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dndfantasygirl · 7 months ago

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Amongst the Stars (Chapter 9: The Gith Crèche)

Rating: Mature Word count: 3.8k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Tags/Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, slow burn, little sister, Astarion mischief, gith creche

Summary: Astarion and Misty cause mischief at the crèche. Misty makes a new friend.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

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Wyll faced grave consequences for refusing to hunt down Karlach. His patron, Mizora, who tasked him with the mission, explained that he broke their pact since Karlach reached the criteria by lacking a beating heart, a loophole the warlock hadn't anticipated. His refusal earned him a pair of long, twisted horns, a visible mark of his defiance and Mizora's punishment. Wyll now viewed himself as a monster, his once proud and confident demeanor now marred by self-loathing and shame.

Despite his internal struggle, his companions rallied around him, offering support and understanding. Skye, in particular, felt a pang of empathy for Wyll. She saw beyond the horns and recognized the pain and regret in his eyes. To her, the horns didn't look bad; they actually paired quite nicely with the rest of him, adding a rugged charm to his already striking appearance. She admired his courage in standing up to Mizora, even if it came at such a personal cost.

The following morning, they set off to the mountain pass, where the crèche awaited them on the other side. The path ahead seemed straightforward, but just before they could pass through, each member of the party felt an excruciating pain in their heads, dragging them to the dirt beneath them. Writhing in agony, they were shown a vision by a voice in their minds: three figures appeared—an armored elf, a younger man with a quick, easy smile, and a pale woman with paler eyes. The voice, authoritative and insistent, commanded them to aid in the search for the Prism, the very artifact Shadowheart clutched close to her chest.

As the pain intensified, Shadowheart, with a mixture of desperation and determination, pulled out the Prism. It shone brightly, enveloping them in a radiant red aura. The light's warmth and intensity drove away the pain and silenced the intrusive voice that had tried to control them.

In the aftermath, Shadowheart, usually guarded and secretive, revealed a fragment of her true self. Reluctantly, she admitted her devotion to Shar, the goddess of darkness and loss. Her confession hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the morning's chaos. Yet, neither of the air genasi judged her. Skye and Misty understood that they all harbored their secrets and dark parts within themselves.

Lae'zel, however, was less forgiving. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she quickly accused Shadowheart of stealing a Githyanki relic. Tension crackled between them, threatening to escalate. But Skye, with her usual calm and composed demeanor, swiftly intervened. She placed a gentle but firm hand on Lae'zel's shoulder, her voice steady and soothing, diffusing the situation before it could spiral out of control.

The group, still shaken by the morning's events, agreed it was best to set up camp for the night.

Later that night, Skye was visited in her dreams by a strange man who looked eerily similar to Astarion. He told her she was transforming, which caused her to panic. Yet upon hearing his voice, the man sounded familiar and it was then she realized he was the one who saved her and Misty during the escape of the nautiloid. He promised to protect her from the tadpole's influence, but she was skeptical. It was very convenient that this strange man showed up out of nowhere to "rescue" her from turning into an abomination. Maybe it was all in her head. He did look like Astarion for some reason. Weird.

However, upon the strange man telling her to embrace the tadpole's potential, she quickly recoiled. Something wasn't right. Yet he didn't say much more besides losing a battle for the fate of Faerun.

With a sudden jolt, she was pushed to consciousness, gasping for breath as she awoke. The night was still, and the campfire crackled softly nearby. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to shake off the remnants of the dream.

Sitting up, Skye glanced around at her sleeping companions, her mind racing with the implications of the encounter. She couldn't dismiss the strange man's words, nor the eerie resemblance to Astarion. Was it all in her head, a manifestation of her fears and doubts? Or was there a deeper truth to his warning?

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After a few days of travel and mischief, the party finally made it to the crèche. Inside, the hall was illuminated by stone braziers mounted along the walls, casting flickering shadows across the room. The air was thick with tension, and the scent of burning oil mingled with the faint metallic tang of weapons. Various githyanki stood among the braziers, their eyes sharp and wary. Each wore armor similar to Lae'zel's.

Yet, the group's arrival did not go unnoticed. The githyanki stared at them with a mix of caution and suspicion, their hands hovering near their weapons.

One gith in particular stepped forward, her gaze hard and unyielding as she addressed Skye directly. "Sentries, to arms! Istik. State your purpose. Quickly."

Lae'zel met the woman's gaze with an equal measure of apprehension. "Stand down, gish. Is it not Vlaakith's command to welcome her faithful?"

The gith's eyes narrowed, her stance remaining defiant. "I expected no visitors, faithful or otherwise. Why have you come?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

Skye exchanged a determined look with Lae'zel, trusting that her companion knew what she was doing. Lae'zel turned back to the gith, her eyes burning with determination. "We seek the zaith'isk. Show me the way."

The room fell into a tense silence, the crackling of the braziers the only sound. The woman studied Lae'zel intently, her piercing gaze sweeping over the rest of the group, assessing the strangers in their midst. For a fleeting moment, a hint of fear flashed in her eyes. "You are infected?" she asked, her voice tinged with both suspicion and alarm. Her hand moved instinctively towards her weapon. "A ghaik thrall is something to eradicate, not reason with."

Lae'zel's eyes widened, her usual confidence faltering. "The faithful may be purified," she pleaded. "This is Vlaakith's protocol!"

The woman glared at them for a long, tense moment, her face a mask of conflicted emotions. The shadows danced across her stern features, emphasizing the hard lines etched by years of discipline and duty.

"Chk. Fine," she finally spat out, her tone laced with disdain. "Let the ghustil carry out your fate. Report to the infirmary at once. And step carefully. Crèche Y'llek watches you." She pointed down a corridor, her eyes narrowing as she issued the command.

With the gith's words granting them passage, they were allowed further into the monastery. The air inside was heavy with an ancient stillness, the stone corridors lined with relics and artifacts of githyanki heritage.

As they wandered through the dimly lit hallways in search of the infirmary, Astarion and Misty lagged slightly behind. Their eyes were drawn to a large, ornately framed painting of a noble-looking gith. The figure in the painting stared expressionlessly ahead, her stern features framed by elaborate armor.

The two delinquents exchanged a mischievous smirk. It was clear they had connected their tadpoles to communicate silently. When Lae'zel walked ahead, focused on their mission, Astarion and Misty seized the opportunity.

With a quick glance to ensure they were unobserved, the duo ran up to the painting. Suppressing giggles, they began to draw on the gith's face, adding a mustache, monocle, devil horns, and other exaggerated features. Their laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, echoing softly in the vast hallway.

Their fun was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared. The mischievous pair froze, their eyes widening in alarm as they slowly turned around. Skye stood behind them, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

The air genasi's disapproval was palpable, her gaze stern and unyielding. She mouthed silently for them to come to her, her eyes narrowing slightly in warning. Reluctantly, the two shuffled over, their playful expressions quickly replaced by sheepish grins.

As soon as they were within reach, Skye grabbed both of their ears, her grip firm but not painful. "Really?" She began to pull them along, their protests and attempts at excuses falling on deaf ears. "We're here on serious business," the air genasi continued, her voice stern. "We can't afford to make enemies or draw unwanted attention."

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Misty managed to break away from the group once again as she heard discord coming from another room. The sounds of a heated argument and the unmistakable tone of reprimand piqued her curiosity. As she quietly slipped through the doorway, her eyes widened at the scene unfolding before her.

In the center of the room stood a githyanki man, his posture rigid with authority. He was waggling his finger admonishingly at a young boy who was only a few years older than her. The boy stood weakly, his body marked with fresh cuts and bruises.

"K'chaki!" the man exclaimed, his voice echoing harshly off the stone walls. "We are training to fight ghaik. You think they will hesitate?"

The boy, his face pale and strained, stuttered as he tried to explain himself, "They won't need to, if we keep killing each other for them! It's—it's stupid! Orph—"

"Silence!" the man shouted, cutting him off abruptly. He looked over his shoulder and noticed Misty standing in the doorway, her eyes furrowed in concern and anger.

"It seems your childish prattling is attracting an audience," he sneered, turning his attention back to the boy. "You fight again. This time, daggers only. And to the death as instructed." His gaze swept around the room, lingering on the faces of those present. "Who wants to challenge this sniveling istark?"

Misty's heart pounded in her chest. The tension in the room was palpable, and the boy's fear was almost tangible. She could see the other githyanki warriors in the room exchanging looks.

Before anyone could step forward, the young genasi felt a surge of defiance. She couldn't stand by and watch this cruelty unfold. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room, her eyes blazing with determination. "Leave him alone!" her voice rang out with a fierce conviction. The words echoed off the cold stone walls, silencing the room and drawing all eyes to her. "You've made your point."

The githyanki man's gaze snapped to Misty. His expression hardened, and he approached her with deliberate, measured steps. The air between them crackled with tension as their eyes locked in a heated exchange. The man's eyes were cold and unyielding, but Misty stood her ground, her small frame brimming with defiance.

For a moment, it seemed as though their standoff would continue indefinitely. Then, with a begrudging sigh, the man backed off, his eyes narrowing in disdain. "I suppose your inane spewings have distracted enough from my lesson," he said with a hint of reluctant acknowledgment.

With a sudden, brutal motion, the man smacked the boy in the neck with the hilt of his sword. The boy cried out in pain, collapsing to the ground. The man's expression remained cold and unfeeling as he looked down at the fallen child.

"Go whet the swords," he ordered gruffly. "I want them sharp enough to peel a ghaik's eyeball just by looking at them."

The boy scrambled to his feet, his body trembling as he scurried to fulfill the harsh command. His gaze flicked toward Misty, a glimmer of gratitude and hope shining through his fear. Misty's heart ached for him, but she knew her fight wasn't over yet.

The githyanki man slowly turned his head, his eyes meeting Misty's once again. There was a glint of challenge in his gaze, and he sneered as he spoke. "I hope you prove as weak as this should we meet on the battlefield, istik."

His words were a cruel taunt, a final shot aimed at undermining her resolve. With that, he turned and walked away.

As soon as the man was out of her sight, Misty hurried over to the boy who had begun to follow the harsh orders given to him. His shoulders were hunched, and he worked with a weary resignation, his movements slow and deliberate. When he noticed the young girl approaching, a small, hesitant smile slowly spread across his face.

"That was amazing," he said, his voice soft but full of admiration. "I've never seen someone talk the sa'varsh down from a rage like that."

Misty's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and relief at his words. She stood beside him, her gaze softening as she took in the bruises and cuts that marred his young face. "Well, he was wrong!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with conviction. "Nobody should have to go through that. Are you okay? He hit you pretty hard."

The boy shrugged, trying to downplay the pain. "I've been worse," he said with a faint smile. "My name's Varrl." He returned his attention to the task at hand, the metal of the sword catching the dim light as he worked to sharpen it. "He's always telling us how we have to be ruthless, that death is the only mercy we deliver."

He paused, glancing back at Misty with a thoughtful expression. "But you...you showed compassion and kindness. It's something we don't see often here. You're just like—" He hesitated, his words trailing off as he looked away, a hint of something he couldn't quite articulate flickering in his eyes. "Nevermind."

Misty placed a gentle hand on Varrl's arm, causing him to pause his whetting. Her touch was light, but it carried a sense of genuine curiosity and concern. "Just like who? Are they here? I'd love to meet them!"

Varrl's eyes darted around the room, checking to ensure no one was watching. With a swift, cautious motion, he grabbed Misty's wrist and pulled her into a nearby alcove. The small, dimly lit space was barely large enough for the two of them.

"I speak of... of Orpheus," the boy whispered, his voice trembling with awe and excitement. "The true prince..." He leaned in closer, his eyes wide and earnest. "He's so strong, and—and wise. And he rides a comet. A comet!"

The young genasi's eyes widened in fascination, and she couldn't help but giggle at Varrl's enthusiastic description. "A comet? That sounds incredible!"

Varrl nodded vigorously, his face lighting up with a bright, infectious smile. "Yes! He's everything we're told to forget. We're forbidden to talk about him. They say Vlaakith knows if you even think his name." He pulled out a small, round slate from beneath his armor, its surface etched with intricate, circular symbols. The slate was worn but well-cared-for, and Varrl handled it with a reverence that spoke volumes.

"I found his book... part of it, anyway," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I read it all the time. He's unbelievable." He traced a finger over the symbols on the slate.

The young genasi leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued. "Do others here read these stories?"

Varrl shrugged, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I don't think so. No one I've met. I drew his symbol where I thought someone might see it and recognize it. But nobody did." He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I must have the only copy."

Misty cocked her head, her curiosity piqued. "How did you get the book then?"

The boy's expression turned contemplative as he took a step closer to the young genasi, lowering his voice even further, as though the very walls might overhear. "A group of warriors came. Outsiders, on a mission for Vlaakith herself. Sa'varsh Kethk made us clean their armor, and... I found it inside one of the breastplates."

He paused, a mixture of reverence and frustration coloring his voice. "I wish I knew who it belonged to. I have so many questions!" His eyes lit up. "Hopefully one day I'll find them."

Misty listened intently, her mind racing with possibilities. The significance of what Varrl had uncovered was evident, and the fact that it was hidden so well spoke volumes about its importance. After a moment's thought, she asked gently, "Do you mind if I show that book to my friend? Maybe she can help."

Varrl's eyes widened in fear, his body tensing. "You want..." he stammered, his voice trembling. "But—"

The young genasi placed her hands gently on his shoulders, her expression earnest and reassuring. "If you could get killed for having it, maybe it's best if it's in the hands of someone who can do something about it."

As Misty gently withdrew her hands from Varrl's shoulders, he was lost in thought, weighing her words with a conflicted expression. The gravity of the situation was not lost on him, and after a moment's hesitation, he extended the slate toward her with a resigned sigh. "Fine, take it."

Her reassuring smile was warm and sincere as she accepted the slate, carefully tucking it into the pocket of her trousers. She could feel the weight of the object, and with it, the burden of Varrl's trust and the potential it represented.

"It's stupid we can't read it," Varrl said, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's just a story, it's not even true." He shook his head in exasperation, clearly struggling with the conflicting emotions. "I'll do my best to forget what it said. Thank you for taking it."

Misty paused, her hand resting lightly on the alcove's entrance as she prepared to leave. She turned back to Varrl, her expression thoughtful and gentle. "Don't forget what it says," she said softly. "Maybe it's not just a story. Maybe it's the truth."

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The young genasi dashed through the monastery's corridors, her heart pounding as she heard a thunderous explosion echo through the stone halls. The ground beneath her seemed to tremble with the force of it.

As the smoke began to clear, Misty's eyes widened in shock. Her companions emerged, their faces etched with irritation and urgency. Skye, her face set in a determined scowl, was the first to spot her. Without a word, she grabbed Misty's wrist, her grip firm and insistent.

"Wait! What happened?" Misty's eyes darted between her friends.

Lae'zel, who had a stern expression of focus, cast a brief, piercing glance at Misty. Her eyes, hardened by the chaos, revealed no trace of the emotions swirling within her. "The ghustil is a traitor," she declared with grim resolve. "She tried to kill us. We must report this to the kith'rak."

Misty's eyes were wide with urgency as she pulled her arm free from Skye's grasp, her small frame darting in front of Lae'zel. "Wait, Lae'zel. This is really important! I found this and I think you need to see it, too."

With a sense of determined purpose, Misty reached into her trousers and retrieved the slate she had secured earlier. She held it out to Lae'zel, her hands trembling slightly with the weight of the discovery. "Please, take a look. It might be important."

Lae'zel, momentarily halted by Misty's plea, took the slate from her with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. She studied the markings etched into the surface, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Tir'su markings. Ancient," she murmured, tracing the intricate symbols with her eyes. "I recognize them, but I can't make sense of... no, wait."

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, the familiar symbols starting to take shape in her mind. "The texts are enciphered," she continued, her voice a mix of disbelief and realization, "but there's a Common speech translation beneath, carved in a different hand. It's a story about Orpheus."

At the mention of the name, Skye and Astarion exchanged puzzled glances. "Who's Orpheus?" the older sister asked, her curiosity piqued.

"A traitor," Lae'zel spat, her voice filled with disdain. "A dead one. This text is heresy. I can hardly bear to read it, let alone speak it." Her eyes hardened as she looked back at the slate, the disdain in her gaze evident.

As she reached out to return the slate to Misty, the young girl's eyes were filled with desperation. She gently pushed Lae'zel's hand away. "Please, Lae'zel. What does it say?"

The gith let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes rolling as she resignedly held the slate back out. "Very well. I will read it to you."

She took a deep breath and began to read aloud, her voice steady but tinged with irritation. The text unfolded a tale of Orpheus' rebellion against Vlaakith. It described how he led a defiant uprising, rallying his Honour Guard and red dragons against Vlaakith's forces. The narrative painted Orpheus as a grand figure, one whose challenge against Vlaakith was portrayed in dramatic terms. However, his rebellion was ultimately crushed by Vlaakith's knights and their formidable wyrms. The astral sky, the text noted, was set ablaze during the final battle, marking Orpheus' tragic end.

Lae'zel finished reading and spat the name with a mixture of disdain and scorn. "'True Heir,'" she echoed bitterly. "'Glorious Prince.' Chk. There's no greater crime than to exalt the pretender called Orpheus." She tossed the slate aside with a dismissive flick of her wrist, and Misty watched, her eyes wide with shock, as the slate clattered onto the cold stone floor.

The noise of the slate hitting the ground seemed to echo through the chamber, amplifying the tension in the air. Lae'zel's expression was a mix of frustration and disdain as she turned to Misty. "Disregard this drivel," she said sharply. "Gith declared that Vlaakith should be queen. Orpheus would have ceded control to the ghaik."

Skye's gaze met Misty's with a deep concern. "And if it's true? What if Vlaakith really betrayed Gith and seized the throne?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper but laden with intensity.

The question seemed to ignite a spark of fury in Lae'zel. Her eyes blazed with a fierce, almost tangible rage as she turned to face Skye. "She did nothing of the sort!" Lae'zel snapped, her voice sharp and filled with indignation. Her gaze shifted to Skye, who had placed a reassuring hand on her sister's shoulder.

The githyanki's scowl deepened as she looked at the air genasi, her rage barely contained. "Thank your good fortunes I am a tolerant woman," she growled, her voice dripping with menace. "Or I'd have sliced off a few toes for suggesting such heresy."

#astarion x tav #astarion #astarion and tav #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav fluff

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cxndyflvss · 8 months ago

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→ Stats ←

Name ♦ Aiko Nakamura Age ♦ Twenty Nine Power ♦ Time Manipulation Gender ♦ Female Pronouns ♦ She/Her/Hers Sexuality ♦ Pansexual

→ Looks ←

Eyes ✧ Brown Hair ✧ Black Height ✧ 5ft 5in Faceclaim ✧ Anna Sawai

→ Personality ←

✔ Likeable ✔ Resilient ✔ Determined ✔ Empathetic

✘ Reckless ✘ Vindictive ✘ Violent ✘ Numb

→ Backstory ←

Aiko Nakamura was born on a rainy autumn night, alongside her identical twin sister, Hana. From a young age, the sisters exhibited an unbreakable bond, their connection deeper than the usual sibling relationship. They were inseparable, often finishing each other's sentences and sharing an almost telepathic understanding of one another. Their parents, both historians, instilled in them a deep appreciation for Japanese culture and history. The Nakamura family owned a small antique shop, which doubled as a historical archive. Hana and Aiko spent countless hours among ancient artifacts, scrolls, and relics, listening to their parents recount stories of Japan's illustrious past.

At the age of 16, during a particularly intense argument between the sisters, Aiko discovered her superhuman ability; she could manipulate time. In a fit of frustration, Aiko inadvertently froze the moment, leaving everything and everyone around her in a state of suspended animation. The realization of her power was both exhilarating and terrifying. Confiding in Hana, the twins swore to keep Aiko's ability a secret, aware of the dangers that exposure could bring.

However, their secret was short-lived. The spike in superhuman abilities had led to heightened scrutiny, and it wasn't long before government agents arrived, suspecting the Nakamura family. Hana, always the protector, tried to cover for her sister but was captured in the process. She was taken to Lake Grimstone, a facility known for its cruel treatment of superhumans. Although, at the time, the family thought her to be human, thought that Aiko was the only one who had an ability. Little did they know, Hana possessed an ability of her own. Time travel. She was able to fast forward and rewind time, and Lake Grimstone were determined to use that ability to their utmost advantage.

Desperate to save her sister, Aiko spent months meticulously planning a rescue mission. She gathered intelligence, recruited allies, and trained herself in combat and stealth. The night of the rescue attempt was one filled with both hope and dread. Using her ability to manipulate time, Aiko and her team infiltrated Lake Grimstone and found Hana. The reunion was brief and bittersweet. As they attempted to escape, they encountered fierce resistance from the facility's guards. Aiko used her powers to slow time, giving them a fighting chance. However, in the chaos, Hana was fatally wounded. She urged her sister to rescue the rest of the group, to leave her behind. Aiko refused, but Hana knew that her death was what had to happen. In a tearful confession, her sister told her everything about her ability to travel through time. Aiko understood what had to happen. Her sister's ability in the hands of the government was something that could never happen, and they both knew it. But that didn't make it any less heartbreaking. Then, Aiko did as she was told, and left alongside the rest of the group, leaving her sister behind to die at the hands of Lake Grimstone.

Hana's death shattered Aiko. Grief-stricken and filled with guilt, she withdrew from the world, isolating herself in the family's antique shop. During a period of her grief, her attention shifted to anger, toward the government that caused the death of her twin sister. That was when she found the resistance. She was driven by the desire to honor her sister's memory, and vowed to fight back. Aiko began to reach out to like-minded individuals, forming a small resistance group dedicated to exposing the truth about Lake Grimstone and liberating those held captive. Then, she found the radicals. Her experience in leadership and her obvious hatred toward all things Lake Grimstone shot her to the top of the ranks, and she eventually became one of the leaders.

Aiko is a compassionate and determined leader. Her past has instilled in her a deep sense of empathy, especially for those who have suffered at the hands of the authorities. She is fiercely protective of her allies, often putting their needs above her own. Despite the heavy, broken, heart she carries, Aiko remains hopeful. She believes that by uniting superhumans and non-superhumans alike, they can create a world where everyone is free to live without fear of persecution. Her ultimate goal is to dismantle Lake Grimstone and other such facilities, ensuring that no one else suffers the same fate as her sister.

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aziraphales-library · 2 years ago

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Hey, amazing work you do here! Do you know any fics where Crowley and Aziraphale are having their first time and they're BOTH inexperienced? Since they hadn't "made the effort" until then and such...

Hello! We have our #inexperienced crowley and #inexperienced aziraphale tags, and here are some fics in which they are both inexperienced...

Follow Your Instincts by Fullmoonmere (E)

Aziraphale realizes, quite suddenly, that he wants to have sex with Crowley. Specifically, he wants Crowley to teach him everything there is to know about sex. Little does he know Crowley is an oblivious virgin who is making it up as they go.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word by Magnolia822 (E)

An angel and a demon try to determine if it's still make up sex if you've never had sex before.

like chardonnay (get better over time) by sabinelagrande (E)

Or, alternately, turn to vinegar. Or in this case, maybe both.

Coming Together after so Long by UselessWhiteCrayon (E)

“Things progressed slowly, naturally, in a way that was almost too human. There was an unspoken understanding, every new thing was special, meant to be taken slowly, carefully, so it could be fully explored, memorized, and perfected.”

Crowley and Aziraphale come together after the nonpocolypse. It is natural and slow, but once they get started they find it hard to stop.

Unexpected, But Long-Awaited by KitCat_Italica (E)

As they approached the bookshop door, Aziraphale felt Crowley squeeze his hand. He looked up, to see Crowley eyeing their joined hands, before raising his eyebrows at Aziraphale.

“This is new,” Crowley said, softer than his usual biting drawl.

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “Is it?”

OR, Aziraphale and Crowley saunter vaguely toward consummating their love, with plenty of laughter and playfulness along the way.

True Disaster by NuriaSchnee (E)

After Crowley saves him in 1941, Aziraphale realises he's fallen in love with the demon. Scared this dangerous feeling of his will cause problems to his friend, he tries to break their relationship. However, his plan to push the demon away fails and they end up admitting their feelings to each other.

To be able to be together and keep it a secret, Crowley stops time every time they meet. However brilliant this seems at first, it doesn't take long to backfire, opening new wounds and raising more barriers between them.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #inexperienced aziraphale #inexperienced crowley #loss of virginity #adult omens #mod d

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slothgiirl · 3 years ago

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the spy part 1(keith x reader)

8k. explicit content. while on medical leave reader meets the red paladin of voltron during the war against Zarkon.

The corridors are well lit. It’s like being in a brand new hospital, this ship in the rebel fleet.

People hustle around, landing, taking off in smaller ships to distant planets. Your hand goes to your arm. The medic had given you a movement’s leave, so you were resting for now on this ever moving ship.

Outside the widows, you spy an assortment of ships, each one’s origins clear from the design. So many planets, so many peoples banding together against Zarkon. You’d win the war.

It was what you kept telling yourself.

You would.

It was just a matter of time.

You round the corner, stretching your arm across your chest, a simple form of physical therapy in deep space. You hadn’t seen earth since being deployed. The galaxy garrison seemed like a dream from another life. You had been on track for the chemistry department, long term missions to mars to analyze soil and dust, not this, not a war. You take a breath.

And spot the Red Paladin.

He’s one of the most recognizable people in the universe, and his grungy hair and distinctive outfit does him no favors. You’d never seen him before, not in the flesh. Sure. Voltron had saved your ass a handful of times. You wouldn’t have survived the assault on Arrakis if Voltron hadn’t rammed the shield. Trapped. Piloting a fighter craft that was closer to a mosquito irritating the Galra then pushing them back.

But you hardly knew him.

He’s gripping the railing tightly, trying to camouflage into the wall as an alien with crystalline blue skin and hair like saturated indigo leans into him.

The line of his shoulders is taut, brittle.

You don’t even think.

“There you are,” you force yourself to be synthetically cheerful as you smile easily at the paladin, who you realize quickly you don’t know his name but you know what he is and that must be an awful feeling, being so recognizable without being known. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” you lied, elbowing the blue alien out of the way. You could never tell much from a single glance at themis species despite their largely humanoid appearance.

You put your hand on his arm loosely, “come on, we’re late enough and you know how annoyed the others get.” Good, that seemed convincing enough.

The red paladin’s eyes go wide, his mouth a grimace and it’s then that you notice the feverish flush to his skin.

But he doesn’t pull away or argue.

You ignore the alien and decide small talk was the way to go until you put some distance, “I’m kind of hurt you didn’t come visit me while I was healing,” you stick close to the truth, “but since it only took an hour? a varga? for me to heal I won’t hold it against you.” He’s too warm.

Maybe the space flu?

Was that even a thing?

You weren't sure.

Mostly, you snuck into work camps and blew up strategic targets using whatever you could get your hands on to make a bomb. The chemistry came in handy.

He sways as he walks, looking like your roommate at the garrison after a few too many hits after an exam. “Do I know you?”

You flush, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just,” you look back, but the alien’s been left a couple turns back, “you looked uncomfortable.” You take a step back, letting go of him. “Are you okay?”

His expression furrows, mouth a pinched line as he goes from suspicious to annoyed, takes a u-turn back to suspicious as he studies you, before relaxing. “Yeah. yeah. . .who are you?”

You introduce yourself, taking on the meaningless garrison designation at the end, “technically second year member, though I’ve been with the runners mostly.” No designation more than a number.

“You do look human,” he replies simply, moving to get a look at your ears, “not many of those out here.”

“And yet somehow the sentries always look the other way,” you muse, “not very bright. I’m almost convinced the Empire’s in it’s failing bureaucracy days.”

He winces, before deadpanning, “eh, I don’t know how useful a lion is against the DMV.”

You laugh.

He takes slow deliberate breaths, steadying himself, “I’m Keith.”

“Seriously though, do you need to see a medic?” He looked in serious need of a tylenol. The ships were usually crisp, you wore a jacket most of the time to stave off the permanent chill.

Keith shakes his head, chewing his lip before meeting your gaze with an intense concentration in his violet eyes, as if he was gauging how much titrant he could add before hitting the endpoint and if half a drop was worth the risk. “I’m just. . .going through something.”

“Anyone I can call for you?” You weren't about to abandon him here. Sure, he was a paladin and could probably look after himself. But you couldn’t in good conscience walk away.

He swallows, looking down for a moment and you are startled to find how much you miss his attention boring into you with the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen.

“No,” Keith replies mulishly as he jerks away from you. “I’m fine.”

Which was a total lie. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well but you weren’t about to get on his case. You were sure he had people for that. He wasn’t some random soldier in arms with you that you watched out for and hoped not to have to watch die.

You swallow the bitter thought away, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leaning back against the hall, you watch evenly as Keith stumbles, catching himself on the wall. His mouth is a drawn line of determination.

You didn’t understand why.

There was aid here. It wasn’t the same as crawling through cramped mining tunnels and swallowing back pain forcing yourself to work through it until the mission was accomplished.

“Do you need help,” you ask.

“No.” He leans a hand against the wall.

You raise a brow, wondering if he would pass out for whatever weird space flu he had clearly caught and you could only hope it was nothing like the infections that ran rampant in the work camps, or if he would give in and accept your offer of help. The former seemed more likely.

You don’t ditch him though, focusing your attention on the porthole to the stars.

There was no rush: no reason to help him by force. People didn’t learn if you babied them you’d caught on quick back on earth during your tutoring hours. You had to let them fall and smash their face in sometimes.

So you stay, watching the stars.

Keith makes no move to take another step.

It still got you, looking out into the vastness of space and realizing this really was your life now, you were out here, further than you’d ever dreamed. Everywhere you looked, novel stars, distant planets teaming with life. You could have done without the war, but it was what it was.

“And here I thought Mars would be the furthest I’d go,” you comment more to yourself than Keith.

The red paladin makes a small sound of acknowledgement.

“Earth’s, or was, at the beginning of our space age. People had barely begun to live on the research bases on Mars,” you watch him out of the corner of your eye in case he really does pass out, “so no Star Trek for me but now I’m here.”

“There’s a war going on.”

You turn over to look at him, sort of annoyed because yeah you got that, spent enough time in the trenches without a fancy lion spaceship, but the bubbling annoyance dissipates when you see the upturned corners of his mouth. Keith was teasing you.

Shifting your weight, you add, “yeah well, instead of being a footnote in a Mars base’s history I’ll be a footnote in this war instead.” Gallows humor. You needed a lot of that when regularly infiltrating camps and posing as a slave, as a prisoner, the bottom of the barrel that wouldn’t get a second glance from the Galra soldiers.

He frowns. “I don't think anyone’s just a footnote.”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.” Keith looks away.

You feel bad. “It’s probably better not to be so cynical,” you muse, “but it’s like the vice president thing, no one remembers them unless the president gets assassinated.” God you couldn’t help how dark your humor could veer even when trying to be positive.

He looks over at you, head tilted, considering. Despite being standoffish, Keith was easy to read unlike the slick space pirates you’d encountered.

You meet his gaze head on.

“I might need some help,” he allows.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. “If you’re sure,” you utter, regarding him carefully and unable to keep the teasing from your voice. You shouldn’t. You barely knew him and what little you’d learned made it clear he wouldn’t take well to your teasing.

War made quick brothers out of everyone.

But Keith held himself afar.

A questioning glance danced in his uniquely violet eyes as he tried to get a read on you. “I am.”

You nod, stepping besides him and wrapping an arm around his waist. You were always caught by surprise by how heavy a grown adult could be. And depending on the alien. . .

He takes a step, still holding himself afar from you, barely resting any weight on you. His muscles were stiff under your touch, back rigid that matched the uncomfortable look on his chiselled features.

You follow his lead.

At Keith’s sedate pace, it would take quite a while before you dropped him off where you needed to go. Being personable was part of being a leader or it’d lead to mutiny. Not that you had ever gotten that far. The Galaxy Garrison had slapped the graduation badge on your uniform and sent you into space.

You scrabble for familiar territory, earth and the garrison. The Black Paladin was a Garrison member returned from the grave. Rumor had it all the paladins were garrison deserters.

Veronica McCain did share a familiar resemblance with the blue paladin. It was probably true.

“I attended the Garrison campus at Guiana,” you offer. “I was hoping for Texas or Florida to be closer to home, but I didn’t test into pilot or engineer.”

Keith makes a sound in the back of his throat.

Even through the fabric of his uniform, he felt warm. How anybody could be warm in such cold halls was anybody’s guess. A permanent chill had sunk its way into your bones. You missed the humid heat of Guiana.

“It was nice though. The jungle was pretty close and it was always hot,” you tell him. “I thought I wouldn’t miss the humidity, step outside and it was like having just showered but I do. These ships have to be at 15 C.”

“Texas is hot too.” Keith utters quietly.

“Isn’t the desert cold at night though,” you ask, already knowing the answer. It had been basic earth science.

“Yeah. It is.” There’s longing in his voice. You wish he’d say more just to hear him speak.

Warmth spreads, an embarrassing tell, through your cheeks.

“I did miss the snow while there,” you continue, “it didn’t snow much up in Vancouver but it was never as hot as Guiana, and the rain was warm!” You had never gotten over that. The rain would spot and start throughout the day but the sun would keep on shining.

“What were you,” Keith asks bluntly.

“Chemisist, more the physical and inorganic type,” you admit, “it was fun doing wet labs.” That had gotten you hooked back in regular school. “Then got shunted to command track after a few too many volunteering opportunities. Guess the lesson there’s to not try too hard.”

That gets a laugh out of him.

“You,” you ask him as he shifts more of his weight onto you, finally accepting the help he asked for. Stubborn guy.

“Pilot.”

You look over at him, his wild hair brushing against your cheek and the simple action shouldn’t excite you but it does. He was hot with sharp features offset by a certain enthralling earnestness but he could run a comb through his hair.

Keith didn’t seem the pilot type: arrogant, loud, generally strong personalities.

“You any good,” you ask though you’ve heard about Voltron so he has to be pretty fucking good to be part of them. How did Voltron choose its pilots?

He smirks easily, close to a smile at the mere mention of piloting and you knew that moment he loved it: didn’t matter if he was good at it or not. You swallow hard as anticipation buzzes under your skin for no good reason.

Get your head out of the gutter, you tell yourself.

“I’m a pretty good pilot,” Keith answers, somehow managing to sound like he’s stating a fact instead of bragging.

“Just pretty good?” You smile at him, letting him know you were only joking around as you both round another corner, finally making it to the transient quarters. People were always dropping in and out of mobile spaceports like these.

He snorts. “Better than most.” Keith shrugs, smiling over at you.

“Don’t be modest on my account,” you utter, looking away, not sure what to do about the growing heat in your body that had nothing to do with temperature controls.

“It’s true,” he says simply.

Honesty was a hard thing to come by. You were finding more and more reasons to like the red paladin as you reach his current room. No special treatment here.

Or maybe it was politics and optics, making sure everyone knew Voltron was of the people and not aiming to replace Zarkon as rulers of the universe.

Keith places a hand against the door, putting space between you both.

You swallow, glancing away, feeling some of the tension ease.

“You sure you don’t want me to send a medic,” you ask him, looking over at his striking eyes. The heat under your skin is a live wire: you curl your toes in your shoes. People usually didn’t affect you this much. Even the smell of him was so distinct, drawing you in.

It was an unprecedented reaction.

He must feel it too.

Keith studies you with an enraptured fascination shining in his wide eyes, mouth parted on the verge of answering. Both your bodies sway towards each other like branches in the wind: sunflowers orienting towards the sun.

You shift your weight from one foot to another.

It relieves enough tension for you to shift away.

“No. No medic,” Keith finally answers.

“Right then.” But you don’t make a move to leave.

He says nothing.

The silence is broken by the hum of the ship's engines under your feet. People move about and you can hear their footsteps echoing on the metal floors.

Supposedly quintessence powered ships smelled like ozone.

This one was powered by crystals and some Olkari engine. You wouldn't know the specifics, they were beyond you. And not your job.

You look back at him, ready to leave. The space between you could so easily tilt to awkward and you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you found yourself so entranced by Keith. You barely knew him. You didn’t want to be one of the soldiers with a photograph in your pocket and a farflung hope that you’d-

He’s looking at you, cautious, movements slow and deliberate as if he’s caught between thinking and simply doing.

Then Keith’s demeanour becomes determined: deciding to take the leap without looking down. He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you.

For a second you’re baffled, trying to figure out how you got to point B when this wasn’t a bar and you had no agenda, before you shrug and kiss him back. Keith was undeniably attractive. He was even a bit taller than you which was compelling, you were on the tall side for a girl.

It’s not some unsolvable thought experiment, you kiss him back.

And a current of static electricity runs through your core. Heat pools after only just a kiss that steals your breath away.

You can’t get enough, his hands warm against your skin, igniting a delicious sensation in your very core. You want more. You kiss him harder, your mouth against his, sucking on his bottom lip.

Your hands clutch at the fabric of his shift.

Keith kisses you back, matching your frenzied energy, his mouth parting against yours and pulling you flush against his chest.

It does nothing to dissolve the tension, the charged energy between you spikes. Like a fire fed by wood it grew.

It was a heady feeling, his hands caressing your cheeks as Keith kissed you with a vigor you thought only existed in soapy dramas. Heat pools in your belly like a sinking stone: you liked his intensity.

Keith pulls away, catching his breath, resting his forehead against yours.

Some of the muddled list clears from your head, now completely in the gutter as you press Keith against the door to his room.

Oh. . .were you really doing this?

Keith looks a fuckable mess, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. Still, he hesitates.

You can feel the question linger in the air, can feel it in the featherlight touch of his hands ghosting over your cheeks as he makes to pull away, to let you go if you want to turn back now. But you don’t.

You want to run your hands through his hair. You’re practically burning up wondering how Keith would look splayed on the bed between your thighs. . .how he would feel.

Would he be just as intense in bed as he fucked you?

“You feel it too,” he asks quietly.

You furrow your brows, thrown. There were a lot of intense emotions coursing through you all narrowed down to feeling horny as a teenager back on earth. Masturbation only went so far.

You swallow, trying to rack your brain cells together and say something. Yeah. It was a bit. . .much. Space much. But that didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t taken any drinks from strangers.

The connection was too strong to discount the possibility of space weirdness affecting both of you.

“Yeah,” you reply, sounding more whiny than you’d like to. The apex of your thighs throbbed with want. Anticipation had built up and he was right there; Keith

s breath fanned over you, his forehead against yours like a touchpoint.

Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt.

In the hall.

Where anyone could see.

“So what now,” you ask, “medic?”

Keith snorts, “No. I just-do you want to come inside?”

You smirk. Everyone knew what that meant. There were so many variations with the same outcome.

“Yeah. Okay.” You put a pin in any alien space nonsense and slip inside Keith’s assigned quarters for however long Voltron was here for.

The lights are off. You don’t bother to study the room when Keith crushes his mouth against yours. You stumble around in the dark, feeling emboldened now that he’d voiced an invitation, he wanted this as much as you did, and run your hands up his chest. He was lean and lithe. Keith leans into your touch, a shiver running down his spine when you run your fingers through his hair and run your tongue over his bottom lip.

Keith moans, the sound scratchy from the back of his throat excites you.

It was thrilling to know you could elicit such a response from someone. You liked feeling hot and sexy. And from a guy like Keith who you were vibing with. . .

He finds the jagged hem of your cut tank top, which had doubled as a bandage, and slides his hands under your shirt. His fingers are calloused, skin hot against yours and there was always something so carnal about skin on skin touch. Keith clutches at your sides and leads you backwards.

You trust that he knows the layout.

Your mind has boiled down to simple desires.

“Keith,” you mumble against his mouth as he guides your hips against his and you feel his cock beneath the fabric. It goes straight to your ego: straight to your pussy.

More heat. It’s unbearable how much your body throbs and you moan against him, against his lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

“Mhm,” he asks, just as overcome with lust as you were. Keith tilts his head up, and you kiss his jaw, kiss the side of his throat, nipping at the flesh and enjoying the breathy moans he makes as your knees hit the bed.

You want more.

You move your hands to his shoulders, “let's get this off,” you utter softly, pushing at his jacket.

“Okay,” he replies, crowding you against his bed until you have no choice but to sit down. Keith discards his jacket, and pulls his shirt over his head.

Your breath hitches in your throat. It’s dark. You can’t see him well. You still react like a charged electron.

“Now you,” Keith states simply, not exactly a command. It was nice, the lack of mind games and subterfuge.

You scoot up further on the bed, shrugging your bomber jacket off.

He’s watching.

Awkwardness creeps up on you. There was no sexy way to take off a sports bra.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. Then you peel off your sports bra. The elastic worked too well.

Keith’s sitting up on his knees.

“You’re beautiful,” he states.

“Come here,” you utter, inviting him closer.

He complies readily, cupping your cheek and kissing your mouth eagerly, closer to a lover than a random encounter.

You grab his other hand, guiding him up to your chest, to your breast. Keith runs his thumb over your nipple, gooseflesh rises on your skin. He trails bruising kisses down your throat.

Your breath catches in your throat. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you, savoring the feel of his chest against yours.

“Fuck,” you groan as Keith bites down hard at the crook of your neck, harder than you’d expected.

He stills. “I’m-I,” making to pull away.

“No,” you reach for him, tilting his head up as you move to straddle his waist, “it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

“I won’t do it again,” he stammers out.

“I didn't say I didn't like it.” You push him down against the bed, topping him. “Just warn a girl.”

Keith wraps his hands around your hips, tugging at the waistband of your trousers. “These are kind of in the way.”

Laughing, you reply, “could say the same to you.” Your hands pop the button of his jeans.

It’s a fumble to pull your trousers down. Neither of you care, eager to get on with it. He shoves his jeans down his legs along with his boxers.

You straddle Keith, completely naked and lean down to capture his lips against yours. His cock twitches against your thigh and your toes curl up. His tongue runs over your top lip, you part your mouth, letting him in.

You cup his cheeks between your hands, your hips rolling against his.

He thrusts feverishly against you. His fingers dig into your bare hips, skin against skin.

“Come here,” Keith utters hoarsely, “I wanna fuck you.”

“Think I’d rather ride you,” you reply back breathlessly.

“You can do that after,” he whines, a rumble emanating from his chest but your head is too fucked up to make sense of it.

You sit up, hands on his chest. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

Keith grins, wrapping his hands around your wrists, and rolls you over so he’s on top. “Is it,” he asks rhetorically as his hand reaches between your thighs, ghosting over the wetness of your pussy, “when you’re this wet?”

You moan, canting your hips, cashing the feel of his hand, wanting relief. It was a mounting pressure in your belly, a forest fire under your skin and you needed Keith. “Okay. yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes when Keith bent his head and licked a stripe from your nipple to your collarbone. You whimper, lost in the sensation.

“Tell me what you want,” Keith asks.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you utter, you hands clutchinf at his shoulders, bringing him flush agaisnt you.

Keith aquieses.

You bend your knees, spreading your legs as he positions his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Keith mutters as he pushes into you.

Fuck indeed. You moan his name without thought, closing your eyes and laying your head back against the bed. His cock fills you up, sliding into your pussy with ease given how turned on you were.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he stretches you out.

“God, yes,” you utter dazed.

Keith moves his hips. You roll your hips up to meet him. He nips at your collarbone as he thrusts into you with favour.

As promised he fucks you.

Keith captures your mouth in a kiss that catches the moans you make as he reaches between you and runs his thumb over your clit. His pace, the way he was kissing you madly. . .the heat that had been building since you’d met him comes crashing down.

You come.

Leaving you boneless.

“Keith,” you whimper.

“Sh,” he tells you, kissing the shell of your ear, “let me make you feel good.”

“You..sort of already did,” you utter completely fucked out.

“Turn over.” Keith says even as he’s already helping you move, his arms supporting your weight. He presses his lips on the back of your neck, as he grabs a pillow and sets it under you.

You bring up your knees, laying on your legs, “thought I was going to go next,” you tease, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair.

He stills, “if you. . .”

“No. No,” you shrug, “I did ask you to fuck me.”

Keith runs his hands over your shoulders, sliding down your sides. He squeezes your ass with his hands.

“Best two out of three,” you offer, half joking half serious because while you were still blissed out from having just orgasmed, you could already feel your pussy clench with anticipation. Seriously, the effect he had on you-

You can feel his smile against your skin, “If you think you can handle it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you reply, arching your back into him, titling your head back, and pulling his hair so you could kiss him. It was sloppy, and the angle was awkward, but none of it mattered when Keith stroked your pussy with his fingers, dipping into your wet folds.

Already stimulated, you shudder with pleasure.

Your tongue strokes his in an open mouthed kiss. He tastes as good as he smells, Keith filling up your senses like an incense stick wafting through a room.

He wraps an arm around your chest, his hand caressing your breast, pulling you against his chest, both of you melding together. Keith thrusts his cock into you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hand fisting the sheets of his bed, moaning into his mouth.

It was a combination of his cock in you, his thumb rolling your nipple in his hand, that set you aflame.

You couldn’t get enough, your hips jerking back, up to meet his. Keith fucks you against the bed.

He palms your breast in his hand, pulling you up to him, keeping you close as he plants a kiss at the juncture of your ear and jaw, on the side of your neck whilst nipping the skin and you moan, his cock hitting just the right spot as he slams into you.

First he grows comfortable, pulling almost entirely out before thrusting hard as he finds a pace that leaves you both a mess.

“Right there, right there,” you utter.

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, his fingers draw a circle around your clit without giving you the satisfaction you desperately seek, already building up to another climax.

You nod jerkily. “So fucking good Keith. Your cock feels so fucking good,” you manage to reply.

He speeds up, faster, deeper, at your words. The bedframe, bolted down into the floor, creaks.

“Just like that.” You moan wantonly. “Right there.”

He responds to your words, pulling out to the head of his cock, teasing your entrance just so before slamming back in.

You shut your eyes and whimper, over sensitive to your very marrow. It was too much. Keith was trailing kisses down your spine, his breath warm, his cock twitching inside your filling every inch of your pussy up.

With a shudder, you come, stars behind your eyelids and short circuiting. You never knew sex could be this amazing. Not in real life.

You got what people meant about the right partner.

The right sexual energy to match.

You collapse, a puppet with its strings cut. Keith’s hand across your chest is the only thing keeping you from melding into the mattress like a blob. His hips thrust against your ass mindlessly, chasing his own climax.

With another couple of thrusts, his hips snapping against you, Keith moans your name and comes undone behind you.

He comes inside you, hot and sticky.

His hand grasps the back of your neck, holding you in place as he comes inside you. It’s unexpectedly hot. You didn’t know you could like this in bed.

You didn’t know how much you liked an obstinate expression with wide eyes until you met Keith. He had the type of soulful eyes you could drown in.

He had drawn out something in you that you hadn’t even been aware of.

Your thoughts center on him as he finishes inside you.

“You take my dick so good,” he says with a surprising amount of softness for what amounts to a one night stand and a pang strikes your chest, wishing you had met him under better circumstances where there might be-

Keith gets off you, slumping next to you on the bed.

There’s a thrum of satisfaction running through you as you look at his face in profile. The insane idea that you might just stay and cuddle plants itself.

That was impossible.

It was time to cut and run.

Sure, he’d fucked you. But he was also still half a stranger. No matter how jumbled your thoughts were, you refused to give into the pull he had on you.

You wanted to lay there with him.

Keith blinks slowly, looking as blissed out as you feel, reaching out a hand towards you, but stopping himself halfway.

You feel a little disappointed, but say nothing. It was just a one off thing you remind yourself, no matter how you felt.

Now that you can think a little more clearly, though the sensation remains like a lump in your throat that starts there no matter how much you swallow, you glance around the dark room. Only the barest red lights on the floor illuminate enough to cast shadows.

Keith’s own eyes reflect the light like a cat. Just a glimmer of traffic sign yellow.

But you’re too tired to think, so you file it away in your head under the nebulous details you’ve learned about the red paladin.

You blink, grimancing as Keith’s come runs down your thigh onto the sheets. At least they weren’t yours.

He closes his eyes.

“I’d say sorry about the mess,” you break the easy silence lulling you into staying there, “but it's your fault,” you tease way too familiarly.

Keith sounds embarrassed when he utters, “sorry about that. I can get carried away.”

You smile softly, tracing over his shadowed form with your eyes but resisting the urge to reach out. That part was over. “It was good.”

“You did mention.”

So he could joke.

You giggle in the darkness that envelopes the room. You were good at being friendly and taking charge but you understood the hesitancy to open up to people you just met.

Keith’s chest makes a rumbling sound akin to a cheetah purring.

You try and hold onto the thought, sure it means something, but the sound draws you in and you lose the battle against yourself, curling up into his side.

He takes this as the permission it is, and tangles his limbs with yours.

A thrum of warmth surges where Keith’s skin touches you and you’re not sure if its his running warm or if it's all in your head or-

your eyes drift closed.

He’s purring.

You know Keith would be embarrassed if you pointed it out.

So you say nothing.

Everything seemed so intangible anyhow. The world had been turned down a notch. The post orgasm glow remained unrivalled.

Even a hit from a bong didn’t measure up.

Your first time had been a real embarrassment (you hadn’t managed to get the boy’s cock in you), this was just a weird quirk of his, and it was soothing.

You close your eyes.

Keith’s breathing is deep and steady, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but don’t feel pressured to check.

It was nice, not scurrying off, not being more than a little drunk. War was exhausting. Earth had only been in it for less than three years. No wonder some aliens were in such shit moods.

You exhale.

There’s no way to mark the passage of time.

The bed shifts under you. Keith runs the back of his hand gently over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open.

“So would this be round two or three,” you ask lightly.

Keith smiles lightly, “you did say…”

“I did,” you laugh easily, blushing, the flush creeping from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

You swing a leg over his waist, straddling him, but not without feeling the start of a soreness in your legs. It doesn’t deter you.

Keith lays back, watching you through his lashes as you sit up. He looks lovely.

You lean down and kiss his mouth, reaching for his cock with your hands. He was already half hard when you wrap your hand around his shaft.

His breath hitches in his throat as you move your hand. It’s been a moment since you’d jerk anyone, but it’s not rocket science. You press kisses down his throat, moving your hand firmly up and down his length until he’s completely hard. You nip at his collarbone, marking him the way he’d left bruising kiss all over you.

His cock twitches in your hand, Keith’s hips thrusting up into you.

Anticipation builds in your belly, but you want to set the pace, stay in charge. So you still your movements.

Keith whines under you, his hands holding your waist.

“Be a good boy for me,” you tell him. “Can you do that?”

“Mm.”

“Use your words.”

“Yeah,” he manages hoarsely, “I can be good.”

You smile, lining him up against your entrance. You shift your hips, teasing his cock against your wet folds, closing your eyes as you moan at the feeling.

Keith thrusts up, trying to get more friction.

You still wanting to drag it out. Though your thighs ached and your pussy throbbed and you wondering if you should just-

You rub his cockhead against your pussy, “oooOH,” you moan. Your nails scratch his chest lightly, trying to steady yourself. Your heart raced, back arching down to him.

“Come here,” Keith groans, his fingers trailing up, asking for more, his hand on the small of your back.

You give in, sinking down onto his cock.

He moans your name, shutting his eyes.

It’s pornographic, the way Keith rises up to meet you, hips bucking against yours, the expanse of his pale throat.

You roll your hips slowly, fucking yourself on his cock. At this angle, the way he filled you-

“Fuck,” Keith moans, “you feel so good.”

“I could say the same,” you reply, sliding against his hips, picking up speed. You hold yourself up, hand on his chest.

You suck in a breath as his cock thrusts into you. Static filled your head as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him. You tilt your head back, moaning his name, everything but Keith becoming background noise.

He palms your breast.

Your breath hitches when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Ah,” you sigh.

Your stomach was taunt.

He doesn’t go further. You sort of wish he would. You trusted Keith not to hurt you. . .too badly.

The idea excites you, as he wraps his hand around your throat.

You match him, curling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, “look at me,” you try and order but your voice is a whine. You’re too hot and heavy to think.

His cock twitches inside you, filling you up and fuck it felt good to be streched out.

Keith’s thumb strokes the side of your throat, his grip firm. “Do you like this,” he asks, his gaze heavy on you. He was entirely concentrated on you. It was like being worshipped.

It sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“I wouldn’t mind if you got rougher,” you admit, finding it easy to trust him.

He looks away.

You falter. Had you read things wrong?

Keith bucks his hips up against you and you let the thought go, sinking onto his cock and groaning, “Keith…”

It was easy to let go when it felt this good. His hand around your throat, fingers digging into your hips, you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. Not that anyone would be able to tell from over your uniform.

A shudder runs down your spine, you squirm on his cock mindlessly, thinking about bruises in the shape of his hands, about the marks on your neck you could already feel blooming on your skin. Heat surges in your chest, something primal as your thoughts linger there.

You nails run down his chest, leaving shallow scratches as you try and get a better hold, desperately grinding against Keith, down on the bed, his cock ramming into you. “Fuck,” you think, “fuck. . .Keith. . .”

You can’t stand it.

The pressure in your stomach, the heat scorching your pussy, the sound of Keith’s whines and moans, your name tumbling out of his mouth like a hymn that raised your heart beat, blood pounding in your ears.

Keith squeezes your neck, your throat bobs under his fingers and fuck-

You come.

Your legs tremble, unable to support you any longer as you collapse, a quivering mess on Keith. His hands move down to grip your thighs, pulling you down flush against him, down to the hilt of his cock as he comes, moaning erotically.

The thread of heat doesn’t dissipate entirely as you rest on his chest, boneless and sticky with sweat, but it relaxes and you breath the scent of him in instead of pulling away entirely.

Keith strokes a hand down your spine, an afterthought, “that was. . .”

“Yeah.” You’re exhausted.

You close your eyes, listening to the inhuman rumble of Keith’s chest as it rises and falls with every breath you take.

You end up slipping out. The halls are in the light cycle, but no one bothers you as you walk.

Getting up the next morning is hell.

Your legs are sore, and that’s not even mentioning how much your pussy hurts when you take a step. You take a dose of painkillers still remaining from your injury and check your messages.

Nothing from earth.

That was expected.

The meager universal communications were taken up by the war effort. You still sent your family messages, even if it was just one way. It was a way to keep in touch. It felt like watching starlight and knowing it was millions of years old, a form of time travel.

You shower.

Keith’s come was a mess on the inside of your thighs and the thought is not as gross as it should be, your skin warming up, zapped by static. You run your fingers over your clit and fuck yourself in the shower thinking of the red paladin and his come.

You get out, brushing your hair out, not looking in the mirror at the purple hickies spread out like a constellation on your chest, and realize how weird you were being.

Come was gross.

You hated swallowing so you never did. The tentative relationships at the garrison had been short, you had all been teenagers, and now anything that happened was a one off thing sometimes involving aliens.

You swallow, gripping the counter of your sink. You were horny again.

No.

Not going there.

No space weirdness this morning.

Because you’re on leave for the space equivalent of 6 or 5 days, you don’t have much to do. You get food. It had taken getting used to, and figuring out which brightly colored pastel goo thing was good, but there was a variety. You still had no clue what was plants or animals up in space.

The more liberated planets, the more supplies trickled in. Pirates loved to take a cut.

You eat as soldiers stop by to refuel, fill up on supplies. Despite the stress, you missed being out on the front. Being out of the action sucked.

Sitting around on a spaceship was boring.

It wasn’t like they had shops or movie theaters. Walking around too much ended up with you being in the way.

You clench your jaw, feeling feverish.

And you had just been getting better. . .

You shove the thought away.

You end up watching space TV: reality TV shows like Galra Ninja Warrior and nature docu series on plants, some you’ve been on, before finally sliding your hand under the waistband of your trousers and rubbing your clit.

It takes the edge off, but the heat’s still there, pressed up in the pit of your stomach, cheeks flushes and you sigh, unsatisfied as you click to something other than the marine biomes of Kmeolsuahr. For aliens larger than a schoolbus, they were peaceful creatures. Since they were filter feeders, agriculture had never developed a hold on their planet, but water generators were plentiful.

Yet another show starring Galra. It was the most common type of show in the Empire. Hijacking communications had given this traveling spaceship TV. You were glad for it now.

You curl up, the communicator snug around your wrist translating everything instantaneously. It was the part in the soap where there has to be a duel for honor. What a load of crap.

The two Galra circle each other, close ups of their face like a mexican stand-off. Through TV you got to know the Glara in the empire as more than just soldiers. Spending time in the camps taught you that even Galra citizens could be arrested for treasonous statements against Zarkon.

They make growling alien sounds, something between a jaguar and a sound not found on earth, an underlying clicking that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You connect the dots.

The glowing eyes, the purrs and rumbles, and whatever weird alien thing was going on: the red paladin was part Galra.

Only that made no sense.

He was from Earth.

First contact had been what, when the paladins had disappeared? When the Kerberos mission had been abducted, and boy had that made fringe conspiracy theorists happy. . .how could he be part Galra?

Was it even your problem?

Surely this would go away. . .

You were leaving in a little over five days.

You curl up and watch TV until you fall asleep, determined to enjoy the rest while it lasted and your weren’t trudging through waist deep mud.

“Read through the debrief,” a commander with a nebulous rank above you asks. In your line of work, so much was redacted. Information gathering was a fancy way of saying spy. It was why you worked so closely with the rebels.

You don’t even blink at the slight pale easter egg yellow alien, ears that resembled hair, long and droopy like a rabbit: there were four of them. You’d met stranger. “Yeah. Long mission.”

You were not looking forward to being on a planet with an inhospitable surface. A sun close enough that set the surface on fire with it’s rays, no thanks.

Still, it was your assignment.

“It is vital.”

They always said that.

It seemed to be extracting some key players. Who they were remained unknown until you had to know. It was a lot of flying blind to keep information from leaking to the wrong ears. Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz.

“I’ll treat it that way,” you nod, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It would be fun flying a hijacked Galra fighter ship. The planet was pretty deep in Empire controlled space.

“And,” the alien looks you up and down like a Garrison RA finding a stain on your uniform during morning inspection, “get rid of that scent.”

“What,” you ask plainly, “scent.”

The alien raises a hairless muscle over its eye. The gesture is human enough. “Voltron has docked here.”

It was subterfuge. Both of you were in the same line of work, you could do this dance in your sleep. “As far as I know, yes.” You are careful to keep your expression neutral, feeling stupid for not having used negating get. It wasn’t even rationed, but used pretty widely. There were many aliens who relied primarily on scent, and those whose sense of smell was far sharper than yours.

“Mm.”

You hold their gaze.

You weren’t one to waver.

“Any further questions?”

“None.”

“Good.”

You walk blithely back to your room, intending to shower, again, and probably take care of the warmth in your gut. The heat was like an uncomfortable itch under your skin that stubbornly remained no matter how much you ignored it.

How was it even possible that Keith was any part alien let alone Galra? You were pretty sure the entire planet would have known if the Galra arrived on the planet.

It was intriguing.

Your mind drew up the details you knew, trying to make them fit. It was half mental exercise, half the urge to actually get to the bottom of this. Keith didn’t look half Glara like Prince Lotor and his gang of misfits. . .quarter, one sixteenth. . .

Occam's Razor.

The mystery occupied your mind as you made it back to your quarters.

Keith is pacing outside your door.

How did he even know where your quarters were?

“Did you sniff your way here,” you ask, genuinely curious. Maybe the traits might not be apparent. . .just how Galra was the red paladin. You were reminded again how little you actually knew him.

Understanding fills his eyes; he knew you knew. Keith looks over at you for a second before ducking his head dejectedly, a straw dog expecting to be run off.

Your heart ached.

How a paladin of Voltron could be so self conscious despite going toe to toe with the Empire on a daily basis. . .you didn’t know. They were only flesh and blood after all.

You take pity on him, “so is this going to be a thing,” the corners of your mouth lift into a small smile. You were still a little sore. You wouldn’t mind going another few rounds. . .

But you needed to clear some things up first.

Just how much of this between you was space Galra funkiness?

Keith snorts, looking up, meeting your searching gaze. His shoulders were still tense, unsure that you weren’t about to tell him to shove off. Not the loner type entirely by choice then, his innate awkwardness must have made it hard to connect.

It wasn’t a problem you’d ever had, rushing into everything headfirst, taking charge.

“Not like there’s a lot of humans to choose from up here,” he says self-deprecatingly.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m down for some alien funkiness,” you answer evenly, taking a step towards him. He inhales sharply, looking away again, this time in thought.

The lines of his face increase, clearly uncomfortable, frowning.

“I can’t usually,” Keith admits in a tense voice, “smell this well. . .though I can smell better than Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

“The black paladin,” he explains, surprised he has to explain at all.

You answer his unvoiced question, “everyone tends to focus on the color of the lion rather than the pilot inside.”

“Oh. That’s dumb.” He looks a little relieved at the anonymity that grants.

“Is it just me then,” you ask, getting to the bottom of things.

He nods, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking of fucking you,” he says without ceremony.

You find yourself blushing. The connection went both ways, the very alien connection. “Don’t hate me but I think we should go to the medic.”

Keith frowns. “Or we could just fuck.”

“That horny,” you tease, raising a brow, “or was I just that good?”

Keith cusps a hand against your cheek, his thumb running over your lips.

Your mouth parts, the tip of your tongue grazing his thumb.

“So you don’t want to fuck,” Keith asks, a playful smirk on his lips.

You swallow, the urge to say yes right there as his touch on you entranced you, sending desire cascading through your body down to your toes. “This isn’t just alien weirdness is it?” You wanted it to be more.

“No,” he shakes his head, his breath mingling with yours. “That’s-I’m not that impulsive.”

“Good,” you mutter, pressing your body against his, and opening the door to your room.

#keith kogane #vld keith #keith x reader #keith kogane imagine #mine #smut #surprisingly soft for being esentially a take on the whole galra heat thing in fanon #part 2 will b just sex lol #feedback much appreciated (as a motivator too)

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makeste · 4 years ago

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this is just a post listing all of the scenes in BnHA which underline Bakugou’s narrative importance and the way that it’s intrinsically connected to Deku and his storyline, because I really want to emphasize that the MORE THAN 300 CHAPTERS OF BUILD-UP just slightly outweigh the literal seven chapters in which he hasn’t played a major role just lately. recency bias is a thing guys, and we should all try to remember that.

not Kacchan establishing his goal and ultimate endgame less than one page after his introduction.

not Kacchan being saved by Deku less than an hour after burning his notebook and telling him to jump off a roof, establishing the contradictory nature of their relationship right from the get-go, and changing Deku’s destiny forever as All Might witnesses this moment and realizes that Deku is more heroic than he ever could have imagined. “you looked like you needed saving.” that’s a line that’s already had at least one callback, and with Deku now struggling in the current manga the time could be ripe for an even more powerful one.

not “win and save” being established as the two cornerstones of the hero philosophy all the way back in chapter 5, with Deku and Kacchan each embodying one of these dual aspects, and being narratively primed to walk opposite paths in their respective hero journeys, only to meet at the middle when they reach the end.

not Deku and Kacchan having an iconic battle less than ten chapters into the series, during which their rivalry is further established and the complicated history of their childhood friendship is expanded on.

not Kacchan’s first childhood flashback revealing that the pivotal, character-defining event of his childhood was baby Deku reaching out his hand and asking if he was okay.

not Deku instinctively reaching out to Kacchan yet again all of two chapters later, making a fateful decision which will have massive ramifications down the line and which will eventually alter the course of Kacchan’s character development.

not Kacchan’s teachers thoughtfully praising his “overwhelming tenacity” and All Might noting his potential for greatness early on the series.

not Deku choosing a hero name originally given to him by Kacchan, but repurposing and reclaiming it, and possibly paving the way for another parallel that’s just waiting to be capitalized on. Kacchan feel free to tell us more about your own hero name’s meaning whenever you get a chance.

not Deku becoming stronger by learning from Kacchan (win to save).

not Deku and Kacchan deliberately being paired together for their final exam and Kacchan having a fucking meltdown until Deku literally knocks some sense into him, at which point he immediately gets his head back on straight because the two of them are capable of getting through to each other in a way that nobody else can.

not All Might being all “THIS FIGHT SURE IS SOME GREAT FORESHADOWING FOR THE TWO OF THEM TEAMING UP TOGETHER IN THE FUTURE AS FORETOLD BY DESTINY.”

not Kacchan becoming stronger by taking a page out of Deku’s book (save to win).

not Deku being the last person Kacchan sees before the LoV take him away, and the two of them locking eyes until the last possible second before Kacchan disappears and Deku literally falls to his knees screaming in the most dramatic breakdown of the entire series.

not the two of them being singled out in a crowd of hundreds and framed side by side desperately cheering on All Might in his darkest hour in the battle which will change the entire course of the series.

not Aizawa literally saying that class 1-A revolves around Bakugou and Deku.

not Deku and Kacchan having the most iconic battle of the entire series and being all “goddammit I can’t figure out why my entire life revolves around you and it’s driving me crazy” and being fully honest with each other for the first time in their lives, and then having All Might come over and tell them “you two need each other, and you need to learn from each other, because each of you intuitively understands part of what it means to be a great hero, and by working together you will both one day be able to rise to the top.”

not Kacchan, and only Kacchan, being inducted into Club OFA a full two hundred chapters before anybody else.

not Kacchan and Deku obsessing over showing off for each other in the Joint Training arc while All Might looks on like a proud dad.

not Kacchan’s phenomenal progress in the JT arc being traced directly back to the lessons he learned from All Might and Deku.

not Deku being triggered into activating a wholeass new fucking quirk because someone said something mean about Kacchan.

not Horikoshi answering the question of “so what’s next for Kacchan’s character development?” with “he’s going to begin the slow burn process of realizing that he needs to make amends to Deku.”

not Kacchan being focused on Deku during Tomura’s attack on Jakku, and realizing what he’s about to do, and immediately moving in step beside him without the slightest hesitation because he’s determined to stay with him and protect him.

not All Might literally saying “THEY WILL GET A CHANCE TO TALK YOU GUYS SO JUST BE PATIENT.”

not Kacchan unconsciously emulating Deku when he’s focused on saving, and mimicking everything from his exact style of strategizing down to his speech patterns, in the exact same way that Deku starts unconsciously imitating Kacchan’s own mannerisms and speech when he’s focused on winning.

not Kacchan’s milestone “Rising” chapter being explicitly centered around this transcendent moment when he reacts without thinking in order to save Deku’s life.

not Deku activating a wholeass new fucking quirk AGAIN because someone insulted Kacchan AGAIN.

not Kacchan being all “Deku’s not the only one whose quirk goes through Awakenings when he sees that his childhood rivalfriend is in danger.”

not Kacchan having an entire character arc devoted solely to the importance of him choosing a hero name, which he has yet to reveal to Deku.

last but not least, not a whole entire montage of Horikoshi interview quotes with him talking about the thematic importance of “win to save, save to win” (it’s literally what heroism means to him), and talking about Bakugou’s future, and how he’s determined to write an even better ending than the one in Heroes Rising, and how the story will have a conclusion where all of the characters come together in the end.

so yeah. just in case it isn’t clear from all of this,

Bakugou and Deku’s destinies are intertwined in a way that runs deeper than any other connection in the series

the two of them have spurred on each other’s growth throughout the entirety of the manga

their character development has revolved around each other literally from the start

their journeys mirror and complement each other in a way that enriches the narrative

they each represent one half of All Might’s legacy

and their bond is at the center of the series’s emotional resonance

and Horikoshi is not just going to all of a sudden forget all of that and ignore it entirely in the series’s final act. I literally can’t understand why anyone would think that. it’s all right there you guys. 300 chapters’ worth of history and development. this is how it is, and this is how it has always been. like it or not, these two idiots are both in this together, and their respective endgames are inextricably tied to one another. win and save, you guys.

#bnha meta #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #fifty-one images in this post lol #tumblr you have such a good thing going on right now seriously #why would you want to change that #is it because people like me keep making gigantic posts with fifty images apiece #don't answer that

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jkstompers · 4 years ago

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just to study | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

summary: your seat partner asks if you’re free after class, just to study.

genre: fluff, college!au, established friendship, flirtationship, mutual pining, they go to a ‘frat’ party together, also yugyeom! a sweetheart<3 we love him.

warnings: mature!!, mentions of alcohol + alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, strong language, SEXUAL TENSION, mentions of dick sucking??, hints of a wet dream on oc’s end, very strong urges to kiss each other but no kisses today </3, that’s pretty much it!

word count: 7.4k (i...kinda went overboard)

authors’ note: hello!! this is a pt. 2 to sleepyhead! it’s based a few weeks after so yeah <3 also the pacing is kind of weird but… i don’t really know how being drunk is so............(＞人＜) i’m sorry about that! one scene was inspired by this post haha it was just so cute to think about i had to do it. ALSO i literally haven’t taken anatomy since high school so i just used random terms from quizlet T_T pls excuse that as well! but otherwise, enjoy!!!!!!!!! (っ^_^)っ

(if u see any typos...ignore them pls T_T)

side note: imagine jk looking like this when he goes to the party lmao classic fboy look with the camo bomber and his piercings ugh <3

banner pic creds here ! <3

you made it to class on time today, woke to your alarm and even had enough time to eat breakfast before you came. in a particularly good mood, you made your way up the stairs to the row jungkook was sitting in, hoping that the seat next to him was empty (you didn’t have to hope, jungkook always saved the seat next to him for you, no matter what.)

“good morning, ___!” jungkook’s voice greets you the same as always as soon as you appear next to him. he moves his bag out of the way for you to sit down.

he looks especially cute today. his long floppy hair framing his face, his sweet smile beaming up to you. you wonder how dumb you looked drooling over him for a minute before you replied, “hi jungkook, how are you?” with the same smile on your face that you show him every time he sees you. it never changes, but it never fails to make jungkook’s heart skip a beat.

“i’m doing okay, you?” he answers while you pull out your laptop.

you didn’t have a chance to reply before your professor starts talking. informing the class about the test that’s planned at the end of the month, finals in two months, and then dropping the bomb that there’s a quiz tomorrow about the things you’ve learned in the past week. a slight panic takes over you, although you didn’t know why, you understood what he was teaching and you were retaining all of the information well. but when the professor pulls up all the information on the screen to review it all, all of the words and pictures overwhelm you.

to make things worse, jungkook is to your left, not paying attention to a word your professor is saying. instead, playing some game where he has to click his touchpad an obnoxious amount of times. your attention is split between jungkook’s erratic tapping and the notes that the professor projects onto the screen, even though his computer barely made any noise, his incessant movement was distracting you.

“jungkook, you’re taking notes and playing a game?” your voice comes out as a rushed whisper. there’s a snort that comes from him before he nods. you couldn’t be mad at him. “there’s a quiz on all of this tomorrow, you know?”

“i know,” he continues to tap and click, the motion growing incredibly annoying. you didn’t know why you couldn’t have just tried to block it out, but he was just so close to you and admittedly, you looked at his hands, a lot. the way that his fingers tapped against his keyboard and his veins that accentuate his already beautiful hands, it was free art you could look at, how could you not? at this point, you’re contemplating holding his hand to make him stop tapping.

you were in the middle of typing when he finally stops, leaning back and stretching his arms up into the air. you let out a sigh of relief, until he starts again. apparently he reached the next level on his game, tapping even faster, if that was even fucking possible.

quietly, you groan. turning your attention solely on him. you place your hand on top of his, the tapping ceasing almost immediately. “please, jungkook, you’re distracting me.”

he looks at your hand before he looks at you, his chocolate doe eyes wide to the action. he gulps, “sorry.”

you remove your hand, focusing back to the presentation. jungkook feels the heat from his cheeks travel to his hand. the feeling of your hand on his wasn’t something he was expecting to experience today, but he wants nothing more than for you to do it again. he exits the game tab and changes his focus to the lecture.

or moreso, you focusing on the lecture.

you look so cute. your cheek pressed up against your fist. he stares at the way that your forehead creases in concentration. he taps on your arm that’s resting on the table, “hey, you look like you’re stressed out.”

you turn your head slightly to look over to him. “that’s because i am,” you send him a quick smile before you go back to looking at the projection.

he furrows his eyebrows, “why? you’re smart, there’s no need to worry about what you get on this.” you were an a+ student, never anything less than that. jungkook knows that you ace every test that you take, so he doesn’t quite understand why you’re so stressed.

“because jungkook,” you groan. you expected a lot from yourself, sure b’s were okay, but a’s and a+’s were what you wanted and what you thought would make you feel satisfied. there was no way you could explain this without sounding like an overachiever. so you just sigh, “i’m just not really prepared.”

jungkook thinks of the perfect way to spend more time with you, snapping his fingers before suggesting, “we should study together after class, studies show that studying with someone else will give you an a+, guaranteed.” the confidence in his voice makes you smile, and helps you ease up a little bit.

you raise an eyebrow, a laugh creeping up from your lungs. “source for that statistic, sir?”

he taps his right temple, the gesture making you snort. “no but seriously, i’ll help you out,” he assures. his laptop turns towards you to show you all the notes he took, different words highlighted and colored differently.

you act like you think about it, staying quiet for a minute or so. but you know the answer was yes no matter what. “just to study?” you tease. jungkook raises his eyebrows in surprise, an amused smile on his face, “just kidding, we can go to mine? i owe you for the ride you gave me like two weeks ago.” you tap your fingers against your laptop nervously, your teeth taking in your bottom lip as you ask. you haven’t had a guy over to your apartment, not since you’ve moved in. there’s a certain anxiousness that comes with the suggestion.

jungkook nods, “sounds good.”

“okay, again.” you brush your hair behind your ears, preparing yourself once more for another pass of the flashcards. the two of you have been at it with these cards for the past hour or so, you were determined to get these right no matter how long it took. jungkook knew you were gonna get it down, you only had three more cards, these ones specifically stumping you.

“aponeuroses,” he looks at the card and then to you.

“connective tissue that forms a broad sheet which attach muscle to bone or muscle to other muscles,” you speak confidently. jungkook nods, moving onto the next card of the set of three.

“endomysium,” he reads the card. you hesitate on this one for a second, he plays with the corner of the card until you snap your fingers.

“that’s the connective tissue surrounding the… the— uh, oh! muscle fiber?” your brain works extra hard. jungkook rewards you with another nod, flipping to the last card.

“fascia.”

“dense connective tissue,” you begin, pausing to think of the rest of the answer. you start biting your thumb nail, knowing there’s more to it but it’s not coming to your brain quick enough.

jungkook just stares, watching your facial expressions as you search for the answer in your brain. this could be the worst crush he’s ever had, he thinks you’re cute when you’re just sitting there, thinking. he doesn’t remember ever liking someone this much, most of the time his crushes went away after a few weeks or so. but it’s almost been an entire year since he’s started crushing on you, and it still hasn’t stopped. you still manage to find a way to make his thoughts surround you.

“separates and holds individual tissues? it’s the one that extends into the tendons, right?” you perk up after a minute or so. your brain finally coming up with the answer. you blame jungkook’s presence for slowing you down. maybe you shouldn’t have accepted this offer to study together, because how could you focus when jeon jungkook is sitting right in front of you?

“you’re amazing,” he praises, setting the flashcards down onto the table. you blush at the compliment, jungkook takes notice, but he doesn’t mind, he thinks pink is pretty on you. he’s never wanted to kiss your cheeks as much as he did now, and trust, he’s thought about it many, many times. “all done?” he asks after staring at you for the longest time.

you nod, “just gonna highlight these terms to review them later so i can get it down 100%.”

jungkook watches as you diligently reread your notes and highlight them. an apple on the table taking his attention away for a second when he realizes he hasn’t eaten at all today. he takes a bite, the loud crunch noise seemingly startling the both of you. it makes you turn your head and raise an eyebrow towards him.

“sorry,” he chews, “hungry.”

your stare lingers a little longer than you wanted it to. his cheeks are full of apple, you can’t help but laugh a little. “there’s still the sticker on it,” you point out.

he turns the apple around to see the blue sticker. peeling it off, he holds it on his fingertip, an idea sprouting in his mind to see that sweet smile of yours again. so he places the sticker on your cheek, your gaze moving from your screen to him and then to the fruit sticker now stuck onto your cheek. “get it? ‘cause you’re sweet like this apple is,” he smiles.

oh my god. you blush embarrassingly, your entire face flushed pink as you hide your cheeks behind your hands. he laughs at your reaction. jungkook was feeling bold today, so he moves forward, gently taking your hands away from your face to see the cute pink tint he caused. he sits back, admiring your pretty face.

you feel yourself burning hotter and hotter the longer he stares, looking everywhere but his face, too scared to make eye contact. you look back to your computer screen, “um— there’s pasta in the fridge— if you’re hungry, i made it last night.” you offer, but he declines politely, telling you that he has to leave pretty soon because his friends are expecting him to join them today.

begrudgingly, you watch as jungkook packs his things up. he thinks about how content he felt hanging out with you today, and how he wanted to do it again, as soon as possible. a thought pops into his head before he opens the door to leave. he turns on his heel.

you weren’t expecting the sudden turn, accidentally bumping into his chest. “oof! sorry.”

“it’s alright,” he laughs, helping you steady yourself by holding your shoulders. “i just wanted to ask— uh, my friends are throwing a party tomorrow night, do you— do you wanna come?” his words come out jumbled, jungkook never fails to trip on his words whenever he’s near you.

tomorrow night...it’s a friday tomorrow, the quiz is tomorrow, why the fuck not? a stress reliever from all the studying you’ve done. “sure,” you answer after a minute or so of deliberation. you look up at him with a smile, suddenly realizing how close the two of you are.

your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips, the close proximity makes you hold your breath. “great! i can pick you up? be your DD?” he quirks his head, a smile that matches yours on his face.

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” with that, jungkook takes a step back, widening the space between you both as his right hand goes to hold the strap of his bag.

“okay, i’ll text you the details.” before he turns around, turning the knob of your front door and letting himself out. before the door closes, he sends you a wave, one which you reflect as he pulls the door closed. you move up and lock the door, your forehead resting against the cold metal slab.

you wonder if this crush will ever advance into something more. neither of you really push the agenda, most of the time just cutely flirting with each other and only talking to each other during class. maybe this party will be a chance to further the bond the two of you have. you could only wish that you could drop this nervous shield that pops up everytime you’re around him, but jungkook is just so cool. the campus heartthrob, everyone wants to be him or be with him.

for the rest of the day, jungkook seems to occupy your mind, as he always does. when you get to sleep, the fantasies of jungkook’s lips on yours drift you into a deep sleep, one that eventually leads to a dream that has you rubbing your thighs together. his hands were all over your body, his cologne that you were so familiar with tormenting your nose, it all felt too real. so when you woke up to the sound of your alarm, sweat beaded at your hairline. you took deep breaths, cementing the fact that he isn’t here, and he certainly isn’t doing those things with you right now.

it was not helping that you dreamt of him sexually on the day of your quiz, the one that you were immensely stressing over. now, you’re gonna have to walk into class, act normal around jungkook even though your brain produced pornographic images of him, (it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time you’ve had to face him right after it happened) and ace this quiz.

you tried almost everything you could to have cleared your brain of your dream sequence. taking a shower, eating breakfast, studying once more, etc. but when you’re walking into the lecture hall, flashes of the dream and the sound of his imagined moan echo in your mind.

you walk up the stairs with your eyes down, not sure if you could make eye contact with jungkook without turning red. “hey, ___, good morning!” the familiar voice greets you.

“morning,” you reply, dryly. taking the seat next to him and silently taking your laptop out, waiting for the professor to start the quiz. jungkook seemed a bit taken aback by your cold answer, but he took into account that you’re probably just super nervous and stressed out because of the quiz, so he doesn’t take it too personally. instead, just sitting back in his chair and waiting patiently to take the quiz as well.

at this point, you were psyching yourself out, swearing that you already forgot all of the terms. if you were quizzed on the parts of male anatomy, specifically jungkook’s, then maybe you could ace it, but the terms that you were working oh so hard to memorize yesterday slip from your mind. when the professor tells you to separate and start the quiz, you start to bite your thumb nail again.

jungkook takes a look over at you, noticing the bad habit of yours. he gently takes a hold of your arm, pulling your thumb away from your teeth. the action causing you to make eye contact with him and his big doe eyes that hold so much love and light. you find yourself a bit speechless then, too many thoughts running around in your mind.

he whispers, “you’ll do great, okay?” the statement soothing your nerves. his voice somehow makes your body relax, even though you thought you would freak out if you made any sort of contact with him.

“you— you too, good luck,” you mutter. a half smile on your face. you were grateful that jungkook broke you out of your trance, his words of encouragement suddenly placing you in the testing state of mind. the images from last night's dream seem to put themselves away for now.

the next twenty minutes are complete silence. everyone focused on the questions before them. of course, you zoomed through the quiz, prepared for the trick questions and the harder ones that come up. jungkook finishes after you. it wasn’t a surprise, jungkook didn’t even have to try, you swear you’ve never seen him stress out before. nobody was perfect, you believed that, but jeon jungkook was the closest to it.

“okay, class! the quiz will be graded by tonight hopefully, you’re free to leave,” your professor alerts the class. jungkook waits patiently until you’re standing, following you down the stairs and out the door.

you decide to speak first, since you greeted him with such a dry response this morning. it wasn’t his fault that you dreamed of him on top of you, so why were you punishing him for it? “how’d you think you did?” you asked, turning to look at him.

he shrugs, “good i guess, i think i fucked up on one or two questions.”

“was it the striation part? i think i messed up on that one too.”

he shakes his head, “you know you aced that, don’t lie.”

you stay silent, the two of you walking to the campus parking lot. neither of you engage in conversation as you usually do. the images of last night’s dream slipping into your consciousness once again. you try to shake your head, to rid yourself of the thoughts. nothing else to distract you from them because jungkook was oddly silent the entire walk. you fear that he can actually read your mind and see all of your thoughts. if he could, he doesn’t mention it. not saying one word to you until he walks you to your car, greeting you with a ‘see you next class!’ before leaving to go to his car. not even mentioning the party to you, you start to wonder if he regrets inviting you. up until you heard your phone ring when you parked in the lot of your apartment complex.

[10:24 am] jungkook: hey! forgot to remind u about the party 😫

[10:24 am] jungkook: ur still down to come, right?

[10:28 am] you: hi! yeah :)

[10:28 am] you: is there a dress code or smth? haha

[10:29 am] jungkook: not that i know of 😂

[10:30 am] jungkook: u can wear anything u want

[10:30 am] jungkook: ur cute whatever u wear

[10:31 am] you: oh stop it jeon ur making me blush

[10:32 am] you: but tell me :( should i wear something casual? pants? a dress?

[10:34 am] jungkook: 😂

[10:34 am] jungkook: it’s kind of like a frat party…

[10:35 am] jungkook: so anything is okay

[10:37 am] you: ah okay

[10:37 am] you: i’ll surprise u then ;)

[10:40 am] jungkook: alright :)

[10:41 am] jungkook: i’ll come by around 9 to pick u up? sound good?

[10:42 am] you: yeah! gives me enough time to nap and get ready lol

[10:44 am] jungkook: great :) see u then cutie

you wake up from your nap around one, you had more than enough time for you to get ready for a party. so you decide to clean your apartment first, little chores to waste time before you get yourself dolled up. when you finished, it was around seven thirty. you washed your face, brushed your teeth, all that good stuff before sliding on a simple black bodycon that you got last summer. styling your hair and spraying on your favorite perfume before looking at yourself in the mirror. this wasn’t too much, right? lots of people wear stuff like this to frat parties, so you didn’t find it too fancy. the notification sound from your phone goes off, you move to check and see if it was who you were expecting.

[8:54 pm] jungkook: i’m here :)

[8:54 pm] you: ahh gimme a sec i need to pee haha

[8:55 pm] jungkook: take ur time cutie

[8:56 pm] jungkook: i’m right in front

jungkook only really had to wait about five minutes. the visual of you walking out of your apartment doors, looking the way you did, was breathtaking. his jaw drops, mouth slightly agape as he watches you walk up to his car through the passenger window. you are so gorgeous. it’s probably the first time jungkook’s seen you in clothes that really compliment your figure, most of the time you show up to class in hoodies and sweaters. so greedily, he takes in the way the dress hugs your curves deliciously. he shakes the thoughts from his head to get out of the car and open the door for you.

“what a gentleman,” you tease, getting into the car.

he joins you soon after, “you look...gorgeous.” jungkook doesn’t seem so shy now, his eyes taking in your beautiful self.

“thank you,” you blush under his stare. “is it too much?”

“no! no— not at all, all eyes will be on you tonight.” he smiles, turning the car on. now you were able to gawk over him. a simple outfit, all black with a black and white camo bomber. his side profile is perfect, his long hair draping over his face so gracefully and his piercings somehow sparkling in the dark of the car.

he doesn’t drive too far, somewhere in the suburbs where the big houses are. a huge iron gate in the front, seemingly too fancy for a frat party setting. jungkook rolls his window down to greet someone waiting in front of the gate with a couple of other guys.

“jeon! you’re late dude,” one of the guys gives him a handshake through the window.

“sorry man, i’m here now though,” jungkook laughs. the guy giving him the greenlight and opening the gate for him, jungkook parks inside on their stone driveway, decorated with a fountain and a beautiful garden.

“your friend lives here?” you inquire, impressed by the look of the place.

he nods, “fancy right? his parents are ceo’s.” makes sense, and it would also make sense as to why they were throwing a frat party here, rich sons always seem to stir up trouble whenever they’re bored.

he steps out of the car to open the door for you, always a gentleman. he takes your hand and helps you out, the two of you walking to the huge open double doors. as soon as you walk in, the smell of alcohol hits your nose, you try your best not to cringe. the blare of the speakers is the second thing you notice, along with the shouting of jungkook’s friends greeting him. “who’s this?” one of them asks, referring to you.

jungkook seems to hesitate at first, not really knowing how to introduce you. he settles by saying, “this is ___!” not attaching any ‘friend’, ‘classmate’, or anything to the introduction. his friend holds his hand out to shake yours.

you take it with a smile on your face, “i’m yugyeom, it’s nice to meet you!” a smile that reflects yours is on his face, it made you feel welcome. you were never really the type to go to parties, your time is spent working and/or going to school, but this interaction helps you ease up a little more.

“hello, yugyeom!” you reply, shouting over the music.

“do you wanna take a shot?” he asks. pointing to the enormous kitchen where they’re housing all the alcohol, you look to jungkook first who’s paying more attention to his phone rather than the conversation you were just having.

you shrug, “why not?”

yugyeom leads the two of you to the kitchen, jungkook following behind you blindly. he looks up from his phone, done with whatever business he was dealing with to ask, “where are we going?”

“taking a shot,” you answer, pointing to yugyeom who’s already pouring three shots.

“dude, i’m not drinking, don’t pour three.” jungkook tries to stop him before he fills up the third shot glass but his arm knocks yugyeom’s in the process, the bottle spilling the clear liquid into the third shot glass.

“i’ll take two,” you suggest, feeling a bit wild and down to venture out of your comfort zone.

yugyeom smiles at this, “i like her, jeon.” he hands you the two shot glasses full of vodka, jungkook stands next to you and watches as you down the first shot. your face cringing as soon as the alcohol touches your tongue.

“you didn’t even give her a chaser,” jungkook notices, scolding yugyeom who's already downed his shot and is sucking on a lime. “here, suck,” holding a slice of lime up to your lips. his choice of words disorienting you, especially since he was holding the lime up to your mouth instead of just handing it to you. your eyes flicker between the lime and his face, but nevertheless, you suck. sinking your teeth into the sour fruit. jungkook’s eyes zeroed in on how your lips wrap around the slice, slightly grazing his fingers. it’s not long before you’re making a cute scrunched up face from the sourness. “good,” he praises. you don’t deny the slight burn your lower belly felt when he said that to you. you swear he was making sex eyes to you, but you couldn’t tell. he broke eye contact with you soon after, throwing the fruit into the trash below the table that the alcohol was perched on.

yugyeom hands you another lime for your second shot, this time no jungkook to hold the fruit for you. the second shot burning down your throat with the lime chasing after, both yugyeom and jungkook cheer, congratulating you for being a trooper (even though two shots were their warmups).

the next hour or so, jungkook brings you around. he introduces you to his friends and making conversation with them. one certain group, you didn’t really enjoy. a group of five girls, clearly swarming jungkook as soon as he turned around from talking to another one of his friends. the girls ask how he’s been doing, all of the basic conversation starters. when jungkook tries to introduce you, they all turn to you and give you a little head nod before turning their attention back to jungkook. he stands there, conversing with them longer than he had with any of his other friends, and you found yourself getting, hm, jealous.

so you search around the room crowded room, looking for some way out. your eyes spot yugyeom in the backyard through the huge sliding doors, sitting on one of those lawn chairs with the one next to him empty. you decide to leave the group you were currently getting pushed out of and join yugyeom. he notices you when you step onto the grass, trying your best not to sink into the dirt with your heels. “you doing alright? where’s jungkookie?” he asks, sitting up.

you plop down onto the lawn chair next to him. “he’s in there,” you point to the house, “with five girls.”

the last bit of the sentence makes him laugh, a cackle where he holds his stomach because he was laughing so hard. “do you want a shot?” he offers after he recovers from his fit, pulling a tequila bottle out from nowhere.

but you agree, “two, please.” he fills the two shot glasses, but not completely like he did with the vodka earlier. there were no limes, or any type of chaser for you to take around, so you take the two shots like ripping off a band-aid, quick.

“you’re a funny girl,” yugyeom compliments when you’ve downed the shots.

“thanks?” you cough, the feeling of the alcohol still burning your nose and throat, “what did i say that was funny?”

“i think it’s because i’m tipsy, but that joke you made about jungkook being with five girls was hilarious.” he slaps his knee, almost making himself laugh up a storm again, but you weren’t laughing.

you raised an eyebrow, speaking with a serious tone. “it wasn’t a joke, he’s in there with five girls.”

yugyeom tries to collect himself, sitting properly on the lawn chair when he asks you to clarify, “you mean he’s fucking them? or he’s talking to them?”

you’re silent for a second before replying, why did you say it like he was in there fucking them? maybe it’s because he might as well be, so engrossed in whatever the hell they were saying to even notice that you were gone. “just talking to them,” you reply.

“that’s what i thought, jungkook isn’t like that anymore,” yugyeom nods his head, pouring another shot out for you.

“anymore?” you ask. he hands you the shot, you hesitate this time, starting to feel the effects of the first four shots you took. he doesn’t push you to take it. he just leans back onto the lawn chair as he sighs.

“you could say he’s retired,” he shrugs.

the term makes you laugh, “...a retired fuckboy?” you sit back into the lawn chair as well, looking up to the night sky. the shot glass forgotten on the table next to you. your body feels like it’s floating.

“yeah, he hasn’t really been doing stuff like that recently,” yugyeom spills. you stay quiet after he feeds you this information. yugyeom offhandedly telling you that you shouldn’t be jealous makes you feel guilty. why were you even jealous? jungkook was technically still just a friend to you. just because the two of you flirt every now and then doesn’t mean you’re together. of course he would be surrounded by girls, just look at him!

“there you are! i was looking all over for you,” jungkook interrupts your inner monologue. his voice comes from across the lawn, you look up to see him walking over to you and yugyeom.

“hi, jungkookie,” you smile up at him. the alcohol having more of an effect on you the longer you let it sit in your stomach.

he almost freezes up at the nickname, looking over to yugyeom and asking, “did you tell her to call me that?”

yugyeom holds his hands up in innocence, “i didn’t tell her to do anything, she’s like five or six shots deep though.”

you take the shot that was forgotten on the table and down it. “six,” you clarify.

“alright, slow down, iron liver,” jungkook jokes. yugyeom stands from the lawn chair, receiving jungkook’s telepathic signals to get the fuck up to he could talk and hang out with you.

“play beer pong with me later, ___! i’m gonna go look for eunwoo,” yugyeom points to you, giving you a thumbs up before leaving the backyard and moving into the house.

“feeling okay? think you might throw up soon?” jungkook asks, replacing yugyeom in the chair next to you.

“feel like i’m surfing, you know? like wavy,” you answer. the feeling was hard to explain, you weren’t dizzy but at the same time your brain was telling you to stop moving, even though you were completely still.

“ah, you’re getting there,” jungkook snorts. you didn’t have much willpower to answer, so the two of you sit there in a comfortable silence before a group of people coming towards, all greeting jungkook and you. they offer you a red cup, despite your current predicament. leaning against the chair and your droopy eyes, telling them that you’ve taken too many shots. a lightweight at her peak.

jungkook tries to deny it for you, but with a smile, you accept the cup. it was filled with the fancy mixed alcohol juice they had. “thank you,” you place the cup onto the table, “i’ll drink it.... later..” your words begin to draw themselves out. jungkook somehow finding a way to make the entire group leave, making it just the two of you again.

“give it to me, you’re starting to slur your words.” his hand is open, laying on the table and waiting for you to surrender the cup.

your eyes flicker from the red cup, to his face, then to his hand. a smirk on your face when you hold the cup up to your lips, tilting it back and drinking the cursed juice. you weren’t able to down it all, it was too much, you drank maybe ⅔ of it. you cough, taking in a deep breath as you try to steady yourself.

you weren’t sure if it was because you were drunk, but the way that his face looks in the moonlight was so pretty. so you just had to tell him. leaning forward, you speak, almost a whisper, “you’re so handsome.” you drag your finger across the expanse of jungkook’s hand. “did you know i have no gag reflex?” you smile, not your typical sweet smile that he’s used to, but a devilish grin.

jungkook’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing immediately at your remark. “alright, you drank way too much.” he takes the red cup from your hands, dumping it out onto the grass in front of you both.

“hey, i wasn’t done,” you pout, but jungkook didn’t give you much time to mourn your spilled drink before he was holding your arm, lifting you from the lawn chair you were sitting on. “where are we going?” you ask, trailing behind him with your hand in his.

“gonna get you some water and something to eat,” he answers. the two of you move through the house, jungkook pushes through groups of people and makes sure you’re safe behind him.

“i have to pee.” you tip toe to tell him your emergency in his ear. he stops at the stairs, knowing a bathroom where no one else goes. his friend specifically telling him to use that bathroom when they have parties because the other ones get way too gross.

he brings you up the stairs to the guest bedroom, opening the door to reveal one of the biggest rooms you’ve seen. “the bathroom is there,” jungkook points to the door on the left. you nod, your wobbly legs making their way to the toilet.

jungkook sits on the bed patiently, waiting for you to finish. he hears the flush and the sound of the sink running, the door opens and you’re coming out of the bathroom, pulling your dress down. “are we gonna have sex?” you utter, slurring the end of your sentence. your alcohol poisoned mind taking over your ability to speak.

his eyes widen at the question. “no! no— oh my god, this is just the room with the cleanest bathroom, we’re not—“

you’re next to him now, “you don’t want to?” you pout. glassy eyes looking into his.

“no! i mean, yes, i want to but— fuck, just— just not now, yeah?” jungkook stumbles over his words, his face blushing a blood red. your pretty face peering up at him makes him even more flustered, his hands start to sweat.

“okay,” you nodded. your drunken brain deciding to stop the interrogation of jungkook’s desire for you. to which jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, taking your hand and bringing you out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the driveway. he brings you to his car, opening the passenger door for you. “wait, are we leaving already? yugyeomie wants me to play beer pong with him,” you complain, wiggling your hand from his grasp.

goosebumps appear on your arm when you make it outside of the house. jungkook notices when he turns around to look at you. without a second thought, he takes his jacket off and places it over your shoulders. the newfound warmth shielding you from the cold night. he didn’t mind the breeze, especially since he was still recovering from the stunt you pulled in the guest room.

“we can come back later if you want, let’s just go grab something to eat first so you won’t regret this tomorrow morning.” his explanation is pretty solid according to your drunken brain, so you oblige, moving to sit in his passenger seat.

he joins you in the driver’s seat not long after. “can we get mcdonald’s?” you ask as soon as he sits down.

a smile appears on his face as he starts the car, “sure.”

the drive made you feel a little dizzy, it makes you laugh. “you okay?” jungkook asks, but you nod your head. he’s so sweet, always asking if you’re okay, making sure you weren’t feeling too awful, etc. it only makes sense that you were falling head over heels for him.

“totally fine,” you look over to him with a smile on your face. he’s so fucking pretty, his side profile is something you could rave about for days. as he’s pulling into the mcdonald’s drive through, he’s talking into the intercom, ordering the two of you something to eat when you’re suddenly mumbling, “mcflurry, kookie, oreo mcflurry.”

he looks back to you, an amused smile on his face, “oreo mcflurry?” he repeats. you nod, “okay, anything for you.”

he reiterates the request into the intercom and the server gives him the greenlight. he drives forward and waits until the next car moves up, in the time being, he looks to you. your head laying up against the door and your eyes slowly blinking, warning him that you might fall asleep. so he reaches into his backseat, his arm looking for the water bottles that he usually keeps in his car.

“hey,” he taps your arm gently, “drink some of this first.” he hands you the water bottle, you blink slowly, trying to figure out what he was handing you. once you realize it was a water bottle, you take it, opening it and gulping some of the water down. jungkook is grabbing the food when you’re screwing the cap back on. he parks somewhere in the parking lot and tells you to start eating.

you grab your mcflurry first, the feeling of the cold ice cream on your tongue soothing your dizzy brain. “yum,” you think out loud.

jungkook laughs, taking out his hamburger while he takes out your chicken nuggets. “make sure to eat some of this, yeah? don’t want you throwing up and hating me.”

the thought makes you smile. jungkook was taking such great care of you. sure, he let you down the alcohol like it was nothing, but you never opposed to it, always taking the shot because you wanted to. now jungkook is here, taking care of you, because he wanted to. you knew that if it were anybody else, they probably would have left you at the party, letting you fend for yourself. the sudden warmth in your chest makes you want to tell jungkook everything.

with his jacket wrapped around you instead of him, you can see the bulge of his arm muscles peek out from the short sleeved shirt he was wearing. even drunk, your brain seems to travel back to the images from your dream. “you know, i had a dream about you, a reeaaaallllllyyyyy dirty dream, jeon jungkook.” you blurt out the confession before your thoughts catch up with you, the alcohol still very much blocking off the common sense part of your brain.

he tries his best not to overreact, but you had a dream about him? a dirty dream at that? it awakens something in jungkook, but he pushes it down, ignoring the feeling as he asks, “you did? what was it about?” he curious as to what you meant and what your dream entailed, but he didn’t want to push too far. especially since you were drunk and most likely just spilling everything because your brain doesn’t have the willpower to hold it back.

you stick your hand into the bag to steal some fries, stuffing them in your mouth. “oh, you don’t wanna know,” you chew.

jungkook quirks a brow, “well, was i good at least?” he jokes.

you scrunch your nose, nodding nevertheless. “too good, couldn’t even focus during the quiz because of it.”

jungkook is silent for a second. the conversation making him hot even though he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore. so he clears his throat, trying to change the subject in a subtle manner. “is that why you were so mean to me this morning?” he pouts, connecting the dots.

you laugh at the question, “sorry, i didn’t mean to, i swear.”

with that, the rest of the time is spent eating. jungkook makes sure that you ate enough and drank enough water, the empty water bottle in his cupholder as proof. “do you want me to take you home now?” he asks, the two of you finished eating and now a silence takes over the car.

“are you going back?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers. he thinks you’ve started to sober up, or maybe have gotten to the point where you just want to sleep.

he shakes his head to your question, “honestly, i’m kind of tired, but if you want to go back, we can go.”

“no, i’m okay,” you decline the offer. jungkook laughs, starting the car again and driving back to your apartment complex.

you take this time to try to get yourself together. you know you’ll regret confessing to jungkook that you had a wet dream about him in the morning. but in the moment, it felt right to confess, (to your drunken brain of course). you tilt your head back, pushing your head against the headrest, and suddenly, you’re reminded of the stars jungkook has on his ceiling. you were silent as you admired the lights, jungkook takes a look at you when he’s stopped at a red light.

so cute, he thinks, staring up at his ceiling like it’s the real night sky. when he pulls up to your apartment complex, he wishes the night could be longer, that he could spend more time with you. he parks the car in the front, exactly where he picked you up. you’re looking to him now, your hands in your lap and your heart seemingly beating three times as fast as it usually does. it wasn’t the alcohol.

“did you have fun tonight?” he asks. his voice never fails to make you melt.

you nod, “i did.”

“i’m glad,” he smiles. there’s a small silence before he speaks once more, “also, y’know, you don’t have to stress yourself out so much, i know you might have expectations for yourself and stuff, but you should give yourself a break from time to time.”

the alcohol’s effects fading slowly from your brain when you start to realize that the entire reason jungkook invited you out was to help you destress. it makes you fall even harder, he was so thoughtful. even though a party wasn’t your scene, he invited you to give you a glimpse into how he has fun and hoped that it would help you loosen up a bit. you were grateful for the mental break he provided you.

you didn’t reply, purely because you were thinking about how much you want to kiss him right now, but it wouldn’t be right. when he speaks up again, there’s a nervous lilt in his voice, scared that he’s overstepped. “if you need anyone to help you— i don’t know, let loose? you can— you can always call me.” he scratches the back of his neck.

but you try your best to reassure him, smiling at the offer. “i will, thank you for tonight, jungkook, i really enjoyed it, despite being a lightweight.”

he laughs, staring at the way your face cutely scrunches when you giggle. he too, is fighting the urge to kiss you, because right now isn’t a good time. he wants to do it right. he doesn’t want to fuck it up with you. so instead, he hops out of the car and moves to open the door for you. helping you out of the car and walking you to your door, your hand in his.

“i’ll see you in class?” you turn to face him, squeezing his hand.

he nods, “yeah.” his signature bunny smile coming out to greet you a goodnight. “text me before you sleep?” he requests. you give him a thumbs up before he’s letting go of your hand and you’re sticking the key into your door, it’s then that you realize that you’re still wearing his jacket.

“oh!” you exclaim, taking the jacket off and handing it to him. but he holds his hand out to stop you.

“keep it, you can give it to me the next time we hang out, or something,” he suggests. you try to hide the growing smile behind a nod.

you hold onto his jacket, “goodnight, jungkook.”

he sticks his hands in his pockets, sending you another grin, “goodnight, ___.”

jungkook drives home, his empty apartment welcoming him. he plops down onto his bed, not even bothering to change out of the clothes he was in because he was that tired. the events of today running through his mind.

he hopes you don’t think he was doing anything with those five girls. he saw you walk away when you did, he tried his best to escape the conversation, but they kept pulling him back. he gave up after ten tries of trying to get away, standing there for a good fifteen minutes listening to them babble about how much they missed him. jungkook had never rolled his eyes so many times in a conversation.

the talk the two of you had after was another thing taking over his mind. your dirty flirting and your dream you mentioned in the car had his imagination running all over the place. he didn’t want to push you when you explained, but he was very curious as to what he did in your dream, and how good it was for you to have it run through your mind all day.

his phone rings next to him. he turns and opens it, a smile on his face when he reads your message.

[12:32 am] you: hi jungkookieeeeeeeee

[12:33 am] you: im sleeping noww

[12:33 am] jungkook: alright cutie

[12:33 am] jungkook: goodnight! again 😂

[12:34 am] you: goodnight <3

he turns his phone off after that. looking up to his ceiling with a dumb smile on his face. his mind thinking of you and only you.

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whythinktoomuch · 4 years ago

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i. apocalypse now & then

Kara touched down, her boots meeting the earth with a metallic clunk that was promptly swallowed up in the dust and utter grayness of her surroundings. The warnings came immediately—insistent beeps, bright red numbers and figures flashing before her eyes.

“How’s it looking?” asked the tinny voice in her helmet, and Kara sighed.

“Yeah, you were right. Place is infested,” she said, studying the mess of debris and desolation that seemed to feed directly into the faint horizon in every direction. “Kryptonite readings are off the charts. There’s either a tower nearby, or mines just planted all over. Maybe even both, if i’m Iucky.”

Alex let out a harsh breath. “Look, I know you’re not going to leave until you find those people, but you better watch your fucking back out there, okay?”

“Hm… don’t I always though?”

“You ask that every single time, and every single goddamn time, I have to re-mind you of all—”

“All right, all right…” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “Just stop worrying so loudly already, jeez. I’ll keep you posted the entire time.”

“Like that was ever an option.”

“Love you too,” Kara said breezily, and she began her search.

She explored the area in proportioned sections, slipping periodically into x-ray vision, keeping her feet drifting an inch off the ground at all times. You just never knew these days. By now, Kara had stepped on enough lead-wrapped kryptonite mines for one lifetime, which coincidentally had been the same number of times it took to gray almost the entirety of Alex’s head. Or so Alex claimed anyway.

Apparently, over two decades of this sort of living could do that to a person: make them older, but also, steal away every last bit of their sense of humor.

Whenever Kara happened upon a particularly extensive blind spot—jagged slabs of lead piled on top of each other—she took her time. Carefully sifted her way through all that rubble, with a spare bit of rebar or her heat vision from a safe distance. Calling out to any potential survivors that could have been trapped underneath. But as she steadily neared hour two of her search, it was starting to look like a lost cause. That whoever had sent that distress signal must have since succumbed to the environment, like so many others already had done before them.

Then Kara heard it.

Whipping her head around, Kara strained her ears to their very limit, all the while silently cursing how muffled everything sounded in this godforsaken suit of hers. It took a minute or so to hone in on it, but she finally made out the distant voice.

Help us. Save us. We’re down here.

Kara snapped into action, already hurtling full-speed toward the source of the cry. “Alex, I found them.”

“About fuckin’ time,” Alex said, but the note of relief carried through the speakers loud and clear. It always did, of course, given the scarcity of such a feeling as of late. “All right, get them out of there, and hurry your ass up. You’ve already been out there for too long.”

The voice grew louder and more distinct as Kara approached it, and eventually, she could even distinguish other people in the mix—their whispers, the muted beats of their heart seemingly punctuating every word, and all the shallow breaths of air in between. She counted at least five separate individuals, five more lives that she could potentially save from this impossible landscape.

But by the time Kara reached the point where the voice was sounding from below rather than from the distance, her excitement had all but waned, receded back into the ever present anxiety hanging in the air.

“… Fuck,” she huffed out, staring at the large swathe of broken rock and dirt and twisted metal beneath her, the letter K spray-painted all over the surface in a faded green. “Alex. They’re in a mine-rigged shelter.”

“Forget it then. Just get out of there,” Alex said, all rather predictably. “We can send an extraction team with defusers in the morning.”

“But that’ll take too long,” Kara protested. “It would take days, just for a task force to cover all that distance, and these people need help now.”

“No. I want you to put down a marker and come right the fuck back home,” Alex said. “That’s your last kryptonite filtration suit! If anything happens, if you sustain even the slightest bit of damage out there, you could—”

Kara cut the feed and swiftly locked her comms from all available channels, employing one of the few tips Winn had passed onto her before he died. Because Alex didn’t understand. How could she, when she wasn’t the one who had to listen to these desperate cries for help from people just barely out of reach.

She floated outside the presumed blast radius, planted her feet firmly to the ground, and went to work. Uncovering the buried shelter bit by bit, one sizable mass of charred rubble dug up after the other. It wasn’t easy. The kryptonite in the area, though not exposed, was much too close for comfort even through her suit. And it made the sun hotter, everything heavier, and Kara’s progress as slow as it could possibly be.

But all that—the sweat gathering on her brow, the soreness burning up her lower back—was a very small price to pay when weighed against the lives of at least five people in need. So, Kara kept going. She kept burrowing deeper into the earth with her bare hands, until the sun was but a small twinkle above her head and her fingertips were brushing against a patch of warmed metal.

And she could hear them better now. They were so close.

Kara pressed her palm against what had to be the outer wall of their shelter. “Hey, can you hear me in there?”

“Please help us!” came the frantic response, only somewhat muffled now. “Please get us out! We can’t breathe in here!”

“Okay! Okay… I’m gonna get you out, okay?” Kara shouted back, heart thumping hard in her ears. “Just… hang on.”

A quick once-over was all it took to determine that the wall before her—like most other surfaces nowadays—was naught but a few inches of commercial steel, coated in a thin layer of lead. And as such, all it would to take, of course, to break into such a structure was—THUNK!—a single punch from the Girl of Steel herself.

Kara ripped a hole in the wall, using her heat vision to melt down the edges as she tugged the entire thing apart. Eventually satisfied with her efforts, she was just about to crawl through her rather crude but functional doorway when the speakers in her helmet abruptly flipped back on.

“—him back to life, and just… throttle him for showing you that trick!” Alex was practically hollering in her ear. “Why would you ever need to do that anyway? The whole frickin’ point of the—”

“Whoa, Alex, Alex, it’s fine! I’m fine! Just shh!” Kara hastily cut her off. “I’ve pretty much got my foot in the door already, okay? So, I’m helping these people whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah, you fucking better,” Alex said with a scoff. “I want to look these people in the eye while you explain to me what was so goddamn special about them that you had to…”

And Kara barked out a laugh, shaking her head in wonder as Alex continued to chew her out in a way that only sisters could, apparently. “Hey, you can do whatever you want, okay? Just let me bring them home first.”

“Fine. Just don’t kill the comms this time.”

“Oh, I would never.”

“Kara, I fucking swear to—”

But the rest of all that swearing quickly faded into the backdrop, as Kara finally poked her head into what should have been just another underground refuge from everything their world now had to offer. Because ten feet below from where she had burrowed her way in, was not a handful of dehydrated people waiting to be rescued—only masses upon masses of thick coils and plates of smooth black metal shifting about.

That’s when Kara realized that it’d been quite some time since she’d heard a cry for help. And soon after that was when a muted click! sounded, then somewhere down there in the midst of all that darkness and mechanical movement, came another loop of voices calling out to her.

“Oh shit…” Kara whispered, and at least ten sets of glassy eyes flicked up to stare at her. The pre-recorded voices immediately cut out, and the entire room lit up in a vibrant green as the machines all powered up with a collective hum. “Shit, shit, shit, you were right!”

“Right about what?” Alex demanded, but Kara was too busy heeding her long overdue advice of getting the fuck out there to respond.

Kara burst from the ground in a flurry of dust and clattering scrap metal, already heading for the horizon at full-speed. She needed to put as much distance as possible between her and the decoy shelter. It was nothing short of an honest-to-Rao miracle that her sudden escape hadn’t tripped any of the mines on-site, but now, it was only a matter of time.

Still hurtling away, Kara threw a glance over her shoulder just in time to see the first three drones break through the surface, already mindlessly chasing after her. Then the third and the fourth crashed right on through after them, which abruptly led to a series of rapid beeping, which abruptly led to a violent disturbance in the air that stole away all the sound from the world and knocked Kara right out of the sky.

(next part here)

#sometimes it takes me 2 years to write one sentence #other times i bang out 3k words in one sitting #so here's the first half. the second half will be pt. ii... and will there be a third part? who's to say #my words.

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emperor-palpaminty · 4 years ago

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can we have some badass tech

Why yes, yes you may, that is my fav tech

I also got carried away so tech has a lightsaber (badass) and he's also an a+ bf (also badass)

You stood in the middle of the dark woods, saber bright against the depths of the endless evening. You exhaled, reaching out with the force. You felt no one- no other living, breathing being.

Your heart dropped, remembering what you had told your men. You must stay, I must go alone. The battle is mine.

You had recalled the moments alone, before fleeing the Havoc. You had been cleaning your saber, folding your robe softly, and a soft voice sounded from behind you.

“General,” Tech had said, voice constricted. “You have a low chance of surviving. This target-”

“-Is none of your concern, Tech.” You finished the sentence for him, as calmly as you could. Your voice, it was... cold. There is no attachment, you reminded yourself, only the Force.

Your Jedi vows crumbled when he gloved hand had lightly pressed into yours. “General,” His tone dropped lower. “We cannot let you do it alone. I- I cannot.” His jaw tightened in resolve. By the universe and its stars, his heart was beating, rapidly, revealing every confession it had been eager to hide. Yet, only fear brought it out.

Smiling sadly, you had turned to him. “I’m aware of that, Tech.” You hesitated. “I’ll call you if I need anything.” You pressed your robe into his hand that had briefly been in yours. You hesitated, then pressed the cylinder of your shorter saber into his fingers, the metal cool through his glove.

“My weapon is my life.” You said, your fingers brushing on his. “I’ll return for that.” You started out but, like a puppy, he began to follow, open mouthed, hand still offering the weapon. You turned, eyed stinging for a moment. “Good soldiers follow orders, Tech."

The clone's brows creased, filling in hurt, but he nodded. "Yes, General." He said softly. Tech looked down at the lightsaber, squeezing it softly, glancing up to respond, say something, beg her to reconsider going solo.

But you had already been gone, and you were alone on the treacherous plains of Korriban. The planet had marinated in the dark side since the Sith Wars, and you could still feel remnants of evil and pain. You moved on the rocky terrain, hood pulled up to offer some solace from the wind.

Sith acolytes were the bane of the Jedi's exsistance. They would run out, strike at a jedi, and run away. The Dark Side, you recalled from your early lessons, were a doorway to fear and pain. And passions and attachments lead to that.

Your heavy heart tried to release your men, your attachment and unique love for each of them. Tech's hurt had wounded you especially. You could have told him, embraced him, told him you would survive on love and come back to the ship for him.

But instead, you sat down, and crossed your legs, and waited.

___

A disturbance in the force tugged you out of your meditation. You stood, reaching for both your sabers, but then recalled you had given your short one to Tech.

My weapon is my life.

The irony was not lost on you. Your life, in the hands of a man you wouldn't see again, and yet you were pacified, knowing that, perhaps. He would understand your cryptic Jedi way of saying you had a deep attachment to him.

You placed your hand on your saber and held it out to your side, tugging the hood of your shirt off your head and standing.

Ahead of you, the wind picked up, and sand from rocks kicked up in an angry storm. In it, you knew, was the acolyte, and you stood your ground. If this was your death you would die as a Jedi. There was no passion, only peace.

The acolyte emerged from the dust, saber already ignited. "Jedi," He snarled through the wind. The twi'lek's skin had pallored yellow, the color of illness. "You have come to grant me the rank of Sith Apprentice."

"And I have come to see if the Light can call to you." You exhaled, smoothing your thumb over the hilt of your blade.

The twi'lek's irridescent eyes narrowed, sharp teeth bared. "Then you shall die."

You flicked on your blade, widening your stance, ready for death as it charged you head-on.

___

Tech ran.

He had scouted from the cliffs of Korriban, scouting for the General, Hunter leading him. Hunter had frozen, head turning. "The Force," he had said softly. "It's here."

Tech was thankful yet again for Hunter's tracking abilities. His higher senses could hear the hum of the force, perhaps hear the clash of sabers. "Thank you, Sargent. The temple cannot be far."

Hunter nodded, hesitating. "You sure you're good on your own?"

"I am." Tech nodded, tugging his visor down, the click of latches filled in determination. "You take the others and destroy the old sith temple. I can't leave her on her own."

Hunter smiled softly, gently tapping Tech's bicep armor with his hand. "Go get a sith."

He intended to.

Tech yanked out his blaster, just one of the pistols, and aimed carefully. He didn't want to shoot unless the general needed help- you could handle yourself, but just in case, he had to be here, waiting, to make sure you were safe.

___

You retreated from the acolyte, calling on the force to give you a second wind. The acolyte was starting to wear down, but he was channeling his hanger into every swing. It was hard to remember how to fight with one saber, especially since you were so used to having dual sabers.

You felt a disturbance.

Fear. It thickened the air, swam in it, sabotaged your senses. The acolyte only radiated anger, which could only mean-

You whipped around. The trooper, Tech, stationed at a distance, but his gun steady.

Tech.

Your gaze flicked back to the acolyte, whose gaze had followed yours. The twi'lek smirked, golden eyes pallor in ideas, ideas you didn't like. "You fear for him. It smells delicious."

You ran after the acolyte, who was making a sprint for Tech. "Run! Tech!" You yelled, powering your energy into your legs. Your muscles screamed for mercy, knees buckling under the effort after the long time fighting, but you pushed on. The sticky scent of fear embalmed you, to your very core.

Tech stood, blaster still steady, and braced for impact.

You only saw the acolyte jump, a predator, and land on Tech. One hand reached up and grasped his, keeping the saber away.

The Force failed to reach you. You had called as much as you could into your body for second, third, fifth winds of energy. You crumpled, body aflame. "Tech," you wheeze, throwing out an arm to try and weild the force.

When you glanced back up, Tech was still pushing, but with the one hand. His arm was shaking with effort, and his face under his helmet was contortions.

I have failed him.

Your body shook, coursing against your every begging and demanding thiught to move, do something, anything. Your leg cramped and you groaned, eyes staying on the two men wrestling.

A beam ignited and peirced through the acolyte's back. He froze, body rising, and freezing, then a hiss escaped him and the acolyte crumbled.

Tech disarmed the short saber and dropped it, body relaxing, splaying against the rough surface of the planet.

You jumped to your feet and staggered over, his name forming on your lips, praying. "Tech, are you okay?" You dropped down again, knees shattering under the impact, and you tugged at his helmet.

Tech reached up and removed the helmet, face beaded with sweat, breathing finally slowing. "I'm glad you're alright, general."

You reached down and picked up the short saber resting by him. "Why?" Your voice was hoarse.

Tech cracked a half smile, his gloved hand reaching up to slowly cover yours. "My weapon is my life." He murmured gently, scooting up to sit. "And I wanted to ensure-"

You moved forward, fingers on the saber interlocking with his, and your other hand supporting his head as you pressed your lips to his. Tech, being Tech, mumbled a few more words before fully realizing the kiss was real and he squeezed your fingers, his other hand supporting him leaning off the ground.

In that moment, the storm quelled. There was peace. But your heart burned and your body ached for him, the forbidden touch of his hands. Passiom coincided, danced with and flirted with, the ever present quiescence in your spirit.

He sighed tenderly, breaking the embrace to inhale. He released the lightsaber, head rolling back to fully look at you. "Your weapon saved me today."

"I think you mean you saved me today." You chuckled, hand smoothing over his plasyoid pectoral plate. "You came for me."

Tech shook his head, smiling softly, short curls soft as you ran your fingers in his hair gently. "I'll always come for you. And I suppose I'm not a good soldier."

You laughed and moved to stand, tucking your short saber onto your belt. "Because you kissed your general?"

He smiled sheepishly, reaching up to accept your offered hand of help. "And I didn't follow orders. Which are indirectly to not kiss you as well, so... double whammy, as Wrecker would say."

You laughed, shaking your head softly, looking down as he slid both his gloved hands into yours. The cool body glove slid over your calluses, memorized your wrinkles and scrapes, each one holding a reflex of wielding your lightsaber. "My weapon is not my life, General. When the war is gone and done, I will not have my blasters." He paused, eyes admiring your fingers, dwelling together in joy.

You tugged his hand up, softly kissing where the gloved knuckle met armor. "And I will put up my jedi code. My weapon is not my life, Tech, you are."

He grinned, eyes skimming your grimy and exhausted face in wonder, joy, bewilderment- emotions he did not often display. "I was going to say the same abiut you, General. You are my life, and when the war is done, you will be my all."

#bad batch reader insert #tech x reader #clone force 99 tech #clone force 99 reader insert #bad batch tech #bad batch tech x reader #bad batch tech x you #tech bad batch x you #tech bad batch x reader #star wars reader insert #clone wars reader insert #tech #tech x you #minty writes

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calif0rnia-lovers · 4 years ago

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10 ‘i love you’s’

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The best things come when you don't even try

pairing: joaquin torres x black!reader | words: 1.7k | rating: 💙

requested: no, based on this prompt: Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”

sum: they say our hearts know we’re in love before our minds. 10 times joaquin showed he loved you before he realized he was falling.

Joaquin is a hopeless romantic, and he’s not afraid to admit it.

The moment he laid eyes on you, Joaquin knew he was in trouble. He blames it on you—primarily your eyes.

Joaquin is a sucker for eyes. He believes you can determine a lot about a person through their eyes.

When he’s back home, Joaquin visits the same cafe each morning. Trying to figure out how to work a Keurig is the last thing he wants to do in the morning. He had caught your eyes across the congested coffee shop. He still remembers the soft, kind eyes which met his. The smile which followed set the hook.

He may be a hopeless romantic, but Joaquin recognizes the challenge of maintaining a relationship. It takes a special person to join the military. It also takes a special person to love and support someone in the military—especially an officer on active duty. Distance and stress can wear relationships down. It can breed resentment between partners.

If he stops to think, Joaquin fell in love with you the moment your lips first met his. It came unexpectedly. He was too busy overthinking how to make his move. He was set to TDY for three weeks and wasn't sure if "taking the next step" was best. Luckily for him, you'd taken the reins. Leaning across the console of his truck, you placed a soft kiss against his cheek. The tiny smile on his lips morphing into a grin as you left a second kiss against his lips. No one had ever left him breathless with such a simple action. Before you'd gotten out of the truck his mind was already searching for the next moment he could kiss you again.

But Joaquin has had his heart broken before. He made a promise to himself this time around: don’t rush into things—take it slow.

Joaquin might not have whispered the words I love you, yet but he shows it every day.

1. Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

Knowing your partner's love language can help strengthen and save your relationship. You have come to discover Joaquin's love language is a mixture of quality time and physical touch.

Joaquin understands his commitment to the Air Force. Even when doesn't want to leave you behind, he doesn't have a choice. So, he tries to spend as much time with you as possible when he's home.

Joaquin did not notice it at first, but his body strives to catch up on the contact it's missed the moment he's returned.

If you're nearby, Joaquin is touching you.

If he's driving, his right hand is resting on your thigh. You're seated on the sofa watching tv—Joaquin's fingers are drawing patterns into your skin. He's stayed over for the night, he's not sleeping on his side of the bed. He's half-asleep and shuffling past you in the kitchen before work—his hands gently squeeze your hips as he ducks down to kiss your shoulder.

When you're walking, his arm can always be found draped over your shoulder—your body resting against his. His fingers are interlaced with yours, his lips pressing a kiss against your temple.

2. Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

Your fourth date was the county fair. It was a night full of sugar, laughter, and stolen kisses. He might be highly competitive, but Joaquin is too distracted with stealing glances in your direction to win at half the booths.

He lets you drag him into the photobooth--because strangely he's never used one before. You're seated in Joaquin's lap, fingers brushing through his hair, his arm around your waist.

"We're doing two sets," you smile, his eyes focused on yours. "So, break out that cute smile of yours."

Joaquin keeps one of the photo strips in his left cargo pocket. You keep the other photo strip on the refrigerator door in your apartment.

3. Singing and dancing to their favorite song.

Early Sunday morning. Breakfast made and eaten, coffee consumed. You're still wearing your pajamas, Joaquin is in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. You're supposed to be cleaning your apartment because Sundays are for cleaning.

Little progress has been made.

Like so many moments in your relationship, you're a breathless, giggling mess. Your boyfriend is supposed to be sweeping, but he's abandoned the task.

Joaquin is singing. His off-key rendition of the song playing is enough to make you smile. But it's the confidence in both his smile and voice which makes you grin. He may be off-key, but Joaquin knows all the words.

He catches your waist as you pass, forcing you to abandon the idea of cleaning. By the end of the song, you're singing along as he guides you through the apartment.

4. Sharing a soft smile across a crowded room.

You're seated beneath the stars, thankful for the light breeze hitting your heated skin. Music and laughter surround you. You've lost track of the number of songs you've danced to.

Your eyes are on the crowded dance floor, your heels on the floor beneath your chair. The wedding reception started hours ago but is still in full swing.

Joaquin had never been to a wedding until tonight. Joaquin found himself meeting all of your childhood friends and completing his first couple's trip in one swing. From the moment he saw you, standing alongside the bride at the altar, Joaquin can't keep his eyes off you.

Or the idea of marriage out of his mind.

Neither can you.

You both know it's the whimsical spell of a wedding. But that doesn't stop Joaquin's eyes from finding yours as he patiently waits for his refill, the smile on your lips bringing one to his.

5. Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

Joaquin leaves his truck with you. It gives you a reason to be the last person he sees before he takes off. The first person he sees when he lands.

Leaving you behind is always the harder of the two.

No matter how long he's away, the departure is always the same. His face tucked against your skin, his arms around you. His smile is always reassuring because he doesn't want you to worry. But his grip tells you he hates the departures as much as you. It's too tight, but you don't object.

"I'll be back before you know it," he smiles, lips pressing against your forehead.

Returning is always the same, no matter how long he's away. Whether it is three days, three weeks, or a month, Joaquin lifts you off your feet. His arms tight around you as you take his face in your hands. The kisses you press against his cheeks and nose breaking a grin across his face.

6. Telling them a dumb joke just to hear them laugh.

What's your favorite thing about him?

It's a standard question that comes once people learn you have a boyfriend. The list of favorites concerning Joaquin Torres is too long to count.

His smile is at the top of the list. Joaquin's smile comes in several variations. Some are reserved specifically for you. Your favorite smile is the one that comes far too often in your relationship.

Joaquin loves to hear you laugh. Joaquin is also a goofball who has the largest arsenal of cheesy jokes.

In all honesty, Joaquin knew you were perfect for him when you first laughed at his jokes.

It always starts the same.

His dark brown eyes are playful as they lift to meet yours. The boyish smile you've come to love slowly stretching into a mischievous grin.

"You look so familiar…" His brow furrows as he returns to your table, two lattes in his hands. "Didn't we take a class together in high school?"

Your eyes roll, the smile already forming on your lips as you reach for your latte. "It is too early for this--"

"I could've sworn we had chemistry."

The smile on his face, as your giggle fills the air, makes it worth it.

7. Participating in a hobby because it interests them

Joaquin has no trouble working out--it's a requirement for the job. He prefers cardio. Running is his favorite.

He tried to get you to join him on his morning runs...that lasted all of about two days. His stamina is too good for you to match.

He still runs, but Joaquin has now taken on yoga.

The first session left him wiped. You couldn't stop smiling as you stole glances in his direction. He thought he had balance, but his body teetering to the side proved him otherwise. His eyes watching your every move, trying his best to match your posture to the tee.

"You did so good!" You giggle, lips pressing against his cheek as he wraps his arms around you.

"I'm tired," he groans dramatically. His body goes limp, his weight causing you to stumble. "You might need to carry me home."

8. Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

Joaquin is well-traveled. He's gone more places than you can count. If it were up to him, he would travel non-stop. He loves learning about other cultures.

Each time he returns home, Joaquin brings you a token.

Whether it's a keychain, a necklace, or a book--he has the biggest grin on his face as he produces the wrapped box. "I got you something."

9. Giving them a kiss before work while they're still in bed.

The first morning he woke up alongside you, Joaquin truly debated being late to work.

Showered and dressed, he'd stopped to press a kiss against your forehead. A soft smile finds his lips as your body stirs, your lips blindly seeking his out.

"I gotta go," he sighs, the warmth of your fingers drifting into his hair pulling back towards the mattress.

"Or, you could just stay here," you propose. "Just for five more minutes."

The soft kiss you leave against his lips deepens, suddenly making your voice the one of reason.

10. Running out in the middle of the night to get a snack they're craving.

You're parked far away from the city lights.

Blankets and pillows in the bed of his pickup truck.

Your fingers tight around the strands of his dark hair. Your pulse uncontrollable as his hips slowly thrust into yours. His lips are soft, teasing kisses pressing against your neck. The ice cream you begged Joaquin to take you to get is gone. There are goosebumps on your skin. They are either from the chill on his lips or the warmth of his wandering hands.

Joaquin stories: @1940sbuckybarnes

all stories: @wabi-sabi1090 @jad3djay @crowngold @cant-decide-at-this-moment @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @leahnicole1219 @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @myakai13 @linziland13 @sadeyesgf @brattyfics @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @rosieposie0624 @appropriate-writers-name @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @beiroviski @chaneajoyyy @frostingguru @seize-the-droid @cutiebubbleboo @siempremamita @awkwardtayler @relaxing-najee @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @toni9 @cynderbelle @peoniarose @sincerelykas @making-starsdance @thesandbeneathmytoes @amberritonicole

#but let me know what you think?#he is so precious #i want to write for him all the time #tried something a little different #joaquin torres x you #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres x reader #tfatws imagine #Joaquin Torres x black!reader #tfatws x reader #joaquín torres x reader #marvel x black!reader

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years ago

Text

baby socks | hawks

Hawks x Reader

summary: Hawks isn't ready to be a dad. He doesn't think he'll ever be—but now, he might need to rethink some things.

word count: 3.4k

a/n: short and montage-y. follows the idea that Hawks realistically isn’t looking to be a family man, but might be converted... for reasons

inspired by an idea from @gabb-yeet ty friend <3

⤰⤰⤰

After two long, stressful weeks, your concerns were no longer contestable. Two weeks during which you waited, and hoped, while your mind did manic rebounds between joy and fear.

A third week came and went without your period, and you knew then that there was no denying the truth growing inside of you.

A pregnancy test from the local drug store gave you final confirmation. The other two you took while riding a wave of denial reverberated the inescapable.

You were pregnant. You were pregnant with Hawks’s baby.

And you had no idea what to do.

⤰

His visits were rare, but thoroughly cherished.

You loved to be in his arms, to feel the supple caress of his feathers around you; tickling a warm, blissful exhilaration up your spine.

He loved your hands on him, and always esteemed their softness as you touched his temple or cupped his cheek, as though your gentle embrace extracted the day’s stress right from his skin.

Hawks could make you laugh as easily as anything. Your smiles came easy and organic—there was nothing more in the world he loved than to see your smile.

But now here you were, eyes hot with imminent tears as you showed him the pregnancy test, as he took a step away from you. He simply looked at you with bewilderment, then averted his gaze, somewhat shamefaced by his own shock.

“Wow,” he muttered, eyes and tone lacking any of the passion for this confession that you might have hoped for. “I… thought you were, ya know…” He gestured stiffly to his mouth, denoting your birth control, you guessed. “And we were careful–”

Hawks stopped then, noticing how swiftly the emotion drained from your face. He took a breath to dispel his confusions, and pushed his goggles up into his hairline so he could rub feeling into the bridge of his nose.

“Okay,” he started, like he was trying to wrangle his thoughts back in line. You saw his gloved hands fidget about, eager for orientation. “Um… Well, I wasn’t really… ready for this.”

“Well, neither was I,” you returned, hoping to convey to him that you were the equal of his wariness in this dilemma; you had no ambition to bestow obligations on him.

The proceeding silence took a substantial toll on your already crumbling poise. His gaze took an idling perusal of the ground, at the space between you two, unwilling to meet your eyes.

Then, as if a saving grace to his discomfort, the pager at his belt sounded off.

Your heart stung at the interruption. He sometimes had to make your time together short on account of duty, but surely he could spare a minute more to discuss this—something of this magnitude.

“I have to go,” he murmured, after reading the message on his pager. He was still reluctant to meet your eyes, but found a heartbreaking sadness in them when he did. He swallowed hard. “I’m… sorry.”

“Hawks,” you started, searching feverishly for the words that might keep him there with you. “I’m—We need to…”

“I know.” There was a flash of somber determination in his eyes, something that aspired to reassurance, but failed. “I’ll be back.”

His arm moved, almost as if to reach out and touch you. But he seemed to think better of doing so, and instead he moved to your window, and flew from it as he had a hundred times before.

Except this time, you watched him go not with an enthusiasm to see him again, but a despairing anxiety.

⤰

His return was a no less cumbersome affair.

Hawks sat on your couch, looked around the room with thorny cautiousness, as if he were in an unfamiliar environment, as if he no longer found peace in your presence like he once had.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, still partial to keeping his gaze lowered.

You’d sat down next to him on the couch, with a condemning distance between the two of you that made your chest tight with despair. You looked down at your feet, at the soft carpet beneath your toes, and curled them restlessly into the fluff.

“What do you mean?” you answered, even as you feared clarification.

“I mean… have you decided?”

Your head came up to look at him, a mounting trepidation quickening your pulse.

“Decided?” you repeated.

Realizing your apprehension, he perked up, and a flash of apology softened his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His hands hovered to assuage you, and that tender, sweet look in his eyes that you’d so missed made itself known. “Listen, I just mean… you said you weren’t ready for this either, so I just thought you’d be thinking... I don’t know.”

“Do you…”

You trailed off. Was he really after a verdict? Was he asking not how you two might endure parenthood together, but rather, whether you two needed to at all?

Your mouth felt dry; you wet your lips anxiously. “I mean, are you asking me if I want to…?”

“It’s your choice,” he amended quickly, but uncertainty still cast its shadow over his face, gambling with his otherwise assuring words. “Whatever you decide I’ll… I’ll do what I need to do.”

There was no enthusiasm behind his promise, only a reluctant acceptance. You’d hoped for so much more.

⤰

Hawks couldn’t join you at your prenatal appointments.

He tried, once, when not a minute after showing up on the same block as the hospital, he was spotted and swarmed by fans. Thinking better of making a move that might lead you to suffer some unwanted media attention, he pulled back.

Later, after you’d trudged through the appointment alone, he called you to apologize.

You told him it was fine, and that you understood his need for discretion during all of this. After all, any whiff of information that the press claimed from this situation might prove detrimental to Hawks’s career. He was young, and a top hero; even if the two of you weren’t married, you knew part of his appeal was his bachelor status. Even if you’d both decided on this together, you were still worlds apart.

And from then on, there was an unspoken agreement that you would have to traverse most of your pregnancy alone.

⤰

When Hawks wasn’t thinking about hero work, he was thinking about you.

He was thinking about you, and his relationship with you—how it had been so ideal and complete. It was an escape from the labors of his day that often times felt more injurious than anything. Seeing you remedied that. Your presence was alleviating; your affections curative.

But now when he thought of the relationship, the happiness was sabotaged by a cloud of uncertainty—uncertainty for the unknown. From the very onset of his hero career, he’d planned to strictly dedicate himself to the betterment of society, no matter his personal sacrifices.

But how faithfully could he keep to that philosophy when it would no longer be his sacrifice alone, but also yours?

Hawks had thousands of admirers. Among them were beauties that would have undoubtedly been the apple of any other man’s eye: stunners who flashed him pretty smiles behind pretty lashes, flattering him with their worship and exaltation—but they were tributes he couldn’t afford. He couldn’t devote himself to one person when the rest of the country demanded preservation.

But you were the exception.

You two had met under such fleeting circumstances that he could have never guessed the journey on which the short encounter would take him. But then you two kept running into each other, over and over, until he’d found the opportunity to indulge the humor of it.

Is this just a coincidence? he’d joked with you. Or maybe you’re plotting something? Understandably, I’m a little suspicious.

You’d laughed so sweetly in response: a laugh that made his face warm and his wings twitch.

He had little control over what happened next. The warmth had sprouted. It had all gone so well. Doubts and fears about indulging a relationship with you slowly dwindled to a dormant worry. You were always so understanding and accommodating; you never harped on his business, and never guilted him for prioritizing hero work when it was necessary.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

But now, he had no idea what to think.

His feelings hadn’t changed for you, not at all. But this was an impossible situation, with an impossible answer. He was going to be a father. That was an unavoidable truth now, one he had yet to completely wrap his head around.

He wished it were easy. He wished he could bask in the anticipation of fatherhood, that he could be there to encourage your enthusiasms and grant you his part in this endeavor. You deserved that. You deserved support and happiness throughout this. But he didn’t know if he could deliver.

On patrol, Hawks saw mothers carrying their young infants in the street—something he’d given little thought or contemplation before. Now his soaring wings would come to a slow as he tried to imagine that it was you down there holding a baby in your arms, his baby; a baby with his hair and eyes—or maybe yours, or maybe a mix of both…

He’d shake his head and turn away from the spectacle, knowing his thoughts would spiral, and that they would serve only to distract him.

⤰

Hawks stopped visiting as often as he had been. It was a palpable evasion, and it cut you worse as the days went by.

He kept up with your texts, mostly. But the longer they went unanswered, the worse your anxieties grew. Whereas before an unanswered message would scarcely disturb you—he had a demanding job, after all—your reservations had all but crashed now. It left you in a state of unending worry; gut-wrenching conclusions toppling over one another until you’d exhausted yourself with grief.

You would spend hours curled up on the couch, waiting for his response, eager to be quelled of your dread. Didn’t he realize the longer he kept away from you, the worse you were for it?… The more guilt you felt for deciding you wanted to keep this baby?

Your hand would curl over your stomach, and you would wonder how something meant to bring so much joy had so far served only to bring you sorrow.

⤰

During a break in his late-night patrol, Hawks called you.

Bleary-eyed, you woke to the phone’s tuneful ringing, and reached for it clumsily on the nightstand.

“Hello?” you croaked once you’d answered the call.

As if he’d been idle, and not expecting you to answer, he cleared his throat. “Uh, hey.”

You waited, brain too fogged by sleep to think of your own mediation to the silence. It was then he realized that he would need to take the lead, lest he make this late-night disturbance in vain.

“Hey,” he started again, with hesitation. “I just… wanted to talk.”

“It’s late, Hawks,” you murmured, blinking away haze as you peered at your alarm clock. It was nearly past three.

“I know. Sorry. Listen, I…” The mere notion of elaborating on the toilsome thoughts in his head made his chest tight. The onslaught of guilt and confusion struck instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the self-condemnation constricting his throat. “I just…” Now his confidence digressed, his sentiments running faster than what words could articulate.

“I just didn’t know what to do,” he admitted finally, certain but woeful in his repentance. “I… guess I still don’t.”

You sat up in bed, let the blood flow evenly through your body to aid your thinking. “I’m confused too, Hawks, but I…” The thought of the turmoil you’d suffered all alone these last few weeks brought pitiful tears to your eyes, and a stutter to your breath. “I need your help.”

Touched by the sorrow in your tone, he raised his head to the night sky and breathed in his grief, then breathed it out.

“I know,” he said. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

For the next half-hour, you stayed on the phone with him, talking through mutual worry and braving the shame of confessing the anguish you felt because of his behavior.

He promised that he would take care of you. Both of you, he said.

And you went to bed that night with a little smile on your face, hoping the soothing optimism you felt would last.

⤰

Baby socks.

It was baby socks that did it.

With his wings withered down from a particularly exhausting battle, thereby shedding the token of his celebrity, Hawks indulged himself by doing something he rarely did: take a trip to the supermarket.

Still, it wasn’t something he did often. Even disguised in casual attire, sick mask and a hat complimenting the facade, there still remained a risk that he may be noticed. But the risk seemed worth it that day; the distraction that the mundane offered from his knotty thoughts was what he needed.

Still, wherever he went, so too did his anxieties, following him and reminding him of their need for resolve. In fact, maybe it was an unconscious decision that he ended up right here: staring down the baby supplies aisle, hesitation in his every step, almost as if the ground was hot coal. Unconscious, because part of him knew very well that despite the promises he’d made you, he still needed to come to his own terms with his convictions.

So it was part-obligation, and part-unbidden curiosity that pulled him down the aisle, his golden eyes giving a nervous perusal of the products on display.

He saw the rows of diapers, and tried to imagine using them: cleaning up an infant’s mess, suffering the smell. Hawks winced with a wrinkled nose.

He’d rather endure one of those interviews, for that one magazine, of who the interviewers always asked about his political preferences, almost like they wanted him to say something controversial. He hated those more than anything, so to say it was preferable to changing diapers wasn’t a very good outlook on his imminent child-rearing.

He was on a path to conjuring up more unpleasant visions of fatherhood, when he came to the clothes section.

It was a parade of bright pastels and fuzzy cotton; animal-print designs and cheesy phrases glaring at him from every shelf. It was banal to the point of nausea.

But then, the baby socks.

He couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw them: ornamented with fluff and lace, so small and delicate that it was almost impossible to believe a human foot belonged in there. But it did; a baby’s petite, soft foot—his baby’s foot, would fit snuggly.

Hawks envisioned it, then envisioned it some more, the array of merchandise fueling his imagination.

Then there were the pacifiers. The beanies. The onesies—

He had a stupid smile on his face as he loaded his cart with whatever caught his eye.

⤰

Your water broke while Hawks was on patrol.

He’d given you the number to his personal hero pager, with a promise that he’d leave work to his sidekicks if he was able and rush to you immediately.

Unfortunately, the odds were stacked against him; an aspiring group of villains, all of whom used wide-range quirks that made their capture difficult, took the better half of an hour to subdue.

By the time Hawks had done his work and left clean-up to the authorities, you were already in labor. And by the time he’d checked his pager for your emergency message—something he’d been doing almost hourly, now that your due date was close—and rushed to the hospital, all your work was done.

When he finally arrived, he was met by his newborn’s red cheeks and sweet cries.

“A boy,” you breathed out with a tired smile, sagging into the hospital bed.

Sweat streamed from your temple; dotted your brows and nose. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in the sight of the little human in your arms, he would have moved in to worry over your fatigue. But there he remained transfixed, golden eyes going to pinpricks as he gave the baby a hard inspection; his shock morphed into excitement, and from excitement: joy.

⤰

There was no paternity leave for heroes like Hawks. Crime in the streets demanded his attention almost as much as his crying baby.

But it was a rare night that he could be home with you, taking his parenting duties in stride, and finding them far less strenuous than he would have ever imagined.

In fact, he was starting to enjoy them. But the most treasured time was after all work was done, when you, him, and his son lay on the bed together, his little body between you two. It was restful, and strangely, to Hawks, the most at peace he’d ever been.

Whatever chores he’d done in his time with you fell far from the work you did every day taking care of the baby, and the moment you hit the sheets, an easing fatigue started to take you. Hawks might have indulged rest, if he wasn’t so engrossed in the spectacle his infant son was making.

Hawks watched him with adoring fascination, his honed eyes taking in every little wiggle, every soft twitch, every gentle stretch.

“Look, look,” Hawks entreated, reaching over to nudge you from a much needed sleep. “He’s kicking his little legs.”

You groaned quietly, kept your eyes shut. “He’s been kicking my insides for months now,” you responded groggily, but with the smallest of smiles. “Nothing new.”

Removed from all nuances that didn’t involve his son, Hawks was unfazed by your comment, and his enthusiasm continued undeterred. He lay there, the baby between the two of you, and watched his son test his little muscles for the first time.

The smile never left Hawks’s face.

⤰⤰⤰

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x you

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iridiscent-aesthetics · 3 years ago

Note

Head Cannon of Az being jealous when he sees Gwyn and Eris talking?

Hey! Thanks for asking! This is my first time writing a headcannon so I'm aware its not very perfect but I hope y'all like it!

It hurt to watch them like that. No, It didn't hurt to see Mor lean into Emerie and whisper something into her ear making the female blush furiously. It didn't hurt to see Nesta and Cassian nestled in each other's arms so irrevocably in love with each other. He didn't feel envious when Rhys watched Feyre and Nyx with starlight dancing in his gaze. He hadn't found jealousy anywhere in the corner of his thoughts when he saw Elain smile shyly at Lucien and look at him as if he was her only sun while he was comically explaining something throwing his hands in the air. No. Azriel didn't feel that gut wrenching pain of realization that he was utterly alone. He didn't feel envious of any of his friends' happiness. No. He felt happy for them. Truly.

It was them. It troubled him hugely to see that male talk to her. To see fucking Eris Vanserra absolutely smitten talking to Gwyneth. It hurt him that Gwyn seemed equally interested in associating with the likes of Eris. It made him envious to the depths of his soul to hear Gwyn's melodious laughter along the hall and know that he wasn't the one that caused her cackle. He was watching the Autumn court heir and the Vaylkrie across the room; engrossed in conversation, either oblivious to the rest of the world around them. Azriel clutched his wine glass firmly, his knuckles white and shadows aggressively swarming around him. "Stop sulking and go take action thundercloud." He turned to his side to see Amren twirling her wine pretending it was blood. "I understand that I might not be the best person for relationship advice. But it is glaringly obvious that you're considering the million ways to kill Eris." She said with a slight smirk and knowing glow in her eyes. Indeed he was deliberating all the ways he could make Eris suffer. "And as much as I would enjoy that, the night court finds an ally in him and hence I'll have to prevent you from doing so. Instead, how about you man up and go do something about that." She said pointing a sharp finger at the two redheads. "What, how do I.." Az began with an almost whine. "Don't ask me how boy. You're half a millennia old. If I had my way I'd already have kissed the priestess." Az gave her a look of complete disbelief before shaking it off in realization that the tiny female might hold true to her word. He gathered all the courage he had and walked across the room to Gwyn thinking of how to get her attention to him. Would he tell Eris to simply fuck off, that he was troubling his Gwyn? But Gwyn didn't seem troubled. Would he ask Gwyn to have a word about her training and carry her as far away as possible from everyone else? The question of training at this ceremony seemed uncalled for, but anything to get Eris away from Gwyn. As he approached them he finally saw Gwyn completely up close. She was radiant. There were no words to describe her beauty. There she was the light of his life, in a turquoise dress that brought out the color of her beautiful eyes with sleeves that fell from her shoulders, dress bunched at her waist and then flowing down in a gradient of dark blue to her ankles like a fountain. Her wild chestnut hair left loose today and dancing with the wind. She seemed to have try and tamed them with a bunch of star shaped clips on one side that reminded him of her freckles and the constellations they made. How many times had he had to refrain himself so hard from holding her beautiful face in his hands and kissing all of those freckles, counting them and tracing the constellations he could form. Her bright teal eyes stood out even more today outlined by kohl while her lips were painted a plush peach. Mother how he wanted to kiss those divine lips. Az stopped dead in his tracks. He shouldn't be thinking of Gwyn in such a way. After all that she had been through, she didn't need Az thinking of her like this, with desire. She deserved better than this. Better than him. He was about to turn back when he caught eye of Eris looking at Gwyn with such fondness. Az couldn't stop himself then, He walked straight up to them. About to punch Eris straight in the nose when Gwyn looked at him with a glimmer in her teal eyes with the brightest of smiles. "Shadowsinger! Hello!" "Spymaster. What brings you here to us?" Eris bit at him as if annoyed to be disturbed. Azriel cut him a short glare and focused back to his priestess. What would he say now, why had he come here to them. "Gwyneth," he gave her his softest smiles "A dance?" His words tumbled out surprised of his own boldness. Gwyn seemed to consider him a heartbeat, enough for him to fear his rejection, before she answered, "It would be my honor, of course. Excuse me Eris, I'll get back to you." She threw him a promising smile to which the male mocked a bow "I'll be holding up to you on that." He said

with a wink and kissed her hand before turning away. Az tensed. He was going to kill Eris, for so much as looking at Gwyn and then he had dared to talk to her, wink at her and Kiss her hand! He was going to rip that sorry excuse of a male to shreds. Ally or what may go to hell. "Shadowsinger?" Came that familiar voice, Az couldn't stop glaring at the eldest Vanserra as he made his way though the crowd. White hot anger seeping his veins and calling at him for violence. "Azriel?" Gwyn placed a steady hand on his stiffened chest. Was it the way he finally heard his name on her lips in her melodious voice, or was it how her touch to his chest unlocking something deep within, he felt a simmering gold ribbon making way out as he turned to look at Gwyn. The ribbon reached from him to her. Was this it? Was this the mating bond? No, it couldn't be. He was delusional. He had been so obsessed with a mating bond that he was now imaging things. Gwyn couldn't be his mate. She was so much more than him. Strong and courageous, beautiful and determined, she was glowing happiness and light. In no way did he deserve her, his scarred hands and tainted soul, the overwhelming darkness in him. His intimidating shadows and him, a hopeless monster. She saved all those children at Sangravah, at the expense of her own. And him? He couldn't even save her, couldn't be there for her on time. No Gwyn was so better than him, there was no way the Cauldron would bless him with a mate and more at that, such a wondrous mate, no matter how much he desired it to be true. It was not, this was the final stage of mania hallucinations. And as if on cue, the ribbon bridging them reduced to a faint presence. "Is there something wrong?" Came her soothing voice again, breaking him away from his darkest thoughts threatening to spiral down to his worst of nightmares. It took all his five hundred years of being a Spymaster to forge his expression neutral before looking into the depths of her oceanic eyes with his darkened gaze. Gwyn's eyebrows furrowed with concern and confusion. For him. Mother above, she was adorable. One look at her and he was smiling, "Nothing at all, Shall we?" He gave her his arm and beckoned to the dance floor. Gwyn yet seemed unconvinced but didn't complain as she walked by him to the midst of the floor. As a slow song played, Az snaked his arm around her waist and held her hand in another as she placed one on his shoulder, slowly swaying to the tune, smiling contently. "That was the first time you called me by name." Her eyes widened a fraction "I- I didn't, I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable." Now it was his turn for his eyes to widen "What-Gwyneth, No. I liked it." A blush creeped up his neck. "It felt nice, hearing my name from you." She took a second to consider and then one corner of her lips curled up as she answered "Well then I'll make sure to call you Azriel more often Azriel." To that he laughed, laughed from deep within in his heart. Marvelling at how his name sounded rolling off her tongue. And at that moment, with Gwyn in his arms, looking up at him with her wide, beautiful eyes and bright smile, such adoration. His shadows swirling around them; in their darkness making Gwyn glow brighter than ever, that faint ribbon twirling around them pulling them closer to each other. As something sparked in his chest once more, Az decided; he wanted this. He wanted this feeling for the rest of his life. Nothing more, nothing less. And he would do anything to make Gwyn smile. He would be the darkness to her light.

I tried! Always open for suggestions and feedback. Feel free to send me Head Canons and other prompts!

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Let’s Get Away

Summary: It’s due time for Natasha to take a break.

Genre: Fluff

Request: Yes / No

Word Count: 3,899

“ty mne ne doveryayesh’?” - “do you trust me?”

* * * * * *

The other side of the bed is cold when you wake up, void of the body that had been keeping you warm at night.

Sleepy eyes scan the room and even though you know she’s gone again, you still feel disappointed to find her combat suit missing from the closet.

Knowing that your worry for her isn’t going to allow you to go back to sleep, you toss the covers away from your body and trudge out of bed. After brushing your teeth, you grab the first aid kit and head to the common room.

Two and a half cups of tea and a partially burnt bagel later, you hear the tell tale sound of Natasha coming home.

Not only does FRIDAY announce her arrival, Natasha herself lets out a pain induced groan.

Having known your fiancé for more than ten years, you can even hear the difference in her footsteps, the way her feet shuffle across the floor instead of her usually confident strut. She’s exhausted, bruised and beaten, but not in the least bit ready to admit to needing a break.

It’s dead silent between the two of you.

Natasha was really hoping you’d still be asleep, most nights she’d been able to slip back into bed without you noticing, until you saw the fresh scars and bruises in the morning.

Tonight is different though, and she can tell. In the way you quietly rise from the couch and walk over to her, the way you sigh when taking her hand in yours and seeing her newly bruised knuckles, the way you aren’t able to look her in the eyes even after you’ve pulled her to sit down and start to tend to her wounds.

Every touch is soft, some could say overly delicate. You touch her as if one wrong brush of the alcohol soaked cotton will hurt her or break her completely. You know it won’t, she’s the Black Widow for Christ sake, she’s had far worse injuries than these and her pain tolerance is high, that doesn’t stop you from being gentle with her.

Even though the atmosphere is tense, Natasha can’t help but to remember that this is exactly how you were with her when you’d begun to develop feelings for her.

Being a medic at S.H.I.E.L.D since before she was recruited meant you weren’t new to dealing with the injuries of the agents that came through. When she was brought to you the first time, with a gunshot wound to her thigh, you were the perfect picture of calm, cool, and collected. While you weren’t aggressive or rough with her, there was a noticeable difference in her first visit and how you would later treat her.

Despite her incredible skill, Natasha ended up taking a lot of trips to the med bay, all of which lead to you two getting closer. Which in turn lead to the development of your feelings for each other. Each one, she felt you becoming softer with her, she started to see the worry in your eyes when she would come in. There was something about the way you treated her as if she wasn’t invincible that drew her to you, she was always the badass Black Widow to majority of the people she knew, it was a breath of fresh air to have someone treat her like she’s just Natasha.

Natasha sighs heavily,“ I’m sorry.” She mumbles, but you hear it in the quiet of the compound.

For a moment she thinks you’re pissed at her, what with the lack of a quick reply. In reality you’re just focusing on pulling the tiny shard of glass out of her knuckle, cleaning, and wrapping it.

Once you’re done, you set everything you’d used to the side, opting out of painkillers since it won’t do much to her enhanced dna anyway.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” You ask softly, finally looking up into her eyes. It surprises you to see the amount of guilt in her eyes that you do. A frown forms on your face.

“I-” she swallows, breathing heavily,“ I don’t mean to worry you so much.” That guilt in her eyes mixes with a troubled expression and it breaks your heart.

“Then why keep going out there?” You turn to face her completely, legs folding as you play with your fingers.“ If you keep it up the NYPD are gonna be out of jobs.” You try to tease, hoping a little joke will take that look off her face.

God you hate seeing anything other than a smile on her face.

Natasha shakes her head and the tears that spring into her eyes after her prolonged silence takes your breath away.“ I don’t know what I am outside of being an Avenger,” she confesses. When a tear escapes, you reach up and swipe it away, leaving your thumb there to caress her cheek.“ There’s always been a mission, a threat, a purpose.”

Listening to the way she says it, you know what she actually means to say. She had a purpose. The fact that the Avengers dismantling has left her feeling so lost wasn’t something you knew. It affected her hugely. Tony and Clint both stepping away to be with their families, Thor switching over to the Guardians, Bruce going back to do whatever he had been doing after Thanos’ snap, and Steve choosing to go back to be with Peggy only to return and pass the Captain America mantle to Sam.

If you were in Natasha’s position there’s no way you wouldn’t be affected by that. Everyone was moving on, everyone seemed to have their purpose outside of the Avengers, everyone left her behind.

You take a deep breath, tilting your head to catch her eyes,“ not knowing what to do is hard,” you see her shoulders drop at your words, as if she’s relieved to hear that you understand.“ But it doesn’t mean you don’t know who you are.”

That makes her freeze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Her head tilts to draw her gaze from the floor to your face.

“Nat, honey, you were an Avenger. And I know what that means to you. But being an Avenger was only part of who you are.” A gentle smile forms on your lips at just the thought of how extraordinary this woman is.“ You’re a loyal friend, an incredible aunt, a hero,” she chuckles softly at that,“ and you are the most amazing fiancé.”

Soft green eyes bore into yours, tears brimming her eyes again but for a different reason all together.“ I love you so much.” She says, turning to press a kiss to your palm.

Pulling your hand away, you open your arms to her and she happily obliges to your invitation for a cuddle. A grunt of pain escapes her when she twists to lay between your legs, her body freezing up for a second, before she nearly slumps into you.

Her back presses into your front, your arms circling her waist. You press a soft, lingering kiss to her temple and she laces her fingers with yours, taking in a deep calming breath.

“The last few years have been hectic, and even before all of that, it seemed like we never slowed down,” you tighten your hold on her,“ but right now, we don’t have those kinds of threats looming over our heads.”

“You’re saying I should stop.”

With a frown, you shake your head and lean over to look her in the eye,“ no, god no. I told you, a hero is part of who you are. What kind of fiancé would I be if I told you to stop doing what you were meant to do? Not a very good one right?” She answers with a nod and a chuckle.“ nor would I be a good fiancé if I let you keep going without telling you to take a break.”

As if her body picks up on that phrase alone, a long, loud, yawn leaves her lips. You can’t help but smile at how cute she looks, her nose all scrunched, eyes shut. The second the yawn ends she blinks back the tired tears and snuggles closer.

She says something but it’s muffled by another yawn and by the time that one ends, her eyes are shut, and she’s fast asleep.

* * * * * *

When Natasha wakes up in the morning, she’s in bed and she’s alone.

The emptiness of the space beside her does something to her heart and she can’t help but wonder if you got this feeling whenever you woke up and she was gone.

Some of that guilt from last night creeps back up and she groans, turning to bury her face into your pillow. While your scent usually calms her down, now it only serves in reminding her of just how dumb she feels.

You’ve always been the most understanding and loving with her, more than anyone she’s known. Just like last night proved, you’ve always known that saving people even though it put her in danger was what she was meant to do. You knew how important it was for her to clean her ledger, you even understood when she went to Russia for months to shut down the Red Room and make amends with her family.

The second she came back you didn’t have to ask if she’d done what she set out to do, you could just tell and it translated through the following days. You took even greater care of her just to ensure that she was truly okay both physically and emotionally.

After all of that, after all you’ve done for her, she’s still making you worry by throwing herself into danger she doesn’t have to be involved in. Somehow you even understand that.

This time she groans, squeezing the pillow as frustrated tears pool in her eyes.

“That does not sound like someone who’s having a good morning.” Your teasing voice hits Natasha’s ears and through her frustration she can’t help but roll her eyes. Then moving to sit up, resting her back against the headboard.“ Wh-what’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

You rush to her side, hands and eyes instantly starting to roam her body for any signs of injury worse than what you found last night.

“I-I’m fine, physically.” That just makes your frown deepen.“ I just realized I’m the worst fiancé in the world.”

Figuring this has to do with last night, you climb over her legs and sit beside her.“ As your fiancé I think I’m the one to determine whether that’s true or not.” She raises an eyebrow at you and you know to drop all the teasing.“ Okay okay. Why do you feel that you’re the worst?”

“Aren’t you tired of me?” She turns to look at you directly.“ I’ve always been in danger and you’ve understood and now I’ve been blatantly throwing myself head first into danger and yet you still understand?”

You cock your head to the side with love in your eyes.“ I’m far from tired of you Romanoff. Am I fond of the idea of you being beaten up and shot at, no. But I love you and I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself. And I’m going to worry about you because that comes with loving you. You could work with puppies, or babies, or I don’t know what a safe job is, either way, I’d still worry about you.”

A sigh falls from her lips,“ that makes me feel a little better.”

“I know how you can make it up to me.” Hopeful eyes look back at you.“ Get your cute little ass out of bed, get ready, and meet me out front.” You smack a kiss to her cheek before hopping out of bed, leaving Natasha to watch you nearly bounce away in excitement.

Curiosity is the main driving force in Natasha’s actions. She does in fact get out of bed, taking a much needed hot shower afterwards and changing into a pair black stretch pants and one of your sweatshirts.

The last thing she’s expecting when she meets you outside is to find you leaning against a very new looking silver sports car. It being a convertible allows her to see the red leather interior.

“Is that my sweater?” You ask, brows pinched together with a finger pointed at her chest.

“We’re getting married medovyy, what's yours is mine.” A sweet smile hits her lips. You weren’t going to ask her to change anyway cause you love seeing her in your clothes, but had you been considering it, that smile would’ve done you in.

Humming, you shake your head,“ that aside. Let’s go.” You reach back to grab the handle and pull the door open for your fiancé.

“Go where?” She takes a hesitant step forward.

You smirk, reaching up to cup her cheek and ghost your lips over hers,“ ty mne ne doveryayesh'?” You whisper.

Dammit she’s a sucker for you speaking Russian. Had she known when you started learning in your first years of dating that it would become a weakness, she would’ve stopped you. You already had a hold on her, that just made it tighter.

It’s why she nods, seemingly in a trance. Only easing into the seat after you’ve given her a proper kiss.

The door shuts after her and you round the car, jumping over the door and into the driver’s seat. You look over at her,“ I’ve always wanted to do that.” You say giddily, before clicking your seatbelt into place.

With a shake of her head, she puts her seatbelt on as well, and gets comfortable in her seat.

“The final destination is a surprise, but you can know that we’re going to that little diner you love so much in Greenwich.”

She can’t help but smile at you. She couldn’t get more lucky if she tried.

“One last thing,” you reach across her lap to the glove compartment, pulling it open and retrieving two pairs of sunglasses. Setting them in your lap, you lean towards her and reach up, fingers deftly combing the braid from her hair, and then you slip the glasses onto her face.

Winking at her, you slip your own pair on and start the car. It purrs to life and right before you pull away from the compound, you flick the radio on.

The quiet that settles over the two of you is full of contentment. Music plays softly as Natasha holds your free hand in hers, fingers occasionally playing with the engagement ring on your finger.

That feeling remains as you open the door for her and escort her into the diner. You let her slide into the booth first and she takes your hand and tugs you down into the seat beside her.

An amused smile plays on your lips that makes the redhead give you a look, her eyebrow raised at you.“ What?” She asks.

“Nothing I just-” you chuckle shortly,“ I remember a time when you’d only let me sit across from you. I could hold your hand but sitting next to you, that was a no. Wasn’t until a year after we made things official that you let me sit next to you. I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant I was special.”

Her finger presses into the side of your jaw and she gently turns your head to face her,“ you are special. Especially to me.” And then she kisses you so sweetly you think it might give you a cavity.

Your breakfast date passes with flirty remarks, quietly spoken affections, and soft kisses between bites of food and sips of tea and coffee. After which you settle the bill and head back out to the convertible.

The next destination is unknown to Natasha but, unlike usual, she finds herself excited about the unknown. It’s an odd feeling but she welcomes it, letting herself feel free of worrying about what’s next. And you revel in seeing her like that.

Sending an occasional glance in her direction just to watch her long red tresses flow with the wind, to smile softly at the way she shuts her eyes and let’s the breeze caress her skin, and to chuckle when her hand raises to create a wave against the wind.

More than ten years you’ve known her, majority of which you’ve had the privilege of calling her yours. If there’s one thing being with her has taught you, through every obstacle you two faced together be it arguing about if tea was better than coffee to the many many life threatening missions she’s been on, it’s that moments like these were precious.

There’s never any way of telling when the next world or universe threatening event will occur, if it’ll be the one to take Natasha away from you, so it became abundantly important that you get these chances to bask in being with her.

Your thoughts lead you to subconsciously taking her hand in yours, raising it to press your lips against the back.

Natasha smiles. She swears your lips feel like rose petals. Nothing compares to your kisses.

“I love you,” you say blissfully.

Nothing except that.

“I love you too,” she squeezes your hand.

The look of excitement that lights across your face makes her eyebrows raise. It’s not the same as the usual look you get when hearing her say those words, your expression is usually softer. Which is why she follows your line of sight when you look away from her.

Her eyes are met with the view of a beautiful lake house and she quickly snaps her gaze back to you.

“You’ve given the NYPD a break these past couple of months, I think you’re in need of one.” A wink finishes your statement and she surges forward, hands on your face to pull you into a searing kiss. It expresses her love for you more than words ever could.

With the cutest most beautiful smile you’ve ever laid eyes on, she throws her door open and excitedly tells you to come on. And you’re more than happy to follow.

Leaving the bags you secretly packed in the trunk, you accept Natasha’s outstretched hand, and allow her to guide you around the grounds.

The view of the lake and everything beyond looks even better than the pictures let on. For a last minute trip to Jersey, this was considerably good.

Despite how tempting it is to stroll down the dock and hold Natasha in your arms like the clichés you read about, you save that for later, instead following the still curiously excited redhead towards the house.

In one action you scoop your fiancé up into your arms after having unlocked the back door. Her arms wrap around your neck and she raises her eyebrows at you in question.

“Figured I could get some practice.” Your teasing tone is back, your words bringing a coy smile to her lips.

“Are you still excited?” She asks as you step into the house, careful to not bang her head on the door.“ I know we’ve pushed it off a few times.”

You gingerly set her down.

Postponing the wedding was never due to a lack of wanting to be married.

The first plan was thrown out the window when Lagos happened and the team fell apart. Neither of you were sure about getting married while on the run, your family no longer around. But you’d found yourselves in the city of love, completely taken by the atmosphere, and decided that there was no need to wait. Then Thanos came. Losing half of your family to his homicidal plan hit you both incredibly hard.

Three and a half years it took for you both to realize that maybe you couldn’t get everyone back, which also made you appreciate that through everything you’ve always had each other. While there was nothing you could do about the past, you had a say over your present and you wanted to spend as much of that as wives as you could. Only for Scott Lang to show up in the midst of planning with the idea of the Time Heist.

All of that happened, you got everyone back and were blessed with your family again. So when things settled you both got back to planning. A year and six months after the final battle against Thanos, where Thor “went for the head”, you were finally a mere two months away from making the woman that is the love of your life your wife.

“Am I excited to become a Romanoff?” Your question trails off with a pondering gaze to the ceiling. Natasha’s eyebrows pinch together at your need to think about it and seeing her frown makes you laugh.“ After three failed attempts I think it’s safe to say I’m pretty damn excited.”

The redhead smacks your arm in annoyance at your constantly playful behavior and you wrap your arms around her waist, laughing once again.“ You’re incorrigible.”

“Oh absolutely,” you wink,“ but I think that’s one of the many things you love about me.”

Her eyes narrow and her lips press together in a thin line, a hum of uncertainty leaving her lips. That makes your jaw drop and this time Natasha laughs. When she raises a brow at you, you nod in understanding.

A beat of silence passes before you both set off to do something, Natasha offering to make tea and you go to grab the luggage from the car. Taking both straight to the bedroom before going back to join Natasha.

She raises the cup of tea to her lips, eyes focused on the view outside the window. You slip behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder and looking out the window as well.

You know something’s on her mind but you’d learned a long time ago to let her open up herself as opposed to prying.

“Do you think everyone will be able to make it?” She finally speaks up.

Biting your lip in thought, you take a deep breath,“ I think everyone is going to try their best to be here but things come up. Everyone has RSVP'd so they want to be there that’s for sure.” You’re taken aback when you turn and find those green eyes staring back at you.

The most intense emotions swirl in those angel eyes.

“I know I keep saying it but, I love you, so much.” Her free hand raises to rest on your cheek.

“And I, you my love.”

Adjusting herself back into your hold completely, she returns her gaze to the lake.“ Thank you for this trip as well.”

“I figured if I brought you out here I could get lucky.”

That statement seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Natasha slips from your grasp and heads towards the back door.“ Wait no, I’m sorry. I meant to say that I did it cause I love you and I wanted to spend time with you!” You call after her, only for her to continue to walk away.

For the rest of this trip, Natasha knows you’re going to continue to be a pain in her ass but she also knows that for every annoying and teasing comment, there are ten times as many affirmations of love and whispers of sweet nothings.

You whisked her away to give her the break she so greatly needs and deserves and you plan to make sure she enjoys it in full.

* * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fluff #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #reader insert #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanova #natasha romanova x reader

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riotwritesthings · 4 years ago

Text

I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

#my fic #bucky/tony #winteriron #starkbucks #everybody loves vampire bucky AMIRIGHT #anywhooo HAPPYBIRFDAY 😘

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