#imagine all the stark feels i can put into those three months

[tvgals]

‘THE OTHER WOMAN…WILL ALWAYS CRY HERSELF TO SLEEP.’

synopsis- what happens when the other woman is eren’s girlfriend?

cw- black reader, eren is an actual asshole (only to his poor girlfriend), eren is a sucker for his golden girl, eren’s girlfriend actually has a name, modern au

- taglist ! <3 @pnkfae @lovereren @xocreedvo @pixiechixks @sugarvenomlit @vib3zwithtutu @supernovss @pinkfryday @radicaledward55 @chickenalfredo1312 @skit-brentfaiyaz @yoncewife @lovelyyceleste @bimbokutos @slut444eren @sanrioglocks @chxriee @cafesho @percsane @itmightbejo @maxi8898 @saintsyx @lovelyybrii @laylasbunbunny

jeal·ous

/ˈjeləs/

feeling or showing suspicion of someone's unfaithfulness in a relationship.

eren walks into his shared apartment an hour and some change after he said he would arrive home. his girlfriend presumably in their bedroom. “home.” he weakly says, as if he doesn’t want to be known or bothered. his girlfriend basically runs out the bedroom and hugs eren, almost toppling over. “get off of me.”

“hey rinnie! where were you? i was waiting for you all day!” belle giggles, her brown curls swaying with each movement. belle was eren’s girlfriend. was. before she found out the news of course. “don’t call me that. and i was out shopping with y/n.” eren says mundanely, kicking off his slides and pulling his sweats up. “but you let y/n call you that all the time…why can’t i?” belle asks, her doe eyes looking up into eren’s cold green ones. “you’re not y/n, are you?” eren asks, a smug grin on his face. “i’m gonna go take a shower.” with that, eren walks past belle without a second thought and slams the bathroom door shut.

eren sighs, taking his bun out of the hair tie he borrowed from you and took his hoodie off, revealing the kiss marks on his neck. he grabs his phone and hits your contact.

‘miss ya baby. needa see you again.’

eren sits and waits for a response, turning the shower water on in the meantime. it doesn’t matter how much he runs since belle pays the water bill.

‘miss you too rinnie :(( i’m off tmrw come over then?’

‘bet.’

eren smiles to himself, he doesn’t care he’s cheating, frankly, he doesn’t care about the woman he’s cheating on either. sure, he loved her for a few months in their relationship, but when he saw how much you’d changed in your freshman year of college, he snapped. “eren? can i come in?” the muffled voice of belle rings from the other side of the door.

“what is it.” eren groans, taking off his sweats and boxers in one swift movement. belle opens the door and pokes her head in, eyes growing wide at eren’s naked body. “i just…was wondering if you had ate yet? and if you wanted something to eat..” she grins, walking fully into the bathroom, her midnight blue lingerie hugging her body. “mmm….” eren hums, he almost pities her. the fact she thinks he would ever have sex with her. the fact that she thinks he would enjoy it. but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

“cmere baby.” he coaxed her over, trying his hardest to imagine it was his golden girl y/n. belle struts over to eren, biting her lip seductively. eren grabs her by her hips and kisses her, her lipstick tasting bitter on his lips. a stark contrast to your fruity lip gloss flavors. his hands roam, trying to find a comfortable spot. he tried resting them on her ass, not feeling the same as yours. he then tried her waist, then her thighs, but whatever he did, he just couldn’t get it right. belle pulls way from the kiss, saliva connecting their lips like a bridge. her eyes scan eren’s face. while observing his gold stud earring, she notices them. the dark red lipstick stains on his neck.

“eren..where’d you get those from?” she asks, pulling away from him. “what?” eren knows exactly what she’s talking about. “the..the marks on your neck.” she stutters, arms falling flat to her sides. “huh? you put those there. remember?” he asks, walking towards the shower. “no i didn’t..we haven’t had sex in like…three months!” belle says, crossing her arms while watching eren’s silhouette in the shower. “that doesn’t mean we don’t make out.” eren says blankly. he hears the pitter patter of her steps, stopping near his phone. she starts talking, but this time obviously louder.

“are you gonna watch the oscars with me tonight?” she asks, typing the password into eren’s phone. it worked. why is it on do not disturb? “ehhh maybe. told y/n i’d watch it with her so maybe not. might just call her.” he sighs. searching for his shampoo. “yeah?” eren knows exactly what she’s doing. “yeah. also, i’d rather not have you go through my messages. what you’ll see is gonna hurt your feelings.” he warns, although he already heard belle’s sniffling. “why is y/n’s contact still in your phone?” i thought i told you to delete it?” belle says, tears welling in her big brown eyes.

“you did, i just didn’t want to.” he confesses, turning around so he’s facing the wall opposite to the shower head. “why don’t you ever listen to me? is this why you’ve been coming home so late? because of y/n?” belle asks, sitting on the toilet lid. “sometimes, yeah. not like we’re doin’ anything though. jus’ shopping and shit like that.” eren shrugs, eyes practically glued shut to prevent the water and shampoo from getting into his eyes.

“shopping? eren, you never go shopping with me!” belle whines, throwing eren’s phone back on the counter. “yeah because you never go anywhere that i wanna go. y/n is genuinely interested in the things i am.” he says, turning off the water and stepping out the shower, drying his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist. “so why are you with me huh? because i’m pretty? because you think i have a nice body? is that it? are you just using me?” belle accuses, now she’s standing up and searching for her bath robe.

“no. you’re nice to have around.” eren admits, walking into their shared bedroom. belle trudges behind him, continuing the conversation. “oh. okay…well..we can atleast sleep together tonight? instead of you falling asleep on the phone with y/n on the couch?” belle asks, laying on her side of the bed, the cold sheets raising goosebumps on her pale skin. “sure. if it makes you feel better.” eren pulls a hoodie out of the dresser and a pair of sweats. eren then turns the light off and rolls into bed with belle.

“goodnight eren. i love you.” belle whispers. “night.”

eren wakes up the next morning, eyes crusted over and watery. he looks to his right to see belle, facing away from him. thank god. eren searches blindly for his phone, sighing when i finally gets ahold of it. pressing the screen, the time read; 12:56 eren knows you’d be up by now so he texts you.

‘good morning pretty’

‘eren what the fuck is wrong with you?’

his hands freeze. what did he do this time?

‘what? what happened??’

‘don’t come back bro. omm you know wtf you were doing.’

eren was filled with confusion. what did he do? what happened? could he make this better? why was his golden girl being so rude? so, eren calls you. rinnggg…ringggg…rinnggg.. you finally pick up, the top of your forehead and your pink bonnet only being visible. “what the fuck do you want bro.” you growl, you voice sounding full and stuffy. you’ve been crying. “what are you talking about? i ain’t do nothing.” eren defends, now sitting up in the bed. “bro you know what the fuck you did. what normal fucking woman eats apples and ketchup, huh?!” and with that, you hung up and threw your phone across the room. you curl up against yourself in your bed, tears welling in your eyes once again.

“apples and ketchup?..” eren whispers to himself. eren sighs and flops backwards onto his bed, emerald eyes staring up at the ceiling. what was he to do? his golden girl wants nothing to do with him now, and he’s stuck with a woman who’s infatuated with him. “dammit.” eren whispers, rubbing his eyes in drowsiness and stress. eren looks over, belle’s now flipped to where she’s now facing eren. he’s never genuinely looked at her face before..all of her end of winter freckles, her eyelashes and bushy eyebrows, her pinks lips in a somewhat pout. belle was pretty..really pretty..almost model type pretty- enough to be on the covers of the gas station magazines. “y’ so pretty…” eren mumbles, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. eren would be a damn fool not the make the most of her while you’re mad at him. eren hops out of bed and looks back to his phone — just to see if there was a text from you — and he walked to the bathroom, sighing. he grabs his toothbrush and slides the drawer out, picking up the toothpaste. when the toothpaste was in his hand, the empty spot revealed a polaroid of you and him in a photo booth. technically, the apartment was eren’s and belle ended up joining him, the two of them splitting up bills. this means all of his previous belongings and pictures from you and him he’s had to put away by the pleads of belle. he just wishes he knows what he did.

“eren?” belle calls out from the bedroom. “yeah?” “y/n is calling you.” eren almost runs to the bedroom, picking his phone up and answering it, just before the last ring sounded. “eren.” you sniffle. “what’s wrong? what happened?” eren questioned, his brows furrowed.

“i’m pregnant. and i know it’s yours.” you mumble into the phone. “what? well what do you want me to do?” eren says, looking over to belle. “i want you to come over and help me fix this shit. or i swear to god i will tell belle everything.” you threaten. “alright alright. give me ten minutes and i’ll be over.” eren promises, now walking to the front of the apartment. belle can’t help but flop back onto the bed. she’d just woken up and now her boyfriend was leaving her…again. she just couldn’t stand the relationship you two had with one another. you were just so pretty. you and eren had been friend since before eren even knew belle, this entire situation felt…suspicious? was that the right word? belle heard the door shut and sits up in the bed, searching for her own phone. meanwhile eren was just getting in his car, still on the phone with you,

“why the fuck would you do this shit eren? are you trying to spite me? trying to do this to get back at me in some way?” you shout over the phone. eren can’t help but feel awful. you’re HIS golden girl, he loves YOU — and he’s never wanted you to feel any other way. “i’m pulling up right now. unlock the door.” eren warns, hanging up the phone. he pulls into your driveway and climbs out the car, pushing his phone into his pocket. eren can see you leaning onto the doorframe — you biting your lip.

“hey sweets.” eren greets, stepping into your neatly decorated home. “eren…please. i cannot do this alone. i’ve told you so-…” you cut yourself off, pulling eren by his wrist to come inside, him kicking the door shut. the two of you make it to your room and sit on your bed, hand in hand.

“eren…” “hm..”

“why did you do this? to me?” you ask, biting your lower lip expecting the worst. “i didn’t mean to. honestly.” eren replied, pulling you closer into a hug. you can feel the tears well in your eyes. again.

“you know i’ve always wanted a family, how i wanted someone to live with forever. you have a girlfriend, a really nice one, and i don’t know if you genuinely love her or not, but if you do you need to tell me. if i have this baby in the next eight months and you’re not here to support me or the baby, you’ll never hear from me again.” you swore, biting your tongue waiting for a response.

“i don’t know what to say. i love you so so much y/n, i really do. i want this with you, i want you…just…give me a few days, okay? i need to tell belle..” he whispers into your damp - tear soaked bonnet. “please hurry.”

an: not finished, just wanted to get this out before i forgot about it forever, thank you for the support on this and if this flops i’m deleting it 🤞

#black reader #im black #i love being black #ilovemyfollowers #ilysm <3 #blkshoyo #anime #being black #writing is my therapy #eren x y/n #eren x black y/n #eren x reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren x reader smut #eren x black reader angst #eren x you #eren x black reader smut #eren x black reader #eren x fem!reader #eren x black yn #aot x y/n #aot x black reader #aot x female reader #aot x poc!reader #aot x reader #aot x chubby reader #aot x reader smut #aot x you #aot x black fem reader #anime x black!reader

[2stepadmiral]

So I’ve been getting back into Bionicle lately, I loved it as a kid and I’m on a whole nostalgia trip right now, rebuilding my Toa and Bohrok and rereading the comics/watching the movies, and as much as I still love it, it makes me sad for anyone who didn’t get to experience it as it was coming out.

Like take the MCU, for example. If you weren’t old enough to start watching the MCU before the first Avengers came out, you could still experience the MCU in its golden times. And if you have young kids, who are just getting to the age, where they can start the MCU, they can still kind of experience that by watching the movies in order and building up to Endgame. It obviously won’t be the same, but I feel like if you do it the right way and paste it right, you can kind of re-create that experience in a reasonable proximity.

The same goes for Star Wars, you can have your kids, watch the original trilogy, then show them trailers for each of the prequels before letting them watch those to get them. Excited, then let them go back and watch clone wars and rebels, and let them read the expanded universe books at their own pace. It won’t be the same as growing up with the prequels coming out and being excited to see new Star Wars movies after seeing the original trilogy when you were little, but it’s still a fairly decent facsimile.

But with Bionicle, that feeling cannot possibly be re-created.

You can’t recreate the feeling of being 11 years old and finding out that Mata Nui is dying, and that the Toa Nuva, your traditional heroes, were defeated by the new villains, and that the six Matoran you grew up with since the franchise started are the new Toa who have to pick up where the Nuva left off.

You can’t recreate the shock of finding out that the eccentric village elders who have advised your heroes for three years were once Matoran themselves who became a team of Toa a thousand years earlier, defeated the main antagonist, went through a Jekyll and Hyde mutant phase, and then turned into the Yoda type elders.

You can’t recreate the horror at finding out that Makuta won in the end, his convoluted, millennia long plot resulting in himself gaining control of the universe. You can’t recreate the disbelief that the story abandoned the Matoran on that dark note to explore an entirely new planet with entirely different characters, species, and culture. You can’t recreate the relief when Mata Nui showed up, his presence, carrying the promise that the original storyline would tie into the new one sooner later, and the grim ending was only a temporary pause. You cannot re-create the excitement at seeing the story climax with the final showdown between Mata Nui and Makuta. A final battle that you had never imagined possible, but one that only feels right and full circle.

You cannot re-create the horror and sorrow when Matoro failed to reach Mata Nui with the Mask of Life in time to save him. You can’t re-create the disbelief and terror at wondering where the story can possibly go after that point. You can’t re-create the disbelief and sorrow and morning as you read the pages of that comic, as you see Matoro put on the mask and start to become part of its energy. You can’t re-create the stunned, heartbreaking silence that you felt as the death of Matoro, who you would known for six years, who you had at least peripherally grown up with, whose journey you had watched unfold as he went from a simple but well-known and even iconic Matoran, to a new Toa of Ice, unfolded on the pages of that comic in that curious new art style that you would never quite gotten used to. You can’t recreate the feeling of mourning you share with his friends as they learn that Matoro has died, that feeling of almost being part of this universe as you share in the sorrow of the characters (Matoro’s sacrifice was way better than Tony Stark’s, sorry but not sorry).

And above all, you can’t re-create the feeling of having to wait two months for the next comic or the next book, or the movie to find out what happens next, and filling that time by making up your own storyline, and acting it out with your own toys.

Largely because the story unfolded through books and comics, and through the new wave of toys, and through the movies in some years, trying to re-create, even a close facsimile of that feeling just isn’t possible. And it breaks my heart for any kids I might have one day that I’ll never truly get to share this wonderful franchise with them.

#bionicle #toa #toa nuva #toa metru #toa inika #toa mahri #toa mata #makuta #makuta teridax #mata nui #metru nui #voya nui #mask of light #kanohi #tahu nuva #kopaka #jaller #hahli #matoran #matoro #turaga #glatorian

[merrycarousel]

Weekly Roundup 9 April - 16 April

As a means of catharsis from the mess that was the Love Is Blind season four “live” reunion yesterday, I wrote a weekly roundup of all the fics I’ve read and would recommend this week. 

I'm currently a month into an exploration of the Marvel fandom—so that should explain some things. 

For most of last week and this one, I was primarily consumed by reading three fics: dnky’s A Father’s Son and ali_aliska’s Winter’s End, along with the separate “what-if” fic for that story. 

Winter's End by ali_aliska (Ao3) 

Incomplete, on hiatus; last updated November 2018

Mature, 461K words (73/?), James “Bucky” Barnes x Tony Stark (WinterIron) 

This slow burn fic centers on Tony and Bucky slowly healing and the development of their relationship. Bucky comes back to the United States alone, without the rest of the Rogue Avengers, so for most of the fic we get almost undivided attention put on the two. One of my favorite moments early on happens when Tony is trying to get an understanding of how to remove the trigger words, discovering Bucky’s Winter Soldier personality in the process and then getting overwhelmed by his intense infatuation with him. It was shocking, unexpected, and oddly funny to me. As the author recommended, I only read through chapter 63 so that I wouldn’t be left on a cliffhanger, and it was satisfyingly end-like that I didn’t feel like I was missing too much by deciding not to continue reading. Overall, this fic delivers on your slow burn angst-fluff fic needs. Similarly, while the narrative often switches between Tony and Bucky’s perspectives, there is a nice bit of head hopping as well—which is one of my personal weaknesses.

Far from Heaven by ali_aliska (A03) 

Complete 

Mature, 67K words (17/17), James “Bucky” Barnes x Tony Stark (WinterIron) 

Love, loss, and late-night shenanigans, this story asks the question of what if everything in Winter’s End was a cryosleep dream for Bucky. As you would imagine, Bucky is absolutely devastated, grieving the death of the Tony he knew as he tries to navigate the dream past-turned-present. Compared to the length of Winter’s End, I devoured this fic almost preternaturally quickly and wasn’t disappointed one single bit by ali_aliska and her perfection in blending angst and sickening sweet love that you just can't look away from. Despite the depressing premise, this fic actually gets pretty fun in certain places that I don’t want to give away so give it a whirl. 

A Father's Son by dnky 

Incomplete; last updated May 2021

General, 156K (42/?), Virginia “Pepper” Potts x Tony Stark

After all of the emotions from ali_aliska’s works I needed some relief, so I went to one of my favorite tropes: time travel, stumbling upon this beauty. This story is about Jarvis waking up during Infinity War and piggybacking on the Mind Stone and its connection to the other Infinity Stones to send himself and Tony back to his birthday in Iron Man 2. I had a lot of fun reading this, particularly in the execution of Tony’s journey to detangle himself from Shield forever—subverting their authority at every turn, being an absolute pain, and actually suing them at one point. This fic also has no tolerance for Captain America or Black Widow while also including other aspects of the Marvel universe, such as Inhumans from Agents of SHIELD and the X-Men, as portrayed in X-Men: First Class. As previously mentioned, I’m a sucker for head hoping and unreliable narrators and this story likes to switch perspectives frequently, which is especially satisfying when we get to see the perspectives of average joes and the wider public, such as in the aftermath of this fic’s New York. Jarvis also gets to really shine in this fic and his relationship with Tony is the cornerstone of the whole story. Be warned however, this fic ends on a cliffhanger. You can infer what happens next, so it isn’t an unsatisfying cliffhanger but if those bother you, chapter 35 is a good stopping point. 

Rise From the Ashes by WitheringEffect (Ao3)

Incomplete series; last updated March 2021 

General, 16K, 5 works, James “Bucky” Barnes x Tony Stark (WinterIron) 

Tony is a phoenix! Enough said. The implications and realities of this in his life, particularly in Siberia and his childhood, are as horrifying as it sounds. Every work in the series follows a different character’s point of view, exploring how the Avengers and Avenger-adjacent characters react and move forward from the Civil War. Overall, it’s an amazing read. 

In Case of Emergency by aliaoftwoworlds (Ao3) 

Complete; one-shot  

General, 4K 

This fic is about Peter becoming sick at school and, due to May being busy, the office is forced to call his second emergency contact, Tony Stark. Short and sweet, it goes about how you would expect and will certainly put a smile on your face by the end. It also reminded of one of my favorite fics (the boy and the mechanic by Bundibird) in which a similar, but more serious take on the premise is used.

#Marvel fic rec #Marvel fanfic recs

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

#queer stuff #lgbtq #gold star lesbians #long post #sorry #Anonymous

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

[waitimcomingtoo]

Obedience

Part two 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: after being tortured by HYDRA, you have to obey every command given to you

warnings: mentions of suicide

Masterlist

“How is she?”

Steve stared at you with sad eyes, watching your through the glass window on your door. It had been three months since HYDRA captured you during a mission. In those three months, they put you through a form of torture worse than the team could imagine. You’d finally be found and had been staying in the hospital until your vitals were stable.

“Not good.” The nurse sighed. “She doesn’t say much. Eye contact is even more rare.”

“Do you know what they did to her?”

“It’s unclear.” The nurse said. “She has no physical injuries. She doesn’t like it when we turn the lights off, though. We think they kept her in the dark.”

“Can I see her?” He asked, without taking his eyes off you.

“You can.” She nodded. “We can’t promise she’ll speak to you.”

“I’m gonna try.” Steve smiled at the nurse before going into your room. You jumped slightly and withdrew your knees to your chest at the sudden noise of the door opening.

“Hey Y/n.” Steve smiled at you as he slid his hands in his pockets. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey, captain.” You slowly unfurled your body at the sight of someone familiar. Steve went to close the door behind him, but you protested.

“Wait, don’t close the door. They used to…” You trailed off and seemed to space out, so Steve took his hands away from the door.

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “I’ll leave it open.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled quietly.

“No problem. Mind if I sit here?” He asked as he pointed to a chair by your bed.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded stiffly.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he took a seat.

“Not great.” You smiled weakly and rubbed the side of your head. “They uh, they fucked up my head, sir.”

“I heard. Here.” He handed you a bottle of juice he grabbed from the cafeteria. “You should drink something.”

“Thank you, sir.” You didn’t look at him as you accepted the bottle. You took a long sip and grimaced after you swallowed it.

“Whats wrong?” He asked when he saw the look of disgust on your face.

“I hate orange juice.” You confessed as you took another sip.

“Then why are you drinking it?” He wondered. “I have water right here.”

You took the glass of water and briefly looked him in the eyes, giving him a weak smile.

“It’s HYDRA. They got inside my head.” You whimpered. “I cant say no to something, even when I want to.”

“Oh.” Steves face fell as you told him. “Don’t worry about this, Y/n. I’m gonna figure out how to fix you.”

“Okay.” You said cheerfully, sitting up straight with a bright smile. Your body language did not match your sudden chipper mood, and it alarmed Steve.

“Woah, what happened?”

“You told me not to worry.” You said sadly. His eyes widened as he realized the extent of your condition. He found it deeply disturbing to watch you, knowing your smile was fake, but kept a straight face.

“Right, sorry.” He nodded. “You can relax.”

With that, your body slumped and you fell over on the bed. You looked at him sadly as you laid there, looking anything but relaxed.

“This might be harder than I thought.”

~

When Peter heard the car door close, he rushed to the window. He stopped sleeping the first night you were gone and stoped eating when you were legally declared dead a month later.

“There you are.” Peter rushed away from the window to Steve. “Is Y/n with you? Is she okay?”

“She’s with me but she’s not okay.” Steve said quietly, giving Peter a stern look that told him to relax.

“Why?” He felt himself getting emotional. “What did they…”

He trailed off when you walked through the front door looking skinnier and smaller than ever. Peter let out a breath of relief as tears came to his eyes. You didn’t look at him, but he was staring at you.

“Hey.” You said weakly, slowly lifting your eyes to look at him.

“Hey.” Peter said back, wiping his face free of tears. “I missed you. I’ve been really worried. I, uh, how are you? How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” You nodded. “I’m just gonna go to sleep, if that’s all right?”

You looked to Steve for permission, which he wasn’t expecting. Peter looked between the two of you in confusion.

“Yeah, of course.” Steve told you. “You can do anything you want.”

“Thank you, sir.” You said softly.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked. “You’ve been gone for so long. You should eat something”.

You immediately stopped in your tracks and went to the kitchen. Peter watched as you robotically took an orange from the fruit bowl and began to peel it with shaking hands.

“Whats happened?” He whispered to Steve. “Why is she doing that?”

“Thanks to whatever HYDRA did to her, she obeys every command given to her.” Steve whispered back as he watched you.

“That wasn’t a command.” Peter told him. “I was just suggesting that she eat something. She looks so hallow.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Steve shrugged. “She just has to do what she’s told.”

“Is she in pain?” Peter asked him as he watched you with guilty eyes.

“Not physically.” Steve shook his head. “I think it’s hurting her on the inside. A lot.”

“Really?” Peter asked sadly. You had now finished your orange and sat waiting for further instruction.

“May I go to bed now, please?” You asked, uncharacteristically spoke spoken.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled softly at you. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Thank you.” You nodded before running off your room. Once you were gone, Steve hung his head in his hands and let out a long sign. Peter watched him curiously, not used to seeing him show this kind of emotion. He looked up with glassy eyes and looked at Peter, shaking his head sadly.

Two months since HYDRA

“Good morning”. You greeted Peter as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. It was a rare morning when you were out of your room, and an even rarer moment to see you smiling.

“Hey.” Peter smiled brightly at you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Um.” You bit your lip as you thought back on your restless night. “Fine. Just had a few bad dreams.”

“Do you want to talk about them?” Peter asked politely.

“I would prefer not to, if that’s okay?” You asked him as if it was up to him. It pained him to see you asking permission for everything.

“Then we won’t.” He assured you. “Do you want some cereal?”

“You mean you didn’t eat it all?” You teased, showing a glimmer of your usual self.

“Shut up.” He chuckled as he nudged you. You instantly shut your mouth, looking frustrated with yourself for doing so.

“Sorry.” Peter apologized immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can speak.”

“Thank you, sir.” You cleared your throat, all traces of the person Peter once knew reverting back inside.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He said softly as he rubbed your shoulder. “And you don’t have to call me “sir.” It’s just me. Just Peter.”

“Can we just change the subject?” You asked him, looking at him with pain filled eyes.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded. “Are you coming in the mission later?”

“Yeah.” Your smile returned again. “Mr. Stark cleared me for work last night.”

“Thats great.” Peter smiled back. “I’ve missed my partner in crime.”

“I missed you to.” Your smile faded a little. “Thinking about you was what got me through when they…you know.”

“I thought about you too.” Peter put his hand over yours and rubbed his thumb softly on your knuckle. “Every day. Nothing else would enter my mind.”

“Do you think I’m ever gonna be normal again?” You whispered as you leaned closer to him.

“I do.” Peter nodded, tilting his face to the side as he inches closer. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Peter your lips could touch, Sam walked in the room with a bowl of cereal. He was one of the Avengers who assumed you and Peter had gotten together years ago, so he didn’t feel bad interrupting your moment.

“Ew.” Sam snorted. “Don’t do that in front of my cereal.”

You immediately pulled away, physically having to obey Sam. You sighed angrily and looked at Peter with sad eyes before getting up.

“Y/n.” Peter called after you, not wanting you to leave but not wanting to give you a command. You kept walking, not wanting to talk about what happened.

You didn’t bring up the almost kiss all day, which Peter was grateful for. You acted normal around him at the mission, too excited to be working again to think about the awkward moment. You focused on completing your task and got through most of the mission without a problem.

“I got the vials.” You proudly held up three stolen vials of Pym particles to show Peter. He finished webbing the security guard and smiled at you.

“Nice job.” Peter high fived you. “Hank is gonna be so relieved.”

“I know. Come on we gotta go.”

You and Peter began to run towards the jet when you tripped an alarm by accident. A guard came out of the watchtower and shined a flashlight on you, making you run faster.

“Hey!” He shouted. “Stop right there!”

Your face scrunched in frustration as your feet stuck to the floor. You tried to keep running but you were stuck in place.

“What are you doing?” Peter exclaimed when he noticed you weren’t behind him. “We have to go!”

“I can’t move!” You shook your head angrily. “He told me to stop.”

“We gotta go.” Peter quickly scooped you up and ran with you. You held on to him and hid your face in his neck, not wanting him to see how upset you were. Peter ran all the way back to the jet and climbed inside.

“What happened to you two?” Tony asked as Peter set you down. You turned around and punched the wall out of anger as Peter watched you.

“He told Y/n to stop so she had to obey.” Peter said quietly, making Tony’s face fall. You turned around and nodded, looking angry with yourself.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” Tony sighed. “But until we get this figured out-“

“I can’t go on the missions.” You nodded, already knowing what was coming.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized.

“Yeah.” You sighed and kept your eyes down. “I’m sorry too.”

Eight months since HYDRA

“Where are you?” Peter called you to ask when he didn’t find you in the tower. You were usually waiting for him when he came from patrol, but you were nowhere to be found today.

“I’m at some store downtown.” You answered as you turned down a street corner.

“Alone?” Peter worried.

“It’s fine, Peter.” You assured him. “I was going crazy sitting in the tower all day. I needed to go out.” You sighed.

“It’s not safe for you to be outside when you can’t say no to anything.” Peter reasoned. “I can think of a million bad things that can happen. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Your feet started moving before you had a chance to process what he said and you planted yourself next to the first person you saw. You smiled awkwardly at the man and tried to walk away, but you were stuck. Peter told you not to be alone, so you had to obey.

“Nothing bad is going to happen.” You assured him. “No one knows about my condition.”

“Can I at least meet you where you are?” He asked, careful not to give you a command. “It will make me feel better.”

“Okay, fine.” You agreed. “You can meet me here.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Peter sighed in relief. “I’ll see you soon.”

You tried to walk again and were able to this time. You started walking down an alleyway to find a store to meet Peter at when you heard a mans voice behind you.

“Hey.” He called. “Slow down.”

You started walking slower despite your inner protest and felt your heart rate pick up. The footsteps behind you got faster and soon you were joined by the man from earlier.

“I overheard you on the phone.” He began. “Is it true you say yes to everything?”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” You gave him a tight smile and continued walking slowly.

“Answer my question.” He called after you.

“It’s true.” You blurted, always having to obey. You began to sweat as he caught up to you again and began to toy with your hair.

“Interesting.” He remarked. “Spin around.”

You shut your eyes in frustration and spun around in a circle, earning an amused laugh.

“Wow.” He clapped his hands. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“I really have to go.” You told him. “Please just leave me alone.”

You started walking away again, allowed to run now since his original command wore off.

“Stop.” You heard his voice, and you had to stop.

“So it’s true.” He smirked as he circled around you. “You do obey everything. Even when you don’t want to?”

You stayed silent and kept your eyes down, praying he’d get bored and leave.

“Answer me.” He got too close to you to say into your ear.

“Yes.” You answered in a weak voice.

“I could have fun with this.” He smiled and folded his arms. He stared at you for a minute before tracing his finger along the side of your face. You tried to move but you stayed still.

“You don’t want to do this.” You told him. Your threat was pretty empty without your suit or your free will. If you tried to fight him, he could just tell you to stop.

“Aw, but I do.” He pouted. “You’re pretty when you threaten me. But it would sound a lot better if you had a smile on.”

You smiled against your will, feeling a hot flash of embarrassment.

“That’s better.” He talked to you like you were a child. “Now, walk with me.”

You began to walk side by side with him, having no idea where he was taking you. You passed some police officers on the street and tried to make eye contact.

“Don’t say anything.” He mumbled in your ear. “Keep your eyes down.”

You did as you were told and continued walking with him until you reached a black van.

“Get in the car.” He said, and you began to climb in. You tried to fight the urge to climb into the car, gripping the side and pushing yourself back. Your need to obey commands overtook your instincts and you got in the car.

“There we go. Now buckle your seatbelt and-“

Before he could finish his sentence, he was kicked in the head. You peeked your head out of the car and saw Peter punching the man in the face.

“Jeez, dude. Where are you manners?” Peter asked as he shook out his hand. He webbed the man to the ground and dialed 911 before turning to you.

“Peter.” You breathed in relief, forgetting he was supposed to meet you. Peter pulled you out of the car and hugged you tightly. You squeezed him back, grateful he was overprotective today.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “I heard him as I was swinging over.”

“What do you think?” You asked, suddenly getting angry. “Do you know how bad that could have been?”

“I know.” Peter nodded. “But it’s okay now.”

“Why does everyone keep saying this is okay?” You let go of Peter and backed away. “I have no free will. Do you know how it feels to not be the one in control?”

“I don’t. And I’m sorry.” He tried to calm you down. “But the team is doing everything they can to fix you. Just calm down.”

Your frown immediately faded as your shoulders relaxed, calming down against your will.

“I’m sorry.” Peter realized what he did. “I didn’t mean that as a command.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You shrugged sadly. “I still have to obey.”

“This won’t last forever.” He promised you. “But you shouldn’t go anywhere alone until we figure this out.”

“Great.” You laughed humorlessly. “So I already have to obey commands, and now I need a leash. HYDRA turned me into a fucking dog.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter mumbled, not sure what else to say. “I wish I could help you.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault.” You said without looking at him. He could tell you didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized again before realizing what he said. “Shoot. Sorry. Let’s just go home.”

Your body jerked forward and you started moving in the direction of the tower. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself for giving you a command.

“I didn’t mean-“ He began as he jogged beside you.

“Whatever.” You cut him off, not wanting another apology. “It’s fine. Let’s just go home.”

~

You didn’t want Peter to think you were mad at him from the other day, so you went to his room to talk. He couldn’t be blamed for what happened with the man on the street, and you couldn’t be blamed for the anger it caused you. To make sure everything was okay, you knocked on his door and went it when you heard his voice.

“Hey, Pete. What are you up to?” You asked as you took a seat on his bed.

“I’m trying to fix the calibration on my web shooter. I couldn’t get a web out fast enough today.” He grumbled as he tweaked the wires that were popping out of his web shooter.

“Did something happen?” You worried, examining his face for injuries. He froze and looked up at you with guilty eyes.

“Um, kinda.” He answered before pulling up his shirt to reveal a deep, poorly bandaged wound.

“You got stabbed?” Your eyes widened. “Again?”

“You would not believe how fast knives have gotten.” Peter defended himself.

“I probably wouldn’t.” You shrugged. “It’s been five months since I’ve been on a mission.”

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s fine, Peter.” You shrugged it off. “Let me bandage you up. That’s not sanitary.”

“You don’t have to.” He told you and you gave him a look.

“But you can if you want.” He followed up. You had broken your habit of asking for permission for everything, but you were still sensitive about commands. You got up and got some of his medical supplies from his top drawer, knowing exactly where they were. You sat back on his bed and helped him pull his shirt over his head, pretending not to notice the way he flushed to his ears. You carefully removed his bandages and poured some hydrogen peroxide on a Cotten ball.

“This is gonna sting.” You said quietly as you looked in his eyes.

“Okay. Hold my hand, please?” He asked shyly as he uncurled his hand. You slipped your hand into his before you had time to process what he said.

“Wow.” You teased. “Using my condition against me, I see.”

“Well you’ve been isolating yourself so I’m taking advantage of my time with you.” Peter said, giving your hand a squeeze. “I miss you.”

“Yeah.” You squeezed back. “I miss you too.”

You smiled at him before dabbing the Cotten ball on his wound. You bandaged it tightly, smoothing your hand over his side to secure the gauze.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, never taking his eyes off you. “It feels better already.”

“No problem.” You smiled shyly. “How’s the web shooter coming along?”

“Let’s see.” Peter snapped out of his daze and picked his shooter back up. “Okay, be honest-“

“I like you.” You blurted, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth. Peter looked up in shock at your confession and dropped the shooter on his lap.

“What?” He asked, an involuntary smile breaking out into his face.

“I’m sorry. You said “be honest” and I must’ve taken it as a command.” You stammered as you got off his bed. “I’ll leave.”

“Wait! Don’t go.” Peter protested, making you stop in place. “I mean, I hope you don’t go.”

You were released from the command and found yourself able to move but not wanting to.

“I would appreciate it if you sat back down on my bed.” He said quietly, and you purposefully obliged.

“You don’t have to phrase everything like that.” You told him as you sat back down.

“I don’t want to give you any more commands.” He said softly. You gave him an appreciative smile and handed him his shirt, realizing he never put it back on. Peter thanked you and pulled it over his head, leaving his curly hair tousled and adorable.

“Do you really like me?” He asked quietly as he nervously pulled at his fingers.

“I do.” You nodded, finding no use in denying it. “That wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to tell you, but I do.”

“Well I’m not complaining.” Peter shrugged, making you laugh. “I personally think that was a perfect way to break the news.”

“Break the news.” You laughed again at his wording. “I’m not pregnant, Peter. Just in love with your dorky ass.”

“You’re so mean.” He laughed and shoved your slightly. You leaned into him as you came back from the shove, your faces almost touching.

“Kiss me.” He whispered as he looked into your eyes. You did as you were told, but it didn’t feel like a command. It felt like something you had been waiting for for years.

Peter kissed you back to the best of his ability, but his emerging smile kept getting in his way. He relaxed enough to stop smiling and put his hands on your face, kissing you the way he’d always wanted to. When you pulled away, he was finally able to let that smile out.

“Did you do that because you wanted to or because you were obeying me?” He asked softly.

“I promise, I wanted to.” You told him before pulling him into another kiss.

Ten months since HYDRA

“Y/n, please. I would like to talk about this.” Peter called after you as the two of you barged in the front door. Tony quickly stopped eating his lunch to eavesdrop on your fight.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Peter.” You grumbled as you walked past the kitchen. “Don’t follow me.”

“What happened?” Tony got up to stop you. “Are you hurt?”

You stayed quiet as you stared at Tony with pained eyes, feeling too embarrassed to explain what had happened.

“Do you want to tell him?” Peter asked quietly from behind you, not wanting to upset you anymore than you already were.

“I crashed my car.” You stated as you kept a straight face. You were just waiting for Tony to take away your driving privileges, one of the few things you had left.

“What?” He asked. “How?”

“It was my fault.” Peter began and you rolled your eyes. “She was bummed out about her condition so I told her to keep her head up and-“

“And I did.” You laughed humorlessly. “I kept it up so I couldn’t see the road and I nearly killed someone. I could’ve killed you!” You screamed at Peter.

“But you didn’t.” He said back, trying to stay calm. “It’s okay, really-“

“It’s not okay! Stop saying it’s okay!” You shouted as you tugged at your hair. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

“We’re working on a cure.” Tony assured you. “We’re going to-“

“To what? To fix me?” You asked. “You’ve been saying that for almost a year and I’m still like this. I can’t work, I can’t drive, I can’t go anywhere alone. What am I doing?”

“These things take time.” Tony said calmly but you weren’t having it.

“I don’t have time. I almost killed Peter today.” Your voice came out hoarse. “I nearly got myself killed a few months ago. If you don’t have a cure by next week, then…”

“Then what?” Peter interrupted, but you kept your back to him.

“Then it’s time to start thinking about my other options.” You said, only to Tony.

“What other options?” Peter asked but Tony knew exactly what you were talking about.

“It’s too soon to start thinking about that.” Tony stated. “Bruce and I are getting closer every day.”

“You said I had a year.” You reminded him. “It’s been a year.”

“It’s been 10 months.” Tony retorted.

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked again, getting more worried by the second.

“You promised.” You whispered. “You promised me we could talk about this if you couldn’t find a cure.”

“Talk about what?” Peter questioned, but was again ignored.

“I will find a cure.” Tony promised. “You just have to give me some more time.”

“I’m out of time. And so are you.” You angrily pointed at him.

“Screw this.” Peter sighed and jumped to drastic measures. “Y/n, tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Stark said he could euthanize me if he didn’t find a cure in a year.” You blurted. You turned around slowly and looked at Peter with betrayal in your eyes. He was too focused on what you just admitted to see the extent of what he had done.

“What?” He yelled. “You said what?”

“It’s none of your business, Peter.” You snapped. “How could you use my condition against me like that? You had no right to give me a command. You knew I’d have to obey it.”

“I’m sorry, I panicked.” He apologized. “You want to kill yourself?”

“You have no idea what pain I’m in every day.” You shook your head. “I gave it a year and I’m still miserable.”

“Miserable?” He whispered, taking your words personally. He knew you were still in pain, but he thought you’d been better since you started dating. Your words made him believe he was wrong. You noticed the sadness in his eyes and sighed, your anger simmering away.

“Could you give us a minute, Mr. Stark?” You asked without turning around.

“I’ll be in the lab.” Tony nodded, grabbing his food before leaving.

Once he was gone, you walked to Peter and pulled him into a kiss to apologize. He tearfully kissed you back before pushing you away and wiping his eyes.

“You’ve been miserable this whole time?” He sniffled.

“Not the whole time.” You promised as you wiped his tears. “But when I am fighting a constant battle of what I want to do and what I’m told to do, I end each day exhausted. It’s terrifying somedays. And it’s so, so lonely.”

“But you have me.” He said quietly.

“I do.” You smiled a little. “But you’re away a lot. And I can’t put all of my happiness on you. That’s not fair to you and not healthy for our relationship.”

“I know you’re hurting, but killing yourself is not the answer.” He told you. “How could you even consider that?”

“You don’t get it, Peter.” You sighed. “I am one part of your already great life. You get to go on life saving missions during the week and explore the city on your free time. And you have someone who loves you to come home to when you’re done. It’s not like that for me. All I have is you. I just sit here waiting for you to come home. Like I’m some kind of…”

“Dog.” He finished your sentence, understanding your pain in a new way.

“Exactly.” You nodded. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m hoping you can at least try to see things from my side.”

“I’m gonna start helping Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner in the lab.” Peter decided. “We’re the world’s mightiest heroes. One of us has to be able to fix this. This can’t be your last choice.”

“It’s been nearly a year Peter.” You shrugged sadly. “I don’t think this can be fixed.”

“But I can try.” He grasped your hands tightly.

“All I’m asking for is another year. One year to do everything I can to fix you.”

“I don’t know if I can take another year of this. I’m sorry.” You cupped his face to apologize, set on your decision.

“Please?” He whispered. “For me?”

“Okay.” You agreed, making his face light up. He hugged you tightly and kissed the side of your head, thanking you for giving him a chance. In the heat of the moment, it didn’t occur to Peter that you only agreed because you had to. You began to silently cry as you hugged him back, not having the heart to tell him you didn’t mean what you said. You didn’t want to agree, but you had no choice in the matter.

He asked for a year, and you had to obey.

PART TWO 

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[randomshyperson]

Left Behind - Chapter 6 - Once a Promise, Always a Promise.

Gif was made by my official gif maker friend @abimess

Summary: The one where you lived in the apartment under the Maximoff family in Sokovia, or, your journey as a Sokovian civilian to Avenger.

Warnings: (+16) Violence, fighting, cursing, civil war environments, abuse of power, assault, torture, underage kissing, psychological torture, substance use, mention of assault/fighting of children, smut, kissing, teasing, insinuation of sexual and moral harassment, verbal offenses.

Words: 4.753k

A/N> It's been 84 years... I just hope someone still reads this haha Let me know what you think

All Works Masterlist || Read on AO3 || Series Masterlist

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Chapter 6 - Once a Promise, Always a Promise.

When you wake up, you get your ass beaten up by an unknown woman.

You awaken all at once, advancing against the woman who was watching you sleep. Her surprise only lasts a second, however, as the next she returns your blow and knocks you to the ground, a gun pointed straight at your face.

Wide-eyed, you realize where you are and raise your hands.

"Sorry, sorry." You can quickly. "I thought I was in the lab again. Who the hell are you by the way?"

The woman raises her eyebrow at you.

"Cap, get over here before I shoot her."

And the next second, a blond man is running into the area of the ship where you are, looking worried.

"Let's all calm down, okay?" He asks as he sees the gun extended, and waits for the woman to put it down. You sigh lightly, rising to stand up.

"I'm sorry I attacked you, Miss." You ask as soon as you are on your feet, and massage your shoulder, which hit the ground hard when she knocked you down.

"It's fine, you just got beat up anyway." She teases, making you give a short laugh.

You were about to ask if they could let you off the ship anywhere, but a low groan of pain beside you caught your attention.

Just then you noticed the man lying on the stretcher next to you a few feet away, a large wound in his rib. You are also able to notice the rest of the ship, there is a man piloting a few meters away, and two men sitting further ahead, talking to each other.

"Hey, I can help." You stated immediately, but as soon as you moved, the woman stood in front of you, looking at you with suspicion and defiance, and you swallowed dryly. "I-I can heal him." You clarified, but the woman only changed her posture when the man next to you touched her forearm.

"Can you do that?" He asks you, and you nod. You wait for the woman to take a step back to approach the man on the stretcher.

"Hey, are you guys sure of this?" The man lying down asked uncomfortably, and you raise your hands in the air.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, I won't hurt you, I promise. "You guarantee it." Can I heal your injuries?" You ask and wait for him to confirm.

The wound is deep, but you have dealt with much worse.

"How did you do that?"

"It was nothing." You say as you put your hands down. His skin was completely intact again.

"This sure is cooler than lightning, huh, Thor?" Commented the blond as he sat down on the stretcher, clearly feeling better. The long-haired man at the back of the ship looks at you curiously as he stands up, and when he notices his colleague completely healed, he looks impressed.

"This sure is an interesting skill for a mortal." He says to you, and you don't know exactly what to make of those words, but you don't have time to comment, because he is already approaching to introduce himself. "My name is Thor Odinson, god of thunder."

You frown.

"G-god of thunder?" You repeat confused. "Sorry, is that some kind of joke?"

The woman next to you giggles, moving to sit on the stretcher next to the man you healed. The blond man in front of you looks slightly offended, but his expression softens immediately.

"I understand that at first, mortals may be incredulous at such a..."

"No, I just thought the title was funny." You interrupt the blond man, surprising him. "You guys are the Avengers, aren't you? My master has already told me about you."

“Your master?”

It is the other blond guy in the blue uniform who asks. You mentally repress yourself.

"Damn, sorry." You say. "It's what I used to call the soldiers and doctors who gave me orders."

"Your files say that you disappeared in Sokovia when you were younger, and what we found at the base were the records of the experiments they did on you." He adds, and you twiddle your fingers nervously. "I just want to make sure you're not going to try to bring the plane down with everyone inside."

The attempted joke is enough to make you smile, but you are beginning to feel overwhelmed. You really were free. After all this time, the idea seemed almost absurd.

You try to control your emotion at once, and the man seems to notice, because his expression softens immediately.

"Hey, come have a seat." He asks, signaling to one of the empty chairs, and you obey. "My name is Steve Rogers, and I promise you're safe now. Hydra will never hurt you again."

You nod frantically, feeling the tears in your eyes. But you try to normalize your breathing, not wanting to cry in front of strangers.

"I'm sorry, I just... I've just been trying to get away for so long." You confess next, wiping your eyes quickly. "It's weird to think I succeeded."

"We are going back to the Avengers tower now. Is there anyone you would like to get in touch with?" He asks, and his words make your stomach sink.

"Yes." You say. "But I have no idea where they are."

"Who? Your family?"

You give a short laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so. They were..." You start trying to remember exactly. You didn't even know how long it had been since the time you saw the twins at the Hydra base. You had no idea if they were alive, but you wanted to believe they were. Taking a deep breath, you continue. "They were my friends. Wanda and Pietro, we grew up together. They... I saw them once. When I still had the serum in my head. I..."

Seeing your difficulty in organizing your thoughts, Steve interrupts you by touching your forearm.

"It's okay." He says. "We'll find the twins."

"So they really are alive?"

Steve smiles.

"Yes." He answers and you feel your body relax all at once. "They ran away, I imagine they were scared, but we'll find them."

You gasp, unable to control your tears. Neither Steve nor the rest of the Avengers seem to care.

When you calm down, Steve introduces you to the rest of the team.

You are not exactly happy to meet Tony Stark. The mention of his last name makes you frown, because you know it was a Stark bomb that blew up your home at Sokovia, but when you accuse Tony, he seems really upset.

"Well, I guess you can get on the list of people who hate me then." He grumbles and you cross your arms, the whole team sensing the tension in the air.

"You could at least apologize for blowing up half of Sokovia with your weapons." You retort angrily, and the man rolls his eyes, not getting up from the armchair you were in.

"Sure, no problem. I'm sorry, kiddo. Happy?"

You clench your jaw, but before you can say anything, Steve steps forward.

"Tony, try not to be a jerk, okay?" The captain speaks and the other man lets out a wry laugh. "Have at least some respect for the girl's story."

"I have respect, Captain." He assures as he stands up, looking impatient. "What I don't have is time to revisit the past while our enemies get more and more powerful." He says and you frown in confusion. "I've already banned weapons production in the industries, and we've already taken on Hydra in that place. Now we can move on, because I need to get back to the compound and understand exactly what that thing is."

He speaks and finishes by signaling to the opposite side, and it is only then that you notice the shining scepter on the far side of the room and let out a surprised exclamation, taking three steps backwards.

"How did you guys get this?" You ask horrified and the team looks at you curiously.

"Have you seen the scepter before?"

"Of course I have!" You reply. "That's what gave me the healing! The damn stone went through my chest."

Thor steps forward, looking at you in surprise.

"So Hydra were able to decipher the scepter?

You laugh humorlessly.

"If by decipher you mean press the scepter against my chest while preening me in an iron chair, then yes." You reply, but take a deep breath to calm yourself. "A yellow stone came off as soon as the scepter touched me. And well, it went right through my skin. When I woke up, I could heal. But whatever it is, it killed all the soldiers who were holding me."

Thor seems to consider your words as Steve tells you that he is sorry for what you went through in Hydra.

Suddenly you remember where you first saw him.

"The man on the bridge!" You exclaimed, surprising him, but you were getting your memories gradually, and your heart was racing. "You are Captain America.... My god, where is Bucky?"

"Great, another fan of the metal arm." Tony comments sarcastically, but no one seems to care.

Steve looks at you with a frown.

"Is he safe? Is he free? Can I see him?" You ask promptly next, and Natasha chuckles.

"Hey, calm down." Steve asks and you swallow dryly, trying not to feel so overwhelmed with so many memories coming back at once. "How do you know Bucky?"

You blink in surprise.

"He...he didn't talk about me?"

It takes a second, and then Steve's eyes widen.

“Oh my god, you’re the guardian!

"I am what now?"

Steve lets out an incredulous laugh.

"The guardian." He repeats as if you were going to understand what he meant.

Natasha clears her throat.

"Captain, perhaps you'd better explain." She asks and Steve gestures quickly.

"We've been looking for you for months." Steve then adds, causing you to widen your eyes in surprise. "Bucky he... he's been trying to find you since he escaped. But he didn't know your name. All he knew was the nickname you got from the soldiers. The golden guardian of death. It's been our only tip to find you."

"I thought it was just golden guardian." Clint adds next, Nat makes a noise of agreement.

"No, I'm sure it was just Guardian of Death." Thor comments, but you are barely listening to the teasing, feeling your thoughts racing.

Steve raises his hands to your shoulders.

"Thank you so much for saving Bucky." He says before hugging you. You feel your neck heat up at the sudden contact, but do your best to reciprocate.

Steve lets you go then, smiling.

"He's going to be so happy to see you."

"Where is he?"

"At the compound." Steve replies. "He cannot attend field missions, it's part of the pardon. It's too much bureaucracy to explain now.."

"I think he's just lazy." Tony adds wryly, making the Avengers giggle.

And Steve's smile dies briefly.

"What's with you today, anyway, Stark?"

Tony sighs impatiently, finally rising from his armchair.

"I'm sorry if I'm not reacting in the way you consider proper captain, but I'm concerned about getting to work soon." He says as he moves toward you two. “I need to find out what this thing really is.”

"No, Stark, you won't touch this." It is Thor who announces, and all the avengers look genuinely surprised.

"I beg your pardon?" Stark retorted, but Thor didn't hesitate before he looked at you next.

"Describe to me again how you got your healing, mortal."

You sigh lightly.

"They locked me in an iron chair and brought the scepter." You narrated. "But they lie me on the chair next, and I could only feel the metal against my skin, and then I saw a yellow light. Something went right through my chest, and then right through." You say. "I blacked out for a second, the room was completely empty like a vision. When I blinked, it was back, but all the soldiers holding me were dead. And then they knocked me out."

"Before you said you saw a yellow stone?"

You nodded in agreement.

"I dreamed of this memory for several days." You clarify. "I was back in the room, but this time I watched myself. I saw when they put the scepter to my chest, and when the golden stone came out and went through my skin. It was the stone that released the wave of energy that killed the soldiers .I don't know why I didn't die too."

"A single blow that killed a group of soldiers at once." Thor mutters more to himself than to the rest of the teams. "It's decided then, no mortal must touch this. It's clearly far more power than anyone should have."

"This is ridiculous." Thor accused the next moment, making the team look at him curiously. "You can't just deny knowledge about something like that and..."

"Why are you so insistent on this, Tony?" It's Steve who asks suspiciously. Tony sighs, and gives a short laugh.

"You guys are unbelievable, you know." He says. "I'm trying to find new alternatives to our problems."

"What problems?" Steve asks with a confused grimace, and Tony rolls his eyes, looking nervous.

"Our enemies, Captain!" He snarls. "In case you haven't noticed, it hasn't been too long since we faced an army of robots coming from a hole in the sky!" He accuses. "We don't have the power to face this kind of thing. The scepter is exactly what I need to prevent the worst from happening."

"Where did that come from, Tony?" Steve retorted confused.

Stark gave a short laugh, rolling his eyes.

"I don't have time for this." He grimaced and moved to grab the scepter, but Thor stood in the way, arms crossed. "Really?" Tony impatiently charges, but Thor doesn't move. Stark clenches his jaw before declaring angrily. "I had a vision, okay? I saw all of us, defeated. Defeated because we didn't have the power to win. And I... I could have prevented it."

The avengers look as confused as you are, and remain silent. Tony sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

"It was New York again, but this time the enemy won." He continues, visually upset. When he lifted his face in Steve's direction, his look was angry, but his eyes had tears in it. "And you told me that I could have stopped it."

“I wouldn't do that.” Steve says. “If we ever lose, I wouldn't blame you, Tony.”

Tony gives a short laugh.

“Wouldn’t you really?” He retorts. “I’m pretty sure you would, cap.”

Steve takes a step forward, his eyes soften as he looks at his friend.

“I promise you, Tony. If we lose, we lose together.” He declares. “That’s what being an Avengers means. I’m sorry if I was not clear before, and made you feel any different than this or…”

“Stop it!” Tony angrily interrupts. You flinch because you think you saw a familiar red light in his eyes. “Cut this sentimental crap, Steve. I’m just trying to do what’s necessary here.”

“Back off, Stark!” You order as you noted how he has moved his wand to the scepter, he seems surprised by the action too. You move in his direction as he takes two steps back, looking irritated. You gave him no time to answer however, as you raise your hands over his head and touch his forehead with your fingers before he can complain.

Immediately, you can feel the remnants of magic on Tony's head. You don't recognize it at first, but as your own magic removes the other energy, you sigh slightly. It feels familiar, but you don't know why. The energy is still harmful though, probably due to the intention of the one who cast it, but you manage to clean it all up.

You succeed because you coordinate your magic to wipe the other energy like you usually clear and heal wounds, and it seems to work, because Tony raises his hands to your wrist, his wide-eyed eyes soften and he looks almost startled.

"I'm sorry." He asks and swallows dryly. You remove your fingers from his forehead completely, watching with curiosity. He takes a deep breath, blinking several times as if waking up. "I'm sorry, everyone, I... Damn, it was like a horrible dream. I need to lie down for a minute."

And with that he leaves.

You don't ask questions anymore, because Steve is going after him, and you are trying to figure it out why you still feel the unknown magic tingling at your fingertips, as if it is trying to merge with yours.

//-//

You cry when you see Bucky again.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, and then he's running up, hugging you tight.

Your conversation is long and intense, and is almost mostly made up of gratitude.

The other Avengers seem very happy to see the whole interaction, especially Steve.

Tony isolates himself in his room as soon as you arrive, and Thor looks upset. He and Bruce discuss something, and then they go to talk to Tony.

You don't pay attention because you are listening to Bucky tell you about getting all his memories back, and living with the Avengers since you helped him. He was now free from Hydra's control, and was pardoned by the state on condition that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

Nat also added in his narrative the information that he and Steve were "making fondue" and the joke made him laugh with red cheeks but you didn't understand what that meant.

You are very happy to see him, but you can't help but think that he was not the one you wanted to find when you were free.

When he introduces you to the rest of the compound, and to your room, you hug him in appreciation, and you both exchange a knowing look, finally acknowledging that you are safe.

//-//

Your first night in the compound is a strange one.

After meeting the whole team, who were polite despite having fought you a few hours ago, you received a full meal and then locked yourself in your room.

But you were not used to having such a soft bed, not even before Hydra, so sleeping seemed kind of impossible.

Figuring that the Avengers wouldn't mind you taking a late night stroll, you left your room.

"Are you lost, girl?" A female voice suddenly sounded making you jump in fright. It was Natasha Romanoff, or as she introduced herself earlier, Black Widow.

"S-sorry, ma'am." You retorted clumsily, and the woman raised her eyebrows at you. "I can't sleep."

"First, I'm not old, so don't call me ma'am." She commented wryly, and you tried to smile. "Second, I know the feeling. If you want, I can distract you."

Your last social conversation with a woman happened a long time ago, and then you find yourself asking:

"Are you inviting me to have sex?"

Nat lets out a surprised laugh, crossing her arms.

"Where did that come from?" she asks, and you scratch your neck lightly.

"Sorry, I learned how to talk to women from television shows that Hydra soldiers watched in the labs. Bad references. What did you mean by distracting me?"

Nat laughed, impressed by your words.

"I meant like have some tea and tell a story." She clarifies, not sounding the least bit upset. You put your hands in the pockets of the pajamas you've been given.

"R-right. That sounds more appropriate." You mumble with flushed cheeks, eliciting another laugh from the woman. As you begin walking side by side, she comments.

"You know, I think I'm going to have a lot of fun with you around here. You are just as awkward as Steve and Bucky."

You end up hearing a story about agents in Budapest, but it seems Nat doesn't tell the whole story. It's nice, though, you missed talking to someone.

"That thing you did earlier with Tony, that was really cool." Nat remarks after a pause in silence.

You take a sip of your tea after shrugging, but she seems inquisitive.

"How did you know it was Maximoff who messed with his head?"

You almost choke at the sudden mention of the name and Nat's watchful gaze makes it impossible to disguise. You sigh.

"I... They are my friends." You confess looking down at the cup, "Or they used to be."

Raising your gaze to Nat again, she only seems curious to know, and you shrug slightly, deciding to trust her.

"We grew up together in Sokovia." You count twirling your fingers on the handle of your cup, "They were the only family I had in the orphanage. And well, it was for them that I broke into a Hydra building."

Nat listens to your story intently, and you swallow dryly before continuing.

"When they captured me, the serum, it... well, it didn't exactly leave me conscientious." You try to explain. "It was like pushing all my memories away, my mind would become completely empty."

“"Is that what they did to Bucky?" Nat questions and you shake your head.

"No, they used electric shock on Bucky." You return with a grimace. "With me, they couldn't hurt me permanently, so they needed something that would make me obey without me being able to heal. It was like being drunk, I guess, only much worse."

“I’m sorry.”

"It 's fine.” You say with a sad smile. “I was dumb enough to go there, i knew the risks.”

“Don’t say that.” Nat asks with a serious voice. “It’s was not your fault they torture kids.”

"And whose fault is it, then?" You retorted, upset, with yourself more than with Nat or anyone else. "My friends for being stubborn idiots? Of Stark for throwing a bomb in my building? I'm tired of looking for reasons to justify what happened to me. Nothing is enough, and I just want to see my friends."

Nat sighs lightly, and raises a hand on the table to reach for yours. You want to hold back the tears, but they are already falling before you can do so.

"I promise we will find your family." She assures you tenderly, and you feel your heart soar at the possibility.

You nod in understanding, taking a deep breath to stop crying.

Nat squeezes your hand, and it takes a moment for you to speak again.

"Wanda." You begin, and almost sob. It has been a long time since you have spoken that name. "She... She must have gotten her powers the same way I did." You say trying to remember everything you witness in Hydra at that moment. "I remember the soldiers talking about the twins being the only ones to survive the stone besides me."

"From Shield records, we know she can manipulate energy and Pietro can run really fast." Nat informs as she releases your hand. She sits thoughtfully for a moment."Maybe because you all got the magic through the same source, you can heal what she can do to Tony's mind. But that's not really my area, maybe you should talk to Thor as well."

You sigh lightly, wiping away the remainder of the tears falling on your face.

"I will." You say. "But I want to find Wan-the twins first." You correct yourself quickly, hoping Nat doesn't notice your flushed cheeks. She does, but says nothing.

"Try to get some rest." She asks as she picks up the teacups. "We have a party coming up, and then Thor is supposed to return to Asgard. I imagine you will want to have a little chat with Bucky before you return to Sokovia."

"I would go back to Sokovia right now if you ask me." You mutter making Nat chuckle lightly. "But I don't want to disturb any of you. I've waited for a long time, I can wait a little longer."

When Nat turns around after putting the glasses in the sink, she has a soft expression.

"You are not a nuisance here, kid." She assures with a smile. "We've just been caught a little by surprise with a new person, but it will be a pleasure to help you find the twins." She says and then has a mischievous expression. "I shouldn't tell you yet, but Steve is pretty excited about the whole thing. He wants you and the twins to join the team eventually."

"Really?" You ask in surprise and Nat just mumbles in agreement, still smiling.

She turns around on the countertop and before she leaves, she turns to you.

"If you ask my opinion, you seem to care a lot about both of them." She says. "I think that no matter how much time has passed, or if they are fighting on opposite sides, she will be happy to see you."

You swallow dryly, looking away.

Nat smiles one last time before leaving and you twiddle your fingers nervously, sitting for a while at the table before returning to your room.

With much to think about, you are surprised that you fall asleep almost instantly as you lie down.

//-//

The Hydra serum is still in your system.

You realize it in a rather embarrassing way actually.

After waking up on the couch, you went to the kitchen.

Bucky tells you that all the team is having a meeting and they will join you two soon, so you just lay against the wall while he reads the newspaper out loud for you.

The Avengers stay in the meeting room for a long time, and don't seem very pleased when they leave, but Tony seems intrigued.

You are surprised that he comes to talk to you as soon as he sees you.

"I didn't thank you for yesterday, kid." He says with a smile. "Whatever you did took away that bad feeling. Now I can work without having to hide that I'm trying to help."

You didn't quite know what to respond, but it didn't matter because Tony was patting you on the shoulder before smiling contentedly at the rest of the team.

"While I figure out a way to decipher the stone, which won't be hard since I'm incredibly smart." He begins his speech, causing the group to let out debauched laughter. "You guys can get busy with whatever old people do for fun. Except you Thunderlord, I'm going to need your help in the lab."

"Wow, Tony Stark asking for help." Thor teases and you watch the interaction with a smile on your lips, moving to join the table. "What a little magic doesn't do to your head, heh?"

"Don't tease me, Thundercat. I'll throw you out of this building, and you won't get any breakfast." He says with false seriousness and you laugh lightly as you pour yourself a cup of coffee. "Hey, kid, give me some too?"

"Ja, Master." You respond mechanically, perhaps even a little sleepily. The Avengers look at you with curiosity and confusion as they see you mechanically pour the coffee, and hand it to Tony, who looks shocked.

"He is not your master, kid." It is Natasha who breaks the silence, and you blink in confusion looking around for a moment.

"R-right." You say. "Sorry about that, Tony. Old habits I guess."

Tony thanks you for the drink, and you think the subject is going to die, but then Natasha keeps looking at you.

"Hey, Y/N, come over here." She asks and you move immediately. Shit. Natasha raises her eyebrow. "Take two steps to the left." Your body obeys. “Now to the right.” She asks and you obey again. This is terrible. The widow looks at you impressed.

"That looks bad." Tony quickly mocks before waving for Thor to accompany him to the lab, justifying that they should get to work soon.

Nat continues to look at you incredulously, but then Steve gets up from the table as well and snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, making you jump in fright slightly. He assumes a worried expression afterwards.

"You are obeying our orders as if we were your masters." He says. "Let's go see Bruce in the lab, he'll want to run some tests."

When you reach the lab, and Steve explains to Bruce what happened at breakfast, you are not surprised that he puts needles in your arm. You hope the news will be good when he finishes assessing your blood.

//-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-//

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#wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x yn #wanda x reader #Left Behind #wanda maximoff #avengers fanfic #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

[when-i-was-your-angel]

A Favor

James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

5,584 words

Y/N, the Avengers resident seamstress, tailors a suit for Bucky. She cashes in her favor.

NSFW: Virginity Loss, Virginity Loss as a favor, Minor Alcohol Use, Lingerie, Fingering, Oral female receiving, oral male receiving, facefucking, deepthroating, praise kink, missionary, Bucky’s metal arm, curvy reader, minor insecure reader, body worship, hickeys, angst, fluff, smut, hurt comfort ending.

   Six months ago Bucky Barnes needed help. He couldn’t find a suit that fit right around his arm and having one tailored by a stranger was too uncomfortable. So, he approached Y/N. As the team’s resident seamstress, he had grown used to Y/N’s gentle hands and soft touches while she worked on various aspects of his tactical gear. This was different, though. This wasn’t work. This was a favor. Friends do favors. Bucky didn’t have friends. Especially not really pretty soft-spoken friends. But, Stark insisted he have a nice suit for some gala, so he asked.     

     Y/N had immediately accepted, saying it was no problem. It really wasn’t. Tailoring was her job after all. His suit ended up looking phenomenal and Bucky got quite a few compliments, making sure to tell everyone who designed his sleek black suit. Bucky offered to pay her but she refused. Bucky insisted on doing something to pay her back. They ended up agreeing that he owed her a favor.

       Over the time she was tailoring him, they grew close. Y/N and Bucky were unlikely friends, but they quickly became the best of them. Bucky would bring her lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when he had nightmares he’d call her and they’d talk for hours, he brought her coffee in the mornings, and she brought him freshly made gloves every time he tore his open. They were just perfect for each other. Best friends and nothing more.

    Now, six months past the gala, Y/N has decided to cash in her favor. She’s pacing her small apartment. Her faded blue jeans hugged her hips as she walked and her blouse was unbuttoned slightly more than what would be considered professional. It was seven in the evening, Y/N had just arrived home from work. She had made plans with Bucky a week ago and he would be arriving any minute. She was in the middle of pouring herself a glass of wine when a knock came at the door. Y/N rushed over to it, smoothed her hair down, and opened the door.

    Bucky looked amazing. Dressed in dark jeans and that black fucking tee shirt. He had on his leather jacket and glove, but she knew he would take those off once inside.

    “Come in.” Y/N moved aside to allow him access and he smiled, taking his jacket off and putting it on her coat rack. His hair had grown out slightly, no longer trimmed close to the scalp. The realization made Y/N squeeze her thighs together in anticipation.

    “You want anything to drink?” Y/N asked, retreating to her kitchen to fetch her abandoned glass of white wine.

    “Water would be nice.” Bucky sat on her couch, waiting for her to return. Y/N made him a glass of water just how he liked it. Cool water from the fridge with no ice. He always said the cold hurt his teeth, but she knew he hated the way the cold glass felt on his metal hand.

    Y/N returned to the couch, sitting on the opposite end and tucking her legs underneath herself. She offered him his glass of water which he took with a muttered thank you.

    “So, what’s this about?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his water. His left arm was draped around the back of the couch, his right arm in his lap holding his water. He had his left leg half-crossed over his right. He looked good. Casual. Like he belonged in the space.

    “I wanted to cash in my favor.” Y/N couldn’t look at him. Her eyes were glued to her hands in her lap. “For tailoring your suit.”

    “What, six months of the pleasure of my company wasn’t enough?” Bucky gave her a smile to try and lighten the mood but when he saw the look on her face he quickly grew serious.

    “What’s up, doll? Talk to me.” Bucky leaned forward and set a hand on her knee. Y/N looked down at his hand, then at his stark blue eyes, and took a large gulp of her wine.

    “Ok. So uh… the thing is... “ Y/N mumbled and trailed off, nervous beyond all belief.

    “Do you need money? Is Stark not paying you enough?” After she shook her head, Bucky spoke again. “What is it then?”

    “I- I need you to have sex with me.” Y/N said, looking up to meet his eyes. Bucky’s face was completely neutral. Not neutral- frozen, Y/N realized.

    “I know it’s totally unfair to ask this of you but please, just listen.” Bucky gave her a barely perceptible nod.

    “When I was in high school, I did everything right. I didn’t date, I didn’t party, I studied. That’s it. Then college came around and I couldn’t let loose like I wanted to. Studying and working was just too ingrained in me. So, I’ve never…” She trailed off, hoping Bucky would understand.

     “Never what?” With anyone else, Y/N would’ve thought they were messing with her. But Bucky had said it himself, he couldn’t lie to her. His face was genuine.

     “Never had sex, Buck.” Y/N looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails.

     “You mean you’re a-”

     “Yeah.”

     “And you want me to-”

     “There’s no one I trust more than you.” Y/N met his eyes and saw the internal battle in them. He wanted to be there for her, but he didn’t trust himself. He eventually broke the thick silence to ask her a question.

     “But, you’re twenty-two. How have you never had sex?” Bucky brought a hand to rest on his jaw, looking like he was solving a puzzle.

     “I’ve gotten close. My ex-boyfriend he uh- he tried a few times. But it never felt right. It felt gross and I was so nervous I wanted to puke. After I wouldn’t put out, he dumped me.” Y/N tucked her knees under his chin, curling into herself.

     “Matt?” She nodded. “I knew he was a scumbag.” Bucky sat forward and took his head in his hands, running his hands through his hair.

     “Why does it have to be me, again?” Bucky asked, still staring at the floor.

     “Because I trust you more than anyone else. Because I know you won’t let things get weird between us.” Bucky looked up at her and smirked.

     “I hoped my charming nature might’ve played into it a bit.” He gave Y/N his signature shit-talking grin. She rolled her eyes and kicked him lightly. After a few seconds the air turned heavy between them.

     “You don’t have to. I won’t be mad or anything. I just-” She sighed. “I don’t want it to be some one night stand with a guy I’ve never met. I know it’s stupid but I-”

     “It’s not stupid. I understand.” Bucky turned to face her and took her hand in his.

     “You trust me?” He asked, his blue eyes piercing her hazel ones.

     “Yes.” She answered honestly.

     “Ok.”

     “Ok? Does that mean yes?” Bucky laughed softly at that.

     “Yeah, yeah. You’ve convinced me. Let me go freshen up, hm?” Y/N gave him a smile and a nod. “Be right back, doll.” Bucky stood up with a disbelieving shake of his head and walked to Y/N’s bathroom.

     Y/N took a deep breath and threw her hand to her face. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, searing her hand. She reached for her wine, forgotten on the coffee table, and downed the rest of the glass. God knows she needed liquid courage.

    Bucky returned and Y/N only stared at him as he approached. Her eyes wide in anticipation. Bucky stopped inches in front of her and offered his hand.

    “I ain’t taking you on the couch, doll.” Bucky said in his smooth voice. The words combined with the tone had her clenching her thighs, something that didn’t go unnoticed. He gave a small smirk as she took his hand and let him lead her to her bedroom. Once inside the room, he motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so. He kneeled in front of her and took her hands in his.

    “You sure about this, sweetheart?” Bucky was incredibly kind in his words, making sure she was positive.

    “You’re only making me more sure, Buck.” Y/N smiled at him and couldn’t help her eyes glancing down at his lips. They were so close to hers. She looked back to his eyes and saw that they were on her lips.

    “Can I kiss you?” His voice was quiet and low as his breath fanned across her lips. She nodded and brought a hand to his jaw as he leaned in. The first kiss they shared was short. Barely three seconds. But when Bucky pulled away and saw her eyes half-closed and pupils blown wide, he went back for more. Their lips crashed together and all Y/N could think about was how soft he was. The pink lips on hers felt like pillows, the hands on her knees felt like clouds. His hands travelled her denim-clad thighs and reached her round hips. Bucky gave an experimental squeeze, eliciting a moan from Y/N. Bucky smiled into the kiss.

    Y/N ran her hands into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. Bucky groaned and pulled away slightly, only to move his lips to her neck. He left small love bites, soothing the bruised flesh with his tongue. Y/N whimpered and gasped as he worked.

    “Sensitive there, doll?” Bucky whispered against her skin. She could only nod, lost in him. He chuckled and pulled away, tugging at her shirt in silent question. She leaned back and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing baby blue lingerie. A laced corset accentuated her full breasts. There were lacy straps descending into her jeans, leaving just enough to the imagination. Bucky’s eyes travelled her form greedily. His hands came to rest on her waist, thumbs caressing the thin fabric.

    “Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna kill me.” Bucky pushed his lips into hers again letting his hands roam her figure freely now.

    “You next.” Y/N said between kisses as she pulled on his shirt. Bucky separated from her to pull his black tee shirt off.

    “Don’t expect anything lacy, doll.” Bucky gave her a minute to catch a breath. Her eyes roamed his form. She brought her hands to his chest and let her fingernails scratch over his abs gently. Bucky gave a low groan in his throat and covered her hands with his.

    “Baby… Don’t start something you’re not going to finish.” Bucky met her eyes to gauge her reaction.

    “Who says I’m not going to finish? I fully plan on finishing.” Y/N gave him a smirk and scratched her hands on his chest again.

    “Fuck, you asked for it.” Bucky groaned and pounced on her. Her back hit the bed and he leaned over her, caging her between his arms. She arched her hips into his and felt his erection even through both of their jeans.

    “Too many layers. Need to- need to feel you.” Y/N spoke between kisses. Bucky nodded and started kissing her neck again, trailing his tongue down the exposed skin. He left open mouthed kisses on her stomach through the lace of her lingerie. He popped the button on her jeans and pulled the zipper down, slowly dragging the denim down her thighs. Once they were off her long legs, he saw the continuance of her lingerie.

   Baby blue garters were strapped to her thighs, connected to crotchless panties. Glistening folds peaked out from behind the lacy material. He let out a sigh at the sight. Bucky tripped trying to rid himself of his own jeans, making Y/N giggle. His eyes snapped back to hers, amusement dancing in the blue.

   “What’s so funny, babydoll?” He crawled over her again, his black boxers the only thing left restraining his aching cock. She looked up at him with a ditzy smile on her face.

   “You’re a super soldier and you’re a-” Her words were cut off by a moan as Bucky’s right hand swiped through her folds, gathering her wetness on his fingers.

   “What was that, doll? You were saying?” He smirked at her as his fingers toyed with her clit. She only whined and moved her hips, rutting against his hand. Bucky looked down at her heat then back to her face, lost in pleasure.

   “Shit, baby. You fucking my hand?” Y/N nodded as a red blush came to her cheeks. Bucky leaned in to kiss her neck some more, letting her get herself off on his hand. She whimpered something he couldn’t quite hear.

   “Hm?” He pulled away from her neck, a goofy smile on his face, feeling drunk on her skin.

   “Said more, Buck. Please.” Her eyes opened to meet his, pleading want showing in the hazel hue. Bucky smiled and nodded, kissing down her body once again. Seeing where he was going, Y/N spoke.

   “You don’t have to- oh. Oh.” Her hands flew to the sheets as Bucky’s tongue slipped through her folds. Bucky sat up and pulled her hands to his hair, encouraging her to pull on it. He returned to her cunt and lapped at her clit. Y/N shivered underneath his touch. All the things he was doing were new experiences for her and Bucky was making sure they were all amazing. His tongue moved down to her hole, prodding at the entrance gently. He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and brought a thumb to her clit, rubbing small circles.

   “Bucky…” Various expletives and combinations of his name fell from Y/N’s lips as Bucky worked. “Bucky, your fingers. Please.” Y/N’s light gasp filled the air. Bucky nodded against her and brought his flesh hand up to tease her slit. Y/N caught the hand in her own and shook her head.

   “I want…” She trailed off, the embarrassment too much.

   “Want what, doll?” Bucky left small kisses on her thighs in reassurance.

   “I want the metal one.” Bucky’s eyes went wide at her words.

   “You- you want this? This turns you on?” He held up his hand, black and gold shimmering in the dull light of her bedroom. He had a look of pure confusion on his face. His hand was not something to be used here, with her. It was hard and cold and unforgiving, all things she was not. “Are you sure-”

   Bucky’s words were cut off as Y/N took his metal hand and lifted his index finger to her mouth, wrapping her swollen lips around it. She took the finger into the base, letting the tip hit the back of her throat. She coated it with her saliva and as she pulled it away there was a trail of wetness leading to her mouth.

   “Fuck… Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” He pulled his metal finger from her grip and brought it to her heat, teasing the entrance with the first knuckle. She shivered and arched her back into his touch, trying to get more of him inside her. He slowly pushed the black and gold finger in, curling it experimentally. Y/N let out a pornographic moan when his finger brushed one particular spot. Bucky smirked.

    “Found you.”

    He brought his lips back to her clit, alternating between short licks and sucking the bud into his mouth. His finger maintained a steady pulse, hitting her G-spot with every movement. He could feel her clenching around his finger, her pussy pulling him in further.

   “You gonna cum, baby?” Bucky asked quickly, not wanting to take his mouth from her sweetness for any elongated time.

   “Yes, Bucky, Please, I’m so close.” She gripped his hair, pulling on it as she had imagined doing earlier.

   “Cum for me, doll. Cum all over my fucking metal hand.” The gentle vibrations of Bucky’s voice and the reminder of what exactly was making her feel so good sent her careening over the edge, holding onto his hair to keep her grounded in her body.

   “Bucky! Fuck, yes. Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” Her hips moved against his face, prolonging her orgasm. Bucky moaned into her center, enjoying the view of a beautiful girl in blue lingerie riding his face. When her hips stilled and her breath slowed, Bucky pulled away, his face covered in her slick. A blush came over her face at the sight.

   “You embarrassed?” Bucky asked her, coming to crawl over her again. She nodded briefly.

  “Don’t be. C’mere, baby. Taste yourself. Fucking delicious.” He pulled her to him by the neckline of her corset, crashing their lips together. She licked at his lips and he moaned at the feeling. Y/N pulled away and looked up at him with her swollen lips and darkened eyes. Bucky knew she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He pulled the straps of the garters away from her body and let them snap back against her soft skin.

   “This needs to go.” Y/N hummed in agreement and looked at him mischievously. She hooked her leg under his and flipped them so he was on his back. His eyes widened in wonder and confusion, silently asking for an explanation.

   “Nat.”

   “Of course.”

   Y/N climbed off him and began pulling the various straps off her body. Slowly and teasingly, she became more exposed to him. Bucky palmed himself through his boxers as he watched, letting out small gasps every time a new segment of skin was unveiled. When she had taken the garters off, the only thing left was the corset. She reached behind her to unclip the buttons and let the garment fall to the ground. Bucky’s mouth dropped open as her breasts were finally revealed. She brought her arms to cover her chest, embarrassed. His gaze darkened and he reached his hands out, beckoning her to him. She climbed into his lap and his hands came to rest on the small of her back. He took her hands and guided them away from her chest.

   “Baby, shit, why’re you hiding these?” Bucky’s hands ghosted around the sides of her heavy breasts.

   “I don’t like them.” Y/N admitted honestly. Bucky’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped in disbelief.

   “Y/N, believe me when I say, these are the best damn tits I’ve ever seen. Fucking beautiful.” Bucky leaned forward and captured a nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around the nub. Y/N gasped as his metal hand came up to the other nipple, the contrast between his hot, soft, wet, mouth and his cold, hard, hand making her head spin.

  He pulled away from her to admire his handiwork. Red bruises on and surrounding her nipples.

  “Why don’t you like them?” He looked up to meet her eyes, a softness in them she didn’t get to see often.

  “The stretch marks…” Y/N looked down at her hands. Bucky pulled her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes.

  “Baby. Do you realize who you’re talking to? Look.” He guided her hand to his left shoulder, shivering as her fingers ran over the scarred flesh.

  “I could give a shit less what scars you have. It just proves you’re strong. That you fought a battle and came out the other side. You’re beautiful.” Bucky raised himself up to press a kiss to her lips. Y/N smiled and shook her head, a blush covering her face. Bucky didn’t know how to convince her.

  “Let me prove it to you.” Y/N looked down at him. Bucky looked at her with earnest eyes. “Let me show you how beautiful you are.” Y/N was shocked at his gentleness. She had expected him to just have sex with her. She hadn’t predicted this level of intimacy. It was surprisingly… nice.

   “Ok.” Y/N said simply.

   “Ok? Gonna need something a little more enthusiastic than that, sweetheart.” Bucky’s words were teasing but she knew he was yet again making sure she was okay with this.

   Y/N threw her head back dramatically and exclaimed: “Take me! Take me and have your savage way with me!” Bucky roared with laughter and flipped her onto her back, kissing her lips gently.

   “That’ll do, doll.” Bucky kissed her neck gently and stood up.

   “Wait- what’re you doing?” Y/N asked. Bucky turned back to look at her, a bashful expression on his face.

   “I uh- I need a condom, doll. Unless you want a little me running around here.” Y/N let out a light laugh at the image. But something about the idea of a kid with Bucky’s eyes and her smile made her heart ache.

   “I mean, I’m on birth control. And I’m clean…” Bucky looks down at his hands. There was something more intimate about what she was asking him to do.

   “Yeah, me too. The serum it uh, keeps us from getting any diseases. STDs included. Lucky me, right?” Bucky gave a dry laugh and started walking back towards the bed. They were both suddenly a bit nervous. Y/N stood and took his hand, turning him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. When she got on her knees in front of him, Bucky held out a hand to stop her.

   “You don’t need to-” Y/N gripped him through his boxers.

   “This is a learning experience right? Teach me how to do this too. For-” She took an uneasy pause. “For whoever comes next. Can’t be giving my first BJ to a stranger.” Bucky looked saddened by that. Whatever glimmer of emotion she thought she saw disappeared and he quickly reverted back to his normal self.

   “Yeah. Wouldn’t want that, hm?” Y/N looked up at him expectantly. Her eyes went from his boxers and back to his eyes.

   “Oh- right.” Bucky lifted his hips off the bed and slid his boxers off. His cock was at half-mast but was still shockingly large. Y/N’s eyes went wide. Gone were the nerves of a second ago. This was no longer present day Bucky, this was 40’s Bucky with all the swagger and charisma of a dashing young military sergeant.

    “Like what you see, doll?” Y/N rolled her eyes and looked up at him, awaiting instruction.

    “Ok, first, you’re gonna spit on your hand. Then start stroking.” Y/N obeyed. Bucky let out a loud hiss when her lubed hand touched his bare cock for the first time. She moved her hand up and down his shaft, twisting it slightly like she had seen in porn.

    “Fuck, sweetie. Just like that. Now, uh, lick the tip.” Bucky was already out of breath and Y/N decided she loved this. Loved seeing him come apart for her. Y/N leaned forward and placed an open mouthed kiss on the red tip. Bucky’s hips jutted into her mouth as he moaned.

    “Shit, sorry. Dunno what’s gotten into me.” Bucky looked down at her. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips were red and swollen, her neck was covered in marks that he had left… He knew exactly what had gotten into him. He just didn’t have the nerve to say it. It was times like these that Bucky Barnes really wished he could get drunk.

    Y/N kept stroking his cock as she pulled away to speak.

   “It’s okay. It was kind of hot.” She looked at him from under her thick eyelashes.

   “Yeah? You want me to do it again?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

   “Please.” Y/N replied.

   Bucky groaned and brought his hips a little closer to the edge of the bed.

   “You’re going to let me know if it gets too much at any time, alright?” Y/N nodded.

   “Open your mouth, doll.” Y/N did, opening as wide as she could to prepare for his girth. Bucky slid his cock into her mouth. “Breathe through- shit. Breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Relax your throat.” Y/N tried her best to obey his commands, sitting back on her heels to allow him to take full control. Bucky brought a hand to the back of her head, gathering her hair before starting to gently thrust into her mouth.

   “Fuck, baby. Feels so fucking good.” He looked down to see her staring up at him but the biggest shock was her hand between her thighs.

   “Are you- shit, are you touching yourself, doll?” She batted her eyelashes as if to say “What does it look like?” and he chuckled.

   “You look so good like this, baby. On your knees for me. Sucking- shit- sucking my cock like you were born to do it.” Bucky’s filthy words drew a moan from Y/N, sending vibrations through his cock. “Fuck! Oh- baby. Oh, god. This is gonna end a lot sooner than I’d like if we don’t stop.” Y/N made no move to pull away from him, continuing to let him fuck her throat.

   “Oh, is that what you want, hm? Want me to cum down that pretty throat of yours?” Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed as another moan escaped her. A shiver ran through Bucky’s body but he tapped her on the cheek. “Nuh-uh, babydoll. Wanna see those eyes. Those fucking eyes.” Y/N batted her eyelashes and moaned again. Bucky pulled out of her mouth suddenly. She pouted at him.

   “Doll- if I hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t get to fuck you. That’s the whole point, right?” Bucky took her hand and pulled her to standing so he could kiss her. He pulled away so he could see her eyes flutter open, dizzy on him. “Those fucking eyes.” Bucky said with a smirk before picking her up and setting on the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and shivered when she felt his hot length on her thigh. Bucky looked at her one last time.

   “You sure, doll? I want this too, but I’ll go home with some major fucking blue balls if you’ve changed your mind.” Y/N threw her head back and laughed. Bucky only watched her, a soft smile coming across his face. How had he never noticed how beautiful her laugh was before?

   “I’m sure, Buck.” Y/N arched upwards to press a kiss to his lips.

   “Alright, then. What the lady wants…” Bucky reached between them and gripped his cock. He slid it through her folds a few times, gathering her wetness. Then he slowly pushed inside her with a loud groan from each of them. Bucky watched her face to gauge her reaction. A mix of pain and discomfort was painted on her features and it killed him. He hated hurting her but this is what she asked for. He continued pushing into her, inch by inch, trying to control his hips and keep from rutting into her. After a minute of tortuously slow moving, he bottomed out. A few tears had escaped Y/N’s eyes and he leaned down to kiss them off her cheek. Slowly, the look of pain disappeared from Y/N’s face.

   “Bucky-”

   “Yeah, doll?”

   “Please, move.”

   That was all it took to shatter his resolve. Bucky pulled out as much as she allowed him to, her pussy gripping him like a vice. He thrusted back into her warm depths, sighing at how well she took him.

   “So fucking tight, doll. Feels fucking heavenly.” Bucky’s fists tensed in the sheets beside her when she clenched around him.

   “Shit- oh. Someone has a praise kink.” Bucky muttered under his breath. Y/N nodded in desperation to hear him talk again.

   “You want me to keep talking? You like it when I talk to you, baby? Tell you how good you feel? How well you’re taking my cock?” Y/N shivered and her walls tightened around him.

   “Fuck, baby. You keep that up I’m not gonna last long.” Bucky propped himself up on his metal arm and reached his flesh one between their bodies, sticky with sweat. He rubbed gently at her clit as he thrusted, trying to time the rhythms together. Y/N cried out in pleasure, the sound music to Bucky’s ears.

   “Are you gonna cum, doll? Be a good girl and cum on my cock, yeah? Bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum for me.” Bucky kissed her neck sloppily, biting slightly on her pulse point. Bucky’s words and the new sensation sent her over the edge. Y/N’s hands gripped her pillow as Bucky sat back to look at her. She was beautiful as she came undone on his cock. She looked majestic. Holy. Like a goddess he’d get on his knees and pray to or a queen he’d serve until his dying breath.

   “Bucky, oh- baby. Just like- Oh-” Y/N shivered as her orgasm wrecked her, every thrust of Bucky’s hips prolonging the sensation. Bucky took in her post-orgasmic state.

   She was a mess. Her tits were sweaty and shiny as they bounced in the dull light of her bedroom. Her neck was covered in a smattering or bruises. She seemed to notice his gaze because she reached for him, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him roughly. She looked down to where their bodies met. Bucky’s eyes followed her own and he moaned in absolute delight at the scene. He closed his eyes quickly out of reflex. Protect himself. Protect Y/N. Don’t lose control. Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his nose and his eyes snapped open to meet hers.

   “Let go.” That simple sentence gave Bucky a gentle push over the edge and then he was falling. Not a hard fall with an ending that would leave him mentally unstable and minus an arm, but more of a pleasant roller coaster drop. He felt safe in her arms as he let go, shooting ropes of white cum inside her.

   “Y/N- fucking hell. Baby- So fucking good.” Bucky was very vocal as his hips slowed to a stop. His cock twitched from the oversensitivity. He knew he’d have to pull out eventually, but he wasn’t in any hurry. She was wet and warm and inviting and the world outside her bedroom was cold and cruel and unforgiving. Bucky knew he’d stay there forever if she let him.

   But that’s not what he was here for. Not for life, not even for the night. Just for an hour. Just until she’d had her cherry popped and she’d send him on his way like some kind of sick business deal. With great effort, Bucky convinced his body to pull from her soft depths, smearing cum and slick down her thighs. He stood and began gathering his clothes.

   “What- what’re you doing?” Bucky looked back at Y/N. She had her knees tucked into her chest and was staring up at him with those fucking eyes.

   “I’m leaving.” Y/N’s eyes drooped at his words.

   “Oh.”

   Bucky pulled on his boxers and elected to get changed out of her view- the harsh stare on his back was getting to be too much. He had his hand on the doorknob when she spoke.

   “Please- please don’t go.” This time when Bucky looked at Y/N, her eyes were rimmed with tears. He dropped his clothes and ran to her, cradling her face.

   “Why’re you crying, babydoll? What’s wrong?” His eyes sought hers, trying to understand what was happening behind them.

   “You were going to leave.” Y/N’s tears hadn’t fallen yet. She was always so strong. Bucky wished he knew how to make her feel safe enough to be weak.

   “I figured you’d want me to.” His thumb stroked her cheek.

   “No. I- I want you to stay. Please stay.” Y/N’s hands reached up and wrapped around his wrists, keeping them in place.

   “Then I’ll stay. I’ll stay, doll. Just please- don’t cry.” Bucky kissed her forehead and pulled her into his chest. If he felt a small wet spot growing where her head lay, he didn’t say anything.

   Eventually she pulled away from him. Y/N’s eyes met his and Bucky knew then- he was wrecked. Utterly, completely, wrecked.

   “Will you sleep with me?” She asked. He understood she meant sleep next to her in bed. Keep her warm with his touch and keep her mind calm with his presence. He nodded and she unravelled herself from his arms. She stood and tucked herself into her warm covers, beckoning for him to join her. Her body was naked still, but he didn’t care. Preferred it, actually. Not for any perverted reason. He had missed the feeling of warm flesh on his own. A body that wasn’t about to die underneath him. It was...nice.

  Bucky crawled into bed beside her, exposing his right side for her to cuddle into if she wished. She did. She laid her head on his shoulder and ran a hand up and down his stomach, tracing invisible patterns.

   “Thank you.” She said.

   “Anytime.”

   After a while, her breath evened out. He watched her back rise and fall. He knew he had to leave in the morning- but for now he’d allow himself to indulge in the simple pleasures of the smell of her shampoo and the way her heart beat in time with his.  

#bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #smut

[omniscientwreck]

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

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The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

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The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #caduceus clay #critical role #the mighty nein #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #tm9 #my writing #omni writes #my fic #a little worried this is ooc for Cad but also I think he's just treating them like he'd treat his siblings #eventually you just gotta push people in the direction they're heading

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part IV

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1880.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

_________

After you came back to your room, you got a message from Steve about changing the locks on both you door and your locker. You were so taken aback by today's conversation in the student council room that you had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Steve had already requested the change of locks on your behalf through email, and you were really grateful to him for that: you dreaded coming back to the room that had been forced open. Of course, tonight you would have to move your dresser to the door so that nobody could enter when you'd be sleeping.

Shit. It was absolutely crazy.

"I'm not sure about all this, Steve." You texted him while laying on your bed and staring at your phone in the darkness of the room. "It doesn't seem right."

Naturally, you meant the fake dating thing. It felt horrible thinking of what others would think after seeing you with five different guys. Would they be calling you a whore in the open? Make some nasty jokes behind your back? Report you to the school administration for immoral behavior? Remembering those bigots from the student office, you cringed at the thought.

Besides, it still didn't make sense to you why you had to date all five. Sure, if they were around you at all times like your friends, these unhinged bastards who stole your things wouldn't do anything funny again, but it wasn't like that. What could one guy do against a group of other students?

"Listen, I didn't want to talk about it in class, but I'm worried it won't end with a stolen lingerie."

You didn't like his message.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. They might attempt something much worse than a theft."

Oh no. Was he talking about rape? Seriously? Did he anticipate others were so crazy they would do something like that?

But then again, girls were being raped in colleges even if it weren't the all-boys schools. A shiver ran down your spine.

"But if several people attack me, just one of you won't be enough." You typed with your shaky fingers, trembling beneath your blanket.

"It's not about the pure force. Each of us has a certain reputation, and others wouldn't want to cross us over because of it."

Wait, this was interesting. What on Earth did he mean? What kind of reputation was that to prevent people from messing with them?

"Thor is a good athlete and a great leader, his basketball team is ready to beat people to death for him."

"Loki's father is one of academy’s main sponsors, and he can have this school turned upside down if he wants to."

"Bucky is a threat by himself, but he also have a company of loyal friends."

"I don't think Peter is serious enough to scare anyone, but with his computer skills he could easily blackmail others, I’ve already seen him doing it. Students would be wary to cross him over just like any of us."

Steve was writing you a bunch of messages with a terrifying speed, and you could barely read the first when he was already sending you the second. It felt absolutely insane. Did he choose every guy because the more powerful admirers you have, the less others would intervene? Well, at least in case of Bucky and Thor who could beat people to near death, it was wise. You preferred not to think of Peter - you had no idea someone as sweet and caring as him did something as disgusting as a blackmail.

“But what others will think? 5 boyfriends? Others will think you are dating-” you paused, chewing your lips to bit, “- a whore. Nobody gonna stood up for me.”

"Imagine if each of us tells our friends that other four guys were just asked to watch over you, but you date only one.”

Oh. Yes, this was slightly better. Then you wouldn’t have to do something as bold as kissing every guy in public, instead maintaining the mystery who you were really dating. 

Damn, how Steve even came up with this plan? Why was everything so complicated?

“It’s getting late. Good night.” Your phone vibrated again, and you huffed with irritation. You hoped you could ask him a bit more - about what you were going to do with the thieves Steve found, for example - but he was probably getting tired with all your questions. It was better to ask him tomorrow.

___________________

The next morning you were restless: since you were starting to going out with guys, you felt like you needed to look better than you usually were, so you spent your morning working on your hair and makeup. It was like fake dating, right? You had to pretend you wanted to look pretty for them.

What else did you have to do? Cook something sweet for them? Yeah, probably, but not at the start of your relationship. Going to cafe together? Helping each other study? Loki also mentioned the cinema...

You felt dumb. Of course, you dated guys before, but now you realized you had no idea how to act not to cause any suspicion. Oh boy, it was going to be a tough day.

Thor nocked at you door thirty minutes before your first session, but you woke up so early you were more than ready to go. As you opened the door, first moving the dresser back to its place, the guy looked at you with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hey, what was that?"

"The dresser. I can't leave the door just like that until the lock is changed."

He blinked at you, watching the door and then probably remembering somebody forced the lock open to steal your underwear.

"These guys are batshit crazy." He mumbled and nodded you to go with him, putting his hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, they won't do it again."

You wanted to argue they definitely would, but, seeing his warm smile, you thought Thor simply wanted to cheer you up and smiled at him in return. In the end, he was here only to make you feel safer: you didn't doubt he was very popular with the girls every time he went out to the city.

"You look great today!" He said sheepishly, walking in the dorm's corridor while other students were staring at him silently, obviously surprised to see you two together. "I mean, not that you looked bad yesterday, I just..."

Watching his face suddenly getting crimson red, you couldn't help but giggle at his expression. You could never think Thor was actually bashful around girls. Yeah, at your old place he'd definitely be one of the most popular guys around.

It was lunch time when you two could actually talk, sitting together at the same table and being watched by everyone around. Strangely, with Thor constantly talking and often rubbing your hand with his, it didn't feel suffocating, and you held your head high: regardless whether those pricks were looking at you, you weren't going to run away to your room and cry there like a little girl. Loki was right: you weren't a silly little sheep, scared of your own shadow. You wouldn't let anyone spoil your time in the academy you dreamt studying in.

Funny enough, Thor turned out to be a talkative type when he was speaking about basketball and his team in particular. He loved sports: while you were more into hockey, the way he talked was so enthusiastic it made you listen to him with a genuine interest. Thor's love for basketball was infectious.

He seemed a simple man, this giant bag of muscles who was laughing so loud people around him flinched; Thor wasn't the exact type of a guy you would encounter on your own, but he seemed nice, sincere, and surprisingly softhearted. You felt at ease talking to him, and soon you too acted like you'd known each other for long.

It was a pity you'd only met under this circumstances. It felt like you two could became friends.

But then when Thor absent-mindedly put his arm around your shoulders, you remembered Loki's warning: they would try to gain your favors. Was it the reason Thor was so nice to someone he just met? Wasn't it suspicious of him? You couldn't let your guard down after just one lunch together. In fact, you knew nothing of the man sitting in front of you.

"I knew something like would happen." Some guy to your left sighed loudly, catching your attention. "They were fucking crazy."

"I'm not surprised either. I just wanna know who they got in a fight with to be beaten like that. Have you heard they broke Gray's both legs?"

"Woah, both? That's brutal, man."

You shivered, trying not to listen to them.

"It'd happen sooner or later anyway. They were completely wild."

A word caught your attention right away: that was what Steve called those students who were stealing your things. Could it be a coincidence? Surely, in an all-boys school the students were fighting each other constantly.

But to the point of breaking both legs of someone? Really?

As you sent Thor a nervous look, he gently patted your shoulder, lowering his voice so no one would hear him, "I'm sure it's nothing to do with you. These things happen here from time to time because the guys have no idea what to do with all that testosterone."

You hoped he was right.

The rest of the day went as usual aside from Thor walking the corridors with you and chatting about sports: he managed to convince you to come see the game next month when they would be having a tournament. You were grateful to him for helping to ease your mind because the news of guys being sent to the ambulance made you shook. Steve also mentioned something about his and other's friends ready to beat anyone to death, right?

By the middle of your last class you couldn't think of it any longer and quickly typed a message to Loki. Of all people, right now he seemed the most sincere to you.

"Hi. Are the guys who were beaten last night are the ones who stole my things?"

Waiting was a special torture when you held the phone in your arms beneath your desk, hoping to see your screen lighting up with a message. In five minutes you got your reply.

"Yes." The message said simply, but it was enough for you to stare at your phone with horror, wishing you didn't ask Loki anything.

Oh shit. It wasn't a coincidence, right? It's impossible. Somebody did it on purpose. But who of the five?

"Do you know who did it?"

Next time he answered pretty fast, "No."

A part of you felt relieved. Maybe it wasn't related, finally. Maybe they got beaten by somebody who was fed up with their attitude because they were crazy as the guys in the cafeteria said.

But what if it weren't true?

"Who's the most brutal among you five?"

Biting your lips, you started rocking in your chair a little, making the guy on your left to roll his eyes in irritation.

The phone's screen flashed again.

"Barnes."

Part V

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @stupendouslovegardener @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #thor x reader #loki x reader #peter parker x reader #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark thor #dark loki #dark peter parker #yandere

[the--sad--hatter]

Steam - Chapter 1 (Loki x Reader)

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

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

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

Description/Blurb -

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter One - Ice Breaker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Naturally, The Avengers argued.

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

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

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

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

 “How tall are you?” You asked incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I ate a bomb.” You whispered.

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

 “I’m sorry, what?” Stark demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 To him it probably was.

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

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

 “Precisely.” Fury admitted, surprisingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Well Fe-Fi-Fo-Fuck.”

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

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

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

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#Loki #Loki x Reader #The Avengers #Avengers x Reader #Deadpool

[a-libra-writes]

How the GoT Characters Propose To You

We’re BACK AT IT AGAIN FOLKS

In this imagine, you’ll be proposed to by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

In spite of the fact your families arranged this marriage years ago, Ned has to be his usual honorable, traditional self and go along with the expected courting process. That includes a formal proposal, but… that’s not for the purpose of tradition. The way he beams and looks at you with such adoration, you can tell he just really wants to hear you say “yes” to the proposal he shyly talks through. The ring is on the more modest side, combining the direwolf and your house’s sigil. There’s a personal touch on the inside; either an inscription or an engraving that has a special meaning to the two of you. He likely has a matching ring, very unassuming, that he wears whenever possible.

ROBB STARK

He didn’t expect to fall so completely for you during this stuffy courting process. Robb can’t believe how lucky he is, and it’s obvious to everyone how enamored he is with you. He’s ready to jump straight to the wedding, tradition be damned, but oh well. What he does do is give you the ring quite early, and his own proposal, even if your marriage has been long decided. His proposal is straightforward, but there’s love and earnestness in his eyes as he takes your hands and presents the ring he secretly acquired. It’s beautifully crafted, with silver direwolves and gemstones that match your house’s sigil for their eyes.

SANSA STARK

Sansa had thought about this for a long time. Letting that romantic spirit come back, even after you’d been together for a while, was difficult. The whole concept of marriage had become repulsive to her, but together the two of you could make it something different. She gave you an unassuming ring you could always wear, with gemstones that reminded her of your eyes. She tried not to cry with happiness as she gave her heartfelt proposal. You’d say your vows in the weirwoods, where she always wanted to be married. The whole day would seem like a dream to her, like the innocent daydreams she had as a girl, before the world took everything.

JON SNOW

He had it planned out: What he would say, where he would say it, but his nerves and doubts bite at him again and again. You can tell he’s been thinking about something for months, it’s been weighing on him, but you hadn’t expected this. It all makes sense when you both are alone in a godswood and Jon takes your hand … and finally blurts it all out. He had a silver ring made; you don’t know how he managed it, but it’s pretty in its simplicity. There’s a direwolf running across the ring, its teeth bared, and another one running beside it. A pack of two.

BENJEN STARK

The asking and ceremony would be more of a ‘symbolic’ thing - being you both were in the Night’s Watch, and you were in disguise. It’s why when he first asked you, you thought it was some silly jap. “Of course, Ben,” You rolled your eyes. “I would love to be your wife.” Then he took your hand, removed the old woolen glove covering it and put on a small, unassuming iron ring that fit you perfectly. Benjen couldn’t stop grinning as he asked you again. It’s a sweet moment you share high up on the wall, in the middle of the darkness, where it seems like you both are totally alone in the world. Days afterward, you notice the engravings of the direwolf inside the ring.

JORY CASSEL

No matter how long you both were together at this point, Jory gets tongue-tied and stumbles over what he carefully rehearsed. He’s still so sure you’ll refuse him, given the small land and influence his family has. He thought for a long time about what sort of ring to get you, and admittedly, he was thinking about it early on in the relationship. It’s something quite pretty and elegant, and it references your house and personal taste. Honorable and traditional as he was, it didn’t feel right going to your family for “formal” permission. He wanted to know your feelings first, and that you truly wanted the arrangement.

EDDISON TOLLETT

You being his “old lady” was a dumb in-joke you and Edd had for some time. You were disguised in the Night’s Watch, of course, but the way you two (playfully) bickered made everyone call you an exhausting old couple. Even when you both were alone, Edd would use “wife”, though you were increasingly aware it wasn’t a joke anymore. Finally he really asks you, even if it’s pointless, even if it’s while you both are freezing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. And even then, he’s still surprised you say yes. One day he ties a piece of old twine around your finger, blushing the whole time, insisting you don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to.

YARA GREYJOY

If you were from the greenlands, from the get-go, Yara liked to refer to you as her salt wife. It was half teasing, half telling the other Ironborn to stay away. Whenever she’d say it, she’d keep such a protective hold on your waist, you were half-convinced she was going to carry you off to her ship. Eventually she made good on that promise. If you were Ironborn, Yara would be more willing to be forward. She’d tell you about some story she heard from her uncle about brides of the sea, women who stayed together and never married, though you knew she wasn’t one for fancies. Regardless, she’d have matching necklaces made for the both of you, leather and iron, like most of what she owns. She keeps it protected under her clothes.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Oh, she’s brought it up with you plenty of times - how you’ll be her Queen before gods and men, no matter what anyone thinks. The thing is, you both never did a grand ceremony. There were other matters to attend to, but Daenerys always made it clear to visitors who you were to her. She has plans for a wonderful ceremony once she takes her throne back, a celebration of your unbreakable union… Well, until then, you both can have your private vows. There’s dozens of beautiful things she’s given you (mostly from suitors who won’t bugger off), but your favorite is a necklace she had specially made. It’s a necklace of obsidian with dragons in flight, all connected together. The three largest dragons have a ruby, a diamond and an emerald for their eyes - a reference to her children, who are also fond of you. You two also wear matching obsidian bands with small rubies, made from the same stone as the necklace.

JORAH MORMONT

First, you knew this was happening. Jorah wears his heart on his sleeve and that’s even more evident when he’s worried about something. You noticed he was being both especially loving and anxious. You considered saying something, but he was clearly waiting for a perfect moment. Seriously, he’d look ready to say something, then back off at the last second at least a dozen times. Finally Jorah asked you, with the most loving smile on his face, and he was so choked up when you accepted - as if he really thought you’d refuse. You’ve told him before that you don’t need anything fancy, but he still gets you a lovely and elegant ring with silver-black engravings of small bears and another animal you’re fond of. He’s thrilled if you got him a matching ring or necklace; again, Jorah didn’t imagine you’d want such a thing. He’d wear it constantly and it’d become something he’d fiddle with when he was nervous.

MISSANDEI

Missandei would wait for you to pop the question because, in truth, she never imagined you’d want to. She understood that was a tradition in your home country, but you were both women, and she was… well, she just didn’t expect it. But Missandei’s eyes light up with surprise and adoration at your earnest question, and she says yes without even thinking. She isn’t one for anything fancy, but she’d love you both to have a matching set of bracelets, necklaces or rings - something elegant but not flashy, perhaps with stones or engravings that mean something personal to the both of you. She’d always wear it, even if she had to hide it under her clothes for some reason or another. She’s terribly flustered when someone asks her who it’s from and what it means.

GREY WORM

Oh, no no no. He’d grown a lot beside you, and as Daenerys’ commander, but there were still areas where Grey Worm felt like he wasn’t enough. It would take a lot of prodding and reassurance from Missandei before he’d finally start planning. You’d wonder what he was up to, and he’d just shyly say it was a surprise and you’d learn eventually. His proposal is sweet and faltering; he tried to stay serious, but he just couldn’t when you looked at him with those kind eyes. Grey Worm decided to make the jewelry himself - it would be an intricate leather bracelet with gemstones inlaid. He hunted the animal and tanned the leather himself, and spent many evenings hurting his fingers to put it together. He has a matching one, though it’s far simpler.

TYWIN LANNISTER

First off, this was a marriage arranged well in advance, so you didn’t expect any extended courting or proposals. This was Tywin, after all. Still he managed to surprise you a fortnight before the wedding with an absurdly jeweled ringbox. The ring itself was Lannister gold, and you anticipated lions and rubies… but it was your house’s sigil, with your birthstone inlaid, and small lions along the band. It’s far more than you anticipated from such a man. And when Tywin presented it to you, you sensed his expectation, and the heat in his eyes... He would never admit to wanting your approval, but that look was saying otherwise. Some years later, you have more jewelry than you could dream of, but you still wear that original ring most often. You’ll catch him glancing at it when you put it on, or twist it around your finger, then he’ll glance aside like he wasn’t watching.

TYRION LANNISTER

Naturally, he’s been thinking of this and planning it for weeks, maybe months, depending on how in love he is. Even if it’s a marriage of love, Tyrion will still have late-night nagging thoughts that you’ll back out, or you’re doing it out of duty. When he takes your hand and gives you the sweetest proposal you’ve ever heard, he still isn’t sure… until you kiss him and tell him what a silly man he’s being. Of course you’d accept. The ring has beautiful craftsmanship, with delicate flowers, lions and gemstones matching your house. It’s rosegold and silver rather than Lannister gold, and the inscription inside is something of an in-joke between you two, likely a quote from a book.

JAIME LANNISTER

You were concerned when he first approached you. It’s rare Jaime is this solemn with you, and he’d been acting strange the past week. Then he started to speak, and you realized he was nervous. His cheeks were starting to get red, and he was having trouble looking right at you. His nervousness came from the fact that Jaime wasn’t entirely sure you’d say yes, no matter how long you’d been together, no matter how confident he was that whole time. All the doubts would begin to creep, and before you could even answer, he considered backing out. But you said yes, and the smile that grew on his face was so wonderful to see. Jaime doesn’t want anything fancy or ceremonial, tradition and his family name be damned. The ring is gold, naturally, but it’s simple and charming. There’s small, pretty gemstones inlaid beside lion engravings.

SANDOR CLEGANE

At this point, you two have been married in all but name for years. He has his own thoughts on marriage, and you have your’s, and there was never a rush. People in the village already thought you already took vows, so honestly, you might have kids before Sandor starts considering something a little official. It would be something simple, but heartfelt. He’d have a fancy leather bracelet woven for you, or a simple silver ring, if you’d prefer that. He wouldn’t want much for himself, and would be flustered if you made something - but he’d absolutely wear it. Instead of taking the three black dogs from the Clegane sigil, you both would think of something new.

BRONN

He’s made all sorts of stupid jokes about marriage, especially now that he’s a proper lord. You’ve never taken any of it seriously, especially when these sentimental rambles come from when he’s drunk and wanting under your dress. Other times are when you’re out and about and pass a sept - “We oughta made it official, then go straight to the wedding night” - really, you never expected him to be serious about it. One evening he tossed something shiny at you, and you caught it. It was a beautiful ring with a huge diamond … and your first thought is if he stole it. He didn’t look at you, only mumbled something about maybe talking to your family. Maybe considering it for real. Bronn’s terrible with emotions, especially speaking them out loud. His gestures speak louder, and the whole time he’s talking he’s trying not to look at you.

PETYR BAELISH

Naturally he planned out the whole proposal - the right location, what he would say, and a beautiful ring that meant something important to you. It wasn’t big and conspicuous, rather it was something absolutely tailored for you, with a mockingbird etched inside. Petyr starts strong as he takes your hand, but begins to falter in his words when you look at him with such adoration. That undivided attention and love just gets him flustered, though he knew you’d accept. This was all part of his plan, but even knowing it would happen didn’t make him any less pleased.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Your houses had been in discussion about the betrothal for a while, but being the man he was, Stannis still wanted to do the usual courting and formal proposal. His words were blunt, the tips of his ears were turning red and he kept darting his eyes away, but he said it. He remembers the ring when you accept, and you assumed he had it ordered without much thought… Though when you look at it, you notice it’s not just pretty woven gold and black diamonds. In the center of the diamonds is your birthstone, and you wonder if he added that touch - your parents certainly wouldn’t have. Even after you’ve been married for years and have plenty of jewelry to pick from, Stannis gets a little flushed that you wear the first ring he gave you so often.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Your dear Davos made your ring, a pretty and modest thing he created with the help of a blacksmith friend (you were wondering where those little burns on his fingers came from). You both had been together for a while now, talking about marriage here and there but never actually doing it. When he takes your hand, he’s bashful, though he gets through his words. They’re sweet and honest, like you expected. He knew you’d say yes, but he wanted to say it, and to give you the ring. Even if you don’t want a ceremony, he wanted to give you this. It’s a pretty silver and iron ring with pretty engraved flowers, your favorite, and a loving inscription on the inside.

MARGAERY TYRELL

First off, she’d been asking you strange questions for weeks. You could tell she wanted to get you a gift, and she wanted it to be just right. Then you realized she must have some sort of elaborate date planned… Well, you didn’t expect the wonderful evening to end in a proposal. Even if it wasn’t possible for you by the laws of Westeros, Margaery didn’t care. She had a beautiful ring made for you, and she had her “vows” ready. As far as she’s concerned, your hearts belong together, and the gods will understand. She only cries a little, but she’s mostly beaming as you say yes and allow her to put it on your finger.

The gold ring is made wonderfully, with sculpted roses and a large emerald in the center, with her birthstone around it. Margaery wanted a matching one, but that might be suspicious. So, her ring is your favorite flower sculpted with your birthstone in the center.

BRYNDEN TULLY

All his life Brynden resisted the brides his brother threw at him, absolutely sure he was going to die a warrior and not some lazy lord… Well, you certainly changed that perspective, though he likes to say he’s still too old and you ought to spend your life with someone else. Because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, and you deserve it - and with the upcoming war - he gets the ring. Brynden is actually flustered the whole time, giving you a curt and honest proposal. He wants to be with you until the rest of his days - even if they’re numbered - if you’ll have him. No fancy ceremony, ideally, it’s just the two of you. The ring itself is unusual and also not traditional. It’s cool silver with black etchings, and the sigils are your house’s sigil or a favorite flower. It’s not very Tully, except for a small chain of trout engraved on the inside.

EDMURE TULLY

He’s completely confident in this proposal. And why not? You both adore each other, the marriage has been planned for well over a year now, he has just the right place to ask you… Though he’s so excited, he ends up stumbling over some words while he asks you. The official arrangement had already been announced, but he still wanted to do something private and romantic. It was difficult for Edmure to keep the ring a secret. He oversaw every step of it being made, and when he notices you looking at it, it makes him very happy. It’s an elegant silver ring inlaid with diamonds, rubies and sapphires; the latter being in a wavy formation like the Tully banner. You think it’s a bit extravagant, but he says otherwise.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She’s been thinking about it over and over… you can tell she’s been agonizing about something for months. Finally she shyly presents you with a pretty and simple gold bracelet she figured you could always wear; stumbles over her words to explain it, then you understand her meaning. Yall find an abandoned sept and do cute lil vows and shes crying lol. You rlly want her to wear something similar and she’s just blushing the whole time but she agrees; she takes extremely good care of the necklace/bracelet and wears it under her armor.

RAMSAY BOLTON

Your parents and Roose made the arrangement, so you and Ramsay had little say in the matter. Still, he loves to play his roles, so he wanted to play the part of the attentive, doting lord, especially in front of your family. Though you’re surprised by the unusual ring he gives you; it’s two smooth rings interlocking with each other. The proposal is a little intense and unsettling, but you notice something when he puts it on your finger. He has small burns on his fingers, like had smithed it himself… And you wonder how he knew your ring size… Later on, when you both are married and living in the Dreadfort, sometimes he’ll take your hand and run his thumb over the cold ring.

ROOSE BOLTON

You both were officially engaged for some time, so he didn’t have to do any sort of proposal. When you both were at a private, quiet place in the gardens, and he took your hand. You weren’t expecting it at all. It was simple enough. He promised to look after you, to ensure your protection and health. It almost seemed… genuine, though those eyes were cold as ever. The ring was another surprise. You realized it was an heirloom, but it still looked impeccable. It was iron that was twisted into an elegant shape, with rubies and morganite. The largest ruby was in the center, shaped like a tear-drop… or maybe that was a blood-drop? You notice afterward he’ll glance at your hand each time you meet, as if concerned you wouldn’t wear it.

OBERYN MARTELL

You both had been paramours for years now, and you didn’t need the ring to be happy or official… So it surprised you when after a wonderful evening of dancing and drinking, and pressing against each other in the gardens, he asked you the question. It was romantic, like you’d expect, but also so earnest. Oberyn always wears his feelings on his sleeves, but this didn’t seem like a spur-of-the-moment passionate proposal. His words seemed like he’d worked on them for a long time. Oberyn is understanding if you want to stay paramours and not an official Lady Martell, as that title comes with trappings and expectations. He just had to ask you and hear your acceptance. The ring he gives you is gold, with vibrant topaz and rubies. The inside is engraved with the spear of Martell. You later learn from his brother that it’s a beloved family heirloom.

BERIC DONDARRION

The two of you don’t have much, but you’ve been in love for a long time and he very much wants a “proper” ceremony to express that. He shyly proposed to you in the moonlight after you both made love, and the almost desperation in his voice surprised you. He gave you a smooth, iron ring with a faint design of interwoven flames. The “ceremony” is a drunk Thoros and equally drunk septon his men found, for a double ceremony! It’s extra luck! Or something like that. Beric insists that makes it even more official, and he’ll marry you under a Godswood too, if you come across one. He’s full of smiles and wants to bridal carry you every chance he gets.

#got imagine #got x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

[vendettaparker]

Talking to the Moon [P.P]

Summary: When Peter’s identity is leaked, he is forced to leave you and his old life behind, shattering your heart in the process. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: ANGST, like straight up rip your heart out. Far From Home spoiler (kinda), Endgame spoiler (kinda)

a/n: so if you couldn’t tell this is based off of the song ‘Talking to the Moon’ by Bruno Mars. its a loose interpretation. i’ve been planning an angsty fic like this for a while. angst is my favorite genre of fic, especially when it has a hopeful or fluffy ending. so this one DOES have a hopeful ending and potential for a sequel,, so yuh, enjoy! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.��� .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Three years, two months, and 14 days. That’s how long it had been since Peter’s identity was leaked. That’s how long it had been since he left you. For good. 

     Peter had been frantic after that news broadcast aired. He webbed back to the compound immediately, crying the whole way. He was scared for himself, sure, but the fear he felt in the pit of his stomach for May, Ned, MJ, you. That was the reason for his tears now. He could hardly breathe by the time he made it to the compound. Happy, Rhodey, Sam, and Bucky meeting him as he burst through the large floor to wall windows in the main room. The frantic yelling, pleas, and cries coming from the main room were what alerted you to his presence. When you walked in he was a mess. Crying, heaving with anxiety about how scared he was. Peter had always been a sensitive, emotional boy, but he always got over his shit eventually. But this? This, seemed like the end for him. 

     You ran up to him, shushing him and holding him. Trying to tell him to simply “breathe”. All he could say, over and over again like a mantra was a schloo of “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your heart broke. How could fate be so cruel to the sweetest boy? The one who was the most deserving of all the happiness life could possibly offer. The rest of the team had shown up within the next hour. Happy, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and Pepper also present. Peter had calmed down slightly, but he knew, he just knew, this was the day he had to say goodbye. He had had this talk with Mr. Stark back when he had stopped his first villain, Vulture. Tony knew the type of sick monsters out there who would love to get their hands on the boy behind the Spider-man mask. He and Peter had developed a plan in the tragic case that Peter’s identity should be released, at least, not on his own terms. Tony’s plan was for Peter to run away. Leave. Take nothing with him but the clothes on his back, and even then burn those clothes the minute he could. Tony knew. He knew these dangers. And worse, he knew the consequences. 

     May had come to the compound the second she got the call. She knew as well. Peter knew. She knew. Tony, even in his grave, knew. Everyone knew. Everyone but you. 

     Peter had a getaway car and a destination ready within another hour. He wouldn’t disclose it to anyone. He took you aside, gently stroking your cheek to wipe the hot tears that never seemed to cease. “Hey, hey, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.” He whispered, choking up on every other word, trying to be stronger, just a little stronger, for you. “I have to go now. I’m so so sorry. I love you so much.”

     “It’s okay Peter,” You sniffled, pushing his bangs back and giving him a sad smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry.” 

     Peter’s lips quivered and he heaved another sob. “No, (Y/N). I-I’m not coming back.” You took your hand back as you felt the pressure of tears building behind your eyes. 

     “W-what? No, this—it’s just temporary. Until we can—Fury and Pepper—We can fix this.” You stuttered anxiously, hoping your words would convince him that this was okay. That everything would be okay. 

     “We can’t, (Y/N). It’s done.” Peter spoke, his voice hardly making it to a whisper. 

     “No!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to hold him closer. “Please. Please. Please. I-I can’t! You can’t! I—You’re all I have!” You were sobbing uncontrollably now. The weight of the situation finally caving in and crushing your heart and soul. “Please! I’ll do anything, I’ll protect you! Please!” 

     Your meltdown didn’t help Peter one bit, if anything, seeing how desperate you were to keep hold of him, to just love him; that broke him more. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. Please.”

     “How can I? You’re killing me.” You whimpered into his chest, tears soaking through his black sweatshirt. “I can’t— I just— I can’t!”

     The whole team heard. No walls were thick enough to block out the heartbroken sobs from the two teenagers in love. Fury was the one to finally bring an end to it. Nobody else having the heart to pry you from each other. Even Fury felt his own stoic exterior cracking. 

     You were in hysterics, clawing, and grabbing at Peter’s sweatshirt, hair, face, anything you could grab. It didn’t matter if you hurt him at this point, he’d heal. But if he left you, you knew you’d never recover. Fury had put you in a chokehold while yanking you back. Peter just heaved and heaved, his sobs getting louder and his chest getting tighter. May rushed over to him and took his hand, placing his head in her chest. 

     Fury yanked you back more, but you still refused to quit. Fury released his chokehold, not wanting to do any real damage to you. Right as you were released, Wanda came up behind you and placed her hands on your head, red magic already starting to swirl. 

     “No, please.” You wheezed, trying to get a fresh breath of air. “He’s all I have.”

     Wanda looked at you, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.”

     Without so much as a flick of her wrist, you were out, descending into darkness. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter left after that. The car taking him away, and you hadn’t seen him since. As the months went on you never really recovered. Never really felt whole again. You just survived. That was all. You went through the motions of everyday life, but never truly felt like you were living. Two weeks after Peter left, May left with Happy. They moved to California, living there ever since as well. They got married last year. You were all invited and everyone went. Everyone but you. You missed May and Happy, but it still hurt. Plus, you were busy anyway. After you graduated high school, you flung yourself into the avenger lifestyle, fully immersing yourself in it. You went on every mission possible. Did all the paperwork you could. You did anything and everything you could to keep yourself busy. Stop yourself from feeling the pain that had stopped feeling like a searing stab and had now turned into a dull ache. A new constant in your life. 

     Nights were the worst though. The only time you couldn’t be constantly avenging or working yourself to the bone on new suit technology. The only time you had to think and feel. The only thing keeping you going was the hope that Peter was still out there. Somewhere, anywhere, missing you as much as you were missing him. Watching the same moon you watched. Basking in the same sun that shined on you every day. Every horrible, miserable day. 

     “(Y/N)?” the quiet, soft voice of Pepper breaking you out of your headspace. You hummed a response and looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. “Did you hear what I said?”

     “No, sorry.” You responded sheepishly. Pepper’s gaze softened. She took in your lean figure and pale face, eyes seeming to be sunken in from the dark circles. “I was just finishing up this briefing of my last mission.” 

     “You went alone?” Pepper asked, concern washing over her features.

     “It was a simple one. Just took out a mob, was done in like, four hours.” 

      Pepper sighed. “(Y/N)—”

     “Pep, it’s fine. It was so easy, anyone could have done it.” You cut her off, turning back to your laptop, typing away. 

     “It’s not just that though. It’s all of this. This whole funk you’re in. The same one you’ve been in for years, (Y/N).” Pepper waved her hands around to emphasize her point. “We all see it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. He wouldn’t want this.” 

     Your whole demeanor changed. The solemn, yet calm veneer breaking. “It doesn’t matter what he wants, Pepper! I didn’t want this. All I wanted was him. For the rest of my life. Nothing else would matter, as long as I had him to get me through it. But I don’t have him. I have nothing. He was it for me. He—” You sobbed, tears finally running down your face in an uncontrollable waterfall. “I feel like I died. Like I am just a spectator, no longer doing anything of interest to myself.” 

     Pepper pulled you into her so fast. She was always quick to console you. The months after Peter left she was the only one you could stomach seeing. “It’s okay. I know, shh, I know.” Pepper was tearing up now too. She knew you never got over it. But now seeing with her own eyes how broken you’d really become. The reality hurt. “He’s out there, okay? And it’s going to be okay. He’s okay. We’re okay.” 

     You just cried. That’s all you could do. The more you tried to talk about it the stronger the urge to cry was. Pepper just hummed and held you. Stroking your hair until you fell asleep. 

     When you woke up you were in your room. It was dark and the moon was shining through the opened window. You just stared at it, closing your eyes and imagining Peter was staring at it too. The same one. Thinking about you, just like you were thinking about him. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Another few weeks went by. The same routine, the same empty feeling consistent in your body. Nothing changed. The revelation that you were, in fact, not okay didn’t fix anything. It still hurt. You were still broken.

     You were in the training room, sparring with Wanda when the melodic tune of your ringtone rang through the gym, echoing off the walls. You put your hands up in defense to stop Wanda from continuing the match. Wanda whipped her hands around and brought your phone to you in a wisp of red magic. 

     “Thanks.” You mumbled, wiping your sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand and taking the phone from the air. Wanda nodded and jumped out of the ring to grab her water bottle. 

     You looked at your phone still ringing, seeing an unfamiliar number, but taking in the location: Budapest, Hungary. You answered the call bringing the phone up to your ear “Hello?” You asked, shifting from one foot to the other waiting for a reply. A beat of silence pasted before you heard a tired, yet all too familiar voice on the other end. 

     “(Y/N)?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker angst #marvel #far from home #avengers endgame #endgame #Tom Holland #song inspired #this made me emotional #i cried way harder than i shouldve #sad songs #avengers

[astradrifting]

 AGOT - Jon I (Chapter 5)

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

I don’t know why D&D decided Jon could never lie, when literally the first line in his POV is a lie. He’s so good at it he can even lie to himself!

****

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

A singer with a high harp and a ballad seems like a vague Rhaegar allusion. That Jon can’t actually hear him makes me happy in a very petty way.

****

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

I think this part is actually Jon being indignant on Ned’s behalf that Cersei was rude to him, by not looking at him when he escorts her, not that she never looked at Jon. Also, there’s those observation skills. He’s never been taken in by a pretty smile.

****

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Adorable!!!

****

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Jon’s a mean drunk I guess 💀

****

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Joffrey according to Jon: 👁👄👁

But Sansa looked radiant 🥰

****

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.

This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Giving me big ‘muscled like a maiden’s fantasy’ vibes there, Jon.

Also, curiously enough Jaime’s introduced wearing black and red, Targaryen colours. Maybe a nod to the incest storyline, possibly leftover foreshadowing from when Jaime was going to become king, as per the outline.

Otherwise this means that, like everybody else in this story, Jaime is a secret Targaryen. He and Cersei can join the ranks of Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Mance Rayder and while we’re at it… *spins a wheel of names* Meera too.

****

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

Jon spends half this chapter on the verge of tears, my angsty little lad.

****

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s.

They actually call him Ben and ‘uncle Ben’ a few times in the series, which I honestly think might be a Spider-Man allusion. Surrogate father figure Uncle Ben’s early disappearance/death kicking off the plot… There’s also a saying that nobody stays dead in comics except for Uncle Ben - considering all the other resurrections in the books, metaphorical and literal, yet GRRM says that Benjen isn’t Coldhands, it might be the same for this Uncle Ben too.

****

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

"[Garlan] is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." (ASOS, Sansa I)

Love a Jon-Garlan parallel! Also thinking about Garlan being the older brother made me realise - in the story everyone thinks that Jon is younger than Robb, but timeline-wise, he has to be older, because Robb was conceived in the two weeks before Ned left to fight at the Trident, and Rhaegar must have at least already been in the capital by then to rally the loyalists, so Jon was conceived weeks, if not months earlier. Which means that Ned has definitely lied about when Jon’s birthday is.

Jon being the product of a ‘youthful indiscretion’ before he was married is less of a stain on Ned’s honour than him betraying his marriage bed but I imagine Catelyn’s fears about Jon usurping her children might have had more basis if he was known to be the eldest, so maybe that’s why Ned lied about how old he is.

****

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. 

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

Jon is unfortunately, a jock. And a bit of an idiot. 

There’s something about Jon’s hero dying at 18, Waymar dying at 18 just a few chapters ago... Jon has them all beat by dying at 17.

****

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Establishing Benjen as a somewhat contentious father figure to Jon - even more fuel for my brand new Uncle Ben ‘theory’.

****

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. 

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

Possibly he and Sansa are the only ones who properly trained their direwolves, considering how the rest of them will end up behaving.

****

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

Pffffft! Edgy edgy edge-lord 💀

Though I also always feel like issuing casual threats to Tyrion Lannister so I can’t really blame him.

****

Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

He’s got a weird preoccupation with comparing his height to Lannister men in this chapter. My headcanon for the books is that Jon’s quite tall by ADWD but evidently he’s tiny in AGOT if he feels strange being tall next to a dwarf.

****

final thoughts:

Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have Jonsa in mind with my new Uncle Ben theory, but I did just remember that brown haired Peter Parker’s main love interest is red-haired MJ :P

#astra re-reads #agot re-read #jon chapters

[hobidreams]

november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi #bts angst #historical au #daechwita #rain writes #moonlit throne #... how do you feel about him now?

[morganaspendragonss]

Hello 🥰 Whump fic idea :)TK lands in the hospital, again. But this time they're serious, serious injuries, he is under a respirator, he is not breathing on his own, the doctors do not give him much chance of survival, they even advise it would be the best to prepare for the worst and say goodbye, just in case. Owen calls Gwen, she's arriving the same day with Enzo and baby junior. When in the hospital they find out how it happened and that it's mostly Owen's fault (I don't know, for example, he allowed Tk to enter the unstable building to tend to the patient, or whether he made someone else angry and this person unloaded it on TK, or Owen decided to do something reckless and TK wanted to save him or it is The arson situation from 2x12 so Gwyn arrives pregnant, without a baby of course), Gwyn slaps him twice and Enzo punches him right in the nose, breaking it, for risking TK's life. Fortunately, despite the bad prognosis, TK wakes up, but after he took his sweet time being in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 3: the meetings for those in my wake

thanks for the prompt! i really loved writing this one though i need to confess to toning it down a little? idk but with the way it was going it didn't feel right to have enzo break owen's nose. i hope you still like it!

ao3 | 3.3k | major character injury, coma, angst with a happy ending

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news.

TK got in a fight.

TK overdosed.

TK was shot, he’s in the hospital.

Over and over, until the first words out of her mouth whenever Owen’s name flashed up on her screen were, What’s wrong?

Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas. Gwyn suspects it’s partly TK’s influence—he’s been more than enthusiastic in getting to know his baby brother, and Isaac has latched onto TK despite only seeing him in person every few months or so. But they’ve talked as well, she and Owen, and they really are doing better. They’re almost like friends now, which is why Gwyn thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Owen?” Gwyn repeats, louder this time, her heart leaping into her throat. She sits down heavily on the sofa as she waits for Owen’s response; there’s only one thing that could make him cry like that, and tears prick at Gwyn’s eyes as she imagines TK hurt again, or worse.

“Gwyn,” Owen eventually manages to gasp out, voice wrecked. “Gwyn, it’s TK. He’s… You need to get here. You need— It’s not like last time. They don’t know if he’s going to— They don’t think— It’s bad. Really bad.”

Owen breaks off, crying harder, and Gwyn claps a hand to her mouth. She remembers well how devastated he’d been when he called about the gunshot, but this a whole other level. Gwyn’s head spins with the potential implications of that and she finds her breath coming in sharp gasps, but it’s Owen’s next words that knocks it from her altogether.

“They think we should say goodbye.”

The rest of the story comes haltingly—someone got angry after his son couldn’t be saved on a call, he came to the firehouse, he attacked TK—but Gwyn barely hears it. Her boy is in the hospital again and this time…this time he might not be coming home. She can’t understand it; she spoke to him just two days ago, they made plans for he and Carlos to visit for Isaac’s birthday, and now…

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn,” Owen finishes. She feels a flash of that age-old urge to scream at him, but she fights it off, not wanting to wake Isaac.

“I’ll be on the first flight over,” she promises, then ends the call, sliding off the couch to the floor. Her phone falls from limp fingers and harsh sobs tear from her throat, muffled by the press of her fist against her mouth.

Enzo finds her there an hour later and immediately takes her in his arms, not complaining about her tears soaking his shirt. When she tells him what happened, he insists on joining her, and Gwyn allows herself to take that shred of comfort and run with it.

She thinks it’s the only comfort she’s likely to get right now.

The next flight isn’t until morning, so Gwyn spends a sleepless night packing and unpacking their suitcases and making phone calls with the firm and her clients to cancel everything for the foreseeable. She has the brief, terrible thought about whether she should pack funeral attire, which almost sends her into a panic attack as reality hits her all over again.

Enzo saves her from it, gently guiding her to bed, but not before she packs the clothes anyway.

Isaac seems to pick up on her mood when they’re hurrying out of the house, remaining mostly quiet aside from the odd question about where they’re going. He perks up considerably when he finds out they’re heading to Austin, babbling about seeing TK, and Gwyn has to blink hard to keep from crying again. Enzo reaches over to take her hand, and he barely lets go until they’re landing in Austin.

*

The entrance to the ICU looms before her, and Gwyn feels stuck. There had been a part of her, still, that had hoped to find TK miraculously awake and on the mend, like the last time she had made this trip. She doesn’t want to believe that he’s here, hurt, maybe dying.

But he is, and she’s forcefully reminded of that fact when a kind-looking nurse approaches her hesitantly.

“Ma’am? Can I help you?”

Gwyn blinks at her, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “I, um. I’m here to see my son. TK Strand.” She pauses, then shakes her head, cursing herself internally. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

The nurse’s entire demeanour changes, a sympathetic smile taking over her face. “This way.” She leads Gwyn through the ICU, then points at a door near the end of the corridor. “Tyler’s room is just there. I promise, we’re doing everything we can for him.”

Gwyn nods absently, her gaze stuck on the door the nurse had indicated. She walks forward slowly, the room seeming to get further and further away until, suddenly, she’s standing on the threshold, and she sees her son.

TK is barely visible, his face half-obscured by the ventilator, half by bruises, and heavy gauze covers his forehead. His arms, resting limply at his sides, are littered with scrapes, and if Gwyn squints, she can just about make out more bandages peeking out from under the hospital gown.

She’d thought that seeing him would make it all real, but she feels separate from everything somehow, only one thought going through her mind on repeat.

This is not my son.

A quiet whisper draws her attention to the figure sitting at TK’s side. Gwyn has to suppress a gasp as she takes in Carlos’s appearance; she hasn’t seen him in person since the wedding last year, and his pale face and red-rimmed eyes cut a stark contrast to that day. He hasn’t noticed her yet, wholly fixated on TK, one hand gently stroking the tufts of hair poking out above the bandage. His lips move and Gwyn knows she should walk away, but instead she finds herself leaning closer, straining to hear Carlos’s words.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s saying. “I know you’re fighting and I know you’re going to try as hard as you can to come back to us—believe me, Ty, I am praying every day to see those pretty green eyes of yours open again. But I—I want you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. If it gets too hard, if you need to let go, you can. I already miss you like crazy and I really, really, don’t want to live the rest of my life without you, but the thing I can’t stand more than that is the idea of you suffering.

“Come back if you can, but if someday you find you can’t, remember that I love you and we’ll be okay. I promise.”

Carlos sniffs and ducks his head to place a gentle, lingering kiss on TK’s cheekbone. It’s such a tender, intimate moment, but it quickly shatters when Carlos looks up and spots her, his eyes going wide. “Gwyn. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were there.”

She waves him off, willing herself to finally step into the room. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Carlos nods, giving her a small, sad smile, which Gwyn does her best to return. She pulls up another chair and sinks into it, reaching out to take TK’s hand. She’s startled by the coolness of his skin, and more tears burn in the back of her eyes.

“What did the doctors say?” she asks, clearing her throat and twisting her body towards Carlos, though her eyes never leave TK.

“That it was a miracle he made it through surgery,” Carlos says, sighing wearily. “Eight stab wounds, too much blood loss, damage to his organs, broken ribs—that’s all bad enough, but they’re most worried about his brain. He took at least two blows to the head, and add that to the fact he wasn’t breathing for a good few minutes… They keep saying not to speculate, but we all know the odds here.”

Carlos’s voice breaks and Gwyn reaches out to comfort him, feeling sick to her stomach at the revelation. Why anyone would do this to her boy, she can’t comprehend; she finds herself both wanting answers and feeling unable to take any more.

Owen chooses that moment to appear in the doorway, looking every bit as wrecked as he sounded on the phone. “Gwyn,” he says roughly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Carlos moves as if to give them privacy, but Gwyn shakes her head at him, cutting off his protests before he can even get them out. “You stay with him, Carlos,” she tells him. “We’ll talk in the hall.”

They head to a quiet spot not too far from TK’s room, and Gwyn turns to face Owen, holding her arms. “What the hell happened, Owen? Why is our son lying in there, not even breathing on his own?”

A flicker of a frown crosses Owen’s face. “I told you—”

“No, you didn’t.” Gwyn clenches her jaw, staring him down. “You said he’d been attacked, not that some maniac had used him as their personal punching bag.”

A few more seconds pass before Owen relents, sighing. “There was a call,” he starts, voice heavy with sorrow. “A car accident; dad and his kid were trapped inside. We got the dad out but the son was stuck pretty good. It took a long time to free him and by then it was too late—EMS did their best, but he was gone.

“The dad went ballistic, screaming at all of us, but especially at TK. We don’t really know why, but it was probably a convenience thing; TK had been the one to break the news, he was the closest person—the guy wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. He threatened him, tried to hit him—the cops had to arrest him eventually, but you know TK. He refused to press charges, said that the dad was just in shock and that he understood.”

Gwyn smiles a little at that; her son has always been too forgiving for his own good. It’s never come back to hurt him this badly before, though.

Owen pauses, throat bobbing as he seems to work up to the next part. His voice is quiet, and he seems reluctant to meet Gwyn’s eyes. “He showed up at the firehouse a week later—the dad, I mean. He said he wanted to apologise and, I swear, Gwyn, he really did seem genuine. None of us wanted to let him near TK, but ultimately it was TK’s decision. They went round the side of the house to talk; when neither of them came back after twenty minutes, we went looking.

“By that time, the guy was gone, and TK was…” He stops and shakes his head, swallowing hard. “He could barely breathe. Tommy and Nancy did what they could and they got him here quickly, but we have no idea how long he’d been like that before we found him.”

Gwyn’s head snaps up, a white-hot anger flashing through her. “I can’t believe you,” she hisses. “You left our son alone with a man who had already threatened him for twenty minutes, Owen.”

Owen frowns. “I told you, he seemed genuine. And TK—”

Gwyn can’t help it; she slaps him. “Don’t you dare,” she grounds out, crowding into Owen’s space. “Don’t you dare act like this was his fault.”

“I wasn’t—”

Her arm moves on instinct, but before she can connect again, a hand closes around her wrist. Gwyn turns to find Enzo staring at her, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Gwyn, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head and takes a step back from Owen, freeing herself from Enzo’s grasp. “What’s going on,” she responds tightly, “is that he is part of the reason why my son is half-dead in there.”

Enzo gapes between them. “What?”

She ignores the question, needing to focus on anything else to keep her anger from overwhelming her. “What are you doing here anyway? Where’s Isaac?”

“He’s with Grace and Judd, they offered to babysit so I could come here. What—”

“Hang on,” Owen interrupts. “What is he doing here? I figured he’d stay in New York with the kid.”

“Isaac is TK’s brother, Owen,” Gwyn says, turning on him again. “And Enzo has just as much right to be here as any of us; he was more of a father to TK than you were sometimes.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Him? You’re joking, right?”

Gwyn isn’t sure what happens next, who starts it, but soon they’re all yelling, insults and accusations flying around the ward. There’s a furious nurse heading their way, but before she can say anything, another voice cuts through the argument, quiet and trembling but still somehow powerful.

“Get out,” Carlos says. “All of you.”

They all turn to him, Gwyn’s lips parting in shock. Owen takes a step towards him, holding his hands out in a gesture that’s probably meant to be pacifying.

“Carlos—”

“I mean it, Owen,” he snaps, harsher than Gwyn has ever heard him before. “You all screaming at each other is the last thing any of us needs, least of all TK. The only person to blame in all this is the guy who attacked him, and he’s already in custody; he’ll get what’s coming to him. If TK—” Carlos breaks off, clenching his jaw and staring down at the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, before breathing out shakily and looking back up at them. “If anything changes, I’ll call you, I promise. But you can’t be here right now. Go, please.”

Carlos doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and going back into TK’s room, reassuming his position next to the bed. Gwyn watches him for a second, nodding when Enzo pointedly takes her elbow.

“He’s right,” she says, directed at Owen. “We should go.”

Owen glares, gearing up to argue again, but he must think better of it as he suddenly slumps, all the energy draining out of him. “Right,” he mutters. “Right.”

They file slowly out of the ICU, closely watched by the hard eyes of the nurse from before. Gwyn spares one last look before forcing herself forwards; if getting here was hard, walking away is a thousand times worse.

*

Three weeks pass with no change and, crucially, no improvement. Gwyn spends more time with Carlos than she ever has before, and she hates that it’s her son being comatose that has brought the two of them closer. A tentative peace exists between her and Owen and she knows—truly, she knows—that the attack wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing that could have stopped it.

But she can’t help but be angry that, once again, her son was seriously hurt and she wasn’t around.

She takes Isaac to see TK once, when the worst of the bruises have faded a little. She worries that he’ll be scared, and he does seem to hesitate when they reach the room; in truth, Gwyn hadn’t wanted to bring him at all, but he’d kept asking about TK and she’d found herself helpless to do anything but acquiesce.

They still haven’t told him what’s going on. No-one knows how to. All Isaac knows is that TK is a little hurt and he needs rest, and even that knowledge seems to upset him.

Once he gets used to the sight, Isaac stretches his hands out to the bed. “TK,” he says simply, looking pleadingly up at Gwyn.

She hugs him close, trying to smile for him. “TK’s asleep, sweetie,” she explains. “He needs rest.”

“When wake up?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

*

Three weeks pass, and the doctors start talking about options and next steps. It’s obvious what that’s code for—they want to pull the plug. They’re told to take all the time they need to discuss it but, ultimately, the decision will be Carlos’s, as TK’s husband and next of kin.

Gwyn knows what choice he’s going to make; it’s the same one she, or anyone else in his position, would make.

That doesn’t make it any easier to bear, for any of them.

Gwyn finds him in the hallway, bent over with his head in his hands. She goes over and quietly sits in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back.

There’s a long silence before Carlos sniffs and turns to her, his face the picture of devastation. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this, Gwyn,” he whispers, voice cracking. “How am I supposed to just give up on him like that?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not giving up on him, Carlos. You’re letting him go.”

“I don’t know how to do that either.”

“None of us do.”

Silence again, but this time, it’s Gwyn that breaks it first. “Listen, Carlos, I know this is hard. God knows I wish none of us were even here. But we are, and we have to do what’s best for everyone, including TK.”

“I know that,” Carlos admits. “I just don’t want to lose him.” He closes his eyes and leans into Gwyn, allowing her to wrap him in a hug. “I wish we had more time.”

Gwyn’s heart breaks all over again, and she squeezes his shaking shoulders. “We’ve got time,” she says, though she knows that’s not what he meant. “As much as you need.”

The sob she’s answered with tells her there’s not enough time in the world for Carlos to say goodbye to TK.

*

The call comes in the middle of the night. Dread pools in Gwyn’s gut as she accepts it and lifts the phone to her ear, her hands trembling.

“Owen?”

“Gwyn. TK, he—he woke up. It was only for a few seconds, but he woke up, Gwyn. The doctors said it was a miracle; they think he might actually recover.”

Gwyn gasps, a sob crawling up her throat as the news sinks in. It’s everything she’s been praying for ever since that first call, and all she can think about now is getting to TK.

“I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen,” she says. She ends the calls and raises her hands to her face, wiping away the tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Maybe this nightmare is finally coming to an end.

*

TK is off getting tests when Gwyn arrives, but she’s finally allowed back in the room an hour later, Carlos and Owen on her heels. The ventilator has been removed, replaced by a nasal cannula, and his eyes are open—barely to slits, but Gwyn doesn’t care. TK is awake and alive, and that’s all that matters.

As soon as she’s in the chair by the bed, she reaches out for him, her touch feather-light as she strokes his cheek. “My brave boy,” she whispers wetly. “My brave, brave boy.”

TK’s head rolls on the pillow so he’s facing her and he mumbles something that’s probably meant to be a greeting, but the words jumble together and come out as gibberish.

Gwyn thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

They’ve all been briefed about the risks of brain damage and all the potential lasting consequences which could impact the rest of TK’s life. But right now, as she holds TK’s hand with Carlos on his other side and Owen at her back, Gwyn chooses to take solace in the constant rise and fall of TK’s chest and the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

There’ll be enough time for worry later; for now, her son is alive, and Gwyn can’t think of anything else that's more important.

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