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grippingbeskar · 2 years

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looking to tomorrow | frank castle

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 8.2k

warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI ( fingering, blowjob, penetration (mxf), slight pain kink, mentions of marks/blood during sex, mirrors) swearing, canon typical violence, mentions of blood

a/n: the punisher has been my favourite show in the mcu for fucking YEARS but im new to writing so hopefully I did him justice, lots of love and as always pls tell me if i missed any warnings stay safe i love u all

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Bottom line, Frank was fucking lonely. Living life as ‘The Punisher’ wasn’t exactly a socially acceptable job, the only people he ever interacted with were ones he was about to kill. Not that he needed anyone. He preferred the solitude, the quiet of his small apartment when he came home in the early hours of the morning, gentle sunlight streaming through the one tiny window above his bed a glaring reminder he’d dragged himself through another full 24 hours without them.

One day at a time. That’s what Curtis drilled into him after every meeting. Just break it down to twenty four hours at a time, and before you know it, you made it. Truthfully the only thing getting him through each achingly long day was knowing every single asshole who even breathed the same air as those responsible for the death of his family would be six feet under; one way or the other. That and, well, you.

He’d met you just shy of four months ago, the adorable waitress behind the bar across the street from his shitty apartment. It had been a rough night for the both of you, Frank having to haul ass across the Manhattan bridge to chase down some of Agent Orange’s fucking goons, and you having spent the better part of your 8 hour shift swatting clammy hands away from your hips and counting out pennies for cheapskates who wouldn’t leave a tip. It was Frank who turned your night around, slamming his fist down on top of the drunk guys wandering hand hard enough you swear you heard bones crack.

Frank had reacted on instinct, but as he looked up, letting up his fist only enough so the douchebag could run out of the bar with his tail between his legs, your wide eyed stare took his damn breath away. He’d expected you to freak out, kick him out of the bar, but when you just smiled and uttered a shy ‘thank you’, he admitted he was intrigued.

You were damn infatuated, the only man in the three years you’d worked here to have any kind of positive reaction to seeing what happened every night, and it did help that he was possibly the most attractive man you’d ever seen walk in here.

Ever since then, a couple nights a week he would wander in towards the end of your shift, ask you about your night, take care of any lingering creeps while you counted the till and closed up, walking you to your car afterwards. It was your favourite part of the night, and eventually you found yourself looking for him, disappointed when he didn’t make it in, even if he did always bring some take out food with him the next time to make up for it.

Frank was a goner the moment you smiled at him, that half grin, half smirk you made, looking up through your lashes. He risked getting caught, going out earlier than normal, tracking in the day rather than late at night just so he could make it to the bar before you closed, let alone the hundreds of dollars he must have spent by now on drinks just to keep you coming down his end of the bar. He never realised how lonely he was until he started talking to you, the hours you’ve spent talking about nothing important, reciting mundane details about a trip to the grocery store, shit you thinks too boring to tell anyone else except that one person, because everything they do makes your heart beat like crazy.

He couldn’t get you out of his head. Occasionally you’d work the day shift, one Sunday a fortnight, and when he woke up he’d look out his window and see you serving a beer to some old guy still rolling from the night before. He tried not staring for too long, but on occasion there’d be something that made you laugh, and the sun would be shining just right, lighting up your eyes and smile lighting up your face, and he couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away.

So, here he is, walking down the street at 2:30am, covered in blood (not his) and sweat (probably his) with a kick in his step trying to make sure he reaches you before you shut the rollers of the bar and lock him out. He rounds a corner and can feel his heart in his throat. What’s wrong with him? Acting like some kid with a crush on the girl next door. He had no idea what is was that he felt for you, hell; he didn’t know if he’d ever feel anything after he lost his family, but whatever this was felt new, refreshing, and overwhelming.

He hears the jingle of your keys and he jogs a little, wanting to make sure you hear him coming up behind you. He still has his hood on, but the light from the orange street lamp would make him visible enough to you, and you’d seen him coming up in the dark too many times to not recognise the thump of his steps as he trudges up the street.

“Thought you wouldn’t make it this time. Had to count all the quarters myself.” You say to him as he comes up next to you, reaching up and pulling the roller door down, holding it steady so you can lock it. Usually you had to use the big stick with a hook to reach it, but Franks giant frame makes quick work of it.

“This make it up to you?” Frank pulls out the brown paper bag, slightly greasy from the pooled oils at the bottom and it makes your mouth water, knowing the glorious smell of those famous shake shack fries anywhere. You reach out to take the bag, but your hand catches on his knuckles, bright red and flecked with blood.

“Who’d you kill for these, Frankie?” You try to joke, but he stills under your touch. Your hand wraps around his wrist, the fries suddenly not your focal point. The subtle light of the street lamp highlights the patterns of blue and green and purple that are skittered across his hand, the two top knuckles raw and bleeding. Probably infected, you think, your third year nursing degree finally coming in practical use.

Frank is hardly breathing. He hasn’t told you about his ‘occupation’, not wanting his violent tendencies to fray whatever rocky friendship the two of you had. This little thing has been his life ring for the past few months, you the only one yanking a smile out of him even on his shittiest nights, and he’s ruined it. All because he selfishly wanted to see you. Needed to see you.

“You did say these fries were to die for.” He tries, and that’s when you finally meet his gaze. He’s selfish again, because he knows what he looks like but he doesn’t care you’re seeing him all fucked up for the first time, as long as you look at him like that. Those damn eyes would send him mad.

Your hand leaves his wrist and your touch is feather light against the side of his head. Your middle finger strokes his temple as you pull his hood back, the cool breeze of the middle of the night freezing against the wetness of blood splattered on his head.

“Fucking hell, Frank. Where have you been?” It comes out all airy and soft. You weren’t scared, maybe a little, but only for him. That was a lot of blood to lose at the best of times let alone on his head, your brain already triaging the injuries before he answers.

“Just a fight. Some dumb kids tried to jump me, no big deal.” He goes to pull his hood back up.

“Bullshit. Look at you. Who the fuck is going to try and jump you?” He towers over you, and anyone with half a brain wouldn’t pick someone like that to mug, let alone Frank letting a few kids do this much damage. You’ve seen him get physical with a couple of the guys in the bar, the hint of something darker bubbling under the surface. You knew he was a soldier, a marine; so it made sense he could hold his own, but it was more than that, and there’s no way the man who walks like death is his personal assistant got his ass handed to him in an alley.

“Come with me.” You brush past him, taking the fries from his still outstretched hand.

“Listen, I-“

“Now, Frank.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He obeys, catching up to you in two giant strides, legs on auto pilot as they tracked the familiar route to your car. It was a short walk, and normally that made you happy. The less time you spent out in the cold open space of New York at 3am the better, but for the past couple of months you’ve been parking a little further away every time, knowing your time walking with Frank was limited.

You click your keys in the pocket on your hoodie, heart jumping every time Franks arm brushes against yours. You can’t help how he makes you feel, listening so intensely to everything you have to say, making you laugh even when you don’t want to, and his smile. God, it makes you swoon even to remember it. He was seriously doing something to you, but you never over stepped. He’d told you about his family, and how he spoke about them shattered your heart. He’d only brought them up a handful of times, usually to talk about something funny his kids used to do, or how proud he was to be their dad, but when he spoke about his wife, Maria. The things you would do to have a man speak about you the way he did. He’d stopped bringing her up a while ago though, and you never wanted to pry, but you could tell it still hurt him, and you wondered how recently it happened.

Finally you hear the little beeps of your car unlocking and the blinkers flash, Frank stepping out before you to open the door, giving you a flash of his bruised knuckles against your white car as he does so. Your heart shatters all over again thinking about how painful they would be, and as soon as you hear him click the belt into its socket you take off, zipping out of the alley and onto the main road.

“Kid, really. It was just a couple of guys being idiots. I’m fine.”

“Frank, come on. Your head is practically flooded with blood. We’re going to the hospital.”

“No. No hospitals.” His tone gets a little flatter, and you soften your own.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I don’t.”

“How would you even kno-“

“Because it’s not my blood.”

Cats out of the fucking bag now. If Frank could work up the courage to look you in the face he would probably see the disgust and fear rolled into one that was surely covering it. You don’t say anything, and it takes everything in him not to get on his knees and beg for you not to leave him. He’s hanging on by a god damn thread, and these past couple months have been the first time he’s seen some kind of light at the end of the shit filled tunnel he lived in, but he’s blown it out of the water now, and all he can do is try and soften the effect.

He lets out a breath and looks over at you, the whites of your eyes lit up by the red stoplight shimmering across your cheeks. He studies it, searches you for some kind of reaction, but all you do it reach into the bag of fries teetering on your knees and stuff your face full of them. One hand stays on the wheel to turn when the light goes green, your other coming up to stuff your face full again.

“You’re gonna choke on ‘em if you keep going like that.” You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and your eyebrows come together, pouting.

“Well, maybe they will give us beds next to each other in the ER.” He laughs, and you turn the radio down so you can hear it better. Your so worried about him, the shock of his appearance blocked only slightly by your practical experience as a nurse. It’s different seeing someone you care about like that though, and saying Frank is someone you care about seems too small a statement.

Your apartment building comes into view, and for a second you think about driving past and going straight to your other workplace at the hospital, but the way his tone changed makes you think he’s got a serious problem with them, and it’s not hard to figure out where that might have come from. Turning into the parking garage, you pull the handbrake and shift to face him, eating the last of the fries that fell into the bottom of the bag.

“You know that if I don’t take you to the hospital and you die on my couch, I will go to prison.”

“Maybe we can have cells next to each other.” He turns your words against you and you laugh this time, more from shock that he’s the one joking while he’s bleeding out on the passenger seat. You get out of the car and when you hear him shut his door you lock it behind you, beginning the ascent up to your apartment.

Frank follows you like a fucking dog to a bone, seeing that smile nearly giving him a semi on the way here. He should have told you to drop him home, should have told you that he’s dangerous, to stay away. He should have done a lot of things, but when he realised where you were going, that you were taking him home, your home, he wasn’t a strong enough man to turn that down.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you look back occasionally, monitoring your patient who keeps an easy pace with you. Good, at least you know he hasn’t punctured a lung under there. He does wince slightly when he leans to his left, and his hands and head are what your worried about, but maybe it’s not as serious as you think. Besides, if most of the blood isn’t his, maybe you don’t have that much work ahead of you.

Maybe that should have scared you, but you felt nothing when he said it. Not a hint of fear, there’s nothing he could say that would scare you. The moments you’ve spent with him have been some of the most intimate you’ve ever shared with someone, and you’ve never even kissed him.

Just the idea of that sends your mind wandering, and as you stop in front of your door, you realise what you are about to do. Frank, and you. Alone. In your apartment. Really alone.

Your hands shake putting the key in the door.

Frank sees it. He thinks you must be scared shitless, letting him in when he looks like that, and after his confession in the car, you probably think he’s some kind of axe murderer. You’d be right, too. Not stepping too far into your apartment, he has no idea what to do next, watching you move swiftly inside he takes a look around, curiosity eating him alive.

It’s exactly how he pictured, packed to the brim of stuff. Books stacked on top of each other in near toppling piles next to a full bookshelf clearly too small for your expanding collection, receipts and torn pieces of paper marking your place in a few. It’s clean, cleaner than Franks, but the jacket strewn on the end of the couch, the pictures hanging on the wall, magnets and photo booth clippings on the fridge make it feel a lot more like a home than his does.

By the time he looks over at you, you’ve made a neat little stack on the coffee table, and brought out a bottle of vodka and whiskey, standing equally as tall around the pile of medical supplies.

“Sit.” He does, unzipping his jacket from under his chin to halfway down his chest, the white singlet underneath splattered red, but all you can focus on is the hint of toned chest that pokes out the top. Your hands are full, one holding the whiskey and one holding the vodka.

“You planning a cocktail party?” He motions his head to the bottles.

“Ohh, you’ve got jokes now, huh? Funny. This is to sterilise.” You shake the vodka, and push the whiskey into his opposite hand. “This, to drink.” He ‘hmm’s slightly, a little smirk on his face as he takes a swig from the brown liquid, letting the bottle rest next to him.

You pull his other hand towards you, examining. The two top knuckles are weeping and cracked, clearly used to the abuse he’s thrown at them tonight.

“This is gonna sting. You think you can be a big boy, or do I need to bribe you with a lolly pop?” He laughs, and as much as you just want to get lost in the sound you take the distraction, using the small bottle of anti septic and gently letting the liquid clean his knuckles. He sucks in a breath, and your thumb brushes his skin soothingly as you work.

Frank would probably let you perform open heart surgery on this couch if your fingers would keep brushing over his pulse point, the light caress sending shivers down his spine and he has to bite his fucking tongue to keep it together. It stings like hell, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s felt before, so his face never changes as you use a small cotton pad and remove the dirt and foreign blood caught up in the wounds. You move to the other hand, and he sucks in another breath, but watches you work, eyes never leaving you.

Once you were satisfied, you turned, adjusting yourself on your knees in front of him. He’s in pain, and you need all the focus you can get, especially if there’s something serious under that jacket, but you cant help but also think about what else those clothes are concealing. You’ve thought about being on your knees in front of him so many times, but in your mind he’s enjoying it a-lot more.

“Take off your shirt.” You say, and your eyes widen as you watch him wordlessly obey. He takes a swig of the whiskey, and a little drop of it sneaks down his chin and throat, glistening a trail down to his chest, and you lose sight of it as the singlet suddenly disappears, revealing his entire abdomen in all its glory.

He is ripped, no doubt about that, and you want to sit here and admire him for days, marking every curve of his muscles and scars on his chest. It makes your mouth dry, and you take the bottle of vodka, sterilising a small thread needle for the giant gash across one of his pecs that has somehow now been the object of your attraction, your mind wandering all over him. You take a drink before moving closer to him, coming in between his spread legs as he sits back down, leaning slightly so you can reach him.

“You don’t have to do this.” He says softly and you roll your eyes.

“Think of it as pay back for all the assholes you’ve beat up for me. This will hurt a lot more.” He nods but doesn’t even flinch as the needle enters his skin creating the first thread.

“I do that for my own personal enjoyment.” He mumbles from above you, and you can tell he’s looking down at you because the heat of his words land on your forehead. You wish you drank more of that vodka, having to still to stop the shaking in your hands.

“Maybe you should try monopoly. Or yoga. A less violent hobby.” Frank tries not to move under you as you make your way through the gash, cleaning as you go.

“I’ll do yoga if you’re gonna be there.” His voice is low and hot and your cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of red.

“Perve.” He can’t control the little laugh that comes out, but you put through the last thread, sticking the steri-pad over your work and throwing the needle in a little paper bag. You stand and go over to the sink, wetting a tea towel and bringing it back over, his eyes following you the whole way.

“Do you want to…” you offer the wet rag to him but he shakes his head and makes no move to grab it, so you place a hand on his bare shoulder and wipe at the blood. It’s hard and dry, and his hair gets stuck in it as you try to scrub it out. You take a step in to stand in between his legs so you can reach the top of his head, which drops and his forehead rests against your stomach. You mind is fuzzy and the way his hands inch forward just out of your sight, closer to your legs makes you worried they might actually give out if he touches you, four months of near misses building a tower of need that’s about to topple down.

“See, not my blood. ” He mumbles and you can see he’s right, but it scared you no less. A shakey breath escapes you, and the building anxiety that he was going to have an injury you couldn’t patch up slowly dissipates as you swipe away the last of the blood, no injury evident.

“You scared me.” This makes him look up at you, and it’s the closest you have both been to each other. Frank’s chin brushes against your tummy and he can smell the lavender soap you use in your skin, somehow still just as strong even through the whiskey and vodka wafting in the room. You sniffle slightly, and his hands have finally traveled the distance to the backs of your knees, wrapping around you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to. Just needed to see you.” Your heart might burst, the wide eye way he looks up at you mixed with this thumb brushing a sensitive spot on the back on your knees driving you wild. Instinctively your hand comes under his chin, and he nearly nuzzles into the touch.

“What happened to you?”

“I can’t- shit.” You let him try to find the words, your touch persevering. “It’s a long story. I want to tell you, I do, but not tonight. Please.” The vulnerability in his voice rattles you a little and you nod. You don’t really care what the story is, knowing him like you do there’s nothing that he wouldn’t do without a reason you stand by.

“Okay. What do you wanna do?” He smiles up at you, and you down at him, and in one smooth movement he pushes your knees in, lifting you on top of him, your legs on either side of his. You heart is beating so hard there’s no way he can’t hear it.

Franks hands are usually so still, he’s trained for years to make them so, but with you in his lap, your hands resting on his chest light enough to not come down too hard on his new stitches, he can’t stop his hands from shaking. Nerves he hasn’t felt since high school fizzle in his chest and the hard on he’s sporting is getting more difficult to hide, your warmth so close to him he’s starting to break a sweat. Trying to gage a reaction, never crossing this line with you before, his hands come around your lower back, pulling you into him, and he leans in, not fully, but close enough he can feel you breath on his face and he drinks in the sensation.

“Frank.” You only say his name but it is filled with uncertainty. Does this mean the same thing to you as it does to him? If you do this, theres no going back, and you dont think you can sacrifice the relationship you have right now, no matter how bad you want him. You would forever hold him at arms length if it meant you could hold onto him forever. “What are we doing?”

“I dont know.” He answers honestly. He cant think straight, having you so close. All he knows is what he wants, and those short little shudders coming from you convince him you want the same thing.

“You’re hurt.” You look down at his bare chest, the lower part pressing against you so hard that when he breaths his ribcage expands into you.

“I dont give a fuck about that right now.” He says, so low in his throat that it comes out as almost a growl. “Just- just stay.” Your hands snake up behind his neck, linking together. Nodding, you press your forehead to his.

“We dont have to do anything. I have pizza in the fridge, and you can crash on the couch. No harm, no foul.” His breathing has steadied, and you think thats going to be it. Until he talks.

“What’s my other option?” He doesn't look at you, but his hands have moved, and where they were once unsure, they now lead with purpose, coming to rest on your hips and you bite your lip, feeling the shear size of them against you; enveloping you in their hold.

“I- um. I think you’ll have to show me.” He looks at you now, a smirk pulling up the side of his face.

“Yeah?” You nod against his forehead. “I think I can do that.”

His right hand takes its time travelling the distance between your hip and the hem of your skirt, tracing the line it makes across your stomach. Leaning forward, his lips; the ones you’ve thought about kissing for weeks and weeks finally meet yours, and they taste better than you imagined.

He starts soft, almost hesitant, giving you time to pull away, and when you dont, he uses his hand that is still on your hip to hold you in position and kisses you harder. With purpose, his lips move against yours with urgency and desperation, like he might have been waiting just as long as you have for this exact moment. His hand still drags along the waistband of your skirt, then comes over the top, tracing a soft, heated line down to your thigh, which he grabs and squeezes as soon as he touches bare flesh.

Frank is drunk. Not on whiskey, but on the taste of you in his mouth. He pushes harder against you, his back coming off the couch and forcing you down on him, and thats when he hears a small, soft tone moan that flutters right into his mouth, drowned by his dominating force. He’s hard, instantly, and he knows you can feel it, pushing his hips up into you slightly, working to draw another pretty sound from you.

His hand slides up your skirt, and you gasp when he finally meets you. Two fingers set a torturous pace outside your underwear, and you know he can feel how wet you are already. He pulls his mouth from yours, peppering long, drawn kisses on the sides of your neck as he slowly works you.

“How long you been this worked up for me, sweetheart?” The nickname sends your stomach flipping inward and you cant help the little whimper that comes out of you as he brushes over your most sensitive spot.

“God, Frank. Months.” You have to concentrate to get any words out because Frank. Frank was finally underneath you, and if you weren't feeling as good as you were right now, you would of had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming. One arm comes around your back and pulls you toward him, forcing you to come up on your knees, giving Frank more room to work.

“Thats just fuckin’ cruel of me. Leaving you like this. Have to take care of you then, huh?” You nod rapidly and quiet little ‘please’s tumble from your lips and he chuckles darkly, slipping his fingers under your panties and sliding inside of you. “Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” He looks up at you, stopping his assault on your neck, and you could already tell how many hickies he had left in his path.

“Please dont s-stop. Fuck, Frank.” He curls his fingers and draws them out, only repeat the motion over and over, his thumb somehow continuously working your clit at the same time. You knew those hands would feel delicious inside of you, but they worked you so well, so skilfully that you never could have even dreamed it could be like this.

“Look at me.” You drop your chin and the hand behind your back comes up to hold your face in place. You try to flutter your eyes open, and its only when he kisses you that your brain stops short circuiting and you make eye contact with him. “Atta girl. Now keep ‘em open. You look away and I stop.” Your mouth is open and your panting, putty in his hands as he draws short, loud whimpers from you.

“Wanna see your face when I make you cum for the first time.” The promise of more makes the familiar pressure in your tummy build, and your hips start to jerk to meet his thrusts.

“Sound so pretty for me. You know how long I’ve been waitin’ to have you like this?” Your eyes close and you cant hold your head up, but his hand does it for you, resting your chin between his thumb and fingers, almost choking you if he applied pressure, the thought only pushing you closer to the edge. “What’d I say?” His hand slows and your eyes shoot open, finding him smiling up at you. “There you go. Good girl.”

“How long?” Your question is breathy and he kisses your open mouth.

“How long what?” He kisses down the side of your throat, leaving marks in his wake.

“How long have you wanted me, Castle?” You can feel his head shaking against your chest, his still damp hair tickling the bare part of it.

“God, sweetheart. You have no idea. As soon as I saw you I knew.” You are struggling to keep your eyes open and he can tell your close, feeling you tighten around just two of his fingers. He quickens his pace. “Now you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes! S-shit I’m so close-” He enters you faster and faster, never missing a fucking beat and you cry out, his name falling from your lips in between a string of curses.

“Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me, I’ve got you.” Your hips move wildly but he never stops, able to control your movements from inside of you. You scream his name into the darkness of your apartment and come undone on his hand, his lips swallowing every moan and shout you throw at him. He moans along with you, feeling it vibrate on your throat when he starts working his way down. “Atta girl. Fucking hell.”

He doesn't slow his pace until your writhing in his lap, shuddering, and your legs give out under you. Two strong arms come to pull you against him and he is so warm, his skin feeling electric.

Frank had never seen something so beautiful in his life. Watching you lose control like that, the girl whos always got a handle on everything, the one who ordered him home and cleaned him up. Seeing you, on top of him, screaming his name as you came just from the touch of his hand, well it was nothing short of god damn beautiful. His cock is painfully hard in his jeans, and the effects of your orgasm dripping right onto his erection only make the sensation more immediate. He watches you intently as you sit up, his hands still wrapped around you.

You make quick work of your own shirt, and then shimmy out of your skirt, pulling it over your head too, the elastic material making it easy to stretch it over. Franks eyes nearly pop out of his head and, unable to stop himself, his hands glide up your stomach, over your breasts making sure to give a slight squeeze as they do, and resting on your shoulders. He is not shy about staring, as you were, and drinks in the look of you.

He wants to lay you out and kiss every section of your body. Wants to lock you in his room and spend days memorising every inch of you, studying every curve like his life depended on it, because that’s how it felt. He couldn’t take his hands off you, the sight in front of him only building his arousal. You must notice this, because quickly your hands shoot down and undo the button and zipper.

Finding your feet on legs that feel like jelly you step off him, kneeling in between his legs and pulling his jeans the rest of the way off, shoving them under the table behind you. God he was fucking hot. His legs were built like tree trunks, solid and strong, and there’s not a woman on earth that could ignore what he had underneath his boxers, the sight making you want to pounce. Getting as close as possible, you slip your fingers under the waistline, and he sucks in a breath, sounding exactly the same as when you were cleaning his knuckles before, and you think he might have hurt himself, maybe tearing a stitch.

“Are you o-“

“Shit. Yes. Yes.” His short responses make you furrow your brows, but when you pull down his boxers you think you understand. The head of his cock is red, already leaking with pre cum as you slide the boxers down and take in the sight of Frank Castle completely naked on your couch. His arms are resting on the back of the couch, his legs spread open to give you space between them, making himself as big as possible.

You’ve dreamed about having him laid out like this in front of you almost as much as he has dreams of having you on your knees in front of him. He stares as you, anticipation building in his chest and dick as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Not being able to control your impulsiveness you move, fast, and take the head of him into your mouth, a gasp leaving Franks mouth involuntarily.

Slowly you swirl your tongue around his sensitive end, moving inch by inch down the rest of him. He groans and his hand comes behind you to tangle in your hair, not pushing but desperate to have something to hold on to.

Franks mind is blurred white. All he can think of, all he will ever think of when he sees your face, your smile, that smart fuckin’ mouth will be how good it felt to be in this moment, your skilled swirls taking him deeper and deeper, nearly making him finish within seconds. The hand in your hair grips tighter and he had to dig his nails into the palm of his hand to maintain any form of control, stopping himself from fucking your mouth till tears stream down your face. He wants to be careful with you; you were soft and sweet and everything he wasn't, but seeing how innocent you look with his cock down your throat would send any man wild.

“Jesus, sweetheart. You takin’ me so fuckin’ well. So good.” He praises and you moan around him, the sensation stopping his ability to speak, only half formed words mingled with strangled gasps filling the air around you. You move faster, take him deeper, wanting to hear all those sounds that he makes because of you, savouring the feeling of him.

Both of you have no idea how long this fleeting moment will last; hell, neither of you knows what this even means. You were pretty sure he thought of you as a friend, but he technically made the first move, right? Frank cant think straight with your mouth around him, your quick pace causing the saliva to spill form your mouth slightly, the sight pushing him closer and closer. He doesn't know where he gets the strength, probably only the promise of burying himself inside you that allows him to pull you off him, his lips immediately crashing down on you, the taste of himself still remaining on your lips.

He leans down and picks you up, and without removing his lips from yours one arm comes underneath you and you wrap your legs around him. He kisses you so hard you think you might drown, and all you can do is whimper and moan underneath his command.

“Bedroom.” Is all Frank says and a wild hand waves down the hall before returning to the back of his neck, spine arching into him as he kicks the door in behind you, revealing your small bedroom.

Your eyes open and see the caved in door behind Frank, but you dont care enough to say anything and he doesn't either, apparently. Reaching the end of your bed, he throws you down, your pillows bouncing and some falling to the floor as your body hits it, and you watch him crawl up the length of the mattress, eyes on you. He kisses your thighs, starting on the left then the right, then comes up to kiss each hip bone, sucking slightly as he does so. The pace of your movements has drastically changed, heat of the moment kisses replaced by passionate, mind melting purpose.

He continues up your body, kissing the spot between your belly button and the hem of your underpants, and he slowly hooks his fingers under them and pulls them down, his eyes burning holes into your own. This is the most sensual thing that has ever happened in your life, but somehow you knew Frank would fuck how he talks; with his full attention on you and complete concentration.

The breeze from your open window blows across your bare lower half and he slides a hand under your back, one hand undoing your bra and tossing it to the side, both of you now completely naked. You can feel his hard, wet length against your left thigh, and a new wave of anxiety overtakes you. What happens next will change everything - everything before now could be spoken down to heat of the moment, a lapse in judgement. Here, now, both of you have plenty of time to consider the other, yet neither of you move away. His face hovers over yours, his forehead brushing against yours every time he breathes out.

“What are you thinking about?” You blink up at him.

“You, sweetheart. Always you.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, then your nose.

“Are you sure you want this? I- We can stop. If you want.” You voice is hardly above a whisper, terrified he would take you up on that. Your legs were already shaking at the thought of him between them, months of late nights behind you, and only this moment to shatter them.

“The only way I’ll stop is if you tell me to. That what you want?” You shake your head violently under him and he laughs, a hand coming to your cheek and stilling you. You smile up at him, mirroring him. “I ever tell you how pretty you look when you smile?”

“No. You can start now, though.” Both of you laugh breathlessly, enjoying this calm before the ultimate storm that is now inevitable to break between you.

“You look pretty. When you smile. When you don’t. Always.” He doesn't keep talking because you pull him down and kiss him, slower this time, letting your tongue explore all the parts you missed before. He grinds against you, the hand not holding your face coming to grip the side of your waist. You chase him, one of your hands trailing down his chest, skipping the side with the new stitches, but taking your time to feel every part of him. Even though your eyes are closed you can tell every time your fingers run over a new scar, and new muscle, because Frank reacts differently, a small moan or a bite of your lip hinting his growing need.

Finally your hand wraps around his cock and your thumb brushes over the head, Franks mouth opening and a stuttered groan filling the silent room as you run him against you, up and down, just once before removing your hand, the tip of him at your entrance. He looks up at you, a silent question and you nod. After what feels like an eternity, he enters you.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He growls out and you cant help but tighten around him. He fits you as perfect as you dreamed, and how you have dreamed of this moment. Nothing compares to how he feels inside of you, a little bit of pain at the size of him not even in your mind as he hits a spot inside of you that has you arching your back and whispering his name.

He moves so slow at first, noticing the slight wince as he adjusts himself and giving you the time to get used to him. He’s more than happy to take it slow, wanting to be inside of you for as long as possible. Frank could die a happy man as long as he could be buried inside of you one last time, and as he grinds back into you, the pretty sounds you make as he fills you feed his ego and his pleasure tenfold.

His pace picks up, finding a rhythm that both meets your jerking hips and also lets him maintain enough composure to not finish inside you just by looking at your face. You moan and your hands come up to his shoulders, nails digging in, scratching like a cat, most definitely drawing blood. Frank fucking loves it, and he cant help but sneak a look to his right at the mirror on the wall, wanting to see the evidence of your marks on him, making him yours as he makes you his. He can see red marks in your hands wake, a tiny drop of blood sliding to his ribcage under the ripples of his thrusts, and he growls.

“Thats it, baby. That feels good, huh?” Your mind is blank, eyes rolling back and all you can do is scream his name in response. Your world rotates to the left, and you realise the hand cupping your face has turned your head, your cheek pressing against the mattress. “Open your eyes. Atta girl.”

The image that floods your eyesight makes your stomach drop and your jaw swings under his grip. Frank pounds into you, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. Every muscle in his toned torso flexes with each thrust, and the size of him on top of you is disorienting, him looking so much bigger as he drills into you over and over.

“Look at how good you take me. Such a good girl, knew you would be.” You cant focus, the pleasure of him and his words an out of body experience. You can feel yourself about to explode, and seeing yourself in the mirror only makes you hotter. Frank watches you, every twitch and shuddering breath, every moan making him slam into you harder and harder. He knows your close, and he lets up his grip on your face, bringing his lips to your throat and kissing you there, his teeth scraping along as he does.

“F-F-Frank-” Your body is shaking and you cant see. He doesn’t let up. You dont want him to, wishing you could form the words to tell him how good he’s making you feel, how unbelievable he feels inside you, how you can feel every ridge of him driving you over the edge, and how you have dreamed of this moment every night since you’ve met him.

“I know, baby. Your close, I can feel it.” He kisses up your throat, to your chin and locks his eyes onto you. “You’re going to cum with me. When I say.” You screw your eyes shut and you whimper, starting to shake your head.

“When I fucking say. You got that?” He kisses your open mouth before you reply, knowing your going to obey whatever he commands. He goes faster, which you never thought was possible, a steady hand running across your bottom lip and dragging it down as he holds your head still. You have no where to look but straight at him, and its exactly where you want to be.

“Feels so fucking good. Feels like home.” Your jaw shakes and you wish you could reply, ask him if he really means that or if its just because he’s inside of you. You try to kiss him but he holds you too tight you cant move up high enough. He notices and drops to you, locking your lips together.

You whimper his name, hardly conscious and full of fucking heat. Your eyes roll back and he keeps kissing you, you trying your hardest to keep up with him.

“Such a good girl. You wanna cum now, pretty baby?�� The sound that rips out of you is reminiscent of a sob, full of pleasure and he nods against your lips. “I know. I know. Cum with me. Now.” You feel one of his large hands brush over your clit and you scream, cumming harder than you ever have before.

Your eyes flash white and you feel Frank bottom out above you, moaning praises in your ear as you both ride out your highs simultaneously. You shake and he keeps that light touch on your clit, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible. Frank drops his forehead to your shoulder and the rest of him follows, slightly taking the wind out of you but your arms snake around his back anyway, holding him on top of you.

He’s still inside you, and you can feel the hot, sticky warmth of his cum inside of you, sending a new wave of shock through your brain. One of your hands comes up to his head, softly brushing through the short strands of hair. In your post orgasm high, you realise you’ve never really seen him with hair longer than a crew cut, and its grown out slightly, just enough that you can thread your fingers through it.

“You okay, sweet’art?” You nod when Frank breaks the silence, both of you still spent. His face nuzzles into your neck and he slides out and off of you, pulling you against his warm body, spooning you.

“I like your hair longer.” You look at the two of you in the mirror, his broad shoulders jutting over your own. He runs his nose along the top of your spine and up the back of your neck, peppering kisses wherever he can.

“I’ll grow it out, then.” This makes you giggle, and his arms only wrap around you tighter, a brilliant warmth filling every part of your body. Your eyes drift down the bed to the doorway, and you cant help but notice the caved in door lying in the entrance.

“Im never going to get my deposit back now.”

“Ill fix it. Tomorrow.” You desperately hope that means he’s going to stay the night, but knowing what you do about him, you dont want to hold him to any false pre tense. Yes, he just fucked you better than you’ve ever been fucked, and yes, he has already ruined you for any other man, but he might not feel the same, and you would take whatever he gives you.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. After breakfast.” You can feel his smirk against your skin and you have to bite your lip to silence the excited squeal that threatens to burst from your throat. “I meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?”

“You look so fuckin’ pretty when you smile like that.” He was staring at you through the mirror, clearly watching how you reacted to his confession, and he was satisfied when the red flush on your cheeks darkened a shade. He pressed a final kiss to your neck as he saw your eyes close, safe and sound in his arms.

Frank didn't know exactly what this was, whether you thought of him as a friend or more, but all he did know is there was no where he would rather be than wrapped up in you, watching you sleep. The moon was reflecting off the mirror from the window behind him, and he knew tomorrow would be coming soon, but for the first time in a very long time, he was looking forward to it.

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silver-weasel · 3 years

Text

Diving (Deku x Reader)

Pairing : Deku x fem!reader (aged-up characters)

Rating : E, 18+

Tags : smut • fem!reader (she/her) • best friends to lovers / childhood friends to lovers • quirkless AU • p*rn with feelings (like. a lot of them) • public sex (more or less) • switching • hair pulling? • pining • Deku being flustered and an absolute angel what’s new • Reader being a teasing brat • It’s all soft and fluffy, I’m as vanilla as you can get 🤷‍♀️ • Happy birthday to the bestest boyyy I love him so much it hurts

Word count : 10 600 (Holy sh—)

A/N : Thank you @hoe-doroki my beloved and savior for beta-ing <3

Written for @rat-zuki’s collab in honor of our favorite birthday boy, The Deku Agenda Escapes no One. Thank you so much for letting me join! (go check out the other amazing writers and artists!)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The ground grinds repeatedly under your hiking shoes, some pebbles being kicked forward on your way. You’re way too deep in the forest to hear any cars passing by and during the two hours you’ve been here you haven’t run into anyone. The place seems empty, the only souls breathing the forest’s thick air being you, Izuku and the birds chirping all around you.

The afternoon is coming to an end, the sun sinking down on its way to hide behind the mountains. The remains of its soft light are filtering through the dense leaves all around and above you. You’re surrounded by green, lush and immeasurable greenery, every plant merging into another.

You’ve left the marked paths, now wandering deep in the richest, boundless part of a forest you both know like the back of your hand after roaming it all over innumerable times. All over, except for this part, in which you’re setting foot for the first time today. Your many previous hiking sessions were shortened by your questionable sense of organization, always arriving too late to explore further into the unknown.

Leaves brush against your knees with every single step you take as you follow Izuku on his heels. He’s moving at a steady pace, his hands holding tight the straps of his yellow backpack that he’s had for as long as you can remember. He’s always so organized, has everything you two could eventually need and generally never do. Two huge flasks of water, an entire meal he calls ‘little snacks’, with sandwiches, fruits, protein bars, even hard-boiled eggs. A first-aid kit with disinfectant, bandages, scissors and painkillers. Hell, you’re even wondering if he has any pads for you in there, in case of an unexpected period. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

You giggle lightly when you see him stumble for the sixth time since you got here; he can’t seem to keep his curious eyes from drifting up and around, looking in every direction, probably retaining every detail and logging it in some impressive mental database of his. And he’s commenting on every little thing he sees too; he makes you notice things you never would have if it weren’t for his candid interest in everything.

“Oh! Look at that bird!” he exclaims, pointing at a branch over your heads. “Do you see it, right there, with the red mark!”

You turn your gaze to where he’s pointing and see a little bird, very cute, but so tiny you’re wondering how one could spot it without specifically looking for it. That’s probably what you like most about Izuku: his attention to detail. That’s the thing—nothing is too small for him, everything is worthy of interest. His eyes always light up with such curiosity, this child-like wonder and it was always one of your favorite things to witness growing up.

When he came over to your house at age six, he was always running around with some bug on his forearm, calling your name, yelling, “Look at this!”

Most of the time, it was a snail or a ladybug, and that always managed to catch your interest. Sometimes, it was a spider or a beetle, and he had you screaming in horror more than once, running to your mother’s legs with weeping eyes. Those times, he always watched you go with wide, sad eyes and a wobbly lip, because, “I would never hurt her, Mom! I swear I didn’t want to scare her!”

“Oh, yeah, I see it! It’s so cute!”

And it is cute, the way his huge green eyes go even rounder in amazement. You treasure these hikes for providing occasions to witness this. But as much as you wish this moment could last forever, the sun is beginning to set, you probably shouldn’t go deeper in the forest at sundown.

“We should probably head back to the car, Izuku. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“Come on, it’s still so light—there’s no rush!” His lips crook a bit into an impish smile. “Scared that a bear is coming to get you?”

“There aren’t any bears here—we’ve been coming for five years.”

“Because if it’s the bears you’re afraid of,” he begins, ignoring you on purpose, “you know I’ll protect you, right?” he says, sticking out his chest like he’s some superhero.

“Against a bear? Right.”

“You’re underestimating me? That’s just mean.”

You chuckle at his antics, shooting him a look of yours that says, ‘Come on, please?’.

His eyes soften a bit, but he’s used to that look; it’s been years since it worked on him as well as you’d like it to.

“We can just keep going this way, then we’ll make a loop and head back to the car directly! It’ll be even shorter this way.”

“Alright, let’s do that,” you agree, and the smile it elicits from him makes something tingle deep in your stomach.

You move forward again, sinking deeper within the forest. It’s becoming harder and harder to walk, brambly branches and huge leaves blocking your way more and more with every step.

You’re a bit ahead of him when you catch sight of a sparkle behind the bushes. Just a glimpse of light, but you’re positive you saw it. Is there water here? You never really looked at a map of the place before—you just always went wherever you felt like and used the same tracks on the way back. You hurry up a bit, curious eyes fixed on that glimmer of light.

Soon enough the dense greenery comes to an end, and you’re finally out of the bushes, finding your way into a little clearing. You’re standing, speechless, in front of a pond: it’s about forty feet wide, catching the last rays of sunshine in a dazzling reflection. The water is surrounded by gigantic trees big enough to be home to an entire niche of biodiversity, and a half-sandy, half-stony shore with reeds rising from the water on both sides.

It’s all calm and quiet and massive trees, branches pouring, cascading above still water. The air feels cool, filled with a pure smell of dew and spring even though it’s the end of a hot day of July.

Izuku is close behind you and lets out a very cute, “Whoa,” ditching his backpack on the ground next to you in the middle of the cove. The both of you just stand there for a moment in complete silence, aside from the birds chirping. Izuku breaks it first:

“How come we’ve never seen this before? This place is amazing.” He sounds distant as he speaks, soaking up his surroundings like he always does.

“I guess you never know everything about anything,” you say mindlessly, without detaching your gaze of the wonderful view ahead.

He’s standing close to you, very close. You’re only noticing now that you’re coming down from the high of your discovery. Your arms are brushing, you can feel his body heat from how close you two are. It wouldn’t be the first time; you’re no stranger to being physically close to Izuku. You’ve been playing together since you were able to put one foot in front of the other. And you wish you could say it feels any different right now, but that would be a lie. Being close to him always felt the same. Always felt like the only easy thing in your life. The only constant.

Yet it’s not enough. No matter how close, it’s never enough, it never was. You hate yourself for feeling that way; you’ve never been the greedy, unsatisfied type. You have everything with Izuku. Well, almost everything.

But right now this place—this very quiet, beautiful place with no one in sight is doing things to your fertile imagination. Despite the sun just beginning to set, the summer air still remains thick with heat. You find yourself staring in the abyss of that water, admiring the masterpiece of a reflection on the surface, a painting of leaves and clouds and blue sky. It calls you, sings an irresistible song of fresh water on sweaty skin and strong, freckled arms wrapped around you.

You don’t know if the slight, insignificant detail that you would have to undress in order to dive into that water—since you didn’t bring a swimsuit—is a better reason to do it or to refrain from doing so.

You’ve lost count of how many moments you’ve shared with him just like this one. So many chances for you to take. You never have.

Back to the original issue: can you see yourself walk out of that clearing the way you always do? Can you see yourself going home, adding this missed chance to your growing collection of lost memories, of hands within your reach that you chose not to take?

The answer pops in your mind, crystal clear for the first time since you met him.

You drop your bag on the ground, turning to Izuku with a delighted expression stretching your features. The look on your face reminds him of one he’d seen on you as a kid, bouncing on the balls of your feet in front of the ice cream truck. At this moment he just knows you’ve got some stupid shenanigan in mind, like you always do. Once again, he isn’t wrong.

“Wanna take a dip?” You’re squinting at him from his side, a mischievous smile lighting up your face.

“I-I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” he stutters.

It’s been a long time since he last stuttered in front of you. He got rid of it years ago, but it still resurfaces sometimes in front of intimidating strangers or in a socially uncomfortable situation. Never in front of you, though.

“Me neither,” you answer plainly with that same impish smile, and his eyes go round at your implications.

“Wait, you can’t be—Oh my God—”

His heart does a great flip in his chest when he catches you taking the hem of your shirt up over your head. In less than five seconds, you’ve got him scorching hot, feverish and suddenly he can’t tell right from left.

His reflex is to bury his face in his hands. He respects you too much to take a peek, but you’re making things very difficult for him. He can hear you move towards the water, can hear the thump of your forgotten shoes hitting the ground one after the other, can hear the soft pad of your naked feet on the rocks.

“For the love of God, please, put it back on…”

“What? Look at this view, it would be a shame not to make the most of it!”

He’s not looking at the view right now, he can’t let himself. He knows very well he won’t be able to focus on the trees when you’re standing pretty much naked—although he’s not sure to what extent—in front of him. You could be entirely naked right now and he wouldn’t be able to tell, his burning face still hidden in his shaking hands. His voice comes out muffled when he stammers, “I-It’s starting to get late, we really should get back to the car…”

“What, you’re scared of the bears?”

He can’t see you, but he knows you’re sporting that smug grin of yours, the one he first saw when you showed him your impressive collection of Pokémon cards on your preschool’s playground. You’ll have to take a lingering silence for an answer.

“Izuku, come on. I don’t bite.”

He’s not entirely sure the sight of you won’t gnaw him to the bone, won’t melt his entire body down and leave him a hot mess. He won’t be a man anymore, just a walking flame fueled by the heavenly sight of you. No, he can’t let himself fall into that. Obviously you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

Nevertheless, you’re probably the most stubborn person he knows. And he’s friends with Katsuki Bakugou, for God’s sake. He won’t be able to get out of this as easily as he wants, especially as he hears the delicate noise of water splitting at your feet as you enter the little pond.

He slowly moves his hands off of his face. You must have your back turned to him, so maybe he can drift his eyes off somewhere—

You are in front of him, thigh deep in the water now. In nothing but your panties. Your white, flower-patterned lace panties that are doing a very bad job at covering your backside. He lets out a long, pained whine, standing in the middle of the little shore with his arms dangling down his sides, not sure what to do with them.

“Why didn’t you at least keep your bra on?” His voice comes out way more wobbly than he intended to.

You turn a little so you can look at him, and it takes every little bit of strength he’s got left to look you in the eye. But as you’re turning around, the smooth curve of your breast starts showing, and God, is that your nipple?

He wants a giant hole to swallow him right now. He wants some forest creature to come for him right this instant, anything to keep him away from you, keep him from doing things he might regret. To punish him for having such thoughts about you, because you trust him, you’re so oblivious, so innocent, and he’s so weak against this inner monster that’s eating him away.

With a little frown, you deliver the answer like it’s self-evident as you kneel into the water, the surface just above your chest:

“I didn’t want it to get wet.”

“But you’re okay with your panties getting wet?”

The realization of what he just said is slow but surely comes. And when it does, he wishes even harder to get erased from the surface of this planet he’s already lucky enough to share with you. There is a long silence, and all he can hear for a few seconds are the birds chirping and the violent pounding of his heart against his ribcage, straining to get out.

You turn back around to look at him, dumbstruck.

“I’m more than okay with that—”

“Please forget I just said that,” he cuts you off. He’s not sure he can bear to hear more of this.

“I’m never forgetting you said that. It’s pure gold,” you scoff.

He can only answer with a drawn-out whine. He doesn’t have any choice in this, does he?

When you dive in the water, he takes both his shaking hands to the hem of his shirt and starts undressing.

What the fuck am I doing?

The water is so pure you can see underwater as clear as day: the few rocks at the bottom, the little silvery fish all around you, and the last rays of sunlight permeating through the calm surface above your head. The water feels a bit cold on your naked skin since the sunlight and summer heat must only hit the clearing at certain hours of the day. Still, the cold water isn’t enough to clear your foggy mind.

What was I thinking?

You’ve always been a bashful person, why is it changing all of a sudden? Maybe it’s the devastating effect Izuku has on you.

You try to calm down a bit, taking a deep breath. So, you’re pretty much naked in front of him. Well, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time, and it (probably) won’t be the last. Now you just have to go through with your stupid idea. It’s no big deal, it’s only Izuku. Only Izuku.

Only Izuku.

Fuck.

You finally surface, not only because you can’t hide underwater forever, but also because, surprisingly, you’re not a fish, you have to actually breathe.

You push your dripping hair to the back of your head, still careful to keep your breasts under the water. Izuku’s already in to his hips when you turn around to look at him, your vision still blurry from the water trickling all over your face. He’s merciless, standing like that, only the elastic of his boxers peeking out of the water. You’re a bit surprised by the plain, black color. You were expecting something along the lines of blue, yellow and red. Izuku is full of surprises.

But nevermind the color of his underwear—what you find just above is mesmerizing. Your indiscreet, incorrigible gaze can’t help following the thin trail of hair tracing up to his navel, then the stunning lines of his abs, partly hidden behind his freckled forearms shyly crossed over them. The freckles spread up his powerful arms, gently sunkissed, scattering all over his broad shoulders.

Is he actually hiding, though? Doesn’t he know he looks like he was carved by the gods themselves?

“Have you done this before?”

The sound of his voice startles you a bit. Ah, right. You were shamelessly staring. It takes you a couple of seconds to force your distracted mind back into focus. “Done what?”

“Skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s my first time. It looks like it’s yours too.” His big, bright eyes drift around like they don’t know where to look. It’s really cute.

“It is,” he admits, now kneeling into the water as well. “I would’ve thought you were used to this.” You arch a single eyebrow in an amused frown.

“What, do I look like I have a professional degree in skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s just…You look confident, it just seemed like it.”

Confident? You’re nowhere near confident—you’re terrified. You try to keep your cool, but it’s probably the first time you’re putting on an act in front of Izuku.

“Well, you’re not so bad at it yourself.” You don’t miss the little blush coating his cheeks at that. “Also, I’m not exactly naked.”

“You’re not exactly dressed either, that’s a...v-very small piece of clothing.” He’s blushing a bit harder, looking away.

“Oh, seems like you paid some attention to my piece of clothing then, good to know.”

Now he’s quite simply scarlet. A very cute, very hot, freckled tomato. He’s so easily flustered, it only makes you want to tease him some more.

“Were your legendary All Might boxers in the dirty hamper? That’s a shame. I’m a bit disappointed,” you say in a mockingly innocent voice.

He doesn’t retort, simply stands there on his knees, shooting you an unreadable look and a little pout. After a few seconds, you open your mouth to continue, only to be startled by a strong splash hitting you in the face.

When you snap out of your shock, hair and face dripping all over your shoulders, you look up at him with what must be the scariest look of betrayal. Or the most ridiculous, apparently, since he starts laughing, louder and louder, and can’t seem to stop.

“Oh, you’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren’t you?” You can’t help but chuckle while talking, his laugh is so contagious.

“I am, yeah!” he manages to articulate, only starting to calm down.

As the calm of the forest returns, you watch his eyes go back to their usual round shape bit by bit, his face relaxing again. His smile causes butterflies to fly up and around in a whirlwind deep into your belly. You chuckle a bit at the feeling, almost embarrassed by how he’s making you feel like you’re in some dumb, cliche rom-com movie. On the outside, you must look a bit like a maniac, but he’s a nice guy, so he simply asks, “What is it?”

And before you can overthink yourself out of it, you’re hurling yourself at him. He barely has the chance to stutter a weak, “Wait!” before you’re putting all your weight on him, sinking his head deep in the water. Izuku may well be a nice guy, but you know he isn’t going to let you get away with this, so you’re not surprised when you’re dragged underwater by your legs. He lets go immediately, a bit abruptly, even, like it burnt his hands to touch you.

You both emerge from the water soon, and it takes you a second to get rid of the water blurring your vision, but then it hits you. How tantalizingly close you are to each other now, your bodies an inch away from touching. You’re both on your knees, enveloped in the coolness of crystal clear water and the reflections of the canopy of leaves above your heads. A spark of electricity makes you freeze on the spot; you’re so close to him your breasts slightly brush against his chest.

After a little eternity, you find the courage to look up at his face. He looks mindblowing, really. Despite the two decades you spent together, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen the pure, astonishing details of his freckles from this close. You would remember it, you definitely would. It’s a spectacular view, one of those visual memories that comes back to hit you in flashes. His nose and cheekbones are covered in them, drawing a mesmerizing pattern, more complex than the Milky Way itself. They’re an uncrackable equation, like a weird quirk of nature that you’ll never understand but don’t question anyway. They spread a little more scattered, but still very present, up to his forehead and down to his delicate jaw.

And his eyes—you could just drown in them. There’s this bright, blinding light there that feels like laying in the grass and looking up at the sunlight coating the leaves of this tree, the one you grew up near and always played under.

You swear you didn’t move, neither did he, and still you manage to get even closer to him. Now it’s you against the inexorable attraction that pulls you towards him like a fierce magnet. And it’s a losing battle, you think, as you’re both entering each other’s personal space like you share just one.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he can’t look you in the eye, seemingly too obsessed with your lips. You drop your gaze to his and find them calling for you. It’s been so long, now the thought of kissing Izuku seems unfamiliar despite being ever-present in your imagination for so many years. Like repeating a word so much it ends up becoming a series of meaningless sounds to your confused mind.

He’s the one who finally closes the distance, his lips landing on yours so softly you can barely feel them. He doesn’t move, simply content with the contact. You’re both eight years old again for a minute. The kiss feels like the little peck a kid would finally give to his crush in the middle of their school’s playground before running away to his friends.

Time seems to stop for God knows how long, and after what feels like no time and forever all at once, his lips move hesitantly against yours, bringing you back to reality. Right then, it all crashes on you like a tremendous wave. The distant echo of your mothers’ voices from the kitchen and the stupid cartoons they made you watch so they could talk for ten more minutes. The games alone together because no one wanted to play with you two weirdos. The piggyback rides, the dumb jokes, the video games (you always won). The neverending texting sessions at night because one of you couldn’t sleep. The fights that never lasted long enough to see the next sunrise because you both are way too weak for each other. All those stupid places that wouldn’t have looked half as breathtaking if it weren’t for him.

His lips are soft but roughly bitten. Hot and wet from the water and maybe from something else. He doesn’t taste like anything other than home, and that’s more than enough for you. His hands went up to cup your face at some point, but you’re too drowned in all the feelings coming up to the surface to pay attention to anything other than his soft mouth pressing on yours, more and more, opening up—

And it’s already over. You only notice that you’ve closed your eyes when you open them again when you don’t feel anything against your mouth other than the summer air. When your mind manages to regain any sense of function, the blurry focus of your gaze settles on his eyes. Wide open. Pupils eating up the dazzling viridian that puts the forest to shame. And a terrified expression in them.

He’s looking at you like he hurt you. His lips should still be on yours, kissing and sucking, not frozen like they are right now, obviously trying to express something painful as a few weak sounds pass their barrier before he finally manages to speak:

“Oh—Oh my God, I-I’m s—”

You don’t let him finish his stupid sentence. You don’t think twice before you take his face in your hands and lean in to kiss him again, with shameless intent this time. No more pretending—you’ve been waiting long enough for this and apparently, so has he.

It’s nothing gentle this time when your mouths crash against each other, teeth clashing and lips bruising under the weight of twenty years. You hold to his face like a lifeline, fingers sinking just a bit into his cheekbones, the tip of your nails getting caught in the knots of his dripping hair just above his ears. It’s messy, your noses rubbing before he angles his face better. One of his hands loops around your waist in a tight grip, forcing your chest to crush against his, the other burying in your hair at the base of your skull.

The feeling is electrifying, indescribable. It’s nothing like the pale, miserable depiction of your imagination. It’s discovering life in color when all you’ve always known was black and white.

The water is cool, but his body scorches against yours, burns your skin in the most exquisite way. The kiss is desperate on both parts, but neither of you is confident. His lips suck on yours with tentative motions, and you respond in kind the best you can. They are hungry, starving for flesh but don’t know how to hunt.

Your hands are gripping more and more of his hair, pulling harder, sending waves of heat all the way down his groin, and he’s not sure he can hide the bulge growing there for much longer.

He has to be sure, he has to be absolutely certain you want this as much as he does, because once he starts, he may not be able to stop. But you feel so good, all pressed against him. Your skin feels so soft under his hand at the small of your back he has to dig his nails in the skin of your waist so he doesn’t cross a line. But the curve just above your ass is begging for him to grip at the tender flesh and squeeze, fill his hands with it. He’s been dreaming about this for so long.

No, he can’t just hurl himself at you like a hunting wolf the first chance he gets—what kind of friend does that?

It takes him every bit of focus he has left to break the kiss, to part away from you. You have to discuss this, he can’t just throw away twenty years of friendship! Now you’re looking up at him with puppy eyes saying, ‘Why won’t you play with me?’ He breathes out a shaky sigh, and begins:

“Um, look. Believe me when I say I’ve wanted this for a very, very long time, and I love you so, so much. As a friend, I mean.” He sees you frown at this, catches a glint of something he doesn’t like in your eyes, then panics. “No, no, no, I mean, a-as a friend, but also more than that, o-obviously. But I don’t know what you want, you might be...d-disappointed, or...um—” His face starts heating up like it hasn’t in ages. He takes another breath, tries to clear up the muddled mess happening in his head. “Look, I just want the best for you, but you look...good, very good, and you’re making things very difficult for me, doing...this—”

“Izuku.” The deafening hubbub filling his mind falls suddenly silent, your voice a comforting, steady rock for him to cling to when his mind is storming out of control.

“Yeah?”

You get even closer to him, since he gradually set some distance while mumbling his anxious thoughts out again. You cup his face in your hands, a gentle, featherlight touch, and look up at him with determination in your eyes. You pull his head down a bit to settle on yours, your foreheads and noses connected, never breaking eye contact. Your lips graze over his, both your breaths mixing there, your voice a quiet whisper as you speak again. “Do you want me?”

Out of the jittery mess of his mind, the answer comes out like evidence, plain and simple: “Yes.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

You take action immediately, kissing him once again and this time he doesn’t hesitate to put his—still rather shaky—hands on you. The feeling of you is addicting, pushing his insecurities further in the back of his mind. He starts at your waist, running his thumbs there, feeling the goosebumps rising on your skin. They wander up your spine, counting every single bump of your bones, all the way to your nape. Then dragging them back down to settle on your hips, his fingers digging in the soft flesh. The little sigh you breathe on his lips causes an impressive amount of blood to run straight to his dick.

Your mouth is distracting, dizzying, sucking on his bottom lip, nipping playfully. His tongue slides over your lips, then against your own when you open up immediately for him. You’re pressing against him even more, your breasts rubbing against his naked chest and he swears you’re going to be the death of him. You’re hanging from his shoulders by now, your arms circling his neck, still gripping a handful of green hair, pulling. You have to stop doing this—he might cum right away. He doesn’t say it aloud, only lets a moan escape him into your mouth.

He wanted this, wanted this for so long, and now that it’s real, it’s beyond everything he could have imagined. The heat of your skin, the weight on his shoulders as you cling to him, your breath in his mouth, your little sighs.

He’s only now noticing that his hands have gone to reach their destination with a mind of their own. They’re on your ass underwater, feeling the white, wet lace, the sole cloth on your entire body—that thing is just there to tempt him. He’s unsure if you like what he’s doing until you release a whimper, louder this time, enough to send a vibration against his mouth (and straight to his cock at the same time).

Suddenly, he wants to taste a lot more of you. You’re all open up to him for the first time—he has to. He trails a series of open-mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, savoring every little sigh escaping your lips, then to your neck, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat.

The water is fresh all over you, and he doesn’t miss the shivers running up and down your skin at the contact of the twilight breeze. He needs to warm you up, needs to make you feel good, needs everything to be perfect for you. With his hands still on your ass, he trails lower down to your collarbone, allowing some occasional nips on the way that have you shaking. He freezes, looking up at you from there.

“Is this okay?”

The answer comes out breathy, a little desperate: “Yes, yes, please!” It sends a wave of heat all over him, the way you like what he’s doing to you, the way he’s making you feel good.

He’s not experienced or anything, only had a few hookups a couple of times, so he’s not very confident in his capacities, aside from running his hands all over you because that’s how his instincts are manifesting. You know him better than anyone—of course you would know how lost he could be in this kind of situation. But he also knows you’re not much more experienced than him, and that thought is comforting.

He’s experienced in one thing, though. He feels like the worst, filthiest person on the planet for this, but it’s astonishing the number of times he jerked off to the thought of what’s happening right now. How many times did he fuck his hand in the shower thinking about the water trickling down your skin, about licking it off your breasts all the way up to your neck.

So he does what he’s been dying to do for years. your breasts are just above the surface, so he sits on his heels and licks down your chest. When his tongue finally reaches your nipple, giving it a tentative lick, you let out a gasp, encouraging him to get bolder. And he does, closing his mouth on it like it’s the sweetest lollipop; it’s all cold and hard and raised from the water, but it warms up really quickly against the furnace of his mouth. His right hand leaves your ass to cup the neglected other, running his thumb against the bud, squeezing the flesh. That’s when you reach out to bury a hand in his hair, and pull again. God, you can pull on his hair all day and night like this; he’ll never get enough.

His left hand, still on your ass, rises up to the small of your back, feeling you arching more and more, pushing against his mouth. A harder nip has you gasping and he lets his hands run all over you, wandering without direction. It’s messy and urgent; he can’t help it—you feel so good, so soft under his hands. He’s like a kid getting to open his Christmas gifts in the morning after an endless, sleepless night waiting for Santa.

You trail your hand down his chest and his abdomen, a gentle reminder that the power he holds right now could slip through his fingers any moment. He’s willing to give it to you, especially since he doesn’t really know what to do next.

Like you just read his mind, you take his hands in yours, stopping their chaotic race. He’s feeling himself flush a bit—was he going too fast for you? Did he scare you? Or did he just let himself become overwhelmed by his feelings and it didn’t feel good for you? His eyes are looking down directly at your naked chest, he realizes he never took a proper look at them, too busy throwing himself to taste them. They look just as good as they taste, as beautiful as the rest of you.

Tentatively, he raises his eyes to find your reassuring gaze and fond smile. You lead his hands down slowly, setting them on your hips, over the criminal lace fabric preserving your modesty. Your foreheads connect again, but you never break eye contact. Lacing your fingers together, you guide his thumbs into the elastic on both sides, and now that he gets what you’re trying to do, his mind just stops.

Your voice is barely a whisper, a mesmerizing caress on his lips when you speak again. “I think I’ve waited long enough, Zuku.”

Your tone is fond, but you sound so desperate, it’s unbearably cute. His mind fogs up, the smoke of your words filling his skull and he wants to drive you as mad as you drive him. Sure, you’ve waited a lot, but so has he. He isn’t going to rush this, not if he has any say in it.

He slides your panties down your thighs underwater inch by inch. It’s even too slow for him; right now he just wants to rip the stupid piece of lace off of you and fuck you and him both stupid in the water, hard and fast. But even more than that, he wants to take his time with you, wants to take you apart piece by piece. And the testy whine it elicits from you makes it all so worth it.

You shift a bit so he can take your underwear completely off and, in a second, it lays abandoned on the sandy ground of the shore. Just knowing you’re now completely naked in front of him, it sends boiling desire flowing through every single vein in his body. He can’t see that part of you yet, the water darkening along with the sky clouding his view beneath the surface, but nightfall can’t do anything about Izuku’s wild imagination. He’s dizzy, feeling himself slowly falling into a half-conscious daze, but you anchor him right where you are, bringing him back to the reality of your arms hooked around his neck.

He rests his hands on your hips, dragging his fingertips down the soft flesh of them. The idea of touching you down there is making his head spin, he can’t wait any longer.

“Can I—”

“Yes, I want your fingers inside me,” you say before driving your lips back against his.

Without further ado, one of them goes straight to your core, making you jump a bit, breaking the kiss just for a second. He runs his index between your folds, feeling hot slick already coming out of you despite the fresh water around. His touch is light, slow, hesitant as it glides up and down, testing the waters. He’s getting a bit further, putting a bit more pressure with every stroke and earning a few pleased sighs from your heavenly mouth.

He expected a sudden reaction as soon as he found your clit, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for the drawn-out moan coming out of your gorgeous lips, wet from his mouth and from your dip earlier. He wants to hear that again, every day for the rest of his life. He drags his thumb over it, again and again, slow at first, but then quicker and quicker, and your voice grows louder with every speed-up of his finger.

Your hands go frantic over him, running up his chest and down his abs in repeated motions that feel a lot like it’s lust driving your limbs much more than your mind. You stopped kissing him at some point, your mouth too busy expressing every ounce of pleasure you felt to focus on such basic motions. Your face is buried in his neck, your hot breath crushing against his skin.

He presses his index inside, but he’s so focused on what he’s doing, trying not to hurt you, that he doesn’t notice the shift of your own hand leaning down until he feels it cupping the painful bulge in his boxers. His eyes go wide with a gasp, and when he looks at you, you already have a playful, but intense, gaze piercing right through him.

“Did you think I was gonna let you play all on your own, Zuku?” Your fingers graze over the soaked fabric, down his entire length and to his balls, throwing gasoline on the fire that’s been consuming him for ages. “Don’t be selfish,” you whisper directly in his ear as your hands slip his underwear down his thighs.

As soon as the piece of cloth gets to join your forgotten panties on the shore, you wrap your pretty hand around him. And when you start stroking, his eyes roll so hard he swears he can see the inside of his skull. It feels better than he ever could have imagined; it’s blistering, astonishing. The only idea his brain can manage to work out right now is that he wants you to feel just as good.

He only notices now that his fingers stopped moving, and they go right back to a steady pace, but it’s a matter of seconds before he drives another finger into you. Soon, you’re both fucking the life out of each other with your hands. You’re sucking and nipping at his ear, and every single moan he draws out of you ends up turning against him, breaking into the defenses he built year after year by your side. He’s simply fucking into your hand now. He can’t help it, you feel so good. He doesn’t even want to think about what it’s going to feel like to fuck into your tight little cunt, he might cum hard just from the thought of it.

The spongy spot he finds inside you feels like he just struck gold. It’s glorious, the sounds you make right now, higher, louder. You’re tightening around his fingers, but it’s okay—you can crush them for all he cares. He wants you to moan higher for him, wants you to keep riding his fingers like your life depends on it.

“Izuku, ah—I’m close, I’m so close, please…”

“I got you, baby. I got you, shit—”

He quickens the pace again, feels like his fingers are gonna fall off his hand the moment he gets them out of you, but fuck, what his princess wants, his princess is gonna get. Your orgasms shatter the both of you to pieces, and in the bliss of his high, he can hear some birds flying away, scared by the harmonious, but probably very loud, song of your combined moans.

While his cum strikes out by ropes into the water, his clouded mind can only think about one thing.

He needs more of you.

You can barely stand on your knees, worn out from cumming the hardest you have in your entire life. You actually have to lean on Izuku so you don’t fall into the water head first like some boneless ragdoll. You just let your forehead rest on his shoulder and count the freckles there, splattered in a fascinating work of abstraction.

But apparently, he has other plans. You’re swiftly lifted up and out of the water, huge scarred hands firmly holding the back of your thighs that immediately come to circle his waist.

“Oh, nice. I don’t mind getting carried around like a baby. Where are we going?”

“Not far,” he says with a little grin, walking out of the water. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk?” His voice holds a sarcastic tone, one you’re not used to hearing out of Izuku’s angel mouth.

“I think I can manage, yeah.”

He drops you to stand on your legs, and immediately goes for his backpack. The sun has just set, its last rays of light filling the pink sky over your heads. You can still easily make out everything around you, and Izuku’s body is no exception.

You’re watching him with a raised eyebrow, letting your shameless gaze follow every curve you couldn’t see underwater. The day he started exercising in high school was the day you knew it was over for you. It was the day you couldn’t deny what you felt anymore, you couldn’t deny your best friend was everything you needed, and everything you wished for. The physical factor was only a—very pleasant— addition to the list of things that made you fall hard for Izuku Midoriya.

Your eyes linger over his impressive figure, staring at the dimples at the small of his back. You always knew they were here, but you never allowed yourself to look at them, to imagine how they would grow repeatedly hollow with every thrust of his hips into you.

He finally digs out what he was looking for: a plaid picnic blanket, because of course he would have one in there. He’s wearing a little victorious smile when he stands and turns around to spread it on a grassy spot that looks a lot more comfortable than the hard ground. He turns back to you but averts his gaze to the side, hardly looking directly at you for more than a second at a time. The heat of his gaze tracing your curves through quick glances pools deep in your core.

“You know you can look, right?” You sure aren’t refraining from doing so after all.

His face reaches its usual redness—hasn’t he learned anything from making you cum like crazy with just his fingers? It’s cute nonetheless; Izuku will never change.

He doesn’t answer your rhetorical question, only gives you a shy command in that tentative, very cute voice of his.

“Could you lay down on this for me?”

You saw this coming, but still, you’re a bit surprised he’s asking you that out loud. You gladly oblige with your legs pressed together, slightly bent. It’s another golden opportunity to tease him a bit:. “This isn’t exactly the right use for this blanket. Aren’t we supposed to eat on this?”

He smiles at the ground while kneeling at your feet.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

Your sly smile fades away. His tone is a contradictory mix of shyness and determination, so it’s a bit confusing but also unbearably hot—you swear an astounding wave of heat is crashing through your deepest parts, untouched, just from some words and a funny tone. You rub your thighs together before he grabs and parts them to slip himself between them.

He crawls over you and leans down to kiss you, a bit more confident than earlier. His hips are pressing between your legs, where you can feel his hardness best.

He’s rutting more and more against you as the kiss intensifies. You could think it’d be a lot less exciting now that you know he’s going to eat you out, there’d be no suspense. Wrong. The little shit apparently likes to tease you to death, because he left your lips to kiss your face, nip at your neck, suck at your ears. Dragging his devilish hands everywhere, pressing harder each time you get louder. An especially heavy whine makes him buck hard, his mouth back against yours.

“The more impatient you get, the slower it’s gonna be,” he murmurs against your lips, and starts to make his way down to where you want him, kissing every inch of you, clouding your mind with desire. It’s way too much and still not enough; it’s maddening. When he finally reaches down, you’re on the verge of a second orgasm like you hadn’t just come down a few minutes ago.

He’s holding your thighs apart in a firm grip. Just the touch of his fingers burns your skin deliciously, and the look he’s giving you from between your legs...his eyes are clouded, half-lidded, looking at the part of you he’s never gotten to see before. It feels like he’s been looking forever and just a second at the same time.

He finally dips into you, leaving butterfly kisses all over your inner thighs, punctuated by little nips, nuzzling the soft skin. He’s not looking you in the eye anymore, his gaze lingering all over your body—all over except for your face. You can make out a slight blush on his cheeks despite the dimness all around. You know him better than anyone, so you immediately recognize what’s going on in his mind just from the slightest hint in his eyes. He looks like he’s fighting a battle against himself, his shyness against his hunger. And you know who you’re both rooting for.

He finally gives in, and it takes your breath away. A single, slight lick on your clit and you’re gone. And the next ones, more and more intense, more and more hungry, push you further to tumble over your edge. He grunts into your heat, multiple times. Moans like he’s the one squirming under your mouth.

His hands hold a firm grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh and keeping you in place—he doesn’t even give you an inch to move. You can only take and take and take. But you still have the luxury of your free hands, and they rush to bury in the knots of his messy wet curls, your nails dragging, scratching his scalp.

His lips close on your clit and suck just a bit, and before you can refrain, you pull on his hair, hard. He gasps, and the moment you think you hurt him, he breathes his loudest moan, right into you. You’re filled with the vibrations—they spread all over your body, have you throwing your head back, trembling from head to toe.

The louder you are, the hungrier he gets, filling you with his insatiable tongue. You have to look at him right now. And you expected quite a show, but you certainly weren't prepared to see this—him rutting against the ground like an animal. You realize he’s getting off just from your taste, just from eating you out. His hips roll repeatedly, making you salivate just to the thought of those same hips bucking into yours, fucking you into oblivion. And the more he ruts, the louder he gets.

Now if he wants to moan, you’re going to give him a good reason to.

You hint for him to face you with a light tug on his hair. As soon as he’s back up, he dives in to kiss you. You don’t let him. In a second he’s on his back with you seated on his hips.

“What did I say about letting you play on your own, hm?”

The ‘deer caught in headlights’ look is so cute on him. And the rest is a marvel to look at. You’re straddling him and he has no other choice than to let you devour him with your eyes—not that he couldn’t bounce you off of him with just a thrust of his hips, but he already would have if he wanted to. You let your gaze wander mindlessly over him—it’s surreal. There’s no way he’s actually under you, waiting for you to please him back with his mouth and jaw still shining with your juices. It has to be a dream—it’s always been after all.

You shift so you’re straddling his parted thighs. You can finally take a look at him. The whole thing, that is. His cock is resting against his lower stomach, hard and swollen and thick. It’s a pretty, bright pink, shining with pre-cum at the tip. Your mouth waters just at the sight of it.

He’s looking down at you, his face as flushed as his dick, that usual blush still exquisitely coating his freckles. You take him in your hand, dive in to give a lick to the tip and his head falls back down with a whimper. You let your tongue drag over the whole length on the underside, and your lips close around the tip in a wet smooch. His hips jerk up a bit, startling you.

You finally take him whole in your mouth, and you can feel his whole body tensing under you. You start bobbing up and down, going a bit further each time, earning a series of shameless moans because this boy is loud. You expected him to express himself during sex since he’s such a mumbler—and frankly, it was always one of your biggest fantasies, hearing him come undone because of you, lose any sense of shame and self-restriction when he’s such a anxious person otherwise.

But you could’ve thought about it every night and day and still never be ready for this. It’s sinful. His hand goes to grab your hair just like you did to him, and now you get why he liked it so much. The feel of his nails scratching your scalp is electrifying, soothing and destructive at the same time.

Your tongue hits a precise spot just under the tip and he jerks up again, nearly screams, “Fuck—yes, right there, please—d-do that again!”

And you do, you can only oblige—he asked so nicely. Your lips go up and down, over and over, your tongue grazing this spot with a bit more pressure every single time. You squint over him, and what you find there is a mess. Trying so hard not to buck into your mouth but failing miserably. Sounding like he’s at Heaven’s gate.

“Easy, Zuku. You’re gonna scare the birds away,” you chuckle against him, your lips brushing the tip, dripping with your saliva and pre-cum.

“Do I need to remind you…how loud you were for me earlier?” He’s looking back down at you as he speaks, a tremble in his voice telltale of his approaching climax. “You sounded...so good, baby, I swear...wanna hear you again, wanna make you scream, just for me, fuck—”

You can feel yourself soaking the blanket, can feel the slick trickle down your folds and stain the plaid cotton. Is he aware of what he’s doing? Or is he just saying whatever is going through his chaotic mind? In any case it has you starving. So you let go of his cock and, before he can protest, crawl back to his face and kiss him desperately. Tasting both of your fluids in a mindblowing mix.

You pull back just enough to be able to speak, because you need him to understand you loud and clear when you say: “Please, Izuku, I need you inside me, I’ve waited so long. Please.”

“Okay, okay, fuck—” He cuts himself off, his eyes slightly drooping like a sad puppy. “I-I don’t have any condoms.”

“You mean you probably have pads in there for me but no condoms?” you say with your eyebrows raised, your mocking tone hinting at a teasing remark, far from criticism.

He frowns in confusion. “How do you know I have pads in there?”

“So the legend turns out to be true. After all these years—”

“Shut up, you’re impossible,” he chuckles heatlessly, resting his hands on your back.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” you assure him with a soft tone.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m on the pill, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes, then clarifies, a hint of hesitation clear in his voice.

“No I mean...you’re sure you wanna do this?” He marks a brief pause, takes a short breath. “With me?”

You don’t even think before answering, it slips your mouth like it’s not even your own words: “I don’t want it with anyone else.”

There’s a silence.

“Fuck, that sounds cheesy,” you scoff, looking away.

“It does, but we’re both cheesy idiots, apparently.”

You look back at him. His smile is so fond, so loving; it melts your heart in the best way.

“I wanna be your cheesy idiot,” you say against his mouth, looking right into his eyes, willing to fall in them.

“You always have been,” he nearly whispers. It fills your stomach with familiar warmth, intense and overwhelming, comforting.

There’s a bittersweet taste in your mouth, one of regret and lost time and God, we’re idiots.

Now it’s about time you make up for it all.

You look down at him, rolling your hips against him, dripping all over his cock, coating him in your juices.

“I think I asked you something, didn’t I?”

A whimper escapes him at the feeling. His hips buck up slightly, hands gripping at your back. When you do it again, you don’t get the chance to see his reaction; you’re on your back again, him towering over you, his thigh between your legs.

He’s looking at you with something in his eyes you don’t recognize, but the tone he speaks with has your entire body quaking.

“And you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

He holds himself over his left forearm, his hand thumbing at your cheek while the other strokes the whole length of your thigh. Your noses are brushing, your breaths crashing together. Your hands hold tight to his nape, playing with the short hair mindlessly as you’re waiting to be filled, finally.

You feel the stretch instantly. You try to focus on those mesmerizing emerald gems he calls eyes. They look right through your soul, eating you up and you barely feel the pain. He’s taking it slow, inch by inch, giving you all the time you need, caressing your cheek with a tender stroke of his thumb.

“Relax for me, baby.”

Izuku’s voice is a soothing sound over the incessant chirping of the grasshoppers. It was always one of your favorite things to hear, its every tone another blessing to your ears. It’s loving when he asks if you’re okay, comforting when he whispers sweet nothings to you as you cry on his shoulder, heartening when he’s going on about anything he’s passionate about.

He’s kissing every part of skin he has access to, over your face, your jaw, your neck. You feel yourself relaxing around him, and roll your hips up to give him the hint.

When he starts moving it’s still slow and careful. He doesn’t break eye contact, so you can see his every reaction, and he can see all yours. His hand is still playing with your hair, even as his pace speeds up with every second. The weight of him over you feels amazing, it holds him close against you, countless parts of you both rubbing together: your chests, your stomachs, your thighs. He doesn’t even have a lot of space to move. But getting to touch and get touched by him like this, it's incredible. You always had him so close to you, always right there and still so out of reach.

You still need more; you’re insatiable. You need to see him come undone under you, because of you. You push him to roll on his back, and you end up straddling him, setting the pace yourself. You start bouncing up and down on his cock, taking balance on the hard planes of his abs. He immediately reaches up to grab your hips, guiding you along.

His face tenses up, frowning, his nose wrinkling, his lips parted just to let out a series of breathy sighs. He looks wrecked and dizzy and stunning. He’s keeping his eyes open, fixed up on you, specifically on your breasts, bouncing with your every motion. And you can feel his gaze on your skin just as much as you feel his hands gripping harder at the flesh below your hips.

“Eyes up here, Zuku,” you coo with two fingers pointed at your eyes.

He doesn’t answer, only sits up easily and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You look so amazing, you have no idea what you do to me,” he says with a trembling voice, filled with bliss.

Your heart misses a beat at his words, they fill you with warmth and comfort because he definitely doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing to you. He delves his face into your neck, kissing and nuzzling, his breath coming shorter and shorter, crashing against your skin and his hands running all over you. The sound of his hoarse voice resonates through the forest and through your soul, echoing an enchanting song.

With little effort, he puts you back under him so he can pound into you with full force, and your legs immediately come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. Your hands grab his hair, tugging to see if you get the same reaction as earlier, and it doesn’t miss: he lets out a groan right into your ear, speeding up his pace again.

The sky is dark now, and all you can hear are his moans and yours and the slap of your hips coming together repeatedly. Your head is thrown back when he grabs you by the hair, forcing you to turn your head and face him.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

“Izuku, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. Let go for me, come on.”

Just the feel of his hand trailing down your stomach awakens something in you, this familiar pressure growing tight in your belly. And when his fingers reach your clit, a couple of strokes are enough to have you screaming his name, tightening around him, and pulling him towards his climax with you. His thrusts come franticly as you milk him dry, clawing desperately at his back, panting in his mouth as he leaned down to kiss you through both your climaxes.

As soon as he comes down, he rolls over on his side, still laying close to you, an arm thrown over you. You both take a minute to catch your breaths and, weirdly enough, you don’t hear anything aside from your panting. You really must have scared the birds away. Izuku breaks the silence first.

“Do you wanna...sleep at my place?”

He’s looking over at you and, despite the sky getting dark, you can easily imagine the blush coating his cheeks right now, like he didn’t make you scream his name, drunk on his cock two minutes ago.

You can’t repress your fond smile at his proposition.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

You take a minute to gather your clothes from all over the place and get dressed, then grab your bag to tug it over your shoulder.

“You got everything?”

Izuku is waiting for you just outside the trees. You take a quick look around, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything, and turn around without a second look at the place.

Because although it was your first time setting foot here, it definitely won’t be the last; you will come back here with Izuku every chance you get, making it your shared secret, your own little wonderland.

You gladly take the hand he’s offering, making him blush a little harder, and you head straight back into the forest together.

You walk side by side as a comfortable silence settles, only disturbed by the grasshoppers’ incessant, boisterous chirping. The sky is utterly dark now, you can make out a few stars shining above the dense trees. You walk at a steady pace, but Izuku is going a bit faster with every step. Soon enough, he’s walking a bit ahead of you, still holding your hand. Another golden occasion to tease his eagerness.

“Are we in a hurry, Zuku?”

In the dark of the night, you struggle to make out the look on his face as he turns around to look at you. A second later, he’s running, and with your hand firmly held in his, you can’t do much but try to follow along. You giggle as you run, and it quickly grows into a belly-deep laughter. He’s fast, doesn’t get tired, but you follow him anyway, probably as eager as he is. You have to zig-zag so you don’t run straight into the massive trees standing in your way.

You get to the car in no time, but you’re both out of breath when you finally get in your respective seats, ready to go home.

Izuku doesn’t even wait to catch his breath before he starts the car, the engine roaring loudly in the silence of the night, probably scaring the birds away for the upteenth time that night. You catch his happy grin in the headlights glow before he heads back into the road.

You have a feeling the night is not over; you’ve only got twenty years to make up for after all.

#bnha smut #deku smut #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya smut #mha smut #there it is omg it's long af #weasel writes

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 3 years

Text

checkmate

summary: where y/n and spencer live in a world of soulmates; but how magical can it really be when the last words of your lover are the only indication of their existence.

word count: 7,054 reading time aprox: 26 mins

warnings: character death, angst

a/n: this is my comeback fic, I hope you like it. I made sure to make it extra angsty to compensate for my disappearance :) also this fic can be read by anyone!

masterlist

Chess is a meticulous endeavor, not only in its cold and calculated nature, but also in the player’s ability to detect insecurity flash across their opponents' eyes, the unconscious idiosyncrasies that foretell future moves, and the slow descent into hopelessness that disintegrates the former’s conviction. Most will point out the cruelty of the game, how callous it must be knowing your end eight moves before it happens. However, others will oppose this notion as it is the game; one must lose to win.

It’s all a matter of who plays their pieces right.

Before that pivotal moment, players can only maneuver through a black and white arena. Fingertips would drum in anticipation while the other would hover over their pieces, striding across the board with purpose. Regardless of the disparity between the players’ experience or skill, there is always one factor, unmoved by player attributes, that is not a disadvantage nor luxury for either party: time.

Even in the checkered plane, nothing will matter. The players will cease to move, forced to end the game by the lack of time. This mechanism in nature acts as a failsafe if either individual is unable to conclude the game. In other words, there are only two outcomes: winning the game by will or letting time take that will away from you.

However, what is not noticed is the growing ache in the winner’s chest, disappointment beginning to fester inside of them because of their loss in deciding. In that split realization, the winner is placed on an equal plane as the loser, wondering if they ever really won at all.

This middle plane is beautiful and tragic simultaneously—maybe the beauty is in the tragedy. But as my palm leaves a bloodied handprint pressed against Spencer’s chest, all I can see is the world around me turning red.

Please be okay, please be okay for me

My mouth would silently mutter in tandem with his desperate and reaching touches, a mantra I convinced myself could surpass time, all while knowing my will was seized from me the moment Spencer uttered the words imprinted at my hip.

October 27th

2 days before

Water vapor collected around the coffee mug pressed to my lips. Although it’s ironic to call it a ‘coffee’ mug considering it was filled to the brim with scalding tea. The tips of my fingers and the skin of my palms tingled at the heat given off. My thoughts drifted to the explanation of the first law of thermodynamics that Spencer had kindly explained during the walk home from the night before.

An unconscious smile brushed over my lips briefly, reminiscing the blissful moments of the team gathered around a bar table after finishing up a briefing about a local case. A warm cloud of content passed through my chest while a lightness traveled from the bottoms of my feet to the summit of my forehead. The herbal tea traveling down my esophagus countered the cold nipping of the autumn air, bringing a welcome equilibrium to my wellbeing.

I shrugged the knitted blanket over my shoulders further, staring into the calming view that the apartment window provided. Across from the building was a small, abandoned park. Most of the neighbors had steered clear of the area as it didn’t meet anyone’s aesthetic standards—well, except for mine.

Half of the trees have lost their leaves, counting down the days to winter. The park benches were covered with tangled vines, even some lacking required wood boards. In summary, the place was an overgrown jungle that no one was willing to inhabit. In result, the once communal area was condemned by the normal folk for being ‘too dead.’ However, I would oppose those who claim the lack of life in the park considering life is not only just living, but it is to invite death.

In my observation of the park, a soft reflection suddenly appeared beside the yellow oak trees. In my peripheral, I can see my roommate creeping up behind me with his limbs moving catlike. I bit my bottom lip to conceal the amused huff threatening to escape me, instead settling to blowing over the steam rising from my cup.

Just before I saw his head bobble over my shoulder, arms stretched out above me, I whipped around his lanky figure and ducked under his arm. “You know for an agent; I expected a better performance.” An inaudible yelp interrupted the fit of giggles I was in as some of the tea spilled onto my blanket. “Now look what you’ve done! Do you know how hard it is to get dark liquids off cotton?”

“Just some hydrogen peroxide will do the trick,” Spencer shrugged, insisting to pull off the semi-damp blanket off my shoulders. “Plus, you messed up my bit!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was living with a five-year-old,” I teased, nudging him.

Spencer craned his neck to the side, letting the sore tendons and muscles stretch out from just waking up. All without forgetting to let out an obnoxious yawn in addition to his exaggeratedly extended arms. “I’ll have you know that this five-year-old has three PhDs and three bachelors,” he boasted.

“...and daddy issues.”

Before I can find a way to defend myself, the same blanket that brought me solace previously was transformed into an unmerciful whip. Spencer chased me around the couch until I slipped and toppled over the cushions, landing on the throw pillows. I buried my head into the leather arm, shutting my eyes, while I replicated the nature of Spencer’s antics by emitting ridiculous snores.

“You can’t touch me while I’m sleeping,” I murmured, feigning my slow lull to slumber. “It’s socially unacceptable.” During my spiel, Spencer had playfully grabbed my ankles and dragged me to a sitting position.

“SPENCER!” I gasped, clutching one of the pillows in hand and smacking him over the head with it. “You do not handle people like that! No wonder why you also have momm-”

Spencer’s palm gently nudged me back onto the couch mid-sentence, leaving my frame to hit the cushions with a loud thud. A boom of laughter filled the empty space of my chest, my breath thinning as dopamine jumped from my brain’s synapses. An enchanted smile caressed the corners of my mouth mirroring the one Spencer was sporting.

In these insignificant interactions, I would think back to the times where our comfortability was limited and reveled on how much our friendship grew over the years. There was a sense of solace that overwhelmed me knowing that introducing—and working on his—humor brought an auspicious light to the darkness that often clouded his mind.

My lungs deflated with a hefty exhale, my arm slinging across my eyes in relaxation. Clamored feet and the rug shifting against the wood floor caught my attention. Freeing my line of vision, I was met with a raggedy-haired genius with barely a foot between us. I reached out to comb through his locks, the webbing of my hands catching the tangled curls. “You need to shower greasehead.”

“Actually, the buildup of sebum and laloin in the gland of the hair follicles—coined as the sebaceous gland—offers moisture and protection, given that it is regulated upon its natural equilibrium.” Spencer leaned into the soft touch of my fingers, like how a kitten purrs against their owner’s affection.

“Well, I don’t know about you almost-birthday-boy, but I don’t think you want to go into the next chapter of your life smelling like you just changed out of your first diaper.” I pushed myself up the couch, gesturing Spencer to the hallway bathroom. “This is the big 31!”

“Y/N, we had a party for my 30th. I think I’m good to last for the decade,” he huffed, walking towards his bedroom to grab a change of clothes.

“That’s not the spirit, Dr. Reid!” I yelled across the room. “I swear Spence, you’re the only person who’d turn down a party... And, you even turned down Rossi’s invitation to go all out in his backyard.”

“Another year to celebrate the ever-closing gap between my time on earth and my imminent demise—oh, and how can I forget celebrating it in an open space full of ticks and pollen,” Spencer sarcastically jested, his voice bouncing off the thin white walls.

“At least you’d know your soulmate, right? Then I wouldn’t be the only one to deal with your ‘Debby Downer’ ass,” I added on, rolling my eyes at his usual pessimistic rulings.

“I would prefer nihilistic, but if that vernacular serves you then to each their own.”

“Hey, maybe after you die, I and your soulmate can mourn over you—bond and all that—and then I can steal them away,” I teased.

I looked to the lightning bolts etched into the crevices of my thighs, my fingertips tracing each design until it fell onto the carved words at my hip. In a way, the stretch marks made beautiful vines attached to the faded letters, covering the obvious red scratch marks that had resurfaced from my bad habits.

I kissed my fingertips before planting them back onto the markings, chuckling to myself of the intimate gesture. Unconsciously, I began to rub at the tattooed words once again, hating how their protrusion made my skin crawl.

“I mean I’m dead, what can I really do?” Spencer called out, stopping in his tracks when he reached the bathroom door. He faced me as he spoke, going on about his birthday celebration tomorrow—half of his speech unheard to me—until he requested my immediate attention. “You have to stop picking at the words, Y/N. You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

“I know, I know,” I sighed, letting my dominant hand fall to my side. A pout fell on my lips at the loss of the small satisfaction scratching granted me. “But the words are just so uncomfortable sometimes. I mean you got lucky with the whole soulmate placement.”

Spencer brought his free hand to his chest, thumb tracing over the small words typed on the skin. “Yeah, I guess I did get lucky huh.” A soft smile grazed over his lips while his eyes were still trained on the unknowing figure resting against the couch.

“What does your marking read aga-”

“Spence, what’s it say on your che-”

I groaned in playful disbelief at the coincidental timing. “You know at this point I’m starting to think we’re telepathic, Spencer.”

“That’s actually what my tattoo is,” he laughed. “It’s my name.”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded, remembering the first time we brought it up in the early days of meeting one another. “Must’ve saved a lot of name tags in elementary school” I teased.

Spencer shook his head, shuffling into the bathroom with a lightness in his steps. With the closing of the door, my gaze fell onto the marking once again.

Regardless of the mechanics of soulmates, I was never worried about the possibility of not meeting them. I was already at my happiest knowing shared moments like these were good enough. However, unbeknownst to my ideal wishes, an irking desire still lingered in the back of my head while fingers hovered over the imperfect skin.

October 28th

1 day before

“Kid, you can’t sit there and tell me that finding your soulmate can be ‘scientifically extrapolated.’ That’s not the point,” Morgan amusingly shook his head at Spencer, ruffling the top of his head as he brushed past him.

“Okay,” Spencer tutted, “tell me. What ‘is’ the point then?”

“Well, all I’m saying is that finding your soulmate—if you have one—is supposed to come supernaturally.”

“Morgan, did you just try to win over boy genius here by talking about the supernatural?” With a tilted smirk, I nursed the half-filled flute between my fingertips. My gaze flickered over to a pleased brainiac sharing the same mischievous glint found in my eyes. I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, my eyes fluttering close to the sound of grown children bickering.

“Alright,” Morgan raised his hands up in defense. “All I was pointing out was that things like these can’t be solved by numbers and science.”

“The same can be said about Newtonian physics, but look where we a-”

Morgan flung a ball of crinkled wrapping paper Spencer’s way, aiming for his head. Spencer attempted to dodge the projectile—emphasis on attempted—only to have it hit him square in the face.

“So much for those Newtonian physics, huh?” I teased while getting up to open another bottle of champagne. Spencer slouched in his chair, the paper cone hat on his head shifting to the side. A grimace replaced the smirk he initially wore, muttering about how he was going to get Morgan back.

“Y/N! Bring that bottle over here when you’re done.” Morgan called out as I walked into the kitchen, pausing the ongoing discussion of the case we planned to tackle. “Also, bring another juice box for Reid here!”

A chorus of laughter followed my ears which each step, a grin finding the corners of my lips. I rose to the tips of my toes to reach for the unopened bottle in the alcohol cabinet. I made my way to the freezer, taking out the bucket of ice I stored away hours ago. When closing the appliance door, my eyes landed on a picture magnetized to the surface.

It was a physical reminder of the time that Spencer convinced me to dress up as Amy Pond, the eleventh doctor’s sidekick, for comic con. He too was dressed up in the doctor’s attire: a brown corduroy suit, a bowtie, and a sonic screwdriver. We both had silly grins planted on our faces, it seemed like nothing could tear down the joyous bubble we were in. Upon reflecting on the memory, the kitchen door swung open revealing a merry Spencer.

“Hey, I was supposed to be getting you that juice box,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pushing past me to get to the cupboard. “Very funny,” he droned, sarcasm dripping off his words. I leaned against the counter, setting the bucket of ice to the side. I analyzed his movements, noticing how often he fidgeted with his fingers or how his legs would clumsily turn inward at times.

“You know,” he paused, turning around to face me, “In some countries ruled by military dictatorship, staring could be deemed as a call for execution.”

I crossed my arms, challenging him. “Well last time I checked; we aren’t in any of those countries. Is that right, Dr. Reid?”

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled. “Did you need anything?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Well, by the way you were checking me out, I would think you needed something.” He sauntered over to the opposite counter across the kitchen, hoisting himself up on the granite. I watched as the casual smirk fell off his face after failing his initial attempt to sit. The second attempt proved to be better, although that didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at his impotence.

“You know,” I repeated his words, grabbing the champagne and ice bucket as I began to stroll out of the room. “I’m really starting to think you have a better chance at ‘extrapolating’ your soulmate rather than finding them.”

“Wait!”

I whipped around to face him with furrowed eyebrows. I nodded for him to continue, watching as a sly expression reappeared on his face. “You forgot my juice.”

I sighed, setting the items back down on the counter before reaching for the fridge. “You are a grown man, Spence,” I gesticulated at the boy. I grabbed Spencer’s favorite sparkling water and left it aside. “You couldn’t get your own?” I raised my eyebrows at him, ducking out of the refrigerator door.

He crossed his legs, still propped up on the counter. “Well, you did call me a five-year-old and it is my birthday,” he argued, shrugging his shoulders tauntingly.

“I said that the other day, and considering it’s your birthday, that would mean you’d be old enough to conduct yourself,” I countered.

“Actually, it’s grammatically inappropriate to say, ‘the other day’ when the event in question occurred yesterday,” he began to ramble. With an unimpressed nod, I began to slowly back away from the scene until I was abruptly stopped once again.

“Wait!”

“What!”

“You forgot to put it in a cup,” he meekly suggested, his face evident of mischief.

“You’re clearly enjoying this aren’t you?” I groaned, shuffling towards where he was. “I’ll give you something to enjoy...” I whispered to myself.

With a plan set in motion, I sauntered over to where Spencer sat. Once I was in front of him, I made sure to give no indication that I was moving beside him. Instead, I leaned forward, letting our chests press together as I reached up for a mug. I would be lying if I denied the faint blush warming up the apples of my cheeks or the tightness of my throat from this proximity. In a nervous hash, I could’ve sworn hearing Spencer’s breath hitch as my chin brushed against his neck.

Feigning a confident disposition, I dropped back to the heels of my feet, finding myself to be inches away from the enamored and naive genius. “You need this?” I murmured, trying to maintain a collected tone of voice. However, Spencer did make it difficult with the intensity of his penetrating gaze or the way his breath fanned over my sensitive skin.

For a lasting moment, I began to dissect the small specks of hazel hues in his eyes and how a dark pool of brown surrounded his irises. The tip of his nose was flushed in crimson and his mouth hung in what seemed like anticipation and hesitation battling it out. “Uh, yeah... thank you.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, linking his fingers with mine to take the mug.

Without breaking eye contact, he set the mug aside and away from view. I opened my mouth to say something, but I soon discovered a dessert residing in the back of my throat. Slowly my composure unraveled, leaving me and Spencer in a purgatory of uncertainty and elation. I heard my heart thump against the walls of my ribcage as my eyes traveled to the parting of his lips, his tongue ever so often swiping against the skin.

I shook my head out of the trance we were in, popping the hypnotic bubble forming around us. With a trepidatious smile, I gestured to the living room, suggesting going back out there. “Do you want to...” I tied my hands behind my back, stepping away from him slowly. He nodded in response; his mouth tightly pressed into an awkward line.

With less than obvious movements, we both tiptoed our way back to the liveliness of the other room, soon forgetting about the juice and cup all together.

“Bye guys, thank you for coming! See you tomorrow.” I politely bid everyone a farewell, sending them safe wishes home as they excited through the front door. “Pen, are you coming with us tomorrow?” I received a tipsy nod and a few stumbling feet, but nonetheless confirmation for the case. Spencer was to the left of me doing the same, enduring some last-minute birthday teasing from Morgan before he made his exit.

With the slow creaking of the door, I leaned against the wood, letting my legs slowly slip down the floor until I was sitting. I tilted my head up, staring at an exhausted Spencer before making grabby hands at him. He snorted at the childlike request, aggressively pulling at my wrists until I landed into his chest.

“Alright birthday boy, just because you’re older doesn't mean you can get all strong on me,” I warned, nuzzling my heavy head onto his shoulder. A pleasant silence surrounded us, our bodies maintaining an equal balance as we leaned onto each other. On another note, it reminded me of Newton’s principle of force that Spencer explained to me a few months back. How Newton’s cradle, a simple office trinket, exemplified conservation of momentum and energy. In this fragment of space, it felt like that with Spencer—it always felt like that: a comfortable momentum.

“Hey Spence?”

The quiet continued to spread throughout the atmosphere.

“Spencer?” I pressed my chin against his chest, feeling his arms find their way to my lower back. He hummed in response, his eyelids resting at a closed position. “I’m sorry about that thing in the kitchen... I was just messing around.”

He took a while to react before sighing and pressing a tired kiss to the side of my head; with that, I knew things were okay. “Oh! I didn’t give you your present yet.”

I melted away from his arms, scurrying off to the couch. In an exaggerated reveal, I pulled a small parcel from beneath the cushions, glee filling my eyes as I watched the bow on top spring out. I extended my arms towards Spencer, eager to have him open it.

He walked tentatively towards me, taking purposefully leisurely strides. At one point he began to act like he was in a slow-motion sequence, causing me to threaten the integrity of his present. With raised hands, he sat next to me on the couch and gently pried the gift from my hands. “What did you get me this time? Let me guess. From the size and shape of his package here,” he turned the box around in his hands, shaking it up, “and the sound to force ratio-”

“Just open the damn thing, Spence.”

He smiled at my usual impatience, letting his fingers glide against the edge of the parcel. Finally, with gentle hands, he picked apart the wrapping paper, careful not to rip the heart sticker that held the presentation together. He gathered the bow in his palm, and gently pressed the sticky side of the accessory to my cheek.

I cringed at the feeling, but that soon dissipated hearing the mollified chuckle escape Spencer’s mouth. With a determined huff, Spencer pulled the last pieces of wrapping paper from the box and was left with a frayed book in his palm.

“The Parliment of Foweles...” he whispered; an unreadable expression crossed his features.

I curled into my own body, anticipating some form of reaction. “I... I remember you told me the first time we really sat down and got to know each other that your mom used to read that to you when you were younger.” I picked at the stitches on the couch, a lump forming in my esophagus as my tongue swelled. “It’s first edition...” I smiled, insecurity beginning to conquer my excitement from before.

“Sorry, if you don’t like it... I was just-”

A pair of arms pulled me into a secure embrace while a tender hand came around to cup the back of my head. An inaudible expression of gratitude was lost in between babbles of endearment and soft caresses. Spencer pulled away with pools of adoration, he clutched the book in hand as he pulled me under his arm. He ran his thumb along the deckles that adorned the sides of the pages, his palm tenderly feeling the roughness of the old woven spine.

To open the book, he singled out a random page and lightly flicked a few pages to the side before I halted his movements completely. “Wait!” I requested. “I want you to read it after the case so we can do it together,” I sheepishly tucked a hair behind his ear, hiding the careful blush on my cheeks. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah...that’s fine with me,” he breathed, his eyes locked onto the soft curves of my face. I pulled my hand away, tugging my sleeve further down my arm. “Oh! That reminds me.” Spencer places the book behind him and headed over the coat rack next to the front door. Sliding his hands through various pockets, he finally pulled a small box from one of the compartments.

He tentatively approached me, turning the object in hand. “I know it’s my birthday, but... I wanted to do something because you’ve made everything better in these past years,” he confessed, fidgeting as he came closer. “Being with my mother always felt like home, and I just... you became that for me, so thank you.”

My fingers reached over to his open palm, approaching the velvet box as if it was fragile. I glazed over its general shape, turning it a few times between my hands. “Spencer...I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, you can start by opening it,” he smiled.

I shook my head, gently prying the box open. Inside laid a beautiful heart-shaped necklace with words etched into the metal. Once I read the words, a heavy breath escaped my lungs, and my shoulders lost all tension. “Spencer...”

“I thought that it would be easier to have the words of your soulmate above your heart rather than you tracing over your hip,” he professed. “I also know that even if you deny not having any connection to this soulmate thing, it often brings you comfort when needed.”

My attention went to him the second he uttered those words. “How did you know,” I mumbled with an enamored chuckle.

“Well, whenever we’re in the field, I could tell the times you get nervous or need reassurance by the way you subtly touch your hip.”

“I thought staring was punishable by death,” I joked, referring to his argument earlier today.

He brushed it off with a wide smile, combing his hands through his hair. “I know we have a hefty case tomorrow based on what Penelope showed us last briefing, so I hoped that this would make you feel better,” he confessed, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back into the arm of the couch.

“Thank you, Spencer...really,” I wrapped my arms above my head, trying to attach the unlocked chain around my neck. “Can you...?”

With gracious hands, he lifted the chain from my fingertips and wrapped it around my neck. The skin of his fingers would occasionally brush the back of my neck, sending euphoric chills down my spine. I felt myself squirm under his touch slightly, although it wasn’t enough to be obvious. Lifting my hair to the side with his wrist, he clasped the necklace together, letting the cold metal kiss the skin.

I turned around, appreciating the trinket in my hands. I shook my head in disbelief, watching as some of the moonlight that seeped through the window reflected off the metal. “Thank you, again, Spencer.” I nodded, bringing him into a meaningful embrace. My head rested in the crook of his neck, an aroma of pine, vanilla, and old books surrounding us. “This really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever possessed.”

He scoffed, gently wrapping his hands around the small of my back. “Everything pales in comparison to you.”

October 29th

...

I twirled the metal heart in between my fingers as Hotch’s words failed to reach my ears. I would look up occasionally to see the pictures, but we’ve been dealing with an unsub who showed no mercy to anything morally reprehensible. I sighed, swinging my feet under me as I pretended to be enveloped by the case file in my other hand.

“Since we’re dealing with a L.D.S.K-”

“A long-distance serial killer,” Emily intercepted, nodding towards the team.

“We’ll have SWAT patrol the surrounding rooftops. Emily and I will stay with the defense team here.” Hotch pointed to the house of the unsub’s target. “Morgan, Y/N, and Reid will go through the floors of the apartment building with the strike team—witnesses stated that he was located on the 5th floor, but we have to be ready for anything.”

I looked over to Morgan with a determined expression. His face hardened at the words and his lips was pressed into a tight line. In my peripheral, I could see the way his veins would constrict against the skin as he clenched his fists.

This case hit him particularly hard considering we couldn’t save the unsub’s last victim. It was a 4-year-old little girl, and we were misinformed about her possible location. By the time we got to her, she was faced down into a park well with a single bullet hole above her heart. I watched the slow diffusion of her blood, and how the water turned to a murky black. I couldn’t imagine Morgan’s guilt considering he was so sure of himself when reaching a breakthrough with the unsub’s whereabouts. The parents of the child would soon blame Morgan for his ignorance, spewing derogatory slurs in their distress.

“We’ll get him Hotch,” Morgan assured, “This time, we’ll get him.”

Spencer noticed the certitude in his voice, sharing a look with me to give extra attention to Morgan out in the field. I smiled at him, warmed at the concern that the genius had over his friend.

“I’ll be working with local PD to hold a press conference to keep the public on the lookout,” JJ expressed, crossing her arms.

“Since...last time, we figured that unsub finds enjoyment in toying with us or singling us out. So, keep each other in check and make sure to report back in your earpieces every five minutes.” Hotch himself seemed perturbed by the unsub’s earlier actions considering he had his own toddler to deal with. “Penelope has sent the coordinates to everyone. Remember the profile, and don’t leave yourselves vulnerable. We’re dealing with an elusive unsub that won’t stop at nothing to satisfy himself,” Hotch spoke with a quiver in his voice.

I bit the inside of my cheek and breathed heavily through my mouth. My hands began to drift to my hip but momentarily stopped as I remembered the chain around my neck. I slumped into the chair as Hotch dismissed the team, sending them out for their respective assignments.

“You, okay?” I whipped around to the sound of JJ’s voice. She leaned against the doorframe with an expression full of concern. Looking behind her, she noticed Spencer noticeably pacing through the bullpen waiting for a specific someone. He attempted to disguise his eagerness by counting tiles on the floor or squares on the ceiling, but to JJ he was easily discernable.

I let a dry laugh, shaking my head. “After what happened, I’m a bit worried—not about me—but Morgan and Spence.” I swiveled around in the office chair a few times until I landed in front of JJ.

“You know you fidget the same way as Spence,” she pointed out, grinning at the similarity. I shook off the oncoming warmth that flooded the skin and looked elsewhere. “You’re right to worry about both of them though. But you know how stubborn and determined they are.” As she began to walk out, she left a lingering message that soothed my nerves. “Plus, Spencer may have that IQ of his, but we all know runs things between you all.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’ve always kept a watchful eye over the both of them—maybe Spencer a little more—but nonetheless, I deeply cared about both of them. It was relieving to know that Spencer’s circle of trust exponentially grew from Morgan to JJ to me. It symbolized the growth that Spencer was mostly oblivious to, but it meant more to me than I can explain, seeing how he opened himself up to happier possibilities.

A sharp exhale left my lungs while my lips formed into a sly smirk. Without another minute to wait, I left the round table behind JJ, leaving Spencer to stop dawdling. “You ready genius?” I walked out into the hall, not sparing a glance at the figure trailing behind me.

“With you? Always.”

“Nothing here,” a voice confirmed in my earpiece. My gun hung low in my hands while I tiptoed through the floor of the apartment building. “You know Y/N, if I knew that the unsub was going to the pick a building in the area we resided in, maybe I would’ve considered having the party at Rossi’s instead,” Spencer joked.

I bit the smile growing on my lips, focusing on the assignment on hand.

“Maybe after the case, instead of reading that book in our apartment we can go over to that small library/cafe we’ve been meaning to go to,” he continued to drone, forgetting about the connection of everyone’s channels.

“Reid, if all you’re gonna do is flirt with Y/N, leave the damn channel,” Morgan warned. Hearing the worry in his tone, Spencer straightened up, coughing to cover up his soft apology. Being separated didn’t help the irrational thoughts that built up in the back of my conscience; I can’t even comprehend what’s probably going through Morgan’s head.

“You good?” I mumbled into the com; my eyes straightforward while I advanced towards the hall. Morgan didn’t respond, an inaudible huff coming through the speakers.

“I’m moving up to the top floor. Y/N and Reid, go back down to the basement and see if we missed anything,” Morgan broke the awkward silence with an austerity in his words. The silent hum that came afterwards was worse than earlier. I turned off my earpiece, sensing a conversation about to ensue between the two gentlemen.

The thickness in the atmosphere was similar to the air that surrounded me and Spencer when competing in recreational chess. Whenever I attempted to put his king in check, he would block the move by maneuvering another piece in front of it. This would lead to a game of cat and mouse until I would figure out that the entire time, Spencer had been deluding me into false security while checking my king piece. Ultimately, I would lose to Spencer. However, there were games where I’d outmaneuver him or win by dumb luck.

I’d like to think that I developed some sort of intuition for his behavior from playing against him, but he’s deemed unpredictable every game. He was always sharp, eight steps ahead and aware of all possibilities. I guess that’s what make him an effective profiler, always thinking in the future.

I ran down the stairs, still armed, when Penelope’s voice ran through the earpiece. “Updates! Updates people.” The joy in her voice always relived me of the gloom that usually surrounded me in the field; hopefully she has the same effect on Morgan.

“Hey, Pen.” An invisible grin was evident in my words, knowing she’d pick up on it.

“Hello, my love, seems like at least one person is happy to see me,” she verbally jabbed at the lack of response from Spence and Morgan.

Still no response.

“Sorry, they’re working out their marriage at the moment,” I teased, hoping for the usual distasteful comment I usually get from Morgan.

Still nothing.

An unnerving feeling crept up the back of my neck. “Penelope, can you check if their coms are still workin—shit.” Before I could finish, a long buzz of static came through the speakers. The only comprehensible words that were picked up was the beginning of my name before cutting off.

I bit my lip, pulling out the small piece of technology and tapping it a few times. “Come on... dammit.” After playing around with the earpiece, I grew frustrated with it and stuffed it into my pocket.

I paced in the small landing between the stairs, thinking of a new gameplan. I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair, feeling the split ends prick at the skin. I felt a mountain growing in at the bottom of my stomach, leaving my esophagus constricted without air. “What would Spencer do,” I mumbled to myself, gripping onto my necklace.

“Spencer...Spencer...”

Before I could finish the mantra, a shot rang out from above me, and the crashing off glass followed. In the split moment, my legs grew a mind of its own and sprinted to higher ground. Suddenly, the sweat perspiring off me turned cold, and my heartbeat slammed itself into my spinal cord as I ran. My feet forgot its exhaustion while my mind devoured every irrational thought, and combined it with adrenaline.

The single thing that drove me over my limits was knowing that the person who fabricated and would shoo away these thoughts was somewhere I didn’t know I could get to in time.

Spencer’s POV

I tiptoed into a vacant suite of the building, still antsy about the scolding I received from Morgan. The conversation after didn’t help considering it was all a reminder to be aware and focused on the task at hand. I knew Morgan was filled with the need for redemption despite the team forgiving him of his ignorance. So, I shook off the creeping feeling and abided by his instructions.

Deciding to update Y/N and Morgan about my whereabouts, I spoke into the coms only to have static come out of it. I tried once again but failed to reach anyone. The room around me shrank as a sharp exhale left my lungs. I swallowed the buildup of saliva in the back of my throat, feeling uneasy about not knowing what’s to come.

Seeing at the area was clear, I looked out of one of the windows. Initially I cringed at the accumulated dirt and grime in the glass panes, but that all dissipated when I spotted the quaint park that Y/N loved. No one else had any interest in the community lot, seeing as people would coin it—or what Y/N would tell me—the park of death. But to her, she saw the opposite as she always does.

The light feeling of reminiscing my interactions with Y/N soothed the disconcerting atmosphere, keeping me grounded. Although the sentiment ended as soon as it started when I spotted one of the apartment walls was spray-painted with black letters.

Zugzwang

A blaring shot rang out and glass shattered into the room. I ducked into the floor, shutting my eyes. My head spun as the boom impaired my hearing. The window was forcibly open, the shards resting beside me. Left disoriented, I groaned, only feeling the after wave of vibrations on the ground. However, I soon found out that the quake of the floor wasn’t from the initial shot, but the rapid clobbering of feet inching closer to the suite and a shadowy figure preceding it.

Y/N emerged from the doorframe, panting. Eyes were laced in fear while they bore into my own. My stomach twisted into knots from previous events while I contemplated what had occurred. The presence of Y/N wasn’t even strong enough to relinquish the egging feeling crawling in my skin. I anticipated Morgan to appear, considering he was closer to the scene.

Where was he?

Another thing I didn’t anticipate, a second shot.

“Spencer?”

January 3rd

Three months after

My thoughts antagonized one another while I stared out into the world from the eerily quiet apartment. The living room was cold and empty despite the array of furniture scattered about and the broken picture frames lining the walls. The vapor rising from the cup of tea drifted into the air, vanishing into nonexistence. It’s funny how that could happen in a matter of milliseconds.

The pain the lived inside the chambers of my heart was no match for the burning of skin I felt when holding onto the steaming cup. The only worthy adversary would be the rush of self-resentment that coursed through me when picking up the book. I deserved it though. I deserved the spikes through my stomach while my fingers trailed the deckled pages, reminding me of the first time I held the book, its previous owner present with me.

I would remember our time together.

I would remember the promise shared between us.

I would remember the bloodied handprint pressed against my chest.

Now all I had was the physical manifestation of what’s left: the necklace. As cruel as it was for me, I kept it in the book, using it as a bookmark while I lost myself into poems. After a while, the inked words lost their meaning to me, becoming an empty cacophony that encased the jewelry.

Every time I grasped the chain in my clutches, a numbed ache would make itself known at the pit of my stomach. It clawed at my intestines and made the entirety of my body system obsolete. With that, I was abandoned with the sinister hauntings of my own mind—a part of me that I was once praised for.

A genius. A prodigy. Hidden behind the real mess of a guilty man.

I ignored the smashed chess board and pieces that laid still at my feet, concentrating on the snowflakes that littered the park across from the building. The grounds looked beautiful, covered in layers of pure white. I sipped at the tea once more letting my mind deteriorate with a sophisticated nonchalance.

What a tragedy it was to know my soulmate, especially right under the tip of my nose. What a cruel joke life had played.

I wished I had more time.

It was easier to let the guilt consume me rather than pondering on what I lost—who I lost. Had I lost myself too? Maybe, it didn’t matter. In some masochistic way, I enjoyed the guilt because it was a way to remember that at one point someone made for me existed. I used it to relive the moments I could never get back.

All that remained was an empty shell of a man, staring out into a dull world, wondering how time took everything away from him.

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Bolero

Javier PenaxReader pairing

Rating: Explicit (duh)

7.4 K

What starts as just a job as an informant quickly turns into an attraction to Agent Javier Peña.

Essentially what I think it's like to dance with Javi. Plus having sex.

If you want to listen to the song I picture them dancing to it's called Dos Gardenias by Buena Vista Social Club. I know it didn't come out until the 90s but I really don't care.

___

You didn't like this part of the job. Hated it, actually. Your feet hurt in your heels and the humidity was making you sweat. But tips were tips, even if it involved fake flirting with old men.

The music ended and José spun you into a dip as the small crowd clapped. José was an excellent dancer and he made for a good partner when it came time to actually perform for the guests, rather than try to drag them onto the dance floor. Most people assumed you were a couple you danced so in sync, but it wasn't like that.

He was a good friend though. He'd gotten you the job at the bistro, and for the small pain of three choreographed dances a night plus a few private salsas, you were paid handsomely. Of course, this wasn't your dream, performing in a smoky, humid bar for tourists and old handsy men. You would rather be on the stage as a professional, performing only for the people who could afford a ticket, not just a watered-down tequila. But work was work and money was money.

Now your least favorite part. You leaned an elbow on the bar, sweeping the crowd for whatever gringo looked the least gross. The manager insisted you interacted with the customers, reeling them in with a sexy pose and a few awkward steps on the dance floor. They tended to drink more when you did that, which was good for the bar, and you usually ended up with a couple of extra bills in your hand, which was good for you. So you complied.

An older, slightly less creepy-looking gentleman had caught your eye, and you were about to approach when you felt a gentle hand on your elbow.

"Mind teaching me a few of those steps you just did?" The music was starting up again with a bolero, your cue to find the dance floor, so you figured you'd comply with the request. Except when you looked into the face of the stranger who had spoken those words, you were taken aback. He was young, or at least younger than most of the men in here, and taller too. Shining from his tanned face were chocolatey brown eyes, surprisingly sincere and kind. His dark hair was combed into place, though a few stray curls peeked out from behind his ears and at the base of his neck.

"Sí, señor." The Spanish came out as a force of habit, though he had addressed you in English and a perfect American accent. Men liked it when you spoke Spanish, even if they couldn't understand. It gave them the impression that you were exotic. But the man half expected that from you. He'd been watching you most of the night, analyzing the way you moved, the way you beguiled the guests into a dance and then a drink, the way you controlled a man's mood with the flick of your hips and slide of your hand up his arm. The perfect skill set of a secret plant.

Without any hesitation, the man took your hand in his and led you into the crowd of dancing people. He placed his other on your hip, though he left a respectful distance between the two of you. It was uncharacteristic of the guests to do so; they generally felt they had some right to press up against you as they stumbled around.

But this man was different. He already knew the three-quarter timing. He seemed a bit tense, like he was having trouble letting loose, but he wasn't clumsy at all. "I don't think you need my instruction," you said.

The man smiled, his mustache curling up to reveal a single dimple on his smooth cheek.

"No, hermana, I don't."

Maybe there was some Latino in that tan after all. But his reply caught you off guard. You hoped pulling you onto the dance floor wasn't his attempt at flirting. You'd made a pact with yourself to never sleep with the guests, and so far you'd held true.

But he wasn't flirting, though he desperately wanted to. You were exactly the type of girl he'd pick up on a boring night, or pay to have sex with him and share your secrets. But tonight was strictly business.

"Do you work here every night?" he asked. It was a strangely specific question, though maybe he was hoping to see you again, you thought.

"Only Thursday, Friday, Saturday," you replied. The bistro only ever needed you on the busiest nights of the week, which was fine with you. Three days of work made you plenty of money, and then you had the rest of the week off. "Why? Are you already planning a second dance?"

The man ignored his question to ask another of his own. "Do you make a lot of money?"

His questions were starting to sound a bit bizarre and he wasn't answering yours either. Why did he care what you made?

"Unless you're planning on hiring me and paying me more, I don't see why you need to know." It wasn't good to be snappy with paying customers, but this enigma of a man didn't seem like the average customer to you. And instead of getting defensive at your tone, his mood shifted quickly and he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh, just as gravely and melodious as his voice. He liked your confidence and your attitude. But then he was back to business just as quickly.

The man led you towards the back of the dance floor, away from the crowd and the watchful eye of the bartender, a move that made you worry and caused you to doubt his intentions. His eyes had gone serious, a wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows and crowding out the kindness.

"Actually, I would like to hire you."

You came to a stop in surprise but the man pulled you forward, urging you to continue dancing so as not to draw attention to the pair of you. He drew you closer so he could speak directly into your ear, forcing you to breathe in his scent with the proximity, cologne and cigarettes and the saltiness of a light sweat.

"You have a club or something?"

He didn't answer your question, just asked more of his own. "Do you know runs this place?"

You shrugged. "I think his name is Manuel, but I've only met him once."

"Keep an eye out for him, will you? See when he comes and goes, if he gets any shipments or deliveries. I'll pay you for providing information."

It was your turn to finally get some answers. "Who are you?"

"My name is Javier Peña." Javier spun you out before pulling you back into his chest.

"Well, Señor Peña, I don't know who you think I am, but I am not a spy and I don't give a damn about what my employer does. So why do you care what he does?"

"Let's just say the government has a special interest in your employer. But we'd like to keep this little piece of knowledge under wraps."

You eyed Javier suspiciously. Why would the government be interested in what your boss did with his bistro? And why would this man, Javier Peña, trust you to deliver secrets? But again, money was money. Little did you know, Javier Peña was aware of your lack of loyalty to anyone, as long as they were paying you, and he gambled on this fact to ease you into a deal.

"How much are you offering?"

"I'll double whatever you make now."

Double? Mierda. "Bueno, double it is. Not sure what you expect me to find, but I'll keep my eyes open."

That full smile returned, white teeth and all. "Un secreto, sí?"

You nodded in return as the song came to an end. Letting go of your waist, Javier pulled a pair of aviators from the deep vee of his shirt and slipped them on before handing you a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. He instructed you to call him if you saw anything, anything at all. Javier gave you a salute and turned to leave, though not before asking you one more question.

"And your name?"

Now is when you usually lied, telling whatever slimeball you'd just swayed into oblivion a made-up name, like Rosa or Maria. But something about this time was different. This time, you gave him your real name.

"Adiós, bailarina," he said with a grin.

"Adiós, Señor Peña." It wasn't until you were home that you noticed he'd slipped a small stack of bills into your pocket.

---

Standing in the living room of your apartment, you held the card Javier had given you almost a week ago. You hadn't been exactly sure what he was asking you to look out for. You rarely saw your boss anyway. But then tonight, as you'd arrived at work, a truck had been parked by the employee entrance of the bistro. Manuel was still nowhere to be found, but stacks upon stacks of boxes were being unloaded into the dry storage of the kitchen. And you had taken note of it all.

Finally, you picked up the phone off its cradle and dialed the number on the card, wrapping the thick cord around your fingers as it rang. A moment of silence, and then a deep voice spoke on the other end of the line.

"Javier Peña speaking." It sounded like he had just woken up, his voice softer than you remembered and groggy as well. It was a bit late, after midnight, but you figured this was something he wanted to hear sooner rather than later.

"Hola, Senior Peña, it's me from the bistro." Another silence, some shuffling, and was that a voice in the background? "Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all. What's up?"

"You wanted to know if Manuel had a shipment, right?"

"Yes, yes, what did you see?"

"Hm, I could tell you. Or I could get my mi dinero first."

Javier sighed on the other end. "Right, of course. How much do I owe you?"

"Let's see, including tips, I made 300 this week."

"Fine, 300 pesos it is. Where can I meet you?"

"You want to meet right now?"

Apparently, he did. You gave him the address to a twenty-four-hour diner you liked and he hung up, saying he'd meet you there. You gathered your purse, double-checking that the small handgun you carried for self-defense was still there. Not that you were worried the mysterious Javier Peña was someone to be scared of. But better safe than sorry.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out into the heat of the summer air. The darkness of night did little to reduce the temperature, but the humidity had dissipated enough that you rolled the windows of the car down and blasted your music into the silent night.

Though you were sure you looked a bit frazzled and worn out when you parked, Javier only noticed the flush on your cheeks and the curl of your windswept hair as he watched you step out of the car through the window of the diner. You hadn't bothered to change out of your dress and heels from work, which left little to the imagination in the way of your long legs and curved waist. When he'd first approached you last week, he'd been polite and reserved, only letting his hands fall where they were meant to in a dance. But tonight, the ruching of your dress at your hips called out to be touched. Javier knew it was all part of your job, but part of him wished you'd dressed up like that just for him. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about you like this.

A little bell jingled over the door as you drifted into the warm restaurant.

Javier steadied his hands and composed his face, not wanting to reveal the true thoughts running through his mind as you plopped into the booth seat across from him. He looked ready to get down to business, but you were hungry and held up a hand to silence him before he could begin to speak. The waitress came and took your order, a burger and fries, before turning to Javier. He relented to whatever game you were playing and ordered as well in perfect Spanish.

"Where are you from?" you asked as the waitress left to place your orders.

"This little meeting isn't about me," Javier replied, sounding a bit preoccupied, distracted even. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his neck and chest, as if he'd dressed in a hurry.

"Eh, that's not very polite. Did I interrupt a little midnight date with your amorcita?" You were pretty sure that had been a woman's voice in the background when you called him earlier. His response, or lack thereof, told you everything you needed to know. Emboldened by his reaction, you continued on with your one-sided conversation.

"I love American food. Are burgers better in Texas? That is where you're from, no?"

The look of shock that flitted across Javier's face was enough to satisfy you and you leaned back in your seat with a smile. You tried your best not to show how pleased you were with his reaction, but your comment got you thinking about what he was like in bed. That was not a direction you needed your mind to wander, especially when it caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

"Okay, detective, I think that's enough. You want your money or not?" Though he acted annoyed, Javier was secretly impressed. What had given it away? His accent maybe?

"Sí, sí. Although I am a bit interested to know where my money is coming from."

"I told you. The government."

"You haven't really proven that to me though. Besides, what if you're trying to put my boss out of business? Then I'm out of a job. A good-paying job."

"I am trying to put your boss out of business." The withering look you gave Javier didn't put him off, though you wished it did. If looks could kill and all that. But it did provoke him to pull something from his back pocket and hold it up to your face. "DEA. You know what that is right?"

"Mierda, was it drugs in those boxes?" You couldn't help the shock that spread across your face.

"Maybe."

You pulled a notepad from your purse as the waitress returned with your food. In between bites, you read off of the notes you'd taken.

"I got to work at 4:30. The truck was already there. Manuel was not. Some men unloaded the boxes into the kitchen."

"How many."

"I don't know."

Javier raised his eyebrows. If he'd learned anything from this conversation it was that you were an observant person. He doubted that you hadn't bothered to count them. He had only to wait for you to continue on your own.

"Bueno, forty or so. This big," you indicated with your hands, about the size of the box the tomatoes came in.

"And it wasn't just food in there? You're sure it was something different than normal?"

"Come on, don't you trust me?"

"No," was his swift reply, though it was said with a smile.

"Alright, then. I looked in one. Not food, for sure."

Javier nodded in understanding and pulled a billfold from his back pocket, ready to hand over your cash.

"Espere, Señor, you think that's all I've got?" you said teasingly as you finished your fries and sucked the grease from your fingertips. "You really have no faith, dios mío."

Javier watched you intently, scrutinizing the way your tongue licked away the grease from your thumb. He took a deep breath that sounded like exasperation to you but was really meant to release an uncomfortable knot building in his stomach as he tried not to imagine what else your tongue could do.

"At 5:30, a woman named Victoria called looking for Manuel. No one answered the phone so I did. She left this message." You read directly from the notepad. "I like chocolate ice cream better than vanilla. Maybe you can take me to la heladería tomorrow."

"You're joking."

"Not at all. She said that," you said defensively. "Even gave me an address."

You ripped the paper from your notebook at handed it to Javier as he rubbed a hand along his strong jaw.

"So what are you going to do? Maybe a stakeout, arrest some people, wave your armas around?"

Javier rolled his eyes. "The DEA isn't all about stakeouts and guns. But no, we aren't going to do anything yet. There's no need to reveal our plant. And we don't want you to end up dead so don't get caught either."

"How reassuring. I'm glad the United States has me in their best interests," you deadpanned.

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Oh, so you want to see me again? Next time you can buy me a drink."

"Don't flatter yourself."

You laughed in response. Sure, this was all about money, but it was nice to have a real conversation with someone who was witty enough to keep up with your banter. But he was still too easy to tease and you took advantage of it. You liked the way his eyes narrowed and his brows creased when you got under his skin.

"You know, I'll just take it as a compliment that you're only paying me for information and not sex as well," you said as you stood, placing a couple of bills onto the table as a tip.

Javier groaned in frustration. Talking to you was like walking through a hailstorm of bullets. He was bound to get grazed no matter how careful he was. "Eh, mujer, give me a break, por favor."

And yet, despite his protests, Javier liked your sharp tongue. It intrigued him. Normally, he didn't care much about who his informants were or where they were from. But Javier was curious about you. You were smart, skilled, and good at influencing people to comply with your desires. And yet you spent your weekends on a sticky dance floor, performing for gringos like him.

The glittering smile you gave him as you left him sitting in the booth lit a small flame in his heart.

"Buenas noches, Señor Peña," you said to him as you left, almost out the door before he called your name. You turned back. "Qué pasa?"

"Javi. Just call me Javi."

---

Several weeks went by like this, with you calling Javier late at night to let him know what you'd seen. The check-ins came every Saturday, as the shipments had been consistent and seemed to run on a schedule. Eventually, you got comfortable enough to let Javier come to your apartment and exchange information for cash on your couch. You had no idea, but Javier was beginning to expect your calls, anticipating the ringing of his phone around midnight and hearing your voice on the other end.

But when you didn't check in one week, he began to worry. It was past one in the morning. Surely you would have called by now. Maybe he had missed it? There was no way; he'd sat next to the phone all night. So Javier did something he never did. He called you instead. When you didn't answer, he started to suspect something was wrong. Javier told himself to calm down, that you had probably just forgotten, or that maybe nothing of note had happened this week, or you were already asleep. But he couldn't get it out of his mind that something had gone wrong, that you'd been found out and someone had hurt you.

It was nearly two when you finally got home. For some reason, the Saturday crowd had been extra lively tonight, keeping you much later than you wanted. As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped into your apartment, you pulled off your heels and unzipped your dress, peeling it from your sticky body right there in the living room. You needed a shower and you needed to call Javier, but all you wanted was sleep. It could wait until morning.

At last, you were ready for bed, windows pushed open to let in a breeze, sheets turned down, and in nothing but your dressing gown, when a knock sounded at your door. Who would be up at this time of night and disturbing your peace?

Looking through the peephole, you were shocked to find the last person on earth you expected to be standing in the hallway of your apartment building.

"Javi?" you said in confusion as you opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame, one hand on his hip, as if trying to look relaxed but totally failing at it. On Javier's face were written lines of worry, but they relaxed at the sight of you. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good, you're home. I was worried."

Maybe it was the exhaustion fogging your brain, but he sounded genuinely distressed. The normally confident, almost arrogant Javier had been replaced with someone entirely different. "Sí, of course I'm home, where else would I be?"

"Well, you didn't call. And then you didn't answer your phone. So I was worried something had happened." Javier had managed to miss the state of your dress, or lack thereof, when you had first opened the door. But now, he noticed you wore a cream-colored dressing gown and little else. One sleeve had slipped off your shoulder in your hurry to dress, revealing the lack of anything beneath.

Javier's breath hitched in his throat as he desperately tried to tear his eyes away from your shoulder. It was a just shoulder, for god's sake. It's not like you were standing naked in front of him. But then he was thinking about you naked and that was an even bigger problem.

For a whole month, Javier had gone without a woman in his bed and it wasn't until he saw you that he realized why. He wanted you, but in a way that was different from the way he wanted anyone else. He didn't want you for information or even a quick release, but something more intimate and intense. What was wrong with him? He had to leave before he said something he might regret. You were an informant, a contact, a player in this long game of chess, and nothing more.

"I'm gonna go," Javier said, finally looking away. He was acting strange, even your tired eyes could tell. He looked disheveled, the buttons of his salmon pink shirt left open at the top and half-tucked into his jeans. His hair was no longer combed flat, the way it usually was when you saw him. Instead, it stuck up in all manner of directions, curly and unruly. Javier rubbed the back of his head as he turned to go. You weren't sure what exactly compelled you, but you called out to him before he could leave.

"Do you want a drink?" So much for sleep.

Javier had been in your apartment plenty of times. So why did he suddenly not know what to do with himself? He stood stiffly in the living room, eyeing the discarded dress you hadn't picked up yet. When you handed him a glass of whiskey he barely noticed. His mind was clearly not in the apartment, though his body was. Finally, he sat on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees, the glass balanced precariously in one hand.

Javier's thoughts drifted from one place to another, relief that you were fine, embarrassment for having thought that you weren't, bliss at your invitation inside, and then shame for having accepted.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Only if you share," you replied, sitting next to him on the couch with your own drink. The pair of you sat like that for a while, in complete silence, passing a single cigarette back and forth. Javier had no way of knowing but your thoughts followed a similar path to his, a rollercoaster masked by a sense of calm.

Your fingertips lightly grazed his as Javier passed you the cigarette. He watched you take a long draw, pulling the smoke deep into your lungs and letting it numb the strange feeling inside you. You were hyper-aware of Javier's presence beside you, his shoulder and knee barely grazing yours, even though you stared straight ahead at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning, it read. Perhaps it was something about the early morning hours, or the dim light of your living room, the only source from the kitchen, but the next words out of your mouth were the most sincere you'd ever spoken to him.

"Are you alright, Javi?"

"Sí."

"You don't seem alright." His voice was too calm. "Is it work?"

"No."

"Friends? Family?"

"No."

You paused, pretending to contemplate for a moment.

"Ah, I know. No pretty girls to warm your bed?" You couldn't help it, falling back into teasing him like that. But he didn't want to talk and it was the only way to draw him out.

"It's disturbing how observant you are," Javier said. It wasn't a true answer, but it was answer enough. He sighed and put the cigarette out before placing his head in his hands. "We aren't friends, you know."

It was a strange comment, almost like he was trying to convince himself of the fact, not you.

"Wow. I should be offended. But for your sake, I'll pretend like I'm not."

"That's not what I mean," Javier tried to explain. "I mean-- I mean I shouldn't be doing this." He waved his hand around as if it indicated anything about what 'this' was. But you understood. He shouldn't be accepting drinks after midnight and sharing cigarettes in dimly lit apartments. It was unprofessional. Then again, everything about your relationship was unprofessional, even the work only parts.

It had taken you a while to admit to yourself that you were attracted to Javier. But when you actually started to look forward to Saturday night, to your conversations, even though they revolved around your work, that's when you knew. It was something in the way he looked when he was listening to you, his eyes holding contact with yours, eyebrows furrowed, hand on his chin, that made you think maybe he felt the same way. His hands, what was it about them? They were big and strong and you hadn't yet forgotten the way they had held onto your waist as you danced the night you met.

Dance. You knew how to communicate with that. It was second nature. Perhaps it would let you both open up. So you stood and moved to the record player. The space wasn't big enough to truly dance, but you kept plenty of records on hand to practice new choreography alone. You pulled out your favorite, a gift from José, and carefully placed down the needle.

"The bolero is danced in 3/4 time," you said, holding out your hand to Javier. "But I think you knew that already."

Javier seemed to understand and only hesitated a moment. The music swelled and he took your hand in one of his, the other finding its place on your back between your shoulder blades. There wasn't much space to move, but he led you through the steps anyway. Rock forward, step right, rock back, step left. Repeat. Tonight, Javier held you close, your hips and chests pressed against one another in a way that was much different from the first time you'd danced. He was more relaxed as well, allowing his hips to move in time with yours. Javier leaned his cheek against yours.

When you'd invited him in for a drink, Javier hadn't been sure what your intentions were. He still wasn't, though something in the way you let his fingertips glide up and down your spine as you danced gave him an idea.

And yet, he couldn't read you at all, though it seemed he could have no secrets around you. You had picked up instantly on his strange mood and though he hated to admit it, he liked the way you were persistent in trying to draw him out from his shell. He found you alluring. You were beautiful, yes, and he imagined as he fell asleep at night what you might look like under your tight dresses and this deliciously thin robe. But he also liked you, liked talking to you, liked being around you, liked your incesant teasing.

The song ended and the next one started up again, but neither of you moved away. Somehow so starved for physical contact, you were drunk on one another's touch, swaying gently in the dark. "We shouldn't--" Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him.

"Stop with the should or should not, Javi. It's too late for that."

"Why did you invite me in?" Javier figured it was worth asking, just to be sure.

"Why did you show up at my apartment, uninvited, in the middle of the night?"

"Fuck," Javier cursed under his breath. "I'm tired of this. Your half-answers, my unanswered questions, dancing, literally dancing, around whatever truth there is between us. I just want to know what you're thinking and it's impossible to tell."

You were taken aback. You had been so preoccupied deciphering Javier for yourself you'd forgotten he was probably trying to do the same with you. The look in his eyes was desperate, needy, and untamed.

The sensible thing to do would be to kick him out, to end it here because this wasn't right. It wasn't professional. And it was breaking your biggest rule: never sleep with the customer. But you were anything but sensible with a drink swirling around your veins.

You pushed Javier away gently, and he looked slightly crestfallen before he saw what you did next. The drink may have given you a boost of confidence, but this desire was all your own. With a gentle tug at the tie of your robe, you let it fall from your shoulders, the silk pooling at your feet as you stood bare before him. Javier was frozen in place, but then his eyes widened in surprise before raking up and down your body unabashedly.

"Well, I guess that's some type of answer," he whispered. The clock ticked on the wall, counting down the moments.

"Your move, Javi." Your words stoked the flame in his heart that you'd lit so many weeks ago. But his brain struggled to keep up, still in shock at the sudden sight of you naked for him and him alone. He wanted to take in every inch of you and ravish you all at the same time.

Javier reached out a hand, hesitating slightly as if unsure if you were real or just a golden vision before him. In the dim light from the kitchen, you seemed to glow, wild hair swept behind your shoulders, chest rising and falling with anticipation. Finally, Javier's fingers made contact with your skin, the back of his knuckles gently grazing the plane of your stomach. You trembled when he finally offered you his touch, goosebumps following the path of his hand as he moved up your body toward the curve of your breast. His thumb brushed across your nipple, causing you to gasp and nearly jump out of your skin. But his hand didn't linger, instead tracing the lines of your sternum to your collarbone and up your neck.

Javier's hand found its place on your cheek, his thumb sweeping across the ridge of your cheekbone. You closed your eyes softly, relishing in the sensation of his skin on yours. His hand was calloused but surprisingly smooth, as if worn by years of the same work. You turned your face toward his hand, pressing your lips to his palm.

You kept your eyes closed, expecting him to kiss you, your lips burning with apprehension. But the kiss didn't come, only the soft sounds of him moving and his hand leaving your face. You opened your eyes, worried he'd changed his mind and was leaving you there vulnerable to the world.

Instead, you found him kneeled before you, like a subject before his queen.

A shiver had run down Javier's spine when you'd kissed his palm as he pictured placing his own lips to yours. But something about the way you looked in that moment, ethereal, celestial, divine, forced him to his knees in worship. He wanted to taste every inch of you, learn every curve and crevasse of your body. You were just as beautiful--no, even more beautiful--than he'd imagined alone in his bed at night. And here you were, offering up that smooth skin, those thighs, those lips. And he would fucking worship you.

One hand found your waist, gripping gently but firmly to hold you in place. The other pulled a knee over his shoulder, causing you to stumble forward and forcing you to grab onto Javier for stability. But his hands held you firmly as his fingers sunk into the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer to his face, mouth sinking into you fluttering lips.

You gasped, fingers tangling into Javier's unruly hair and holding on tight, the sensation of his tongue against your clit making your legs go weak. A groan came from between your thighs, sending vibrations through your core and twisting your stomach into knots.

"Fuck, just like I imagined," Javier mumbled under his breath.

Like he'd imagined?

"You've pictured this?" you managed to ask between breaths. You could barely speak, the moans tumbling from your mouth leaving little oxygen in your lungs for anything else.

"Amor, you send me to sleep at night and wake me up in the morning."

Oh mierda, his tongue was continuing to swirl around your clit, leaving you unable to control your thoughts or your movements. Your hips shifted of their own accord, grinding against Javier's face as he ate you out. At some point, he would need to come up for air, but for now, he was perfectly content to suffocate between your captivating legs, drinking in your scent and swallowing the taste of you.

Javier was guiding you languidly toward your climax, savoring every shudder and twitch he pulled from you. The muscles of your pelvic floor seized and you let out a delirious moan. The tension that preceded your orgasm curled up through your stomach and into your lungs, drawing the strength from your limbs. Suddenly unable to hold up your upper half, let alone stabilize your legs, you slumped forward, chin hanging heavily against your chest, hands sliding down Javier's back and gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"Javi, please, I can't hold on." You needed to sit, lay down, anything, before you collapsed in ecstasy here in the living room. At your words, Javier picked up the pace, taking you from a gradual climb to a swift ascent. His acceleration told you everything you needed to know. Come for him, and he'd take you to the bedroom.

So you did, your orgasm shuddering through you at a staggering pace. It rushed through you, searing and urgent, and something told you this was only the beginning. A warm-up of sorts, leaving you unable to stand yet shivering for more. The last waves of your orgasm spread through you, Javier drinking them from you until your trembling subsided and your breathing came back to normal. He caught you as you eased back into your body, picking you up by the waist and slinging you over his shoulder. You giggled at the sudden change of perspective, now hanging upside down with an excellent view of Javier's ass.

"What are you doing?"

Javier didn't answer.

With a flop, you landed on the bed on your back. Javier stood over you, taking in the sight of you. Little did he know, you were doing the same, even though he was still fully clothed. You sat up on the edge of the bed and tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his tight jeans. Javier undid the buttons, letting out a soft groan as you took advantage of his proximity to palm the bulge in his pants. You wanted a taste.

His shirt now discarded, you worked at the button of Javier's jeans, placing a soft kiss on his stomach as you tugged them down. No underwear, why weren't you surprised? Javier's fingers curled into your hair, taking hold with a gentle yet solid grip as you freed his cock from confinement, precum leaking from the swollen head.

You looked up through your eyelashes, wanting to watch Javier's face as you swiped your tongue across the tip of his length, savoring the taste and earning a strangled moan from Javier's mouth. His eyes sunk shut and the image of you in the diner, licking the grease from your fingers danced behind his eyelids. He realized he was about to have that fantasy fulfilled, about to know exactly what your tongue could do.

The expression on Javier's face and his tightening hands in your hair made your stomach flutter. The absolute control you held over this man was ten times more satisfying than manipulating those men in the bistro because you were enjoying this too. Lightly, you dragged your tongue up his quivering cock, causing Javier to buck his hips and let out a hiss of dissatisfaction.

"Mierda, princesa, you gonna take me or just make me beg for it all night."

"You know I like to tease you, Javi." But the time for teasing was over. With one hand wrapped around him, you took him into your mouth, lowering your head as far as your gag reflex would let you. You began to move slowly, Javier's hands still in your hair and guiding your movements. Your other hand reached up and fondled his balls, pinching and massaging the tender skin. The sensation sent Javier hurtling toward the edge and he began to thrust into your mouth, matching your pace. It was good, too good. He was going to cum soon if you kept going.

Suddenly, Javier pulled away with a grunt, panting your name.

"Fuck, princesa, you're gonna finish me off fast like that." His voice was ragged with hunger. He wanted to taste you again, feel himself inside you as you came. "I'm not done with you yet."

Javier untangled his hands from your hair and placed them tenderly on your shoulders before pushing you back onto the bed again. He grabbed your ankles and hooked them over his shoulders, giving him full access to your cunt which was aching in anticipation of his cock, the size of which you had just fucked with your mouth.

You could feel the heat of him, so close, but Javier took his time, kissing his way down your thighs, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin until your legs shook. And still, he didn't slip inside you, instead caressing the tenderness of your stomach with his mouth. He'd kissed all the way up your body, from the jut of your hip bones to the freckle below your bellybutton to the supple fullness of your breasts. Javier's attentions left you squirming under his touch, but he wasn't done. He wanted to taste every inch of your exposed skin, both salty and sweet under his tongue.

Suddenly, Javier's touch left your body and he flipped you over. You squealed at the abrupt movement, your face in the pillows and hands gripping the sheets. Behind you came the sound of a condom opening. And then you could feel Javier hovering above you, his cock teasing your entrance, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair. And then his voice spoke next to your ear.

"Are you ready, princesa?" Javier asked, his voice heady and ragged.

"Fuck me, Javi." That was all the invitation he needed. Without a moment's hesitation, Javier lined himself up with your entrance and slammed into you. Your gasp of surprise, and all the screams that followed, dissipated into the pillows, muting the sounds that you knew would have been heard by the neighbors otherwise.

Javier crashed into you again, stretching and filling you more with each thrust. He started slow, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The hand in your hair pulled your head back, releasing the sounds trapped in the pillow to mingle with Javier's moans. The hand at your waist wrapped around to find your clit, his calloused fingers teasing the delicate bud, and Javier leaned over to run his tongue up your spine, chasing the shivers he was causing.

The combination of sensations, his tongue on your skin, fingers on your clit, cock buried deep in your pussy, built you again toward orgasm. You rose up onto all fours, trying to find that angle you knew would hit your g-spot, and Javier seemed to understand. He began to thrust harder and faster, rushing toward the edge he had narrowly avoiding sailing over when his dick had been in your mouth. But this was better, so much better. Javier's untangled his hand from your hair and wrapped his arm around your chest, lifting you so you were on your knees and pressed flush against his back.

This was it, the perfect angle. A tumble of incoherent Spanish curses flew from your mouth as Javier reached up to squeeze your tit in his large hand.

"Fuck, Javi, right there," you mumbled in between breaths. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Cum for me, princesa," Javier growled into your ear. "I won't cum until you do."

Javier's tongue flicked along your neck and up toward your ear, where he nibbled lightly. He thrust, deep and strong, into your trembling pussy and you came, in a searing white light of ecstasy. You choked out your sounds of pleasure, unable to breathe properly. As your walls clenched around his cock, your orgasm rushing in waves against him, Javier could hold it no longer. With a groan, he fell apart, grunting your name over and over as his twitching member spasmed inside you.

The two of you held still for a moment, unwilling and unable to move. Finally, Javier slipped out of you, leaving you feeling cold and empty. It didn't last long, however. Javier laid on the bed and pulled you down with him, holding you close to his chest. You curled against him, relishing in the warmth of his skin against the cool breeze drifting in through the open window.

"I have to admit, this isn't how I thought my night would end," Javier said. You giggled, still high on the euphoria of your second orgasm. The dopamine that clouded your brain began to clear and you looked into Javier's face, the tension and worry absent and replaced with a languid look of satisfaction and pleasure.

And then you realized something that made you sit straight up in bed. "You bastard," you said accusingly, pointing a finger at Javier's chest. He dragged a hand across his face.

"Oh mierda, what did I do now?"

"You never even kissed me."

It was true. He hadn't. He'd been so preoccupied with tasting the rest of you he'd failed to do the one thing he actually desired most.

"Alright, that's a valid accusation," Javier said, dragging you back down and rolling on top of you, pinning you to the bed. "I am a bastard, a lucky one."

Finally, with one hand on your face and the other lacing his fingers in yours, Javier kissed you. A real, proper kiss, teeth scraping your bottom lip and tongue gliding along yours. He kissed you until he could hold his breath no longer and then came back for more, tasting of your orgasm and the shared cigarette. At last, he pulled away and buried his face in your neck.

You pulled the covers up and over the two of you. And then you wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him to your chest as tightly as you could.

"Have any plans for tomorrow?" you asked.

Javier grinned into your shoulder. "Ready for round two already?"

"Only if we get to sleep in first."

"Anything for you, princesa."

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena #pedro pascal #"javi smut #javier pena x reader #I just want to dance with Javi is that too much to ask #reader #xreader

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whereisten · 3 years

Text

Heal

A Kun fic that’s part of our Halloween Series!

Summary: Doctor Qian Kun is a young and successful doctor who works miracles. And you are no exception when you become his patient.

Pairing: Doctor! Kun x female reader

Genre: romance, angst, fantasy, horror

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: blood, manipulation

(A/N: Thank you guys so much for your support with our Halloween fics! Hope you enjoy the adventures of y/n and Doctor Kun!)

___

You were no stranger to visits to the Neo Hospital in your hometown. When you were a baby, you basically lived at the hospital. You were prone to colds and fevers. You always experienced body aches and fatigue. You were born with a chronic autoimmune disorder that left many doctors baffled. They were only able to provide you with medications to alleviate your pains temporarily. You were confined to stay at home, to be homeschooled by your parents, and make friends online. Your childhood was far from normal.

You were a college junior now and you’ve been strictly online. If it wasn’t for the Internet, you probably would’ve lost your mind by now.

You had contact with the outside world but not physical contact. It’s what you longed for the most.

You resented your family. Your older and younger siblings could go out whenever they pleased. How did they get so lucky? Why were you the only sibling that got the short end of the stick?

Everyone in your family always interacted with you carefully, using hand sanitizer and always washing their hands prior to helping you with something. They treated you like a fine, porcelain doll that had to be preserved. It was irritating on your best days and unbearable on your worst. You felt like an abomination sometimes.

However, throughout the years, you would rebel. You would run away from home when your parents eyes wandered for a moment. The farthest you’d get before getting caught was the park. You were lucky that you didn’t develop any harsh symptoms from those times you ran away. However, you would be punished for taking such risks. You’d get your phone and internet privileges taken away for a month every time.

Last week, you succeeded in your most ambitious escape yet: you made it to Target to buy the new Ariana Grande CD. You thought that the one trip to Target couldn’t hurt you. By no means was it crowded and no one got into your space.

Well, you were wrong to think that you’d be fine.

Now you came down with a fever and you’d been placed on bed rest at your all-too familiar Room 1196 on the eleventh floor of the hospital.

You resented your body. A lot of people could recover from a fever and carry on with their day-to-day lives but you? Not so much.

Your parents made a whole spectacle of getting you to be seen by the best doctors but these doctors couldn’t help you the way you’d hoped.

However, this time, you awoke the next morning after your intake and felt...nothing.

Like you never had a fever in the first place.

You spent the morning checking your social media. Your crush/online classmate Sicheng was on a weekend hiking trip with his friends. He was with a bunch of beautiful, healthy people in North Carolina. You were even more bummed to be in the hospital now.

You wondered what life would be like if you didn’t have your condition. Where could you have gone? Who would you be now?

You’ve always wanted to go to the beach by yourself. To the supermarket. Hell, across the street. You wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere. Without anyone coddling you and watching your every move.

You wished for freedom from the body you were born with. To find a new one, somehow.

Because you had no hope for your current body to change.

“Y/n? Can I come in?” A male voice was heard from the door.

“Sure.” You sat upright on the bed.

The person at the door entered and he was the prettiest healthcare provider you’d ever laid your eyes on. He had warm, brown eyes and a radiant smile. His dark blue hair was wavy.

Suddenly, you regretted not brushing your hair that morning.

He donned a lab coat with the hospital’s name on it. His name tag was in a lanyard: Dr. Qian Kun, MD, DOM, PharmD.

He looked very young...And to have all of those titles? Your head was spinning.

He frowned as he saw how confused you looked. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “I am.”

He sat on the chair beside your bed. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Dr. Qian Kun but you can call me Kun.”

You blinked a few times. “Are you really a doctor?”

He laughed, confused. “What?”

“You don’t seem that much older than me…”

He sighed. “I get that a lot. I’m twenty-four. I graduated early from university...Earned my titles...Now here I am.”

“That’s amazing. You are probably the youngest doctor ever.”

Kun shook his head. “Afraid not. Bala Ambati became a doctor at seventeen.”

You shook your head. “Still...You have three doctorates. That means triple the sleep deprivation. Hats off to you.”

Kun chuckled as he looked at your information in his clipboard. “Your vitals have improved a lot since yesterday.”

You looked down at your hands. “Yeah...That’s impossible…”

Kun shook his head, noting how down you looked. “It is possible, y/n.”

You met his gaze. “How?”

He smiled. “Are you familiar with oriental medicine?”

He sure was charming, you thought. You reminded yourself to answer his question. “No, I’m not.”

Kun got up from his seat. “Well, there are many different practices that a doctor of oriental medicine can utilize, like acupuncture, meditation, and herbal therapy...To restore harmony to the human body. I specialize in herbal therapy.”

“I see…”

“I have created an herbal mixture that has worked efficiently to get my patients back up on their feet.”

Incredulous still, you managed to say, “That’s great, Doctor.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“I mean, Kun.”

Kun resumed, “And I‘ve provided you with the herbal mixture and from the looks of it, the results have quickly taken effect.”

You were speechless. “That’s…”

“I know it’s hard to believe, y/n. But sometimes doctors fail to find other alternatives to help their patients. Which is why I’m glad I’m your primary physician now.”

“Wait, what about Doctor Morris?” Doctor Morris had been your primary physician since you were five years old.

“She’s retired. I’ve been taking on a couple of her patients now.”

“I see…”

Kun looked out your room’s window and smiled to himself. “You don’t trust me.”

“Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust any medical professional. No one has been able to understand my condition yet so…”

Kun replied, “You’ve been let down too many times.”

“Exactly. Doctors just can’t figure me out.”

He turned to you and grinned. “Allow me to prove you wrong, then.”

___

At the recommendation of Doctor Kun, you were assigned to stay in the hospital for the next few weeks to see how the herbal mixture would affect your body if you took it for a longer period of time.

Every passing day, you felt more alive. It was weird to say this but you felt more alive at the hospital than you did before. You were beginning to suspect that Kun’s herbal mixture was actually working.

The herbal mixture was made of feverfew among other medicinal herbs. It had certainly done the trick to reduce your fever overnight. You wondered just what this mixture was made of.

You just finished your online linguistics lecture and closed your laptop. You found Kun waiting at the door. “You free?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He sat down next to you and pulled some of your favorite candy out of his pocket.

He put the candy bar in your hand. His fingers lightly touched your palm. Your face warmed up at his proximity. “Happy Halloween, y/n.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out. How did he know you loved Twix? You took the candy bar into your hand and almost cried.

“Y/n?” He asked, worried.

You wiped a tear away. “Sorry...It’s just that this time of the year is hard because...I want to celebrate it. Go out and trick or treat...I know that time has gone for me but I hate that I missed out, you know…”

“Y/n…”

You sniffled and took a bite of the chocolate bar. “My parents never wanted me to feel like I was missing out so they would bring the holiday home to me. I was never in need of M&Ms, Skittles, Twix, or Sour Patch Kids…They even helped me make the best Halloween costumes. We would watch a bunch of horror movies all month long...But I wanted to be a kid. I wanted to go out with my friends and go door to door…”

Kun’s heart went out to you. He hated seeing you so down and so deprived of a life that everyone should have. “Y/n, you will be able to do all of the things you want to do in life.”

You looked at Kun and he had a determined look on his face. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve worked with people with conditions like yours...They thought they would be attached to the hospital forever one way or another. But with my methods, I was able to help them turn their life around. And now they’re living normally and fully.”

You sighed. “I’m happy to hear that...I just don’t think I’ll be one of them.”

Kun placed his hand over yours. “Trust me, y/n. I won’t let you down.”

You met his eyes, then, and you smiled. “Thanks, Kun. I’ve gotta hand it to you. You’re my favorite doctor.”

He beamed. “Is that so?”

You nodded. “Yeah...None of the other doctors ever gave me so much as a lollipop Even though that seems to be the norm on TV…”

Kun chuckled. “There’s more where that came from, y/n.”

___

It has been a month since you’ve entered the hospital. The medical bills were covered by an anonymous benefactor. Your family didn’t have to worry about the financial strain of your hospital stay.

Your family came to visit you and they were stunned at how radiant you looked. They were surprised at how much more ALIVE you looked when they expected you to be weak and miserable because you were at the hospital. Something about you was different.

“Doctor Kun is a miracle worker, isn’t he?” Your dad asked.

“I heard he’s a sight for sore eyes, too...Don’t you think so, y/n?” Your older sister Sydney teased.

You mom shook her head and helped fluff your pillows. “How are you, sweetheart?”

You smiled. “I’m better, actually. I think Kun’s methods are working.”

“Oh, are you two on a first name basis?” Your sister joked.

You rolled your eyes. “He told me to call him Kun. If you saw him, you’d feel weird calling him Doctor, actually.”

“He’s quite young, y/n. He graduated from a top university in Beijing at age 10. Then, he went to medical school right after. He’s been a practicing doctor for a couple of years now. He’s unbelievable,” you dad said.

Kun entered the room, then. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I’m Doctor Qian Kun. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your mom was in love with him. Your dad was in shock at how young he was. Your sister wanted his number. You broke their stunned silence. “Kun, these are my parents Donna and Andrew. And this is my sister, Sydney.”

Kun greeted them. “I’m glad you are all here so I can tell you the good news.”

Everyone was shocked at the phrase “good news”. What good news could he possibly have to share?

Kun continued, “Y/n, your vitals are working at optimum level and we want to see how well you can fare by discharging you.”

You asked, “What?”

Kun smiled. “You can start having a normal life...In which you can attend in-person classes, go to the supermarket, take up a sport…”

You weren’t sure about the last thing he offered but everything else he suggested made you jump out of your bed. “Serious?”

Kun’s smile grew. “Yes.”

Your parents gave each other looks.

Your dad started. “Doctor, are you sure about this...y/n has lived all of her life in our home. The only outside world she’s ever known is our backyard and this hospital.”

Kun nodded. “I am sure. I’ve worked with several patients with similar cases as y/n’s and I would like to put the effect of the herbal mixture to the test. If there is any risk, she will immediately be brought back to the hospital and I will up the dosage for the herbs.”

After a few more minutes of discussion, your parents reluctantly agreed to take you home. To alleviate their concerns, you promised to consult with Kun once a week so he could monitor your progress.

You would be going home tomorrow and you had been given the green light to live a normal life. Outside. Go to classes. See your friends. Go to the beach. Buy fruits at the grocery store.

You packed up your belongings and Kun visited you one last time before you left. “Hey.”

You smiled brightly at him. “Hi!”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better than I ever have, honestly. And I have you to thank for that. Look, I’m not sure if this will work out in the end but the fact that I can take the chance and go out there...Thank you.”

Kun ruffled your hair. “I’m here for you, y/n.”

You did admit to yourself that you’d had a little crush on Dr. Kun but who were you kidding? He was so out of your league. You’d had a friend in him and you would always be thankful to him. “I have something for you.”

Kun’s eyes widened. “For me?”

“I wasn’t sure it’d get to my house in time but my mom got the package today. I told her to bring it today when everyone visited so…”

You pulled out a small gift bag with Kun’s present inside.

Kun smiled. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” “You’ve done a lot for me, Kun. I may have my doubts but I don’t doubt your intentions. And they're nothing but good. You’ve been doing so much for me. You’re setting me free...In a way.”

You handed the bag to Kun. He pulled out a little wrapped box from inside. He looked at you as he mocked suspicion.

He removed the wrapping to find a pair of AirPods. He gaped. “Y/n…”

You smiled. “For whenever you need to escape the noise…”

Kun had told you that sometimes he would get overwhelmed with his duties at the hospital and you’d asked him what gave him comfort. He told you it was music. So you figured something as light and portable as AirPods could help Kun calm down whenever he needed it throughout the day.

He smiled brightly at you and surprised you by wrapping his arms around you. “Y/n, thank you...You shouldn’t have…”

You froze. Kun’s toned body was against yours and you could feel the racing of his heart. Your heart probably beat twice as fast. You felt yourself get warmer and warmer. You pulled away from him, his hands on your arms.

He blushed. “Sorry…”

You cleared your throat. “Don’t worry about it…”

Your dad returned to the hospital room. “Y/n, you ready?”

Perfect timing, dad, you thought.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

___

It may have been the second semester of your junior year but you felt as nervous as an incoming college freshman as you entered Neo University’s grounds for the first time. You were meeting some of your friends for the first time ever.

It was one thing to see them on the screen but your heart accelerated thinking of what it would be like to see them in the flesh.

You’ve been doing well so far with the herbs Kun had sent you home with. You were able to go grocery shopping with your mom. She was still considering whether or not you could go to the beach yet. You hoped that your progress would continue so she would say yes.

You felt healthier than ever. You could breathe well through your nose. You felt no body aches. You were ready to cartwheel across the quadrangle.

First, you had to learn how to cartwheel, though.

“Y/n!!!!!” Jungeun called out to you.

Your blonde best friend ran up to you and jumped you from behind. “Ah!”

“Jungeun!” You gasped.

She laughed. “You said I could touch you so I wasn’t about to hold back.”

You hugged each other tightly.

“Y/n, it’s so good to see you!”

You and Jungeun have been friends since middle school so you were already a sobbing mess on your first day.

“Stop crying, y/n or else I’m gonna…” She started crying, too.

“Enough with the tears, already,” Dejun added.

You and Jungeun hugged Dejun to bother him, then.

He laughed. “Y/n, welcome to Neo U.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling.

You three went to your seminar together and you were just so in awe of being in a classroom, you had trouble focusing on the lecture. You were even more distracted when you saw that Sicheng was in the same class.

He recognized you and waved. You were yelling so loudly on the inside.

Before this semester, you had the occasional online class that you shared. You saw Sicheng for the first time a year ago and your crush on him grew from there. He was one of the most popular guys on campus, according to Jungeun. You had a group project with him last semester and he was so...Perfect.

He was intelligent and down-to-earth. His smile was so sweet and his eyes pierced into your soul. He was talking poetry. It felt like you were seeing your favorite celebrity in person.

When class ended, you went to lunch with your friends and Sicheng joined you.

“How are you, y/n?” He asked.

“I’m great. Never been better,” you replied.

He smiled. “I’m glad. If you ever need anything, please let me know. You have my number.”

You nodded. “Of course. Same here. If you ever need anything. I’m here for you, too.”

Sicheng chuckled. “Great.”

When you finished lunch, Jungeun couldn’t stop poking fun at you. Sicheng left early for a club meeting. “I’m surprised he didn’t ask you out, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “Ask who out?”

Dejun added. “Me, of course.”

Jungeun continued. “The ‘you have my number’ couldn’t have been more obvious. He wants you in his dorm yesterday.”

You frowned. “And what would we do? Fix his bed?”

Jungeun and Dejun laughed. Jungeun added, “The opposite, y/n.”

Your face heated up then. “Oh.”

Since you have basically spent most of your life either at home or at the hospital, you never even considered the possibility of a love life. You tried to convince yourself that dating sims would’ve been enough.

“Don’t worry, y/n...You and Sicheng can take it slow...He’s no incubus who is trying to take your soul,” Dejun offered.

“True,” you said.

That was if Sicheng saw you that way in the first place.

___

A few weeks had passed. You’d been seeing Kun regularly to check in and everything had gone as expected. You were fine. You weren’t exhibiting any flare-ups. So long as you kept taking the prescribed herbs, you would be fine.

“How is everything, y/n?” He asked.

“Pretty good, actually. School is still school, even if it’s in person. But I got to go to a skating rink for the first time.”

He laughed. “How was it?”

“I am terrible.” You showed your legs. “It explains these bruises.”

Kun shook his head and chuckled. “I’m glad you’re getting out more, y/n. Try and take it one step at a time.”

“Oh, geez. I wish you said that sooner. I already joined a blood cult and I’m getting married next week.”

Kun rolled his eyes as he finished taking notes from your consultation.

“How is everything with you, doc?”

Kun’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“Surely, you’re not always at the hospital.”

Kun sighed. “Well, y/n...it just so happens that I’ve taken residence up on the top floor. The whole floor is my apartment. Don’t really get to spend much time there because I’m almost always on call.”

Your jaw dropped. “What? Kun, that’s abuse. You shouldn’t be working so many hours. It’s against the-“

Kun couldn’t help his smile appearing.

“You sneaky bastard,” you said.

You both laughed, then.

Sometimes you forgot Kun was a successful doctor. Sometimes he felt like your infinitely smarter senior at college.

He was a million worlds away from yours.

Kun answered, “Well, I’m doing fine, y/n. I meet up with friends once in a while and go white-water rafting.”

“That sounds like fun!”

Kun shook his head. “It’s challenging but exciting. I get a rush every time I go.”

You thought out loud. “I’d love to try it sometime…”

Kun pat you in the back. “When you are at one hundred perfect, I’ll give you the green light. Sounds good?”

You nod.

___

You’d wrapped up your midterm and you were ready to head home and take a nap. You walked through the student quad.

“Y/n!” Sicheng called out to you.

You turned around and found Sicheng running towards you.

You smiled, already warm in the face. “Hi.”

“I was wondering if you were free right now…”

“Really? Me?”

He smiled, confused at your question. “Yeah, you. Want to go to the movies with me?”

You nodded. “Absolutely.”

Sicheng drove you guys to the movies. He bought the tickets and the snacks. He let you pick the movie. You picked The Blair Witch Project. It came out over twenty years ago but the theater was doing a limited time screening of it.

You and Sicheng couldn’t shut up throughout the whole movie as you whispered to each and made each other laugh. You’d almost gotten kicked out of the theater.

You left the theater together and he asked you to dinner. You said yes. You were starting to think that this was a date.

“Y/n, this is a date, right?” He asked you at dinner.

You stopped eating your chicken parmigiana and looked at him with big eyes. “I think...Is it?”

Sicheng sighed. “I wanted it to be…”

You laughed. “Oh, thank God. I thought it was all in my head for a second. Maybe you were this nice to all of your friends.”

He pointed out, “I am not this nice to my friends, I can promise you that.”

Sicheng drove you home and kissed you goodnight before you entered your house. You felt like you were floating on a cloud now.

___

Two days later, there was a campus alert that Sicheng had gone missing. His face was all over the news. The last time he was heard from was when he told his best friend Jaehyun that he was going to ask you out to the movies. The last time he was seen was when he took you home.

Sicheng’s car was found a mile away from the dorms. The key was still in the ignition and his wallet and phone were left behind.

You were brought into the police station for questioning and you told them everything that happened the night Sicheng disappeared.

You were worried. What could have happened to him? Would he be alright? Would he be able to come back home? You missed him so much.

You took an evening stroll around your neighborhood to try and calm down. You reached the park where there was no other soul in sight.

Suddenly, you felt a tingly sensation in the back of your neck. You felt that someone was following you.

You began to walk faster. Suddenly, you were pinned to the ground and everything turned black.

___

You woke up in Room 1196, then. Wait...It wasn’t 1196...It was a different room in Neo Hospital. The room was dark and you could only hear the sound of your breathing. It grew more hysterical with each second.

You felt a burning sensation in your neck. You cried out in pain. You cried out, “Help me, please.”

“Y/n…” You recognized Kun’s voice.

You nearly yelled out in pain but restrained yourself. “What...happened?”

“An animal attack,” he started.

You frowned. “What?”

Kun sighed. “It was good that I was there to help you in time, y/n…”

“What?”

Kun moved your hair out of your face. “I was in the neighborhood when I saw the beast attack your neck.”

“A beast?” You frowned.

“Sicheng, was it?”

Your eyes widened. “How do you-“

“You can’t hide anything from me, y/n...You know that’s not how our relationship works.”

“What are you talking about? Ahhhhh.” The pain was getting to be too much for you.

“Can you put two and two together, y/n? Sicheng bit you.”

You shook your head furiously. “No, he wouldn’t-“

Kun snapped his fingers and Sicheng entered the hospital room. His bright expression nowhere to be found. His eyes were a bright red and his lips had traces of blood on them.

“Sicheng?!” You asked.

Sicheng smiled, showing fangs in his teeth. “Hi, y/n…”

“Oh, my God!” You started.

Kun grew annoyed. “Alright, that’s enough pleasantries for my taste. Go.”

Sicheng walked away at his command.

You began, “What the-“

Kun smiled brightly at you then. This time, his straight white teeth displayed his own fangs. “Y/n...Sicheng has put you in a bit of a bind, hasn’t he?”

You tried backing away from Kun and getting off of the bed but it was almost as if the pain kept you from moving.

Kun ran the back of his hand down your cheek. “When a newborn vampire bites you, the bite is lethal...You could die anywhere between minutes and hours...It depends on the bitten, really…”

You flinched at his touch. “What...did you do to me?”

Kun inched closer to you and you winced. He lathered up the blood that leaked from your neck down to your collarbone.

“What had to be done, y/n. From the moment I first saw you, I knew that I had to have you.”

You cried out in pain. “Somebody help me, please! Sicheng, please!”

Kun, annoyed over you mentioning Sicheng, shut the door to the hospital room. “It’s useless, y/n. Sicheng wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t infiltrated what is mine. Now Sicheng must endure the consequences and be at my mercy. I turned him so now he looks to me for instructions. Until I release him...Perhaps in the next millennium...”

You sobbed. “Kun, please make this pain stop! I can’t take it!”

He cooed. “I know, baby. I want to help you. Just say the word and I’ll make the pain go away.”

The pain dominated your senses so you couldn’t process how exactly he would make it go away. “Okay! Just do it!”

Kun got up onto the bed and straddled you. He leaned down towards your neck and bit into you.

You cried out again but this time the excruciating pain turned into a euphoria so glorious, you never wanted it to end. You wrapped your arms around Kun as he continued to drink your blood.

___

It was morning when you had woken up. You were in Room 1196 now. You shot up from your bed and found Kun seated right beside you.

“Good morning, darling,” he started.

You glared at him. “Bite me. Oh, wait, you already did.”

He smiled. “I see your energy is up. That’s good to see.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going home…”

Suddenly, you stopped right at the door and your throat started to burn. Your senses heightened and you could sense that one of the nurses was walking right past your room’s door. You wondered what she would taste like if you caught her by surprise right then and there and…

What the holy hell were you thinking?

Kun sighed. “Don’t kill Joyce. She’s the most competent nurse on the staff.”

You ran into your bathroom door and looked at yourself in the mirror.

But you couldn’t.

You put a hand over your mouth and sobbed. “Kun!!!!!”

Kun joined you in the bathroom. “Ah, yes. You won’t be able to gain access to your reflection for another twenty years.”

“Twenty years...What is going on?”

“But what else, y/n? I turned you. To save your life.”

“Turned me into what, Kun?! Say it!”

Kun smiled. “Darling, you already know. Just admit it to yourself.”

You cried. “No…”

“You’ve always wanted a new body. A new life, y/n. And I’ve given it to you. I’ve made you the most powerful creature on this damned planet: a vampire.”

You fell to the ground. You could feel your fangs against your tongue.“Kun! Why did you do this to me? What did I ever do to you?”

Kun sat with you on the ground. “Because I love you, y/n. I never want to be apart from you again.”

You spat in his face. “You made me into a monster.”

Kun, unbothered, wiped your spit away with the sleeve of his coat. “I did not. I made you the best version of yourself you can be. Time for you has become infinite. Your body is immune to all illnesses now. You can see clearly. Your metabolism is in top shape. You are a goddess now.”

You shook your head. “Kun, take it back.”

He chuckled. “You’ve seen enough movies to know that that’s not how it works, y/n...You are mine now. Forever. Just like Sicheng. Just like a lot of the staff in this hospital.”

You shook your head rapidly. “Like hell I’m yours.”

“Y/n, I have been very generous up until this point. Using my blood to help you overcome your chronic condition. Funding your hospital bills...The least you can do is submit to me....”

It was hard to process all of the truths he just delivered. “Your blood?”

He laughed. “You mean you couldn’t taste my blood in the herbal mixture?”

You were about to throw up.

He chuckled darkly. “Admit it, y/n. You loved it.”

“Fuck you, Kun!”

He smiled. “We’ll get to that…”

You sneered. “You are despicable.”

His smile faded. “And you are testing my patience…” He snapped his fingers at you. “On your knees…”

You stayed on the floor with your arms crossed across your chest.

He frowned as he snapped again. “On your knees, y/n.”

“I don’t think so,” you said.

Kun looked taken aback. “What? How?”

You got up from the ground and looked at him. “I will never submit to you for as long as I live..” If vampires were even considered living.

You ran quickly out of the hospital room, realizing you had superhuman speed now. You were able to leave the historial without facing any temptation to bite someone.

But your thirst had to be satisfied somehow and you had to find a way to quench it without hurting anyone.

___

[2 years later]

You’d skipped town not long after you turned. You sent letters to your family without a return address so as not to risk their safety.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m so sorry I ran away. I had no choice. If I didn’t leave, you all would’ve been in danger. One day, I hope to explain it all to you but in the meantime, live your lives fully and love each other. Don’t take anything for granted. I love you so much and will see you again.

Love,

y/n

You had become an infamous blood bag bandit as you moved across the country, running away from Kun. He would occasionally try and track you. Or he would send his henchman like Sicheng to do it for him.

You were lucky so far. You had never attacked a human being and sustained yourself on some blood bags you were able to nab from donating trucks.

The reason why you didn’t submit yourself to Kun that day was indeed because of his blood. Consumption of his blood made you immune to his influence. He couldn’t have you like he had wanted all along.

Kun had been obsessed with you from the very beginning. When you were discharged from the hospital the time you met him, he continuously stalked you. At college, at the grocery store, at your home...It would explain why he was able to send Sicheng to attack you.

He always knew where you were back then.

Kun commanded Sicheng to bite you then and put you at risk of dying. Kun’s plan was to save you, make you his vampire queen, and control you.

It was a shame he failed to see that his creation of medicinal herbs was the one thing that would lead to his plan’s failure.

You were immune to his commands and you weren’t going to stick around and see how else he would try and “win you over”.

According to your research, in all public records, Kun was now twenty-six. A blatant lie since he couldn’t age. So you wondered how long he would remain in your hometown. You kept a careful eye on your family every now and then. You’ve made some contacts to track your family occasionally, as well.

Kun had stooped low and you prayed he wouldn’t stoop even lower to get you.

You worked hard every day to work on your rapidly growing vampiric abilities. You couldn’t stick around anywhere for too long without arousing suspicion.

Now you weren’t confined to one space anymore.

You were confined to running.

You hoped to one day bring it this madness to an end and take Kun down. Save Sicheng and Kun’s other minions.

And for you to truly be free.

[Fin]

338 notes · View notes

infinitegalahad · 3 years

Text

DON'T LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON ME

Summary: The one time Joe Toye saved you and the one time you saved Joe Toye.

Word-Count: 3.1k

WARNINGS: PLEASE READ! attempted suicide, descriptions of assault, blood/bruising, angst with a happy ending

A/N: Inspired by this post! When I was reading this and listening to Elton John, it hit me like a bus. It's not one of my best works, but I hope you enjoy! :)

Tag-list: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

Toye was one of the toughest sunva’ bitches (Guarnere’s words) that you had ever met. Tall, dark, and brooding, easy company respected and feared him. He had a gloomy expression and zero-tolerance from bullshit from anyone and anything. The number of fights you had seen him get into, the way he’d hold the collar of a soldier’s shirt, or simply the look of disappointment would make anyone shit their pants. You were a visual learner and always associated the men of easy company with the weather. Joe Toye to you was like a gloomy storm cloud, thunder booming behind it.

Unlike Joe Toye, a gloomy storm cloud, you were a ray of sunshine. The war was a tough time for all the man and your mere presence would shine brighter than a thousand stars. A natural smile always donned your face, and the men simply loved it. Your sweet voice was like a lullaby to them. Whenever they needed someone to be vulnerable with, you always had their backs as a close friend. You had always been someone who had tried to find the positive in life, despite it being hard. Your smiles and bright attitude had earned you the nickname of “sunshine” or for short, “sunny”. You wore the name with pride and whenever one of the men of easy company would call you it, a smile would grow as you’d shake your head. The men of easy company adored the ray of light you brought to the company.

Despite the differences, even if you were scared shitless of Joe Toye, he made one thing clear around the company; that nobody would hurt you.

Joe wasn’t one for nicknames or social interaction. You had talked to him a few times, but it was brief. His brooding appearance was intimidating and yet strangely so prepossessing to you. You knew that opposites attracted. Whether it be his dark features or the way he’d growl in his low voice, it would always make your cheeks warm.

He wouldn’t have to speak. If someone had been bothering you or making lewd remarks, he simply hovered over you. You’d see the man who’d be bothering you, looking like he had just pooped his pants, scram away. You turned to thank Toye, but he’d be gone in a flash. It made you feel guilty. You wanted to thank him-but he always slipped out of your fingers.

You confronted about the Toye's attribute. Guarnere would look at you and give you a little goose laugh, stating the same phrase.

“Means he’s gotta a lil’ crush on yah, sunny. Ain’t want nobody to hurt this girl.”

“But that’s what I’m confused about!” You would exclaim in frustration, “Why doesn’t he let me say thank you? Why does he only nod his head when I say hi? Why does he look at me and smile, but then he looks away? Why does he-“

“Jeez laweez girl!” Guarnere would interpret your little rant and pat your shoulder, “I got sisters, I know what I’m doin”. Just let it play out.”

Letting out a groan of frustration, you’d bury your hands in your face and let out a loud groan. It was simply hopeless. You were in the middle of a war, and Toye and you knew that love had no place in war. You were probably an annoying babbling idiot in Toye’s view.

But little did you know-Toye thought differently of you. There was something about you that would turn his face and show his dimples whenever you’d cheer up a soldier or help out a friend. Toye didn’t understand how you could be so damn cheery all the time, but something about you made him do something he had trouble doing-smiling.

———

The first time Joe Toye saved you was in Aldbourne.

You had been having trouble sleeping most nights. One night, you couldn’t stand twisting and turning in bed, so you opted for a late night walk. Aldbourne was a quaint town, and you knew that there were no threats surrounding you. If one of the men of Easy had found out, they’d be horrified, but you knew that you were capable of taking care of yourself.

There was not a single noise in the small town. It was an odd hour in the early morning with the fog covering Aldbourne with the sky still being pitch black. Wrapping your large jacket around your body, you looked down as you wandered down the road.

Joe had been acting strange lately. He was more distant from the crowds, simply avoiding all conversations, all but you. It wasn’t that he followed you around, but he looked after you. He spent his time around you. It was the first time you didn’t seem him as irritated or annoyed, at least when he was around you. Whenever Luz would look at or simply tease him, his face would scrunch your and he’d stand up to go give the company’s comedian a piece of his mind. You’d sigh and gently grab his arm, holding him back.

Normally, Joe would ignore you and move on. Nobody’s opinion mattered to him.

But with you-he felt like his whole world shifted. Your soft face and gentle touch would enchant him.

A grumble would escape Joe’s lips as he turned around to sit down. He’d mumbled something in your ear, in which didn’t mean much at the moment to you,

“What would the company do without you, y/n?”

Nobody ever called you by your real name except for two people; Eugene Roe and Joe Toye.

In the corner of your eye, you’d see a faint smile. It wouldn’t be caught by anyone by you.

You were prideful in yourself. You, making Joe Toye smile. Nobody would believe you. Maybe you had been the only one who caught onto it-but you were the sunshine of easy company. Joe Toye was a cloud who was almost dark and gloomy, and you were the sun that would outshine him.

Sure, it was childish, but it still made your cheeks warm up and a smile grow on your face. You were in the middle of a war, and making someone smile or happy was your job.

As you walked through the night, the muffled voices of sobs and curses could be heard. Buried in the collar of your jacket, you raised your head. The pained noises were coming from further down the road. You picked up your pace and hurried down the road to see one of the men in another company. He wasn’t someone you knew well, but you were familiar with it. His voice and mannerisms identified him as Lowery.

Lowery sat slunched under a lamppost, sobbing with a few broken bottles surrounding him. His cries of pain and curses only made your head break.

“Lowery…?” You whispered, loud enough for him to hear you.

Lowery still had his face in his hands but stopped his loud sobs. “Y/n...that’s you?” He said in a slurred tone, completely intoxicated.

“Yes, it’s me.” You said as you walked over and bent down to put a hand on his shoulder, “Do you know where you are?”

Lowery didn’t respond and simply looked down into his hands. You knew he would need some assistance getting back to his barracks and some water to ease him.

“Come on,” You gently stated as you grabbed his shoulders, “Let’s get you back”.

Out of nowhere, Lowery sprinted up and grabbed you, spinning you and pinning you to the lamppost. His hands attempted to grab your neck and you fought them off, screaming for help. One of his hands held your hands together as he dug through his holster to pull out his jump knife.

“You fucking tramp, shut your damn mouth.” He hissed, spit forming through your mouth. With a firm grasp on the knife, his feet stomped onto the soles on your boots as he began to slowly drag the knife towards your stomach. “Always smiling and acting all prissy and shit. If you this doesn’t shut you up, then I don’t know what wi-“

Suddenly, Lowery’s cheek was met with a pair of brass knuckles. He groaned in pain, holding his bloody cheek. Seeing your opportunity to escape, you wobbled away and fell down in shock. Covered by the darkness, you managed to make out two figures. Lowery, on the ground, and another tall figure making his way towards Lowery.

The rough voice made it clear that it was none other than Joe Toye.

Toye grabbed Lowery and dragged him to the lamppost, pinning him with a single hand choking this throat. Lowery’s skin has gone pale, covered in blood as he struggled to breathe.

“Damn you, Lowery. You ever threaten y/n again and I’ll kill you. Got it? I’ll kill you,” Joe had spat out at Lowery. Lowkey didn’t respond and he punched him again, except on the next cheek, making sure to leave him brushed and bloodied.

“I’ll kill you!” He hissed, and Lowery began to nod. The second time Joe spoke made you jump out of your little shock. Pushing yourself up from the mud, you began to run down the road away from Toye and Lowery. Toye had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

As you ran, it took you a second to stick it together. In the barracks, there was another empty bed and it had to have been Toye’s. You had told him about your late night walks and he wasn’t over the moon about them, scolding you as a father does to a child. Toye was worried about you, being a woman, getting attacked or lost or anything bad happening to you. You would smile and sway your shoulder, saying that you were fine.

Next time, you were going to listen to Joe Toye’s advice since he had saved your life.

———

The second time, you had saved Joe Toye’s life also in Aldbourne.

You had all been sitting in a pub. It was a typical Friday night; the men were drinking, laughing, and chatting about whatever was new. You sat at the edge of the bar, swirling your beer in your hand. The incident that had happened a few nights ago was still fresh in your mind. There were visible bruise marks on the side of your neck and hands. They burned and hurt, but there was nothing you could do. The memories were still fresh in your mind, and it made you go quiet. You had told the members of Easy about the occurrence, but left out the part of Toye.

He must have followed you to witness the attack. It creeped out you, but then again, you shouldn't had told him of your midnight walks. In a way, it was a brave and kind action of Toye. If hadn’t been there, Lowery could have hurt you or even worse-killed you. But you felt guilty for running off like a coward, not thanking him for saving your life.

You saw Toye around, but he always avoided you and the men. He was usually standoffish, but it had become more noticeable. He would prefer to be on his own, not bothered by anyone, even you or Luz. Luz attempted to converse with Toye, but Toye looked at him, grumbled, and walked away. Luz looked defeated and you would sit by his side to comfort him.

“It’s just Toye,” You would say, even though you were uncertain, “Sure he’s in a funk.”

You had seen Toye head out to take a leak, but he hadn’t returned in an hour. Slugging by the end of the bar, you looked at the ticking clock as the hands would slowly move by. He had been gone for a strange amount of time, and it was beginning to worry you. Aldbourne was a safe town, but what if? It had happened to you, it could happen to anyone, even someone was frighting as Joe Toye.

Since the men were either too distracted or drunk, you put your foot down and chose to go after Toye. Going up the stairs, you went to each floor and looked for him, but found nothing. Your worry began to increase as you began to pick up your pace and check every room for a sing-yet you found none. On the highest floor, you noticed that a door had been opened. It had to have been Toye-nobody else would go up this bar. Walking up the small staircase, you were greeted upon the night sky and the roof of an atrium. The roof was made of glass, held up chicken wire. Joe stood in at the edge, looking down. He hadn’t even noticed your presence as he took slow steps towards the edge.

Realizing, your heart dropped as you took slow steps, “Joe!” You called, panic in your voice. There was no response from him.

You chose to become louder, “Toye, it’s y/n. Look at me.”

Still, nothing but silence. You could see his head tilt down to look at the three stories below him. Tears began to form in your eyes. No, he couldn’t.

“Toye!” You yelled as the wind threw a big gust. “I know you can hear. Look at me. Please.”

Just as his foot was about to hang off of the edge, he froze in place. The voice was familiar. Hearing a voice he associated with happiness become distorted made his brain freeze. He became paralyzed. Letting out a shuttered sigh, he redacted his foot and turned to look at you.

Like you, Toye looked different. He didn’t look like he wanted to hurt anybody or intimating; but like a scared child. His dark eyes were red and puffy. Everything that you needed to know was right in front of you. Holding your hand out, your fingers bent, signaling Toye to come forward.

You murmured under your lips, “Let’s go.”

Toye turned around and walked over the atrium. Joe looked like hell as he grabbed your hand, grasping onto as his life depended on it. You carefully lead him down the stairs. Reaching the end of the stairs, he did something you would have never imagined him ever doing. It was human emotion that most men felt, but you never thought Joe Toye would do it.

Joe fell onto his knees, crying. Big tears falling down his face. His burly, worked hands glided up against the side of your legs. It took you back. You couldn't believe he was in tears. Just a minute ago he was standing on the edge of an atrium to a three-story drop and there he was, crying as he held onto your legs for comfort.

So you did what you did best for the men of easy company. Bending down, you wrapped your arms around his back as you gently ran them down his back.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” You whispered into his shoulder, “Let it all out. I was worried about you.” When you got Joe to look at you, you cupped a hand on his cheek. “Why did you go up there?”

Joe shook his head, unable to use words. You patted his cheeks in reassurance, “Well, we were all worried. I was worried about you. What would I have done without you?”

Inhaling, he tilted his head down as he pulled you close. His head rested in your stomach as he began to speak. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with you. I don’t know what got into me...It just seemed like an escape. But you came and put me back in the right place. Saved me from myself.”

“Consider it a favor returned,” You mentioned. Toye looked up at you, he knew about the night just like you did.

“By the way, thank you.” You thanked him as your hands rested on his shoulders, “I ran away only because I was scared…”

Joe’s face softened at your worry. You shook your head and clarified, “Not of you, I just...yeah. I was a little shaken up.”

Seeing your hesitance, Joe’s fingers touched your chin to lift it. His fingers ran over the developing bruise marks. His hand rested on your waist as he pulled you closer.

“They’re not as bad as you think.”

“Bullshit.” Toye hissed. You took his hands as he held them, “If I see that fucker again, he’ll be a dead man. Someone’s gonna fuckin’ die.”

Seeing the tension rise, you patted his shoulders as he looked up at you with a disappointed face. “Joe, I understand. But, I don’t want you to get hurt as well. Don’t it for me...Please?”

Looking up and down, Joe buried his head once again in your stomach and grumbled grumpily, “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

As his head rested, you brought your hands to stroke his dark hair. You hummed in response, “How so?”

“You’re so damn smiley all the time. Thought it was because you were a woman, but that ain’t it. You’re just a good person-and that’s hard to find now,” Joe hinted at. It was a confession of love, in his own way. You knew what he was trying to say. You smiled down at him and stroked his cheek, in which he laid into. “I don’t know, I just like being’ ‘round you. You make me a better person.”

“That’s the point of my nickname, Toye.” You stated, “You know I’m here for you. You know that I love you, right?”

Toye nodded his head as he stood up and held your hands, “Yeah, I do. From the first day I saw you.”

The two of you began to talk down the staircase, hand in hand. You tilted your head, a smile on your face.

“You're joking! I thought you hated me. Always thought you did.”

Toye shrugged his shoulders, “It’s hard to hate somebody as kind as you, doll. Just promise me one thing.”

You looked over at him and nodded. The two of you stopped at the door before entering back into the busy bar.

“Yes, Joe.”

“Don’t let the sun go down on me.”

Little did you know, those words would stick with you and Toye for the rest of the war. From Toccoa to Aldbounre to Brecourt to Bastogne-that was your phrase. You were the sun to Toye’s cloud. You brought the light instead of him, and he became a better person from your sheer positivity. Through hell and back, no matter what, you had kept your promise to Toye-Till death do you part.

#joe toye #band of brothers #Joe toye x reader #Joe toye imagine #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #hbo war

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 3 years

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On Oases

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published

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I’ve talked a lot about the importance of safe places, of how important it is for us to be able to be our true selves. I’ve talked about how our families and the Society provide us those spaces, but I haven’t really talked about those spaces themselves yet, or how they operate. I call them oases. Kestrel calls me dramatic. She needs to lighten up {Editing Note: Does that sound funny or mean?}. As ever, though, I’m an anthropologist, and I need my definitions if I’m going to explain things clearly, so oases is what I’m going to keep calling them.

While I’m being scientific, indulge me in some definitions. An oasis is any place run by ghouls that caters to ghoulish needs or wants. I’ll subdivide those further into open oases and closed oases.

{Editing Note: As far as I know, I’m the first person to formally classify this stuff. Am I naming them right? If this book is as successful as I want it to be, these terms are going to be used forever. Should I stick my last name on one of these? Would that be egotistical?}

Whatever you first think of when you hear “safe place” or “ghoul haven” or whatever, you’re probably thinking of a closed oasis. A closed oasis is a place for ghouls and ghouls only. No humans allowed, and usually no ghouls that haven’t been invited either, given our usual security concerns. These places are usually specifically social spaces, like bars or private clubs, places specifically designed for ghouls to unwind without having to keep our true natures hidden. These places are more varied than I’ve probably made them sound, to be clear. Like, I’ve been to an all-ghoul book club meeting before.

We were reading Dracula, in case you were wondering.

The closed oasis that I’m most familiar with is a members-only poker club, at least in name. Obviously I’m not going to name it here, but a lot more goes on there than poker. They keep a bit of flesh on hand, obviously, but it’s not really an eatery. The proprietor, Goji, has done a little of everything to hear him tell it. I know he’s a damn good card shark, and I don’t know if I actually believe that he was in an all-ghoul circus, but he can actually sword-swallow. And he’s a talented tattoo artist, if a little too willing to work on drunk teenagers. Scarlet’s Shakespeare tramp stamp is exceptional, but for some reason he doesn’t like it when we tell him that {Editing Note: That might actually be too much identifying information. I don’t think that’s a common tattoo}. Spatha, on the other hand, really likes showing off the sword he did for her. I kind of wish she’d gotten it in a less intimate spot, what with how eager she is to flash it.

{Editing Note: Clean that paragraph up. The fine line between relatable and rambling keeps eluding me.}

Other than that, Goji’s place has got some nice couches and beanbags, a pretty good tv, and even a few old arcade machines. It’s just a genuinely pleasant place to unwind. It even has a pretty decent bar. Given the rest of his clientele, I don’t think serving drinks to minors counts as much of a moral quandary for him. I do wish he’d cut Scorpio off sooner, though. He’s of age now, but he gets drunk fast, and when he gets drunk he gets weepy.

Goji’s an accepting guy, though, which is mostly a blessing. Being a ghoul doesn’t make us immune to human prejudices, so it’s doubly nice to get a break from the less instantly deadly kinds of othering. We’ve met a lot of interesting people at his place, a lot of ghouls from a lot of backgrounds with a lot of stories to tell and ideas to share. Not that I’m always entirely comfortable with what they have to say. One of the advantages of a closed oasis is that it gives ghouls a place to vent their frustrations with humans, which is important, but some of the venting from the ghouls less integrated into human society, like the Hunters, goes places that I’m not comfortable with. Even if it’s just hot air, I don’t like hearing about how much better things were when “humans were our cattle.” Especially not from people who choose to kill for their food.

{Editing Note: I don’t know if it’s safe to include that here. I want to present an accurate portrait of us, not an idealized one, but I haven’t even talked about Hunters as a group yet. That might be too much, too soon, too bluntly.}

Open oases, on the other hand, are an entirely different beast. Open oases cater to humans as well as ghouls. Obviously the humans don’t know that ghouls are part of the target clientele, and they aren’t places where we can typically be fully ourselves, but they have other advantages. Open restaurants or candy shops or bakeries give us places we can go with our human friends and not have to eat food that makes us sick. Open doctors can check our teeth and claws for problems, and they can check the rest of our bodies too, for that matter - we avoid normal doctors like the plague for reasons that I hope are obvious. I even know of a few open butchers, though I’ve never needed to go to one myself.

I have, however, spent a lot of time at one particular open oasis: my patron’s shop. She runs it as a small indie bookstore with a cute little cafe attached. The cafe will serve you flesh burgers or sandwiches if you know the right signal, which makes it a decent place to meet new ghouls discreetly. I know Yaga uses it to meet other influential ghouls that she considers dangerous, since it’s too public for them to start trouble. Other than that, the shop floor just operates like a normal book store. Yaga’s fond of her collection and she likes talking to customers and making recommendations.

It’s what’s off the sale floor that makes the bookstore special. In addition to the normal storage space, Yaga maintains guest bedrooms, which she lends out to any ghouls that need a place to lay low, or just to sleep. She’s had all sorts back there - lone fugitives, feral children, sometimes whole families waiting on some fake documents to be ready. She’s especially good at getting ghouls off the streets and integrated back into human society. Kestrel was living in one of those guest rooms when I first joined the household.

I met her the summer before I returned to public school - high school, specifically - and my mom and I were still in the early stages of integrating into the household. Yaga offered to watch me while my mom was at work, and she let me hang out in the bookstore and read whatever I wanted while she handled customers. My mom ended up having to work late, though, so Yaga kept me around for dinner, and introduced me to a girl who was staying with her for awhile.

Kestrel’s about two years younger than me, we think, and her growth spurt ended up being more of a growth bump when it finally came, but even then she was tiny. She was also quiet, but I’d always wanted a younger sibling, so I didn’t let that deter me. I asked a lot of frankly insensitive questions. I wouldn’t get real answers to most of them until later, and the ones I did get aren’t really mine to share, but suffice it to say that she was a feral orphan before Yaga took her in. Yaga didn’t think she was ready to interact with the human general public unsupervised yet, but I promised to watch out for her like a really good big sister if she got to come hang out with me the next time I visited.

I didn’t get an answer that night, but when my mom dropped me off again a week later, Yaga went and got her. She didn’t really appreciate me trying to be her big sister, but she did want to be my friend. It was a little awkward at first, but I’ve always been pretty good at getting to know new people, and pretty soon she was joining me and Scarlet and Scorpio on our afternoon outings. Turns out she didn’t need the extra family anyway; Yaga formally adopted her a few years later. She’s still one of my best friends, and quiet or not, I swear she’s better adjusted than Scorpio.

Yaga isn’t the only patron out there using an open oasis as a halfway house. It’s not the most common thing in the world - it takes a certain kind of person and a fair few resources - but I think it might be the most valuable thing the oases do. No one needs a space to learn how to be themselves more than the ghouls who slip through the cracks. Kestrel is taking a gap year before she decides on college, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she takes over the shop once Yaga’s gone. I hope, one day, that I can help people like that too.

{Editing Note: I might just be paranoid, but I think that this draft makes it way too easy to find the bookshop, especially since Yaga’s masque isn’t exactly subtle. There can’t be that many indie bookstores/cafes owned by old Russian women with much younger adopted daughters. I’ll need to do some serious rewrites.}

#my writing #memoirs of a flesh eater #original fiction #not tlt

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mostly-marvel-musings · 3 years

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A Favour - Part 2

A/N: Written for CJ’s Twisted Valentine’s Challenge. @buckeverlasting this is a long one. Apologies for the delay. Not my gif!

Part 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Cursing, angst, some faux fluff.

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @marvelgirl7 @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias

…

The empty training room was filled with grunts and angry kicks and punches at 4:00 am on Sunday morning as your sleep deprived self and the need to blow off steam had led you to your trusty punching bag.

“Why do I do this to myself?” You muttered under your breath, finding yourself on the train of thoughts that had brought you here and in first place & rethink your deal agreement. Your knuckles were sore, body covered in sweat but the anger still simmered beneath the surface as you prepared yourself mentally for that dreaded brunch which you were supposed to leave for in six hours.

“Trouble sleeping?” A familiar voice called out from the door, your head snapped towards the source and found Steve Rogers leaning against the wall, arms folded, regarding you as a source of amusement.

“Something like that.”

“We can go for a run if you want. Or you have plans of punching the sand out of that bag?”

He nodded towards it with a small smile before you stepped back and began unwrapping your gloves. You wondered why he was awake at this hour, it wasn’t uncommon to find Cap running along the compound perimeter as the horizon lightened, but this was way too early, even for him.

“I think I’ve had enough. I’ll leave the destruction of punching bags to you.”

Steve chuckled, remembering the number of times he’d been too aggressive with his training, and the times you had found him in a pensive mood, revisiting his past, sometimes regretting it before your words of encouragement and your listening ear made him feel better.

As you walked past him with your gym bag, he stepped in your way as you had expected. Steve wouldn’t let you be if he knew there was something bothering you.

“Are you okay (Y/N)?”

“Of course. I’ll see you later.” Giving your best faux smile, you headed upstairs.

I can do this. I’ve had years of practice. I’ve got this.

Murmuring this over and over under your breath as you got dressed for brunch, you faced the mirror for the hundredth time and back stared a girl who’d been clobbered more than once yet had never gave up, a hopeless romantic who still believed in miracles, that one day all the unspoken love for one man would be reciprocated.

The man who wanted you to help him avoid losing face at a social gathering hosted by his ex. A pretend date, some rehearsed terms of endearment to call one another in public & nothing more.

As your thoughts took that painful turn, tears began gathering in your eyes clouding your vision as you heard a knock on your door.

Time to put on a mask.

“(Y/N) you ready?” Steve called from the other side while you dealt with your watery eyes situation before opening the door.

“Alright let’s do this.” You grinned brightly, eyes expectantly searching for a compliment as Steve stared at you, mouth hanging open just a little bit.

“Wow you look fantastic. I—I mean beautiful. As always.” He breathed, cheeks turning pink as he struggled, shifting weight back and forth on his feet as your heart soared & smile widened.

“You don’t look so bad yourself Cap.”

Steve offered you his arm which you gladly took before closing the bedroom door behind you and passed some of your Avenger friends who all had one similar perplexed look except for Natasha who knew the whole ordeal and just gave you her best compassionate smile.

Sharon’s house was bigger than you’d expected, a familial neighbourhood, buzzing with light chatter and catered food and drinks being passed around by smartly dressed waiters, definitely remote from your taste and style.

“We should probably hold hands.”

You whispered, elbowing Steve who was busy searching for the host in the sea of people gathered in the space. He nodded and laced his fingers with yours, pulling you to his side as he smiled down at you warmly making your heart flutter without consent.

Soon enough you saw Sharon making a beeline for Steve, her smile vanishing slowly as her eyes landed on you.

“Steve you made it!” she exclaimed giving him a swift hug and kiss on his cheek before facing you expecting an introduction. You were preoccupied by the way he’d let your hand go to greet her, making the rational side in your brain scold your sentimental one.

“Sharon this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I think you’ve met her in HQ before. We’re dating.” Steve beamed down at you after grabbing your hand once more, surprisingly convincing as Sharon flashed you a faux smile. Similar to the one you were putting on ever since you’d arrived here.

“Wow. That’s some development isn’t it? Nice to meet you (Y/N).”

“You too. Steve’s told me a lot about you.” you shook her hand firmly, not lying about the last part. Sharon Carter was all Steve spoke about after she’d helped them find his best friend Bucky some years back.

Someone called her name and she excused herself, leaving the two of you to mingle with the rest of the crowd.

You found yourself in a secluded spot out in the backyard after brunch and interacting with a hundred people repeating the same well-versed story about dating the great Captain America. You played your part well and so did he, considering he felt absolutely nothing and you the complete opposite. There was no reason for people to believe you weren’t a couple, except for Sharon who kept eyeing the two of you every now and then.

Blaming your own stupid self for getting into this whole ordeal in the first place, you were glad there was alcohol being served at this party to drown your sorrows in. Watching every happy couple so in love and interact with them was harder than you’d expected.

Steve hadn’t noticed your absence, at least not for a while as he animatedly chatted with Sharon and some of her colleagues about something you didn’t care for.

You closed your eyes took a deep breath after gulping down your third glass of wine that afternoon when Steve decided to find you.

“I sneaked two donuts from the desserts bar.”

He revealed two chocolate covered donuts from behind his back, offering you one after you chuckled in response.

“That went well…I think.”

“Sure.”

“You alright?”

When you didn’t answer, he came closer and stepped in front of you, urging you to look at him by placing a hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing your skin in circles.

“No Steve, I’m not okay.”

Looking him in the eye was a mistake, his baby blues were full of concern making you feel worse than you already were. You were determined to speak your heart out at this point, regardless of the outcome.

“I haven’t been okay for a while. This was a huge mistake, I never should’ve agreed to be your date. Not when I’m in love with you.”

“You’re…you’re in love with me?”

“You’re really blind aren’t you? You’ve known me for years and yet you didn’t notice my cancelling plans to tend to your needs. You never saw my demeanor change whenever you’ve brought up her name in a conversation because you were too fucking busy plotting this in hopes of winning her over!”

“That’s not true—”

“I’m not finished!”

His eyes reflected guilt and shame more than concern before he cast them downward, not able to face your furious outburst as tears blurred your vision and your voice cracked.

“Do you know how long I’ve been dreaming about going on a real date with you? God I feel so stupid right now. I waited for you to make the first move. I waited for months Steve!”

“Nat kept saying you were working up the courage to ask me out. She was stupid, I was stupid. All of this is-is so fucking stupid!”

Tears fell down your cheeks as you paced back and forth on the porch making no attempts of wiping them away, glad that there wasn’t another soul to witness this drama unfold.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. And that’s what sucks. I think I’m gonna leave.”

Making yourself presentable, you placed the glass you were clutching on the steps before leaving Steve alone on the porch. He caught up while you reached for the front door, turning a few heads your way.

“(Y/N) wait! Let me drive you home at least.”

“I can manage.”

“Please?”

His eyes were helpless, sad. You knew arguing with him was pointless, he never failed to get you home safe. You could never really say no to that face.

“Okay.”

“How can I make you feel better (Y/N)?”

“Ice-cream?”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers imagine #captain america angst #captain america x female reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you

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tunedtostatic · 3 years

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ain’t no safety coats, raft or river boats

Brian & Sana (plus a dash of Brian & Arkady and pre-Brian/Krejjh), 1.5k

This was supposed to be another triple drabble. It is not! Title is from “Can’t Be Too Careful” by Jennah Bell.

CW: Food, mention of minor injury, descriptions of deep bodies of water

Brian suppresses a sleepy morning yawn as he makes his way down the dim corridor of the starship Rumor. After two nights aboard, this path between the bathroom and the kitchen is still unfamiliar in a way that brings back memories of waking up in new apartments and the odd adjustment periods of still packed boxes and unfamiliar sinks and cabinets in new spaces that had abruptly become “home.”

Right. Just another new apartment. New bed. New shower. New, borrowed clothing—no boxes to unpack this time. New microwave. New cargo hold with thirty-five cases of bulk gourmet chocolate destined for the intergalactic black market. New bath mat.

In the kitchen, Captain Tripathi is at the stove, boiling a kettle.

New roommates.

“Morning, Brian.” Tripathi smiles at him, one of her dimples showing. “Tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea?” Brian steps up to the counter next to her, opening the cabinet that he now knows holds the cereal. “Thanks, Captain.”

As Sana methodically unseals a package of vacuum-sealed bread, Brian realizes that this is the first time he’s been alone with her. Krejjh has been spending hours with her, learning the Rumor’s cockpit, and Brian’s first hour aboard included First Mate Arkady Patel walking him to the Rumor’s tiny medbay and carefully cleaning the cut on his cheek with a taciturnity that did not come across as unkind. But this is the first time Brian and Sana have been in a room together without the rest of their tiny new crew.

The toaster slot in the wall dings, and Brian watches Sana out of the corner of his eye as she spreads butter substitute on her toast. He’s known her for three days, two life-threatening calamities, and one crew dinner. He trusts her with his life. He doesn’t think he knows her better than he did the hour they met.

“Have you and Krejjh been settling into your cabins okay? I told them to let me know if they needed the temperature lower in there. As it is, one reg controls the whole ship, but I should be able to rig something up.”

“You can ask them when they wake up. But their energy levels seem pretty normal to me.” Brian smiles.

Sana smiles back, but as Brian pulls the milk out of the fridge, he has the feeling that she’s watching him, too.

He doesn’t think her question about Krejjh was, like, a test, with a right/wrong answer where she was seeing if he was…willing to speak for them, or something. He doesn’t really think it was any kind of deliberate probe, even to scope out something as general as how much he and Krejjh trust or know about each other. But he does feel like, every time they interact, Tripathi has been quietly getting the measure of him.

He doesn’t have the measure of her yet. He’s known other people who are both kind and tough. That isn’t a heavy lift. But there is another dimension to Sana’s kindness, something deep and quiet that undulates like an underground river.

“It has been nice to have some enthusiasm in the cockpit, I have to say.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, now. Right, Brian’s almost-joke about Krejjh’s energy levels. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to teach the Rumor’s quirks to someone new.”

As she reseals the butter substitute, she glances at him with a canny expression. “You know, she might not come out and say this, but I think Arkady is looking forward to have someone who might be doing, say, translation work at the kitchen table while she’s on one of her coding marathons, too.”

Brian smiles and nods, wondering if Sana, for all her perspicacity, has realized yet that her subtle skid-greasing in this realm isn’t necessary. You met some interesting folks in academia, even if most of them didn’t carry at least three guns at all times and have biceps the size of Brian’s undergrad coffee thermos, and you definitely met some interesting folks on Neuzo. Resultantly, some types of weirdness are easier for Brian to parse than others.

A few hours after a sweaty, out of breath Sana, Arkady, Krejjh and Brian had made it aboard the Rumor and into space, Sana was still flying and Arkady had vanished after her into the cockpit to help liaise with their contacts. Unfamiliar with the ship, Brian and Krejjh had stuck to the kitchen, talking quietly.

Arkady had appeared in the doorway with a faint scowl, looking Brian and Krejjh over for a second before going to the sink and silently filling two glasses with water. She’d walked to the table and set the glasses down, remaining standing.

“Important to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks, dude,” Brian said hesitantly.

Arkady grunted, staring impassively down at them for another few seconds. “We did a pot of pasta last night. Leftovers are in the fridge. It has rehydrated shellfish powder. Allergies?”

Brian shook his head.

“Microwave’s there.” Arkady pointed to the very obvious microwave. “Fridge.” The even more obvious fridge. “Cabinets. Help yourself to whatever, except the chamomile tea, that’s for Sana’s headaches.”

“Roger dodger,” Krejjh replied, in a cadence Brian could recognize as false cheer.

Arkady turned to look directly at Krejjh, and Brian tensed.

Arkady must have noticed that, because she turned and looked at him for a long second. Her eyes, he realized, reminded him of a deep mountain lake he had seen once on a visit to Earth. The water had been impossibly clear; you could see through it all the way down to the point where light no longer filtered through.

She reached for a chair and swiveled it in an easy motion, sinking down to straddle it backwards.

“I’m this ship’s security officer,” she said, as though this wasn’t functionally obvious from the five holstered guns, the two sheathed knives, the events that had introduced the two halves of the new crew to each other, or her thorough sweep for bugs when they finally made it to the Rumor. “That means that while you are part of this crew, you are under my protection.”

Brian had felt his shoulders relax, and Arkady had dropped her lakewater gaze, mumbled something about Sana assigning them cabins later, and spun the chair back around.

Then she’d bolted. Brian had smiled and squeezed Krejjh’s hand—trying to ignore the way this seemed to make his heart flip a little more every time—and gotten up to microwave the pasta.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sana reaches a nonchalant hand to set it on a cool burner as deftly as if it was a teacup. Her arm musculature situation isn’t exactly shabby, either, which…yeah, working as a mechanic in the wartime shipyards would probably do that.

Then add ‘building a secret starship with your own two hands.’ Brian is still trying to wrap his head around that one. Becoming one of the only humans fluent in Standard Exo-Dwarnian after shiphopping to Neuzo for fieldwork, and then getting in the ill graces of the Dwarnian mafia and falling in l—becoming excellent friends with a deserting Dwarnian pilot probably wouldn’t be considered, like, that normal by most people? But Brian has never built anything larger or more secret than a poprocket that time in third grade, unless you count the less physical large-ness of his research, which was technically also a secret once the war broke out, and now that he’s thinking about it, if you gave each sentence of his thesis the weight of a rivet, it actually might be up there with the mass of a starship? Ha, he’s totally telling Krejjh that just to see the look on their face. No doubt they’ll have opinions on whether a chapter section is equivalent to one or two hull subsections.

“Mugs are in that cabinet,” Sana says easily, gesturing toward it.

“Got it, dude,” Brian replies, equally easily.

You don’t comfortably exist in a place like Neuzo, or for that matter a place like academia, if you expect everyone to present their whole self at all times. Besides, since Brian is now in effect depending on Tripathi’s astuteness for his own safety and Krejjh’s, it’s comforting to know that she knows how to keep an eye on layers of social interactions, even when that includes her interactions with him.

He hands off the mugs in a brush of cracked porcelain and calloused hands. The domesticity of working beside someone at a kitchen counter is unexpectedly comforting, too. He could almost be in the cramped galley kitchen of his last shared grad school apartment, or behind the bar with Alvie, getting ready for a shift.

He isn’t.

Sana drops the teabags into the mugs, pouring the steaming water carefully. “If you take sugar, I think it was last seen in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

Brian chuckles at her almost-joke about the dynamic chaos of her kitchen. The kitchen. Their kitchen. He’s going to be spending the next few days getting used to that. If Sana is an early riser, maybe he’ll spend the next few days getting used to mornings like this with her, too.

#tscosi #the strange case of starship iris #brian jeeter #sana tripathi #my writing #fic #crossposted to ao3 link in the notes

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 3 years

Text

To Someone Special (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

notes: happy holidays! please take the time to celebrate with your family and friends. 2020 was an egregious year, but let’s thank god for letting us survive through the whole COVID pandemic. let’s pray for everyone to get through this.

anyways, here is my christmas present to you all, wrapped with some angst and fluff! ethan’s ex-girlfriend from his med school days who cheated on him with another ‘friend’ (and no, it’s not tobias :)) makes an appearance hehe. forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes and grammar errors, and as always enjoy! (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

(i felt like this was similar to @jamespotterthefirst ‘s fic ‘Fake Husband/Wife’, so i asked permission to write this, and she gave me it. shoutout to bree!)

summary: On Christmas, 10 years ago, he gave his heart to a girl. The very next day, she gave it away. This Christmas, to save him from tears, Ethan will give it to someone special.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x f!mc (dr. abigail ‘abby’ chacko) || mentions of past dr. ethan ramsey x dr. aubrie zavala

warning(s): angst (mentions of cheating) and fluff (mentions of proposal)

word count: 1999

** i suggest you listen to ‘last christmas’ by wham! :) **

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‘The most wonderful time of the year.’

If it were years ago, Ethan would chuckle at the preposterousness of this statement.

To everyone else, the Christmas season is full of jubilation, nostalgia and generosity. Giving and donating had become a peculiarity of the days neighboring the observed holiday, street-corners crowded with Santas ringing golden bells.

Houses twinkled with multi-colored and pulsing lights, bouncing off the crystalline white snow. Inside the houses, trees glimmered with more colorful lights and various decorative ornaments. Christmas colors added sumptuousness. Classic poinsettias are tied, and candy canes add some idiosyncrasy, dangling from the mouths of exhilarated children. Joyful music and golden bells can be heard from everyone’s car.

To the senior doctor, it’s dissimilar. Christmas means more work to do at the hospital. Emergency rooms are filled with injured patients who were looking forward to blithesome moments with their friends and family. The roads are slick with shiny ice, vehicles slipping across the road to hit the one next to it or a broad tree. And the mistletoe. On one occasion, he had to escape an elderly grandmother with wrinkly skin and gray hair, who was convinced that he was Bob Dylan. Yet he wasn’t even an accurate replica and they didn’t sound the same.

Seeing other interns and derisory people kiss under the mistletoe makes him turn away with disgust. He cordially hated PDA. Well, that is, until he met her.

When Ethan met Abigail, however, he felt some sort of attraction to her, something he couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard he tried. Her compassion, her wit, her charm, her intelligence, her everything.

It felt like some sort of grip she had, her usual chocolate aroma, big brown eyes, wavy hair, and her milky skin all holding on to him like a police officer would do to a criminal. And it’s addicting.

But now, looking at his Rookie from across their luxurious bedroom, getting ready for the Christmas Gala hosted by Bloom Edenbrook Hospital, he started to look forward to the breathless moments under the mistletoe. On second thought, why does he need to kiss Abby under the mistletoe when he can kiss her anywhere? They are officially dating, after all.

He wanted to satisfy her and hear her singing goofily along with the carols in their cars. He wanted to see her tastefully decorate their penthouse with stockings, ornaments, a garland. He wanted to see her making sticky toffee pudding and her longtime favorite gulab jamuns, even if he claims he doesn’t like sugar. She, in return, would constantly mock him, prompting him of the day when he focused his eyes on the delicious chocolate bar in the vending machine at the hospital. He wanted it all with her.

Abby was adorning a long sleeve crimson velvet dress, strikingly showing some cleavage. She wore a generous split from her right thigh down, parading her creamy legs. She looked divine. She looked like heaven. The red gown made her look scandalous.

She cleared her throat, smirking at him staring at her. “Are you finished?”

“You look...” The more conventional doctor was at a loss of words, looking at her up and down. He started from her soiled velvet heels, moving up to her wavy cafe hair.

“...sinful.”

Abby flashed him a sly grin. “Why, thank you, Doctor. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Indeed he doesn’t. Ethan sported a matching outfit, a suit with a red velvet coat black shirt and a crimson bowtie.

“I can’t wait to come back after this gala. You’re making me lose my patience.”

She chortled, lovely music to his ears. “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

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The gala invited all the hospitals in Boston, including Mass Kenmore. It was being held at The Seaport World Trade Center, one of the largest venues in the city. Ethan and Abby arrived at the front of the venue, walking towards the entrance. Inside, a waiter took them to the very front table, the one where their seats were reserved.

They were recognized as the ‘rich couple’ and the ‘power couple’ of Edenbrook. It was no surprise that some of the doctors decided to gossip about them, stating how they match and look excellent together. Some women were jealous, and Abby could feel covetous eyes burning behind her back. The male doctors were also envious of Ethan, that he got to be with the young graceful doctor. In return, Ethan winded his protecting arm tighter around her slim waist, a clear mark that she is his. Only his.

The front table additionally included Naveen, Harper, Tanaka, and Tobias Carrick. When Ethan and Tobias faced encountered other at the front table, the Mass Kenmore doctor somehow took his hand out, waiting for the famous diagnostician to shake it. Ethan was stupefied at first, but then he remembered what Tobias did for them, saving his Rookie from the maitotoxin. After a rare moment Ethan shook it, sending the latter a faint smile, to which he returned. Abby beamed at their interaction, glad that they finally cleared the air that had been surrounding them for more than a decade.

Naveen greeted both of them with a hearty hug, and Harper sent both of them a pleasant smile. The Chacko looked around the decorated room to discover her friends, all relaxing at a table. When she spotted them, she gave them a huge wave, to which they imitated back. It relaxed her to have Ethan and her friends in the same room, forgetting about the upcoming discussions with the money-eating scumbags who only care about wealth and not for the wellbeing of their patients.

Tobias and Ethan sat between Abby, and all the seats were filled except for one.

As if interpreting her thoughts, Tobias sought a confused question. “Are we expecting someone else at our table?”

“I believe we are,” Naveen answered.

The young doctor wanted to talk to her friends for a little while. Otherwise, everyone was roaming around, mingling with people.

Ethan seemed to detect this because he leaned in to whisper to her ear. “If you want to hang out with your friends, you can go ahead. It’s understandable, if you’re bored, as am I. Besides, I’ll just talk to Tobias.”

Abby sent him a grateful smile, not only for excusing her, but because he wanted to talk to his old (former?) friend. She was genuinely happy that their relationship is getting better and better.

In return, she bestowed him a kiss on his cheek and went to the table across the room, where her colleagues are.

Her friends said the usual. Bryce and Kyra are dating, and they adopted a puppy after moving in together. Sienna doesn’t think she will move on from Danny, and that her heart will always belong to him, but the enormous pain had subsided. Elijah and Phoebe went on another date which had gone really well. Jackie’s debt is under control, and she said that she felt at peace and tranquility.

After she had finished socializing, she looked back to her reserved table, where she saw a woman, a rather charming one, probably in her 30s. She had raven hair and porcelain skin, and was assuming a royal blue dress with an elegant split across her left thigh, displaying her beautiful legs. Standing next to her boyfriend. Being too touchy with her man. Abby was ordinarily not the type to be jealous, but looking at the woman made herself feel ugly.

Her eyes went to Ethan, who had a horrified look on his face. They moved to Tobias who had a similar expression. Naveen and Harper both had uncomfortable looks.

The latter captured her eye and came up to her.

Abby was confused, so she decided to convey this confusion to Carrick. “Is everything alright at our table? Is that woman the last person to occupy the empty seat?”

Carrick sighed deeply. “She... is Dr. Aubrie Zavala. Another famous diagnostician... She is also Ethan’s ex-girlfriend.”

That’s when she glanced back at their table and saw both of them arguing.

Tobias must have noted this because he replied, “Ethan and Aubrie are both arguing now. Back in Hopkins, she cheated on with another med student named Dillan, I think. And it was at Christmas. Now Aubrie wants him back.”

The cacophonous racket heard in the auditorium drained away from the ears of the young doctor, and the sounds of warning bells replaced it.

What the hell am I supposed to do to grab her butt off the table?

Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. She examined her bag and found a fake diamond ring. Her mother gave this to her; she saw this at the store and found it pretty. Abigail always kept it in her bag, a reminder that her mom loves her. It looks real, so this can work. The Chacko placed the ring on her left ring finger. Tobias, knowing what Abby was about to do, gave her a wink. She smiled back and walked over to their table.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” Abby asked innocently. Ethan’s oceanic eyes widened as he saw the mischievous gleam in her coffee eyes.

The woman, who was now dubbed Aubrie, turned around to look at her with a grim expression.

“Babe?” Aubrie threatened lowly, “Who the hell do you think you are, calling my Ethan ‘babe’?” Oh, this girl has it coming.

Abby offered her a fierce smile, showing off her properly ‘engagement’ ring. “Well, I’m pretty sure I called my fiancée babe, right Ethan?”

Instantly, Ethan understood. She wanted to play as his wife-to-be now, did she? Well, that can be easily arranged, Ethan smirks, deciding to play along.

“Well, you see, Dr. Zavala, you do remember how I love hearing the opera, don’t you? I took Abby to one of my favorite operas named Carmen, and I proposed to her there. She cried happy tears and said ‘yes’.”

Aubrie’s furious face slowly drained of color, as she realized they are engaged. She now has to live with the regrets from the past. Her violent hands started to shake a little as she realized who she was arguing with the whole time.

“Wait, are you Dr. Abigail Chacko? One of the youngest doctors in America, Sister of the famous surgeon Sebastian Chacko, the youngest member of Edenbrook’s diagnostic team, and the person who cured Dr. Naveen Banerji?” Zavala asked slowly, her shrill voice starting to grow tense.

Abby, on the other hand, was having too much fun with this. “Bingo! You got it right!”

Right away, when she said that, Aubrie reluctantly left the whole table, stomping on the way like a teenager. Naveen and Harper both had amusing smiles on their faces, Tobias tried not to choke on his wine, and Ethan had the biggest smirk ever.

Abby took off her fake ring and placed it in her bag. At once, Ethan gave her a sounding kiss on her plump lips, not minding anyone any attention.

“How did you know I had a pretty rough time here?” Ethan asked curiously.

She smiled triumphantly. “Well, I saw all of your uncomfortable faces at the table when Aubrie was here. Tobias saw me and gave me an explanation to what was happening. I’m so sorry you had to go through that during your med school days.”

Ramsey gently stroked her smooth and delicate cheek. “It’s fine. Besides, I got an even better woman right here.”

Tobias cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but can you please just continue this later at home? I’m tryna drink some good wine here.”

Everyone snorted, but Ethan’s mind went back to the actual engagement ring he bought for her at their penthouse, stored inside one of his worn-out shoes. He was actually planning to propose to her tomorrow, on Christmas Day.

Taking her to one of my favorite operas named Carmen, proposing to her there.

Oh, he can’t wait for this chaotic day to be over.

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notes: if you’ve made it this far, thank you!

tags:@missmiimiie @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble @udishaman @caseyvalentineramsey @queencarb @choicesstan1 @newcolonies @arcticrivers @angela8756 @takemyopenheart @rookie-ramsey @ohchoices @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @drariellevalentine @maurine07 @lucy-268 @thanialis @drakewalkerfantasy

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