfortunately, it’s a rather slow night for you both.

“We’re gonna hafta pull some big ones soon if we wanna make rent this month,” Stephanie grumbles as the night dwindles on.

“S’not like we’re not tryin’,” you comment. “I’ve been offerin’ the pricier options, but no one’s bitten yet. All they want is the cheap, quick stuff.”

“Well, we’ve already been here for…,” she pauses to check her phone, “...four hours and we only turned a couple tricks each. S'not gonna cut it, Peanut.”

Having no response to her statement – despite how true it rings – you simply shrug, turning back towards the street. But, in a sudden stroke of luck, a car comes to a stop not far from where you’re standing. Seeing as the lane is closed off by cones, you figure there’s only one reason why the driver pulled over.

“Well shit, looks like our luck might be turnin’ if Mr. Caddy has any say,” Stephanie laughs. “You take this john.”

“What? Why me?” You spin to look at her, confused as to why she would turn down the prospect of making a good deal of money.

“Your tits look better in that shirt, so you’re more likely to score this one,” she says as if it’s obvious. “But be nice,” she gives you a pointed look. “This one trick might be all we need, alright? So keep the claws in, kitten.”

You roll your eyes. “Aye, aye,” you deadpan, giving her a mock salute.

As you start walking towards the car, Stephanie suddenly stops you, turning you around once more. “Wait, wait. Ya got your harlot red lipstick on ya? It came off on that last blowjob.”

“Scarlet red,” you correct her, pulling the tube out of your purse.

“I don’t give a fuck what her name is, Peanut. That shade makes you irresistible.” She helps you apply it before urging you forward again. “Now, go on. Ya got this,” she encourages.

You take a deep breath, push your breasts up, and walk towards the car. Once you reach the passenger’s side window, you’re surprised to see it’s still rolled up; most customers usually have it lowered to talk with you.

The tint is too dark for you to see through so you knock against the glass, asking the driver to roll it down. They hesitate for a second before the window finally descends. And what a sight you’re met with.

A gorgeous set of blue eyes belonging to an even more gorgeous face look out at you. He’s certainly the best looking customer you’ve had all month, if not all year. Oh, you definitely need to score this one now.

Realizing you need to pull out all the stops, you lean forward, resting your arms against the windowsill and putting your breasts on full display. “How ya doin’, baby? Ya need somethin’?” You play up the innocent card as if you don’t know exactly what he wants.

He gives you a once-over, letting his eyes linger for a second on your chest. His reaction makes you think you’ve got this one in the bag, a small smirk pulling at your lips. But he suddenly clears his throat and shakes his head, causing your smile to immediately fall.

“Unless you know how to drive stick,” he laughs slightly, “I’m okay. Thanks.”

His confession makes you grin again; all hope is not yet lost. “Well, it’s your lucky night, baby, ‘cause I do know how to drive stick.”

Sure, it’s been a few years since you last drove one, but you figure it’s just like riding a bike.

“Where ya headed?”

He takes a second to think – almost as if he doesn’t already know his destination. “Umm… The Asset, I guess. Know where that is?”

Do you know where that is? You have to stop yourself from laughing. That casino’s only one or two blocks away from the section of the Strip you work off of. You’ve been brought there by customers more times than you can count; that is, for times you’ve been fortunate enough to actually get a room instead of a back alley or back seat.

“Yeah, I know where that is. S’just down the street.” You nod in the direction of the casino. A sudden idea comes to mind as you look over the man sitting before you – expensive suit and all. “For $20, I’ll drive ya there myself.” If this trick falls through for some reason, at least you can walk away with something.

"Twenty bucks?" He squints slightly, incredulity coloring his tone. "Can't you just tell me how to start my car again, darlin'?"

Darlin'? No. No, no. Mr. Blue Eyes isn't about to smooth talk you into changing your mind.

"Hey, I'm not the one parked in a tow zone, pal." You immediately cringe at the nickname you called him, not meaning to let your ire slip out. ‘Keep the claws in’, you remind yourself of Stephanie’s words.

He doesn't seem to mind, though – instead, chuckling at your statement. "Fair. Alright, you get me there in one piece and the $20's yours."

He gets out of the driver's seat and holds the door open for you, closing it behind you before making his way into the passenger's seat.

“Better buckle up, baby,” you croon. “You’re in for a ride.” You give him a quick wink before speeding away from the curb, easily merging with the busy Friday night traffic.

The car handles like a beauty as your muscle memory effortlessly takes over. Deciding to push your luck and be a little cheeky, you say matter-of-factly, “Ya gotta ease up on the clutch. Otherwise, you’re gonna find yourself putterin’ on the side of the road again.”

He chuckles at your snark. “I’ll take that into consideration. How’d you learn to drive stick?”

At his question, a sad smile pulls on your lips – distant memories flashing before your eyes. “Someone taught me a long time ago,” you say softly, mind far away. Before you can get too lost in your thoughts, you change the subject. “I think a better question is: how come ya don’t know how to drive stick? This ain’t your car or somethin’?”

“Nah, it’s mine.” He shrugs in your peripheral vision. “It’s just new. Hasn’t really been driven yet.” He stares absentmindedly out of his window. “Well... apart from my driver.”

“Pfff, figures.” You shake your head slightly, keeping your eyes on the road.

He turns in his seat to look at you. “S'that supposed to mean?”

You’re afraid you’ve offended him and he’s about to kick you out of the car. Peeking a sideways glance at him, you see he’s not angry – just curious. Even though Stephanie told you to be nice, Mr. Blue Eyes seemed to enjoy your earlier snark. Thus, you decide to partially ignore Stephanie’s warning in the hopes of playing to his interests.

“Ya seemed like the type,” you say earnestly. “Apart from the three-piece, Rolex, and whole ‘I don’t know how to drive my own luxury car’ thing, there’s somethin’ about ya that just screams ‘I have my own driver’.”

He laughs out loud at your statement. The sound makes a smile break across your face. Not only are you relieved that he isn’t offended by your boldness, but his laugh is also just pleasing to your ears – robust, warm, and all-enveloping in the small space between you two.

Wait. What? Why are you thinking about how nice his laugh sounds?

“You really call ‘em like you see ‘em, don’tcha?” He asks, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

You nonchalantly shrug a shoulder. “I'm just good at readin’ people. And a pretty boy like you wanderin’ these parts without your driver? Tsk, I’d hate to see somethin’ happen to ya,” you tease.

“Hey, I can take care of myself, darlin’.” His playful tone mimics yours. “Thank you very much.”

You take your eyes off of the road for a moment, bringing them to meet his. “I think your Caddy’s transmission would beg to differ,” you stage whisper, a faux grimace marking your face.

Once again, he laughs loudly at your assertion – his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shakes his head. He shifts in his seat, turning to face you more directly. “You’re real funny. What’s your name, darlin’?”

Oh, good. This night might end with you earning more than that $20 he promised.

“Whatever ya want it to be, baby.” You give him a saucy wink before turning back to the windshield. From the corner of your eye, you can see him looking you over closely. You resist the urge to smirk, keeping your expression neutral.

Not long after, you pull up to the curved drop-off zone at the front of The Asset. You get out and round the car to the passenger’s side as he similarly exits the vehicle.

Handing him the keys, you proceed to clasp your hands behind your back as you stand before him. You start rocking gently on your heels and mashing your lips together. “So...,” you trail off.

“Oh, right.” He pulls out his wallet, digging around for a second before handing you a crisp $20. “Thank you. For the... ride and whatnot.”

Oh. Well, that’s disappointing. You thought for sure this was going to lead elsewhere.

Regardless, you take the bill graciously. At least this wasn’t a complete bust. “S’no problem. Ya have a good night.”

You turn around, ready to make your way back to Stephanie. Hopefully she got herself a rich john so at least one of you made some good money tonight. You only walk a few steps before a gentle hand pulls at your elbow, stopping you in your tracks. As you turn around, you’re greeted by those piercing azure eyes again.

He lets go of your arm, quickly shoving the hand into his pants pocket. “I, uh, I was wonderin’ if you’d be willin’ to make some more money tonight?” His voice is a bit sheepish as he asks you, brows furrowing slightly. “Y’know, make sure my night does turn out good?” His sheepishness is quickly erased as the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

A genuine smile graces your face. You nod gently in agreement. “Okay, baby. Sounds good.”

“Bucky, please,” he offers you his hand. “Call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand, repeating his name back to him.

“You gotta name, too?” He jokes. “Or should I just keep callin’ you darlin’?”

You snort before offering your own name, adding, “But darlin’ works just fine.”

You both turn towards the casino’s entrance, heading to make your way inside. Bucky hands his keys to the valet as he tells him, “Don’t forget to ease up on the clutch.” The wink he sends you afterwards makes you chuckle, biting the inside of your cheeks to keep from grinning too widely.

Bucky ushers you into the lobby, the familiar gold-flecked obsidian encompassing every surface in sight – trailing from the floor, up the walls, all the way to the high ceiling. He leads you to the check-in desk, greeting the concierge by name.

“Evening, Wanda.”

“Mr. Barnes, we weren’t expecting to see you tonight.” Wanda looks surprised to see him, but her bright smile says his appearance isn’t unwelcome.

“Wanda,” he sighs, “how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Bucky.” He gives her a look of admonishment but without any real irritation behind it.

“Sorry, sorry,” she raises her hands in feigned defeat. “We weren’t expecting to see you tonight, Bucky. Will you be staying overnight?”

“Yeah, I was hopin’ the penthouse was free.”

She checks her computer, typing away for a few minutes. “No, I’m sorry, sir. That room’s still booked until tomorrow afternoon. But the Alb suite below is free, if that would work?”

“Yeah, that works. Thanks, Wanda.” He gives her a smile as she hands over the room key.

“Of course. Have a good night, sir.” She returns his smile, giving you a kind nod in turn.

Bucky leads you to the elevators, pushing the button to call the box down. You stand together in slightly awkward silence as you two wait for the elevator to descend. Getting faintly uncomfortable with the still atmosphere, you decide to break the silence.

“So… ya must be a local.”

“Hmm?” He turns to look at you, a small pinch forming between his brows.

“Or ya must come here pretty often,” you try again.

“What makes you say that?” He narrows his eyes, but you can still see some humor in them; he’s curious to know how you came about making those impressions of him.

“Well, the desk lady knew your name without ya tellin’ her. And y’all seemed pretty chummy – like ya know each other well.”

He hums at your observations, neither confirming nor denying anything.

“Plus,” you continue, “she didn’t ask ya for your card. That means it’s already in the system. Probably gets used often.”

He smirks, raking his eyes over your figure. “You’re very perceptive.”

You shrug, “I try to be. Helps in my line of work.”

Bucky gives you a nod of understanding, ushering you into the newly arrived elevator. You start your ascent before he speaks again, confirming your suspicions.

“Yeah, I’m a local. And I also come here all the time. Me and Wanda have known each other for many years. S’why I wish she’d do away with all that formal ‘Mr. Barnes’ crap and just call me Bucky.”

You purse your lips, nodding along to his statement. But his confession is strange to you – differing greatly from your usual clientele.

“Hmm, my regular customers are usually tourists. Y’know, bachelor parties, business men away for work, shit like that. All just lookin’ to see if ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ is true or not.”

Bucky turns to you, once again letting his eyes drag over the length of your body. He presses closer within the small confines of the elevator, partially caging you against the reflective wall. “I think you’ll find...,” his breath fans against you, “...I’m not like ‘regular’ men.”

Normally, a line like that would cause you to roll your eyes, thinking it cheesy and pretentious. But the way that Bucky says it, coupled with the way he looks at you, almost makes you go weak in the knees – forcing you to calm your racing heart as it threatens to jump out of your chest. Your eyes flit to the floor, unable to hold his penetrating stare any longer.

What the hell is happening to you? Why are you being all awkward and unassertive?

You haven’t behaved like this around a customer in years – back when you were first starting out and trying to find your footing. Usually when you’re with a client, you’re incredibly confident: bold in your flirting and self-assured of your skills. In fact, you haven’t been this passive, this meek, this borderline insecure because of a man since….

No. Stop. Don’t think about that. Don’t do that to yourself.

You push the memories out of your mind. You can’t afford to get caught up in your head and muck up this trick, not when your rent rests on its shoulders. It’ll take a conscious effort to not lose yourself to those weaknesses, but it can be done. You’ve done it before.

Once the elevator arrives at the second highest floor, you swiftly exit into the hallway. You’ve never been up here before. All of the previous times you’ve come to this casino, your johns had smaller, cheaper, lower-level rooms. This floor has only two rooms, Bucky guiding you to the one on the left.

Walking into the suite, your eyes widen at the grandiose sight. The same dark color scheme is reflected in this room as it is throughout the rest of the casino – onyx and black olive with gold embellishments here and there. The living room is separated from the bedroom, but you can see the queen-sized bed through the doorway. Expansive windows line the walls, allowing you to see the neon lights of the Strip shining below.

“Wow,” you mutter, stepping into the center of the room. “This is ginormous.”

“You should see the penthouse,” he chuckles, taking off his jacket as he walks past you. He stops beside the bar cart, gesturing at the various bottles before him. “Want somethin’ to drink?”

“No thanks, I’m good.” That was one of Stephanie’s rules: don’t drink on a job. For one, it’s easier to have your wits about you without alcohol running through your system. And secondly, you can never be too sure someone won’t try to slip something into your drink. Thus, for your safety, you never drink when turning a trick.

“Y’sure? I can have some champagne sent up.”

“Really, I’m okay.” You put your hands up in defense.

You’re not about to be pressured into lowering your inhibitions, no matter how handsome the man trying to convince you is. But he doesn’t push further, understanding your mind is made up.

“You don’t mind if I drink, do you?” Bucky questions. At the shake of your head, he grabs the whiskey, pouring himself a generous amount. He takes a sip before speaking again. “Wanna eat somethin’?”

You shake your head in response.

“Really? I can have them send up whatever: steak, lobster, maybe some chocolate-covered strawberries,” he quirks a teasing brow.

You huff. What does this guy think this is? You both know you’re just here for sex.

“Look, baby–”

“Bucky,” he interrupts, reminding you of what he asked you to call him.

You continue, “I appreciate the whole ‘romancin’, seduction’ angle you’re tryna play, but it’s not necessary. I’m a guaranteed lay.” You look at him as if to say ‘c’mon, let’s get this show on the road’.

“Alright, if you just wanna get down to the nitty gritty, then I’m game.” He sits on the couch before you, drink still in hand. “So, what do you offer?”

“Anythin’ ya want, baby. But I don’t kiss on the mouth.” That’s another one of Stephanie’s rules – her most important, in fact.

“They can have your body, but don’t pretend like there’s somethin’ more there; don’t mix feelings with a job,” she warned you when you first got into this business.

“Bucky,” he reminds you yet again.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “M’not used to usin’ customer’s real names. They usually like the names I give ‘em. Probably ‘cause it helps ‘em dissociate.”

He chuckles silently. “Told you before, darlin’, I’m not like regular men. So please, call me Bucky.”

Why is he being so stubborn about this? It’s just a damn nickname.

You throw your hands up in submission, starting to get frustrated that this is taking so long. “Whatever ya want, pal. You’re the one payin’.”

He laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “So I’m ‘pal’ again, huh?” He refers to when you heckled him about paying you $20 to drive his car. “‘Pal’. I kinda like that. How ‘bout this: if not ‘Bucky’, then call me ‘pal’.”

He’s right, you think. He really isn’t like your regular customers.

“Whatever floats your boat,” you yield. "Now, are we doin’ this or not?”

“Yeah.” He stands from the couch. “Do I pay you now or–”

“After,” you cut him off. “But can I freshen up first?” You crane your neck, looking for the bathroom.

“Of course,” he raises his hand towards the bedroom, indicating that there must be an en suite.

You thank him and slink towards the room, making sure to take your purse. Once inside the bathroom, you close the door – not bothering to lock it. You won’t be in here for very long; you’ve gotten quick at doing this. Opening your purse, you grab a condom you always make sure to carry.

After being in this business for long enough, you learned one important fact: some men are easier to convince to wear protection than others. What’s more, the deciding factor usually comes down to their wealth. Simply put: poor guys wear condoms and rich guys don’t.

Whereas you can usually convince your less wealthy clients to not risk bringing their “business” home to their sweethearts, your rich clients tend to be more in the mindset of ‘I get what I want, how I want’. Thus, after many unsuccessful attempts to convince your wealthy customers to wear condoms, you simply stopped trying – instead, resorting to the method you plan to use tonight.

As you make to tear open the package, Bucky suddenly knocks on the door. You only have enough time to hide the package behind your back as the door opens.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna eat somethin’? I’d hate for you to pass out ‘cause your stomach’s empty,” he teases, mouth curling at the corners.

Why is he in here? You don’t want him to see you doing this.

“M’sure,” you respond quickly. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Whadya got there?” He gestures to the hand resting against your back.

“Nothin’,” you try brushing him off.

He easily sees through your ruse. “That’s not nothin’. What is it? Crack? Meth?” He frowns, tone turning rough as anger floods his voice.

“What? No!” You exclaim, his accusation pissing you off. How dare he!

“Know what? I don’t really care what it is. I don’t fuck with drugs. Period.” He grabs your arm with one hand and your purse with the other. “Get your shit and get out.”

“It’s not drugs!” You struggle against him for a second. After a few moments, you relent, revealing what you’ve hidden behind your back.

Seeing what you hold in your hand, Bucky realizes his mistake. “S-sorry,” his hostility immediately drops, all previous anger completely dissipating. “I thought you were…. I’ve been burned in the past, so I kinda…. Sorry.” He releases his hold on your arm and purse.

“Yeah, well, I’m just tryna be safe. Make sure I stay clean, y’know?”

“Yeah, no, I getcha. I actually had the same exact thought.” He grabs his wallet from his pocket, pulling his own condom out to show you.

Well, I’ll be damned, you think. That is a first.

You drag your eyes from the foil packet in his hand up to his face, seeing a sincerity and timidity you wouldn’t expect gleaming in his eyes. What you suggest next completely goes against how you normally operate, but there’s just something about Bucky that you trust – something that makes you believe what he tells you is truthful.

“Well, I got one’a those IUD things a few years ago. So, if I’m clean and you’re clean, we can just skip the rubbers. If ya want?”

A devilish smirk pulls at his lips. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?” He remarks. “Okay, works for me.”

“Alright, then. Whenever you’re ready.” You exit the bathroom and walk into the bedroom, coming to a stop at the end of the bed.

Bucky rounds you, grabs his whiskey from earlier, and sits on the bed – his back against the padded headboard. As he sips, he nods at you expectantly, encouraging you to strip for him.

You start with your heels, removing them as gracefully as possible. Next goes your top, lifting it slowly by the hem until it’s cleared your head. Maintaining eye contact with Bucky, you reach back for your skirt’s zipper – hearing the teeth pull apart at a tortuous pace. As the fabric slips down your legs, Bucky licks his lips. When you go to unclasp your bra, he suddenly stands, placing his empty glass on the nightstand.

He saunters up to you, standing a few inches away. “Let me get that for you, darlin’.” He reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall down your arms to bare your chest to him. Bringing his hands up to your breasts, he gives each a gentle squeeze – feeling the weight of them against his palms.

Your nipples pebble at his ministrations. As he rolls the buds between his fingers, you bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan. He chuckles as he notices your expression, seeing how worked up you already are.

Wanting to school your features – will yourself to calm down a little bit – you try joking. “You’re handsy, ain’tcha?”

Bucky laughs lightly, hands still playing with your breasts. “Been told I can be.” He continues to fondle you before leaning forward, whispering in your ear, “Get on the bed.”

You immediately comply, feeling the satin sheets glide against your back as you lie down. Bucky begins removing his own clothing as he stands at the foot of the bed – his vest, tie, shirt, and trousers swiftly discarded.

When he’s down to just his boxers, you let your eyes scan over him. The man has an impressive physique – planes of hard muscle covering him head to toe. While he has a few random marks and scars littering his body, he’s otherwise pure perfection. His voice disrupts you from your obvious ogling.

“Take off your panties.”

You do as commanded, pulling them down your hips as Bucky climbs onto the bed. He catches your ankle as you slip the fabric off of your foot, pressing his lips against your skin. Crawling up your body, he trails soft kisses along the way – up your leg, hip, chest. When you see he means to connect with your mouth, you suddenly turn your head.

“Uh-uh, ‘member? No kissin’.”

“Sorry,” he smirks, “got ahead of myself.” He starts moving back down your body, continuing to trail kisses in his wake.

This is an unusual experience for you. Most of your customers are just “wham-bam, thank you, ma’am”; not bothering to pay much attention to your body – being solely focused on their own pleasure.

As Bucky’s mouth nears your core, you start to squirm, realizing his intentions.

“Ya don’t hafta do that,” you tell him breathlessly. None of your previous clients have ever attempted to attend to your body in a similar fashion – only wanting to take, not give.

“Oh, but I want to.” Bucky kisses the inside of your thigh, mouth inches away from your throbbing heat. “I like to make a lady feel good first.”

“A lady?” You breathe, body tingling in anticipation. “No one's ever accused me of bein' one of those before.”

“First time for everythin’, darlin’,” he says before his mouth connects with your sex.

A low moan escapes your throat, vibrations ringing through your core as he chuckles against you. Bucky settles his hands on your hips, kneading the flesh as his tongue dances along your pussy. He stiffens his tongue and draws random patterns over your clit, making your excitement drip with every pass of his mouth.

As he dips his tongue into your entrance, he groans lewdly at the taste of your arousal. He begins a circuit with the wet muscle, moving back and forth between your bundle of nerves and your slit – never lingering on one or the other for too long.

You can’t hold back your moans as ragged noises erupt from your open mouth. Bucky repeats his tongue’s track several times over, working you higher and higher with each pass. Feeling a stirring low in your belly, you fist the sheets – the dark satin bunching between your fingers.

This is a strange night for you. Not only have you never received head from a client before, but rarely do you feel yourself close to cumming while on a job. Despite these unusual circumstances, you’re not about to question anything. You just want to give in to the experience.

“So good,” you breathe. “M’so close, baby.” You close your eyes as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

Suddenly, Bucky stops – completely halting his tongue’s movement. You whine and your eyes fly open to look down at him. He meets your gaze – your arousal shiny on his chin.

“Why’d ya stop?” You all but cry as you ask him.

An annoyed look is plastered on his face. He raises a brow, “What I tell you to call me?”

Ugh, really? He’s going to withhold an orgasm from you over a stupid nickname?

Normally, you’d be a lot more irritated and willing to back-talk him. But being so close to your peak, only to have it ripped away, makes you willing to do just about anything to ensure you reach it – too far gone to care about putting up a front.

“Bucky, please, keep goin’,” you beg.

“Better,” he says with a smug grin. He reattaches his mouth to you, increasing his fervor tenfold.

You cry out – one hand flying down to tangle in his hair, keeping him against you. One of Bucky’s hands trails from your hip up to your chest, rolling your nipple between his fingers before palming your heaving breast.

As he laps at you – focusing his attention on your clit – your moans start to ascend in pitch, getting more and more desperate sounding. You feel the vibrations of his grunts as he works you over – the noise mirroring your own eagerness. Feeling yourself once again closing in on your release, you dig your heels into the bed, grinding against his face.

With a few more circles of his tongue, you fall over the edge, squeezing Bucky’s head between your thighs and tugging harshly on his hair. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind the headlock, though – instead, continuing to mouth at you as you writhe and gasp.

Once you come down from your high, Bucky lifts his head and wipes his chin with his forearm. He starts kissing his way up your body again, stopping as he comes face to face with you. “Ready?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes.

You nod, a bit out of breath. “More than ready.”

Bucky sits back on his haunches to pull his boxers down, finally releasing the erection that’s straining against the fabric. The size of his cock makes your eyes go wide – your mouth similarly falling open. He smirks and chuckles slightly, amused by your reaction.

“Close your mouth, darlin’,” he pushes a finger under your chin. “You’ll catch flies that way.”

You shut your mouth as he suggests, still not quite believing the sight before your eyes. Bucky slots his body between your parted thighs, holding himself above you on his forearms. Reaching between you, he grabs hold of his cock. He runs the head over your slit, collecting an abundance of slick and thoroughly coating himself in your arousal.

Lining up with your pussy, he finally presses in – low groans emitting from you both at the incredibly snug fit. Bucky eases his way forward, letting you feel every inch of his length as it fills you. It’s only once his pelvis connects with yours that you truly register the size of him, feeling deliciously stretched and stuffed.

Bucky moves slowly, pulling back at an easy pace before pushing in just as steadily. He repeats the motion several times, dragging his cock in and out of you without hurry. You chew on your lip as he winds you up with every move, fisting the sheets as you climb higher and higher.

On a particularly deep thrust, Bucky’s pelvis brushes against your clit, causing a sharp gasp to leave your lips. He grins at the sound, purposefully repeating the motion again and again to elicit more noises from you. Your gasps quickly turn to whines as he continues to hit your sweet spot over and over.

Despite his leisurely movements, you feel yourself rapidly approaching your peak. You tilt your head back and let your mouth fall open, nearing that blissful release. Bucky watches your expression, seeing that you’re close.

“C’mon,” his voice is husky, “give it to me.”

He speeds up ever so slightly, continuing to brush against your clit with every thrust. His increased tempo does you in, causing you to tighten your grip on the sheets and squeeze your eyes shut as you cum. Your legs tense and walls clamp around him as euphoria washes over you.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales. “That’s it.”

He sits up a bit, grabbing onto your hips as he further speeds up. His grip on you is tight – fingers pressing deeply into your flesh and creating divots in the skin. Your breasts jostle with every snap of Bucky’s hips – his thrusts coming at a brisk pace as he slams into you.

Sweat glistens your skin as you breathe heavily – Bucky similarly dripping and panting as he pounds you into the mattress. He removes one of his hands from your waist and brings it to your clit, making you whimper as he starts circling his fingers.

“Know you got another one,” he pants. “Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum again.”

His brow furrows in concentration as he focuses on bringing you over the edge one more time. He groans when your walls flutter at his words, speeding his hips up just a bit more. You mash your lips between your teeth, trying to dampen the volume of your moans as they grow louder and louder.

The coil in your belly tightens as Bucky continues to snap his hips and circle his fingers. The excessive stimulation pushes you over again – your hands flying up to his shoulders as a squeal spills from your throat. Your fingers digging into his skin and walls tightening around his cock causes Bucky to reach his own end, cursing as he finishes inside of you.

“Shit!” His thrusts stutter, movements growing erratic as he works through his release. His hips slow as he gradually empties himself, only stopping once he finishes completely.

You wince as Bucky pulls out, feeling the warmth of his cum as it seeps out of you. He slumps face-down beside you in bed, eyes falling shut and panting heavily as exhaustion overtakes him.

Your own breathing is ragged – body completely spent after your third orgasm. Closing your eyes for a second, you even your breaths as you will your racing heart to slow. You resolve to lie there for a few moments until you regain your composure.

Just for a minute, you think. And then I’ll get my money and get out of here.

Unbidden, a deep sleep falls over you. Cozy and sated amongst the satin sheets, you rest peacefully for the night.

__________

A/N: And we’re off! So, like I said, this chapter is the most obviously inspired by the film, but don’t worry – I’m taking this story in a whole new direction. As you can see from the moodboard below, some of the images have already come into play (and others will come up later in the series). I’d love to know what you thought so far! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#sims3kchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #marvel #mcu #series

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hana-bean · 3 years

Text

Close to you (1/7)

Hi everyone! Happy SeiUsa Week 2021! Please enjoy this seven-chapter installment in celebration of the ultimate OTP!

~~~

Everyone walks on To meet just one person someday

---

“Boo! You suck!”

Seiya ducked to the side to avoid an oncoming empty beer bottle flying his way, shattering as it hit the stage floor. He scowled as he grabbed the microphone with the other hand still on his guitar neck.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Get off the stage!” Another bottle started flying, this time in between him and the second guitar player, Yaten.

The bar owner soon sprinted toward the musicians and on the stage, trying to avoid various other objects projecting through the air in the meantime.

“Guys, you got any other songs to play?”

Taiki, who was standing in the back at a keyboard, walked up to join the conversation. “What other songs? This is all we know.” He explained while kicking off a half-eaten chicken wing that landed on his shoe.

“You play the same set every night. They want something fresh.”

“Well, maybe you need to get more patrons instead of the same ones every night,” Yaten growled with a lime green twitchy eye. “It’s not our fault your regulars live here.”

“Listen,” the owner paused to grimace in figurative pain as he felt something wet hit his back. “You need to mix it up.”

“We can’t,” Seiya replied firmly. “We need to play these songs.”

“Then pack it up. The show’s over.”

Yaten released his guitar in order to gesture to drive his point across, letting it hang on his neck. “No! You need to let us play!”

“Not a chance, Napoleon. You’ll drive away my tenants!” The owner glared.

That was it—and not that it usually took very much anyway—Yaten was over the edge. He lifted the strap over his head and tossed his instrument to Taiki before tackling the owner to the stage floor with his standard flying squirrel technique.

“Yaten, what the fuck?!” Seiya removed his guitar and went to work trying to pry his bandmate from atop the owner, or at least he tried; Yaten had the grip strength of a coconut crab despite being the smallest of the three of them.

But that was all the patrons needed as a reason to get in on the action. They stormed the stage with their rage and beer bottles ready, even turning on one another and the instruments. Some who didn’t choose violence for a Tuesday night contacted authorities on their crystal cell phones as they made their exit; the other portion used them to record the melee from their tables.

Seiya soon felt the weight of three men come at him at all sides; his only instinct to protect his head before the four-person clump of testosterone toppled two feet down and off the stage. Immediately, he felt a pain shoot from his knee all the way up to his hip as something heavy and drunk landed on his leg. Seiya wriggled and scooted as much as possible to free himself, but since his body was the one that absorbed most of the impact, the attacking men had the advantage to quickly begin their beatdown.

He managed to curl up in the fetal position as feet and fists made contact with every part of his exposed body. But then, allowing himself to only feel like a failure for a few seconds, he made a quick decision and reached within his jacket for his headset.

“Fighter Star Power, Make Up!”

As the transformation alone knocked the three men on their backs, their world was forever rocked when they looked upon a leather-clad woman standing in place of the male musician once the music and sparkles had faded.

“He’s a guardian?!” One yelled, completely stupefied.

Sailor Star Fighter cocked an eyebrow as she smirked, her Star Yell ready in hand.

“Remind me again: what do you think of my songs?”

By then, three police officers had come through the entrance. Their hands floated above their holstered guns on their hips as they were visibly surprised and uneasy.

“Guardian! Put your weapon down!”

“It’s the cops! Run!” A voice shouted. The chaos simply transformed from scuffle to stampede as people began to book it for any exit they could find.

The authorities were soon knocked down from the rush, however one was able to take out her radio and plead into it, “Ten-seventy-five! We need guardians! Get us guardians!” until it was kicked out of her hand from an escaping patron.

Taiki and Yaten came up behind Star Fighter—donning a few scratches, cuts, and tousled hair—all the while still moving pretty well.

“Seiya, you dumbfuck, why’d you transform?” Yaten chastised.

“I’m the dumbfuck?” Fighter gave her crazy eyes. “They were going to kill me!” For a split second, she forgot about her leg and put weight on it while yelling back. However, the appendage was quick to remind her that something was wrong. She winced and seethed in a breath as she fell on Taiki for support.

“Let’s get out of here,” Taiki suggested calmly as he wrapped Fighter’s arm around his neck. Yaten followed suit on the other side.

They only had to contend with navigating through a few scattered stragglers before the three made their way toward the emergency exit by the stage. Taiki kicked the door open only to be met with two obstacles standing in their way, both clad in Milky Way guardian uniforms. One was in a dark blue and yellow color combination with short blonde hair, the other in dark blue and teal with medium-length teal hair.

“Not so fast.”

---

Seiya sighed as he dropped his head on the headrest in the backseat of the police car. The authorities were escorting him from a hospital where his wounds were attended to, and he was now alone. Or rather, separated from Taiki and Yaten. His only company was the two guardians from the bar—whom he was squished in between—and a uniformed officer at the wheel.

He cleared his throat to get attention from anyone. “What did you do with my friends?”

“They’re at a detention center.” The blonde guardian answered, void of emotion, keeping her focus out the window.

“A detention center? Why?”

“Because they’re here illegally. You all are. You should be there, too.”

Fuck, that’s not good. That’s not good at all… But it still didn’t explain… “So where are you taking me then?”

“The queen would like an audience with you.” The teal-headed one answered while busy on her crystal smartphone, having removed a glove for her screen to sense the natural heat of her thumb. A half-filled plastic grocery bag also sat on her lap.

“The queen?” Seiya tried to use his hands to emphasize his confusion, however, his handcuffs clanked in protest. “What does she want with me?”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants—she calls, you come.” The blonde turned her head to look at him with stern blue eyes.

He knew there was no use prying anymore. The blonde had already knocked him around a few times before getting to the hospital, so he knew he risked further physical punishment if he did so. Any other day he would find the pain worth it if it meant annoying her, but his body was already unbearably sore in places he didn’t realize he had.

Meeting with the queen also had him a bit concerned for his well-being. He figured it had something to do with being a guardian, but what exactly does she plan to do with him and that information? He had heard she was a kind and just ruler, albeit young, but from his years of intergalactic travel before ending up in Crystal Tokyo, it could very well be propaganda.

He guessed he was about to find out.

Once the car made it to the bridge that led to the palace, one needed two hands to count all the checkpoints. The palace seemed to be built specifically to reflect the moonlight, producing a daytime-like glow once they were on royal grounds. However, the car parked in front of an inconspicuous building behind a row of trees a couple of minutes shy of the actual palace, and then the blonde dragged Seiya out of the vehicle by his handcuff chains, causing his shiny black cane to drop on the ground. Diagnosed with a temporary disability from his hurt leg, the doctors issued the walking aid to help with his mobility for the next couple of weeks, but the blonde didn't care.

“Haruka, be gentle.” The teal-headed guardian chided.

“Why?”

“You know how handcuffs can hurt if you’re too rough.”

“And you will know, too… once we’re done tonight.”

Seiya raised an eyebrow, wondering if they knew their whispering wasn’t really whispering; he even caught the driver looking back with a nosy eye. Feeling a sense of dread of being transported to a second location, he limped along slowly, following the driver inside the building while trailed by the guardians.

He was led to a room that was comfortably simple and aesthetically feminine—its motif included ribbons, swirls, and florals in a combination of white and pink colors. And a small white round table sat in the middle of the space with four plush boudoir chairs surrounding it. Seiya even picked up on the scent of stargazer lilies before he noticed them sitting on a side table by the door.

But apparently, there was no time to take in his surroundings as he felt a shove on his back, forcing him to keep his balance with his bad leg. He turned around to glare at the blonde guardian.

“Hurry up!” She pointed inside the room with irritation emanating from her whole body. “The queen is on her way!”

Seiya grumbled and hobbled over to take his place in a chair, releasing a tired sigh. All he wanted was to get this over with and back to his mission. He hated how his only hope rested within the hands of the queen; it made him feel helpless and idle.

It wasn’t much later when he heard the front door of the building open, followed by both guardians bowing on the other side of the threshold at an unseen presence. Assuming the queen herself had arrived, Seiya pulled himself to his feet with the aid of his cane and the table.

"Uranus! Neptune!"

“Neo-Queen Serenity.”

---

If you would like to follow this story, I will be updating the rest of the chapters under the tag: hana-bean close to you and other iterations of the spacing. I love you all!

#seiusaweek2021 #hana-bean close to you #hana bean close to you #hanabean close to you #hanabeanclosetoyou #seiya x usagi fanfiction #seiya usagi fanfiction #seiya kou fanfiction #seiya x usagi #seiya kou

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lemonpeter · 3 years

Text

STARKER: by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 10: Doppelgänger

A/N: hello and welcome back to this clusterfuck of a fic! i, bloo, sincerely apologize for the delay in the posting of this chapter. real life took over for a bit, i started coming out of my winter depression session and feeling better led to me doing more things irl, and thus fandom took a seat on the back burner for a couple of hot secs.

bri has been SO patient with me and she is the best and the sweetest for dealing with my ADD ass. <3 we love bri.

ANYWHO-

we also love y’all, and appreciate you so much! hopefully updates will become more regular again.

thanks for sticking with us, bloo and bri <3

(Bri here: real life has been wild for both of us lol bloo is wonderful 💕 also it feels like I’m gushing about myself since I’m the one posting but I promise that note was copied from what bloo wrote on the doc-)

Warnings: Peter is Not Okay, angst, whump, g*n mention, wound mention, guilt, victim blaming, g*slighting (lemme know if I need to add)

Masterlist ao3

***

“Did Tony just get- shot?” Ned asked incredulously, eyes wide with disbelief. “Peter shot him?”

“I mean...yes? I think? But wait, look- Peter’s acting like he doesn’t know what’s going on. Did he not do that?” Paige rushed the words out, gazing intently at the screen for a moment. Then she turned and looked first at Ned, then at the other agents in the room. “We didn’t do that, did we?” When everyone hurriedly shook their heads with wide eyes, the teen included, she sighed and took off her glasses to run her hands down her face. “So he’s shooting people now?”

Another heavy sigh sounded from a few feet away. Fury closed his eye, taking a deep breath before cutting his gaze to an agent who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he stared at the monitor. “Grayson.” The man stood up straight, blinking with a sheepish expression on his face and he looked over at the director. “Contact May Parker. Now.”

The agent frowned and hesitated before ultimately deciding to speak up. “But… Sir, didn’t she ask that we not-”

Fury was quick to interrupt, his tone biting. “I’m sure she would like to be notified that her nephew has turned homicidal,” the bald man spat, rolling his eye in irritation. “Now like I said- contact May Parker and let her know that there have been some…developments.”

Even if it wasn’t intentional, the violence was still Peter’s doing. Which didn’t seem like a good sign.

He let out a heavy breath. “Tell her that a car will be outside her apartment waiting for her within the next two hours.”

The already tense atmosphere of the room only grew as Fury never looked away from the man, keeping their gazes locked as he dared the agent to question his authority for a second time.

“Of course, Director Fury.” Eyes on the ground, Grayson quickly turned and walked through the doorway, the other occupants turning back to their tasks.

Everyone’s eyes were trained on the screens as they watched Peter all but drag Tony into the penthouse from the elevator. The older man didn’t look good in any sense of the word, not even close. He was pale, sweaty, with rattled breathing and an ever-growing bloodstain covering his chest. And Peter’s panic was clearly visible on his face.

After a few moments, Ned spoke up, discomfort lacing his tone. “I- Someone please tell me he’s not about to do what I think he is…”

“Holy shit,” Paige breathed. Her hand placed itself over her mouth that was dropped open.

Noises of shock echoed throughout the space, and Ned averted his eyes, swallowing with difficulty.

Agent Hill spoke up for the first time since the scene had unravelled. “I don’t think Peter’s controlling this thing, not anymore.”

Fury turned to look at her, gaze narrowed. “What do you mean? The illusion is obviously running, and I’m assuming that means the glasses are receiving input from him. Right Leeds?”

Ned, still unable to keep his eyes on the monitors, nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. Th-That’s correct.”

It was Hill’s turn to nod, then. “Yes, that’s true, but not what I meant. I don’t think he is consciously influencing the illusions anymore. Or at least not completely.”

Paige hummed softly, head hanging as she leaned down over one of the desks. The dark ringlets of her hair fell around her like a curtain, obscuring her face. “I agree. He seems to still be in control of some aspects, like location. And he was able to, uh, place the sutures. Successfully stopping Mr. Stark from bleeding out. But he wasn’t able to heal him indirectly, even though he obviously tried.”

“What...but then how? Why are things happening if Peter isn’t the one doing the um, influencing?” Ned turned back to the screens, specifically the one full of lines and lines of green characters. He wasn’t ready to look at the others yet. “I’m constantly checking the logs and the security, there have been no breaches. Um. Other than us, that is.” He looked back up, waiting for a response from one of the others, eyes searching Paige’s hopefully, but none came.

No one had an answer to that question.

***

Tony may have been the one who got shot, but there was a hole in the middle of Peter’s chest, too. Raw, tender, cavernous...aching with every single breath that he took.

And he couldn’t close it up, like he had done Tony’s, because the piece of him that was meant to be there was just...gone.

Missing.

And he had no idea how to get it back.

Something was glaringly and obviously wrong, but Peter didn’t know what exactly it was, or what he was supposed to do. Despite having tried his hardest to fix things, nothing was getting better. It was all just...getting worse. (He was getting worse-)

He knew that something was missing. It felt like a huge part of him had been ripped from his life, leaving a gaping void that couldn’t be filled.

And things were only getting worse, still.

Especially between him and Tony.

Peter had thought that things were okay as Tony recovered from his...injury. Not perfect, but okay. Good. Improving. Sure, his husband had been quiet and subdued for the past few days. But he thought that was reasonable and to be expected, the man was in pain. (He was in pain, too, though. Tony didn’t seem to notice. Or care.)

But even now that the older man was mostly healed, there was still a strange tension between them. Distance.

And Peter had no fucking idea what to do about it. Because Tony refused to tell him what was wrong.

Deep down, Peter knew. He knew that everything was wrong, that the whole situation was wrong, that there was no part of their world that was even remotely okay. But if he acknowledged that fact, what was the point? Of any of it? What did he have then, without this, without Tony? Absolutely nothing. So he just wouldn’t acknowledge it.

He’d tried everything he could think of. He’d been attentive to Tony’s every need during his recovery, keeping him supplied with food and water, providing entertainment in the form of working together on various projects and watching TV or reading together, never letting the man out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

He’d even tried to initiate sex, once it seemed Tony was feeling better, so that they could be close to each other in such an intimate way in hopes that it woud fix things. Nothing too strenuous on his husband’s part, of course. Peter had simply wanted to make the older man feel good, bring him some pleasure and show him just how much he meant to his lover.

And Tony had turned him down each time, always pushing him away softly with that clouded, far away look in his eyes. The one that had been there ever since he’d brought up his feelings about what had happened with May.

Now that the older man was better, now that he was healed and had more energy and things could possibly go better, Peter was still too scared to try. He didn’t want to be rejected again. He didn’t know if he could handle it.

He didn’t understand Tony’s refusal in the first place. This world was supposed to be whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was for his husband to want him again, for his husband to love him, touch him, smile at him the way that he used to. And that obviously was not what was happening.

Why did it feel like Tony had more control over things than he did? Sure, the teen intended for his partner to have some semblance of autonomy, in that he could take care of himself and his basic needs, but Peter consciously gave him that autonomy. But now…

Now it seemed like Tony was able to actually think for himself on some level, which would explain why he was able to remember the incident with May despite Peter’s best attempts, and why he seemed hesitant to bring it up to Peter.

And he could see it in Tony’s eyes, the way he didn’t quite know what to make of what little information he did have.

Peter didn’t want to add to the confusion, or cause any more frustration. He didn’t want to stress Tony out.

But he couldn’t tell him the truth, either.

There was nothing he could do.

***

Peter gazed into the bathroom, hands gripping the door frame as he watched Tony.

The older man was standing under the spray of the shower. His hand gingerly rubbed at his chest with a washcloth, head back and eyes closed so as to not look at the mottled knot of scar tissue there.

Peter wanted so badly to join him, his husband, to stand there wrapped in his arms and surrounded by the warmth of the water.

But Tony didn’t want him.

Not anymore.

The two of them were merely coexisting at this point. It was like they weren’t married anymore, not really, like they had slipped back into that painful distance from before, when Tony was still Mr. Stark and Peter was just that fucking kid.

Tony hadn’t touched him since the accident.

“That’s a pretty nasty scar he’s got there, huh? I know you tried to stitch him up but damn. No awards for your suture technique, that’s for sure.”

Peter turned around so fast that he was sure he nearly snapped his neck. That was- That was his voice.

But he knew he hadn’t said anything.

Craning his neck and peering around the large bedroom with wide eyes, Peter held his breath as he listened intently. The sounds of Tony showering could be heard from the open bathroom door. He couldn’t hear anything else, but he could have sworn... “H-hello?” The teen kept turning his head, eyes wide as he looked for any sign of someone else in the room with him.

“Up here.”

And up there he was. Crouched on the ceiling, a position Peter frequently found himself in, was... well, Peter. Another Peter.

He was smirking, something sinister and unsettling glinting in his dark eyes as he gazed down upon his counterpart. “For someone with a sixth sense, it’s really sad that I had to give myself away for you to notice me. So much for that Peter-tingle. You really are losing it, Spider-Boy. Pathetic.” His grin only grew as the words left his mouth.

Peter gaped up at him, heart pounding. What the fuck was going on? He blinked a few times as he tried to take control of the illusion, alter whatever was happening. It wasn’t working. Just like when Tony had been shot. “Who are-“

The other Peter was quick to cut off his questioning. His eyes flashed. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You know exactly who I am.” The double dropped from the ceiling, standing right across from Peter.

It was like looking into a mirror. The doppelgänger was a spitting image of Peter, save for the dark look in his eyes and the cocky smirk pulling at his lips.

“I-I don’t know.” Peter shook his head, soft yet frantic. He was still desperately trying to influence the situation, hands shaking as he clenched them at his sides.”

Not-Peter shook his head in return, laughing as he copied the action. But the sound was cold and harsh, no joy in it at all. “I’m you, you fucking coward. It’s as simple as that. All of this is you! Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on.”

Peter didn’t want to believe it. This…fake him was cruel. He could never be like that. He never wanted to be anything like that.

The doppelganger scoffed. “You’re no fucking saint, Peter, no matter how much you’d like to convince Tony that you are. He’s catching on, isn’t he? Starting to realize that things aren’t as perfect as you’ve been making them out to be?”

“That’s n-not true,” Peter stuttered as he tried to control his breathing. “You don’t know anything about Tony. Don’t bring him into this-”

“How are things with Tony, by the way?” The doppelganger’s lip curled up at the pained expression that took over Peter’s face. “Ohhh, that bad huh? I can’t say I’m surprised…” He let himself trail off. “It really is sad, you know, Peter? Call me redundant but I feel it needs to be said again, so bare with me. You’re pathetic.”

“Stop,” Peter ground out, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes were clenched shut, but when he heard the other move, his lids flew open instinctively. “You aren’t- You aren’t real.”

A harsh bark of a laugh seemed to echo throughout the room. “I’m as real as anyone you’ve been interacting with these days.”

“That’s not true,” Peter said softly, denying what he knew deep down was, in fact, the truth.

Not-Peter scoffed, taking a step towards his double. He shook his head softly in admonishment. “You really are pathetic.” He’d made it more than obvious how much joy the word brought him, with the way it all but oozed from his lips. “Like I was saying, this whole thing is tragic, it really is, Peter. You know that there is no way that Tony Stark could have ever wanted you, in any sense of the word. Definitely not like this, this weird relationship you’ve conjured up as a byproduct of your unaddressed daddy issues. That’s why you ran away, like the little fucking coward that you are. You ran, so that you could hide out and construct this sick little fantasy world of yours.

“And how’s that working out for you…kid? It’ll tell you: you shot your husband because he was starting to question you, and of course you couldn’t have that. How dare Tony be anything other than the obedient little puppet you want him to be.”

“That’s not true,” Peter choked out, chest constricting. “I- I didn’t do that, it wasn’t me! I tried- I tried to stop it, I tried to undo it but it wouldn’t work so I had to- I had to f-fix him-”

The double cut him off again, as if he had never spoken at all. “I guess you’re right in that sense, so I’ll give you that. I know it wasn’t you. Because it was me.” He paused, hand moving up to his chin as he pretended to think, waxing philosophical. “But then again, I am you, so-”

“You aren’t me,” Peter argued one last time, knowing it wasn’t true. His voice was weak because he knew the truth. Even if he didn’t want to believe it, refused to believe it. “And I would never hurt Tony.”

“No? Not even after he abandoned you?” The fake Peter was taunting him, voice dripping with condescension. “Because you were having some pretty contradictory thoughts that are leading me to believe otherwise. Remember how angry you were?”

Of course he remembered. The teen had been so hurt and betrayed and he knew it was irrational. But Peter was certain that he wouldn’t- he would never actually hurt Tony. He couldn’t.

But how else did he get shot, if Peter was the one in control?

“Stop it,” Peter snapped, voice full of vitriol. Then he instantly recoiled, stomach sinking. That wasn’t him. The angry, frustrated feelings that he kept having weren’t him. They couldn’t be. He couldn’t act like that, that’s how he got here in the first place, it was everything he was trying to fix.

It was how Tony had gotten hurt.

Maybe he hadn’t been holding the gun, but he’d been the one that caused it to happen.

Peter became aware that the sounds of the shower had stopped when he finally shifted his focus away from the double and back to his husband. Partner. Whoever they were now. He heard footsteps approaching and didn’t have enough time to try and make the doppelgänger disappear.

“Pete?” Tony asked softly, rubbing his hair dry with the towel in his hands. Another was wrapped around his waist, leaving his chest bare. (Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to the scar.) “Were you just...waiting out here for me?”

His eyes were on the double, unaware that it wasn’t actually Peter, not catching on to the fact that there were two of them yet.

“Of course I was,” not-Peter said, eyes blown wide as he attempted to look innocent, to look like Peter. “It’s not like there’s anything else I could be doing.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” When he had first emerged from the bathroom, his tone had been light, more so than it had been since his injury. It had sparked something hopeful inside Peter, and now his heart ached to hear the rough, distrustful edge come back.

“Oh, I mean,” the doppelganger continued with his act, though Peter could see the mirth shining in his eyes. “I just meant that, y’know, there’s nothing else I would rather be doing. Otherwise I would be doing it, since I am control-”

Peter was across the room before he was conscious of the movement, backing the interloper up against the wall and pressing his forearm up to his throat. “Shut the fuck up,” the teen growled desperately, voice breaking. “You ruined everything-”

The double struggled in Peter’s hold, face turning slightly red. His voice was raspy and choked off when he spoke. His nails dug into the skin of Peter’s arm. “Which means you ruined it yourself, you fucking coward! Go ahead, tell him. Tell Tony-”

“Peter? Tell me what? Who is- Peter, what the hell is going on?”

“Shut up!” Peter’s fist jerked back before it flew forward, connecting with the nose of the body in front of him. He heard Tony gasp and call out his name, but he ignored the man in favor of swinging his arm forward again. “I hate you! Why won’t you go away? I hate you!”

Despite the blood pouring out of his nose and rolling in crimson rivulets down his face, not-Peter grinned, the red smearing in sharp contrast on the white of his teeth. “We all knew you hated yourself, Peter, that’s not news.”

When Peter moved like he was going to strike again, Tony decided to actually intervene, even though he still had no idea what was going on. “Hey, Peter- Peter, baby, come here, let him go. This isn’t you baby-”

The teen let out a panicked gasp, melting into the other man’s embrace. “But it is,” he cried, brokenly. “It is me Tony, I-”

Tony hushed him, holding Peter close. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he needed to try and keep Peter calm. And from fighting the other one. “I know this isn’t you. You wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he said softly. Although he wasn’t sure he believed himself. He was so lost with everything going on, he didn’t know what to believe.

The other Peter just stayed leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You don’t even know, Tony.” The name was said like an insult. “You don’t get any of this, do you?”

“Shut up,” Peter whispered, all the fight leaving his body as he was held. “Just stop. You need to go away.” Why couldn’t he just make the imposter disappear? He was in control.

At least, he was supposed to be.

A grotesquely sinister expression took over the doppelganger’s face. His eyes were bright, burning, as his gaze locked with Peter’s.

The expression set the teen’s already frayed nerves on edge. He froze in Tony’s arms, heart pounding. Why was he looking at him like that? And why was that look so familiar? Where had he seen-

“It’s pretty easy to fool people when they’re already fooling themselves, Peter.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous.

“No, no, no, no,” Peter muttered to himself, voice shaking. His hands moved to his head, pulling at his hair, and when he opened his eyes for a moment, it wasn’t his own face staring back at him.

It was Beck.

“You’re not real,” he whispered, choking on his breath. “Y-you’re not-”

“Peter, baby, you’ve gotta calm-”

“N-not real-”

***

“Peter, sweetie, could you take the rolls out of the oven?”

“Sure thing, mama.” He opened his eyes, glancing back before going to do as she said. That was better.

“And where’s that husband of yours, he’s joining us for dinner, right?”

Peter bit his lip. He hadn’t even noticed that Tony wasn’t there. “He should be back soon, just had to step out for work.” There, that sounded convincing enough.

“Such a hard worker, that Tony,” May chirped, a grin pulling at her lips as she sliced tomatoes for the salad. “You really lucked out, Petey.”

It was a sweet thing to say. It was exactly what he thought about Tony. But it sure as hell wasn’t anything that May would say. However, Peter just let the genuine affection in her tone relax him, letting out a soft sigh. “I really did, Aunt May. I really did.” He smiled at her and then to himself as he got the rolls from the oven and set the pan on the counter.

Ben snorted, taking a sip of his beer. “Stark’s the lucky one, May-Flower. Pete’s quite the catch. Takes after ‘is uncle.” At Richard’s eye roll, he laughed again. The sound filled Peter’s chest with a fuzzy warmth. “Fine. And his father. Parker men ain’t nothing to mess with.”

“Uh huh, right.” May laughed. “I agree with you on one thing, though. Parker men are definitely something else, that’s for sure,” she teased.

Peter laughed along with them, but it was all beginning to feel uncomfortable on some level. He felt just as empty as he knew the rest of his guests were.

His doppelgänger’s words kept racing through his mind. Beck’s words. (“If you were good enough, maybe Tony would-“)

But he pushed them away, steeling himself and blinking blearily for a few seconds. His gaze locked on the food spread out over the counter. None of that mattered.

He was at dinner with his family. They were all there, happy and healthy. Together, the way it should be. There was nothing that he needed to be worried about.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #B&B write #SbPBP #Peter’s EDITH!verse #starker angst #ironspider #tw gaslighting #tw victim blaming #tw gun mention

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mydearesthrry · 4 years

Text

places we won’t walk (chapter one) || peter parker

summary - the doors at midtown seem a little boring, but when you get introduced to someone you seem to remember, what happens when they seem to remember you too?

word count - 2.9k (wow shes gettin better!)

pairings - peter parker x fem!reader

warnings - like mild mention of s*xual assault, angst if you squint really hard, mj being a softy for you, mj being a lowkey bi, peter being stupid as always, y/n calling peter a colonizer.... thats it ok enjoy

a/n: so i know i last updated in october, but as u all saw i have a 25 days of xnas thing going on (PLS I WROTE THE A/N LIKE A MONTH AGO PLUS I FORGOT ABOUT THE XMAS THING DISREGARD) so pwww updates will be slow (as if they werent already omg) but the next chapter will be arriving hopefully, fingers crossed, on xmas eve or xmas! also, are you guys watching the new euphoria episode? also, i’ve stopped using the word ‘stuttering’, as it may be ableist, and i’d never wanna come off as insensitive. anyway lmao, enjoy chapter one, the trials and tribulations of hitting someone in the nuts.

also side note psa: biggest thank you to @blossomparkers for helping me so much w this chapter. i owe it all tooooo u lani yani. thank u for everything !!!!!

series masterlist | regular masterlist | series playlist

(gif not mine!)

when y/n y/m/n stark was in her early years, she was never aware of the impact her father would and did hold over her life, and in turn, the whole world. for the longest time, you’d always assumed that your father wasn’t real, and everything that had been told to you by malicious family members who were jealous over your father’s “successes” had been lies, and you had it believed yourself. no one would even think that you were tony stark’s daughter until it had been mentioned. tony’s snarky attitude had been a character trait that you’d gotten, and you always took pride in your humor and attitude.

the story of your mother and tony had been messy and all over the place. from a drunken hook-up followed by multiple days of morning sickness, to a surprise pregnancy test, the storyline of your parents had been.. well.. interesting to say the least. you never focused on your family’s history, solely based on the fact that you didn’t have two fucks to give about your family history, but you also never knew your father which was-- bizarre.

when tony had found out about you, he claimed it was a drunken accident, a mistake, and one he made when he was “less responsibly a stark”, which was actually just some fucking bullshit, but he didn’t wanna admit that he hooked up with some random chick at a bar that he thought was hot.

since you had been raised by a mother who was barely there, you had to raise yourself. you were kinda street smart and book smart, and you were always smart when it came to books, because you were the type to want to learn-- unlike others.

when you were in your teen years, you had tabs on you and the media on you 24/7 to make sure you didn’t royally fuck up. the unwanted attention became too much when you started realizing that people didn’t want you for your personality, they wanted you for your title. but this was after you moved from brooklyn. nuvale and peter never saw you as some “movie star”, or some famous person in the media because you weren’t. but when you had grown to learn what your father did, he had forced you to not fuck up to maintain his-- somewhat okay reputation.

you always wanted that superstar life, as a fantasy of course, but when you got to it, you realized the cliche-y-ness of it all. you’d idolized the famous women in the media-- idolized how they looked like. you realized fairly quick how fucked up the media truly is. you realized how things really aren’t as they seem. its not just the galas that look extravagant, or getting to wear a fancy new gucci outfit every night. it honestly was a whole bunch of other shit you wouldn’t even imagine. it comes with the no privacy thing- people stalking you in public, the death threats, so much shit that wouldn’t happen as common if you were just anonymous.

being an avenger (basically), your dad had natasha teach you the ropes; the basic rules of how to kick someones ass. it was a handbook that the women of the avengers had created, and it had all the rules and regulations of how to spar someone on the team, and basically how to righteously beat someone's ass up. it was never really something you found too important, but as you grew older, you realized that it was very important to know, especially since you were a girl.

despite your harsh remarks and snarky attitude, your father always knew how to hit a sensitive point in you that always managed to break you down. you never quite understood why he would want to make you feel worse about yourself than you already felt, but regardless, you always felt underappreciated by him. being a stark, you were expected to be a genius, get over the top grades, and constantly be able to keep up, but with your luck, you were graced with depression, social anxiety, and a 4.0 gpa. fun, right?

wrong.

when you were 11, you had made friends with the kids in your apartment halls, and you learned that their names were nuvale jones and peter parker, and you were basically the golden trio. you were hermione, peter was ron, and nuvale was harry. which, now that you look back at it, makes much more sense than any other arrangement. you also had another friend, harry osborn, but once he moved away, there was no way for you to talk to him anymore. he had moved across the country to california, and from then, it was just you, peter, and nuvale. your best friends ha been there for you for what seemed like decades, although you only knew them for about three.

peter was the boy with the rosy cheeks who little 12 year old you would get butterflies in her tummy. or the type of boy to bring you an extra snack if you weren’t able to pack it the night before. he was the type of boy to walk you to the nurses office if you got hit with a dodgeball. he was the type of boy to fall for someone like you. but he didn’t. or so you thought.

little prebubescent y/n was an awkward girl who thought the world would be on her side when she needed it the most, or that whenever you needed peter or nuva, they would be there. you didn’t think your best friend would stop talking to you after you had moved away. you were too naive to know that peter liked you, and you were too naive to know that he had liked you back, but you wanted to believe what your brain would tell you, so you decided to flush your feelings down the drain and forget about them, which, in hindsight, was a pretty shitty idea. who would’ve known?

your alarm clock blared loudly from beside you, causing you to let out a loud groan in protest. you hit the side of your head angrily, then whining and rubbing the spot which you hit. whines and loud sighs fell from your lips as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and pulled the covers over your head, knowing what would come next after you would try to snooze your alarm.

“good morning, miss stark, how could i be of service to you this morning?” friday’s voice echoed through your large bedroom. you peaked your eyes and forehead from beneath the covers, your eyes slowly starting to adjust to the light that was pulled through the big blinds which were now open.

“mmm, fri, just tell happy to get the car ready, ill be ready in a few min- nevermind, tell him to get ready in thirty, im probably gonna fall asleep in the shower.” you croaked, taking your phone from the charger which was on your nightstand. you slipped on your bunny slippers and turned on the heater in your room, the draft filling your room with cold air throughout the night.

-------

once you walked through the large industrial doors of midtown’s cafeteria, everyones voices started to drop into sharp hushed whispers, making you roll your eyes and pull your hood up over your face. you pulled your airpods from your pockets into your ears and tried your best to avoid any and all eye contact with anyone you did end up coming into contact with. you walked over to the food bar where you grabbed a red school tray and plastered on your best smile to the lunch ladies who work oh so hard to make sure you all were fed. as you walked through the line, you could feel the intensified stares on you, making your back erupt in chills. you didn’t like to be watched, and the fact that you were a so-called celebrity didn’t help your cause in any way.

“hey.” a low voice called from behind you. it was a girl with curly hair with gorgeous light brown skin, and a jawline that would cut you. you were almost astonished by her beauty, but you remembered the facade you had to hold, especially to strangers that you didn’t know.

“hey?” you asked unsurely, wondering if she was with the media or not. which was something that tended to happen quite a bit.

“don’t worry, i’m not with the press. you just seem interesting.” she said in a monotone voice, but still with a strong look of seriousness on her face. you giggled softly when your eyes locked and your faces went totally still, making the girl in front of you laugh as well. she held out her hand in front of you, while also balancing her tray and book in the other hand. you placed yours into hers and shook it, smiling when she told you her name.

“michelle jones.” she smiled, your throat getting a little tight at her last name, and you had to admit that it struck a little chord within you, but you quickly cleared it from your thoughts and introduced yourself as well.

“y/n stark. pleasure to meet you, jones.”

“pleasure to meet you too.”

“so, i get that you’re new here,” she started walking, inviting you to walk along with her. “what- what are you doing here? i mean i get you’re smart and all, but this is a nerd school; you literally could’ve gone anywhere, so, might i ask, why here?”

“hm, interesting question. seriously i don’t know. my dad and i don’t really get along so he makes the decisions and i tell him if i like it or not. which by the way, i’m gonna have to stay near you-- you’re the only one making this bearable for me right now.” you snorted, nudging your elbow to hers.

“hm, daddy issues. great song, love the artists.” she smirked, making you shoot your head back in loud laughter, gaining some side eyed glances from a few people sitting at the tables around you.

“so, where are we sitting? i usually nev-”

“hey mj!” you were interrupted by a boyish laugh and hoots and hollers coming from a table two tables ahead of you.

“jesus fucking christ. what? just because i got some and you didn’t doesn’t mean that you have to be that fuckin’ loud about it.” she grumbled, placing her tray down, slinging the backpack on her right shoulder beside her. you looked at her with a nervous but curious glint in your eyes. she gave you a knowing look which said, ‘just go with what i say’, making you nod in understanding.

“woah! holy shit! i m- i mean woah- nice to- nice to meet you!” the boy fumbled over his words, looking at you and michelle in disbelief, shaking his friends shoulder and poking at his cheek.

“nice cut, g. looks nice.” you said to him, giggling as you stuck your straw into the mini juice box.

“o-oh, thanks… g?” he said back to you, observing your looks with a confused expression written on his face making you giggle at his confusion.

“peter! look! y/n stark is at our table!” he whisper shouted to his friend, making you look at michelle with a smile on your face and playfully rolling your eyes. she looked back at you, rolling her eyes as well, gesturing to her head as if saying ‘idiots’, making you giggle and turn back to them.

“so, bowl cut dude, what’s your name?” you nodded to him, picking at your salad with the blac spork that was so cordially given to you by mj.

“n-ned, ned leeds.” he smiled sheepishly.

“and you, colonizer, what’s your name?” you tapped on the table, alerting the boys attention. you could hear michelle and ned hollering and snickering from their seats, but decided to keep your poker face rolling. but i mean, how couldn’t you? the look on his face was absolutely priceless.

“peter park- wait did you just call me a colonizer?” he cut himself off in his own sentence, looking at his other friends for confirmation, to which they nodded, still cackling at the fact that you had indeed call him a colonizer.

“peter park, hm?” you teased, ignoring the way you hesitated and ignoring the way your chest felt heavy when the name of peter was said.

“n-no thats not my name-” he said, tripping over his words, making you let out a chuckle.

“i’m messing with you. with what you’ve given me, i could only guess your name is peter parker?” you rested your chin on your hand, engaging in the awkward conversation.

“yeah. thats my name.” he said more confidently, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, parker.”

“you too, stark, my pleasure.”

----

after the small encounter with your new found friends, you had gone back to your respective classes, which meant that your next class had peter in it. after you had split up, you decided to get there early to avoid any commotion surrounding you.

as the boring class continued, you heard the loud clicking of high heels in the hallways, which had to be one person and one person only.

“stark,” someone shouted from the door which swung open. low and behold, in front of you was the prickly bitch, your principal, mrs cunningham. “come with me, eugene’s parents have requested a meeting with you and your father considering that you had just hit their son in the private areas!” everyone snickered and laughed. finally someone had stood up to flash’s shit.

“y- you punched flash in the nuts? i thought that was just a rumor?” peter stuttered, looking at you in disbelief.

“yeah, the fuck was i gonna do? let him flirt with me? no. that bitch tried to grab my ass. i’m a stark, i was raised better than that.” you whispered to him, packing your bag as you did so.

“hm, guess you’re right. well, good luck stark.”

“thanks parker.”

--------

once you arrived in the principals office, you saw what seemed to be his mother in one of the seats decked out in expensive pearls and diamonds. typical.

“little miss over here punched my son in the privates! i will not allow this to happen!” fuck. you thought; another one of those stuck up cunty parents.

“pfft, probably paid to get their son into here.” you muttered under your breath, playing with your protection bracelets incase anything was to ever happen.

“wHAT? mrs cunningham, i will not allow this child to talk about my son this wa-”

“hello! i was called in?” a voice interrupted, one you could only peg as your father.

“ahh! mr stark! you’re finally here!” your hilarious excuse as a principal said cheerfully.

“i am! and i am here to.. come and have a meeting about my daughter's- behavior?” he asked questiongly, already seeing the triumphant and cocky look on your face. he knew you weren’t at fault, and you were gonna lie your pretty ass out of it.

“well, mr stark, we have a student in the nurses room due to the actions of your daughter!” she looked at him menacingly. he shook his head with a smile on his face and walked over to you, grasping your shoulders in his hands.

“well kiddo, wanna explain what and why you did what you did?” he smiled, giving you two taps on your shoulder, already knowing what was next. you two had a pretty good acting schedule when it came to it, when in reality, you despised eachother.

“sure daddy! eugene had been hitting on me for several days now, and even found my private social medias in use to.. how can i say this, use me for my fame? he tried talking to me, very inappropriately on several occasions, and even went as far as to try and grab me in areas in which i find extremely inappropriate, without my consent, might i add, which doesn’t seem okay with me. does it seem exceptional to you, mrs thompson?” you asked, while only keeping your eyes on his mother.

“why, i am so sorry miss stark! his father will be in contact, i did not raise my baby to be this way! im sorry for any inconvenience he may have caused you!” she gasped, raising a hand to her heart.

“it’s okay, i just request, may this never happen again? i would not like my privacy to be invaded, much less from your son, and can i please ask that he never try to hit on me, nor any girls at this school ever again? i can only imagine how many other girls this may have happened to, mrs thompson.” you sighed, your eyes filling up with fake tears. you reached up to touch your fathers hand, tapping it twice back, knowing that you both had just won.

“never again miss stark, once again, i am so sorry this happened to you.”

“it’s okay. now mrs cunningham, shall we see our way out?” your father answered for you, looking over at the old white woman who looked like a piece of cheese. she could only nod in awe, giving you the cue to pick up your bags and walk proudly to the door.

“thanks i guess.” you muttered, pulling out your airpods once more, hoping to seal the conversation with your father.

“yeah yeah, no problemo.” he muttered back, avoiding eye contact and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

once you reached the door, you remembered that you had left something in your locker, and informed your dad that you’d be going back to get it. he all but nodded and looked back at his shoes before trudging to the car.

once you entered the seemingly halls, much to your surprise, you saw a scrawny teenage boy lifting open a set of lockers, which you didn’t even know was possible, and pulling out a red and blue suit. once you saw who the hands belonged to, your mouth fell agape as you gasped,

“peter?”

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