#but i admire him for saying this during a PRESS CONFERENCE !! couldn’t be me! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

Worth the Wait

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 9.2k

[ ☁︎, ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw 18+) ] (v lowkey angst//fluff)

themes : virgin!Shouto, experienced!reader (well, more than Sho anyway lol), praise kink?, lil baby couples quarrel, make up sex, and also he’s kinda hung lmfao idk if that’s relevant 💀

bio : You can’t help but notice that every time things start to heat up with your Pro-Hero boyfriend, he shuts you down. After politely ignoring his initial rejections, your frustrations build up, and you decide to confront him.

author’s note : so this fic was inspired by a conversation with the lovely astrid ( @todoscript ), who is becoming my cherished shouto confidante! we didn’t talk about it for very long, and it was awhile ago... but my brain would not move on so… this happened. i figured if i’m going to type so much about him i may as well write a fic. thanks for listening to my constant yelling, hope you enjoiii <3

side note : both shouto and reader are meant to be young adults in this fic!! i was thinking somewhere around 25-30 (i didn’t specify the age in the fic) but i thought i would make note of this as that’s considered “old” to still have your v-card, by American society at least (hence why sho kept that info from reader)

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃he first time it happened, you tried to play it off as if you hadn’t made a move.

The last few of your friends had finally departed from the Saturday game night you had thrown, leaving just you, Shouto, and the slow, hot tango of your tongues. You hadn’t seen each other all week— with him being busy with his hero work, and you being busy with your comparatively-mundane job, you didn’t get to spend as much time together as you would have liked. Although it was an obstacle for your relationship, you were both young adults as well as devoted professionals, which allowed the two of you to remain on the same page most of the time. It was typical for you to text and call one another for a few hours after work (granted you both had the time to spare) before passing out mid-conversation, your phone screen still lit up and gentle snores exchanged through the speakers. But like any sane girlfriend, having him in person, right in front of you, was always your favorite.

What had started as a peck had quickly evolved into a full on make-out session— Shouto had pulled you halfway onto his lap when you tried to move back from your initially-stealthy kiss, an appreciative hum rumbling through him as his large hands cupped around your face. You didn’t fight him as he brought your lips back to his, and you failed to stop him when those very same hands began to glide down your back, parking just above your ass. His fingers had gradually started to fiddle with the tops of your jeans, thumb running over the denim and dipping down to graze against your skin through your thin blouse.

Yet when your hands slipped underneath the bottom of his shirt, he pulled back from you, heterochromatic eyes guarded as he removed your hands. You had immediately picked up on his reluctance, and threw yourself off of him onto the other side of the couch, embarrassment scorching the back of your neck. Shouto left not long after that, for you had made up some lousy excuse that you were tired and would like to go to sleep, when sleep was really the opposite of your innermost desires.

This would have been all fine and good— because consent was consent after all, and you had no intentions of pushing him to do something he was uncomfortable with— had the same thing not happened just two weeks later. There you were thinking it would be a cute, coupley evening of watching movies and tossing popcorn at each other, resting your head against his shoulder and being content with just that— when then all of the sudden he was pinning you onto the sheets and kissing you til you couldn’t breathe. His hands, once again, wandered all over your clothed torso, palms mapping out each dip and curve as his tongue entertained yours in your mouth.

You were hesitant to kiss him at first, recalling how you had horrifically killed the mood last time, but as his advances became more passionate, you slowly allowed your defenses to slip back, excitement building inside of you. It was only when your legs tightened around his waist, your core brushing up along his thigh and causing you to let out the softest moan did he pull back. That same calm, cool expression was on his face, though his eyes were a bit wider than usual. There was also the tiniest hint of pink dusting his pale cheeks, his lips parted as he gathered himself. It was rather awkward after that— neither of you really knew what to say— so you crawled back to your spot and sat in silence for the rest of the movie, your hands eventually wandering out to hold onto each other. After sharing a soft kiss and exchanging “goodnight”s, you returned to your place, ready for an extra long appointment with your vibrator.

Unfortunately for you, this became a common occurrence. It wasn’t that you hated the steamy make-out sessions with your as-hot-as-they-come boyfriend, no— you thoroughly enjoyed them. The part that you absolutely loathed was returning to your place with your panties soaked all the way through, your sexual frustration meter only climbing higher and higher.

You loved your boyfriend! And of course you respected his wishes. You would wait for however long he wanted, because you wanted your first time together to be special. But fuck, did he have to heat you up just to leave you hanging every time? If he wanted to wait, then fine! But, God, what had you done to deserve this torture? You couldn’t get past first base— you’d never even rubbed your body erotically against his except for that time on his bed, and that was by accident!

And that was what you told the ladies during your Thursday night all-girl conference call, finally needing to vent and get this selfish feeling off your chest. It had been a long time coming, quietly brewing over the many instances of him stunting your advances that you came to a realization.

Enough was enough! You were going to ask him why he wouldn’t go any further with you, and whatever his answer may be, at least you would know what he was thinking! You felt like a weight had been lifted off of you, the girls cheering you on and wishing you luck as you said goodbye, ready to confront him.

— - — - — - — - —

Now that you’re standing here in front of his door, it seems like a foolish plan you’ve made. Your heart is beating out of your chest, thumping frantically against your ribcage as your fist is frozen in the air, knuckle about to connect with the door. Your stomach feels tight and low, throat dry with apprehension as your brain runs through every possible outcome. What would he say once you ask him your question?

Perhaps your breath stinks and it turns him off? Or maybe he doesn’t like the perfume you wear— or is it the way you dress that he doesn’t like? What if the reason he always stops you… is because he’s not sexually attracted to you?

Now that you think about it, you’ve never seen him pop a boner during your tongue wrestling matches, and the realization nearly causes your soul to leave your body. Even though the thought horrifies you, you try your best to reassure yourself that’s not the case. You had caught Shouto checking you out on multiple occasions, his eyes igniting a delicious heat on your skin. Whatever the case, you’re in this too deep to chicken out now. So with that, you let your knuckles rap on the door, steeling your nerves.

There’s a moment of quiet shuffling before your boyfriend opens the door, a pleasantly surprised smile on his face. His hair is wet and freshly washed, shining droplets collecting at the ends and making him appear even more handsome than usual. The gray tee thrown over his broad shoulders has damp spots from the runoff, and you take a second to admire the way his chest looks in the clingy material. “Hey, love,” he says, his voice alone causing goosebumps to rise along your forearms.

You allow him to guide you into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him quietly. “Hi Sho,” you greet back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him.

Shouto chuckles against your eager lips, long arms gathering you into his chest. When he pulls away, he tucks your head underneath his chin, placing another kiss on your crown. “I missed you.”

Your heart throbs, happiness surging through you and butterflies bursting into your stomach. “I missed you more,” you reply playfully, burying your face between his broad pecs and inhaling his warm, wintery scent. The smell of fresh detergent lingers on the fabric, mixing with his clean aroma and making your tummy flip in circles.

“Impossible,” Shouto quips back, holding your waist tight as he dips you backwards just enough for your feet to leave the ground before he presses his lips to yours again, rendering you breathless. He pulls you back upright after a moment, a cheeky smirk on his face as you try to remember what you were talking about before. “Come in, sit down. I was just finishing up some work, I’ll get you something to drink.”

Following his instruction, you move further into his apartment, gravitating toward the couch and inspecting the files laid out on the coffee table before you. The words blur together for you, the foreign hero work forms long and in what might as well be another language. You lean back onto the cushions as Shouto returns, a glass of water in his hand. Frost forms on the glass as he hands it to you, taking a seat beside you with his knee brushing against yours. You smile at his consideration, taking a small sip even though you’re not really thirsty.

“Was there something you came over here for specifically, love? Forgive me if I’ve forgotten, but I don’t believe we had plans?” He’s looking directly at you, eyes locked with yours as his hand comes to land on the top of your knee. Even just an innocent movement like that has you on alert, your breath catching in your throat as he gives a gentle squeeze.

“Uh… no reason,” you answer lamely, crumbling under the pressure of his watchful eyes. “Just wanted to see you.”

Shouto’s gaze lingers on you carefully, and for a second you feel like you’ve been caught in a trap. But he lets it go, his lips forming a soft smile as he lays his arm around your shoulders. “Well, I’m glad to see you too,” he replies honestly. His fingers caress your arm as his hand falls down to your waist, and he leans in to press another kiss to your cheek. You lean into his affection, mouth curving in content. “So, what would you like to do?” Shouto asks as he shuffles the files away into their manilla envelopes, creating a neat pile in the far corner of the table. He leans back into the cushions, fingers fondly stroking at your side. “We could go out to eat? We could try this new bar afterwards, too, it’s across from my agency. If you’re alright to go out.”

You can’t focus on his words, really— you’re too lost in your own thoughts. Why does he have to touch you like this every time, when if you act on it, he’ll only push you away? You’ve been together for a long while now, and still, he doesn’t take initiative to further your relationship. Every bone you’ve thrown his way has been perfectly deflected, with no sign of weariness from him. If he doesn’t want you, is it because he’s not into you anymore?

An ugly thought rears its head in the midst of your anxiety’s dark clouds.

Maybe he never was.

Taking your silence as an answer, Shouto continues on, looking towards the kitchen over his shoulder. “Or we could buy groceries and make dinner. I think I have bok choy in the fridge, but we’ll have to buy some meat. And noodles, if you want those instead of rice. I’m sure I have that sesame sauce you like, I—” He pauses as you grab his hand, your fingers looping tight around his warm palm, sliding them to rest on your thigh.

With the summer just fading into fall, you were wearing something to showcase the smooth expanse of your thighs, and as you guide his hand to touch your soft skin, a delicate blush blooms across Shouto’s cheeks. The flustered expression on his face only goads you on, and you lean in to capture his lips.

A muffled noise escapes him, your hand coming up to touch his jaw and rub your thumb against his chin. It only takes him a moment to recalibrate before his free hand rises and copies your actions, gliding down the back of your neck before pulling your face closer to his.

You run your tongue against the seam of his mouth, and he swiftly grants you access as his lips move to follow yours. He tastes like mint and sweet herbs, the tea he was entertaining before you came lingering on his tongue. His hand slips out of yours to curl around your waist, grabbing onto your hip and squeezing. As your kisses start getting heavier and slower, your once-occupied hand moves to land on his chest, your thumb pushing into the tender muscle located there. His flesh jumps beneath your touch, but he allows you to continue groping at him through his shirt, his own hands beginning to knead at you. Before you know it, your knee swings over his thighs and you’re hovering on top of his lap, not sitting down on him just yet as you realize the position you’ve put yourself in.

You can notice the change— you’ve faced this exact scenario many times before. Shouto’s hands freeze up, locking into their current position, and he only returns your passionate kisses, not allowing his body much more movement than that. You try to just keep kissing him, but all the doubts and fears quickly pile up inside of you, and you pull away from him. You can’t even look at him. You’re too scared to speak, and too reluctant to get off of him, only leaning back to create a divide between his face and yours. Trying to hide your face before he can see your defeated expression, you dive into his chest, arms folding tight around his neck.

Shouto’s still frozen in place, but he seems to sense your distress. His arms slowly circle around your waist, fingers moving to trace up and down your spine. He softly exhales against your hair, letting out the breath he was holding in ever since you swung onto his lap. “Y/N? Are you alright?” he asks quietly after a brief pause, his voice soft and low, soothing to your wary ears. “You haven’t been acting like yourself today…”

After a long pause, you sigh, trying your best not to get emotional. “It’s just…” I’m so fucking attracted to you but you won’t let me touch you, you want to say, but you’re too terrified to say it aloud. What can you even say to him that would be better than that?

Shouto’s arms around you squeeze gently, indicating his patience in awaiting your answer. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his lips grazing over your ear and placing a discreet kiss there. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

You let out a soft sniffle and Shouto pulls you tighter into his chest, his heart cracking at your sound of sadness. But his words bring a surprising amount of comfort to you, and you clear your throat before you lean back again, looking into his two-toned irises. His gaze is sympathetic, his eyes holding a visible amount of affection and support. “Well, I…”

He nods slightly, leaning forward to show his encouragement. “Go ahead, love…”

“Are… Are you attracted to me?”

It comes out more high-pitched than you would’ve liked, but at least it’s out— and he definitely heard you, judging from the wide-eyed shock painted across his face.

“Am I— What?” He stutters, his head tilting automatically in confusion. “I— of course I’m attracted to you, I’m… you’re my girlfriend.” Shouto looks at you incredulously, his arms falling to his side so that only his hands remain on your hips. “You’re the most attractive person I know, love. You’re gorgeous, inside and out,” he elaborates. “The whole package.”

His compliments butter you up, a small smile forming on your lips as you shyly look to your hands folded in your lap. “Not the whole package…” you mumble, squirming slightly as his hands come to hold either side of your face.

“Yes, the whole package,” he insists, nuzzling your nose against his. “Beautiful,” he declares as he kisses your cheek.

“Kind.” A smooch to the other cheek.

Your heart beats excitedly in your chest, thumping loudly against your ribs with each compliment.

“Courageous.” A kiss to the chin.

“Witty.” A peck to the forehead.

“Sexy?” you blurt it out just as he swoops in to press his lips to yours.

Shouto falters, pulling back just a hair as he looks at you in shock. “S-Sexy?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but by the way his cheeks and ears are tinged a bright pink, it’s clear your suggestion was a bit too much for him.

The way he stutters out the adjective in confusion has your heart tearing in two. “Y-You don’t…?”

You’re staring directly at him, his wide eyes locked with yours and his body frozen to the couch. His lips are slightly parted, but no words come out of him.

Silence.

This is not how you want this conversation to go— you aren’t prepared for it to go like this. The tears you had successfully fought off before come back with vengeance.

Only once Shouto sees you hang your head in embarrassment, your eyes getting glassier by the second, he springs into action. “Hey, no, that’s not…” he starts to speak, sounding more worried by the second. His hand goes to cup your face, the warmth of his quirk evident in his touch as his finger dries over a fresh track of tears on your cheek. “I… of course I think you’re sexy, love. I’m sorry, you just caught me by surprise… You don’t think I know how sexy you are?”

You can only reply with a lame shrug, unwilling to let his eyes meet yours as you hide your face behind your curtain of hair. You try to slide off his lap, ready to retreat to the bathroom and wipe away your pathetic tears, but Shouto doesn’t let you move away from him, his arms locking tight around your waist and forcing you to lean against his chest.

“Talk to me, baby,” he pleads, nuzzling into the side of your face. His voice is more gentle than you’ve ever heard before, and you hate to admit your stomach is doing cartwheels at how sweet he’s being. “I love you no matter what, and I hate to see you so upset. I’m not good at figuring these things out on my own, just tell me what’s wrong, love. Please?”

He gives you a few moments to gather yourself, his fingers massaging your stiff muscles as you cling onto him. Once you’re confident enough to speak, your words come out barely loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just that… whenever I think we’re about to take it to the next level, you pull away. I want to respect your boundaries, Sho, but I can’t help but feel like it’s because you don’t… want me.” The hands on your body still at that, your boyfriend taking in a sharp breath as you pause, then decide to continue. “I’m just… so attracted to you, Shouto… I want to be mindful of your limits, but I can’t help but want to touch you all the time. I’m— I’m sorry if that sounds indecent.”

Shouto murmurs your name lowly against your ear, his large palm once again rubbing over your spine in an effort to comfort you as he tries to piece together the correct words. “This is… a terrible miscommunication, and it’s all my fault...” he sighs, his voice dropping lower and becoming quieter, his insecurities leaking into his voice. “I’m so sorry to have made you feel like this… I promise that’s not the case.”

His words are enough to numb your worries, and you lean back so you’re able to look him in the eye as you wait for him to continue. He takes a deep breath before he sighs again, knowing he has to tell you the truth now, but worrying that he’s about to ruin everything the two of you have built over these past months.

“The reason that I push you away every time is… well, I—” he gulps nervously, and it’s your turn to look at him with encouragement. You take one of his hands in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles as he tries to find the best way to explain his reasoning. “It’s not because you’re unattractive, it’s— I mean, if anything, you’re too… too attractive, and I get…” he trails off, his cheeks now a bright shade of pink that you’ve never really seen before. It’s the first time you’ve seen the usually collected man so flustered, and a part of you feels guilty for causing him such discomfort. Just as you’re about to cut in and tell him he doesn’t have to continue, he does. “I… I’ve never been with anyone… like that before.”

You blink at him in confusion.

Shouto just seems to get even pinker, and he quickly starts explaining himself as he takes in your dazed expression. “I know you probably thought I had all this experience because I’ve been a top Hero for some time now, but I just— I never met anyone before that cared about me like this and I just never wanted to do— well, to do that with a stranger.”

“You’re… a virgin?”

Shouto’s red at this point, his hot side nearly catching fire as he buries his face behind his hand, too embarrassed to face you at this point. “Yes, I’m sorry to disappoint you, love. I just… I’ve never felt like this about anyone before and I— I wanted to impress you so badly, Y/N. I… I should’ve told you this from the start, I’m so sorry to have caused you such doubt.”

His voice is just above a whisper now, his fingers clutching onto the fabric of your shirt as if he’s afraid you’ll get off his lap and walk straight out the front door at his confession. “Shouto…” You can’t stop the smile that begins to curl the corners of your mouth. This is the reason he wouldn’t go any further with you? Not because he didn’t find you attractive? Your heart feels heavy thumping against your ribcage, giddiness flooding your bloodstream.

Your boyfriend gapes at your smile, brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you’re not… disappointed?” At the instant shake of your head, his discomfort eases significantly. “R-Really? But everyone thinks I’m, well… kind of a womanizer I guess, I thought you’d at least expect—”

You click your tongue at him, shaking your head as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “When have I ever given a shit about others’ expectations of you, Shouto? I love you for you, Sho… you make me so happy just as you are.”

Shouto melts at your words, a sigh of relief escaping his lungs as he crushes you to his chest. Your sweet scent fills his nose as he kisses the top of your head, and you bask in his touch as you hug him back. “You’re right, love, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… I hate that you felt unwanted because of me. I promise, you’re the only one I’ve ever felt this way about, I— I’m so attracted to you as well. I love you so much.”

Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, all the hurt and doubts that built over the last few months dissolving into the shadows. Only the light, warm feeling of your love is left behind, glowing brighter than ever before.

Shouto’s fingers crawl up the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lips before you allow him entrance. Your fingers push into his silky hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp and he groans at the action, letting your tongue take control and invade his mouth instead. Your breaths starting to become ragged, you both pull away for a moment to breathe. As you look into each others’ eyes, you both begin to laugh softly, the pair of you equally content with how your heart-to-heart had gone.

“So, you do think I’m sexy, then?” You smirk, pleased with this new knowledge.

Shouto chuckles, nudging your face to the side so he can place a trail of kisses down the column of your throat. “Is that all you got from that?” He teases, nipping at your skin playfully.

You close your eyes, enjoying how his love bites feel on your quickly-heating flesh. “One of a few things…” Your breathing becomes deeper as his lips begin to gently suck on the faded marks he’d just made. “Mmm, Sho~”

He hums as your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, tongue caressing the skin he’s sucked into his mouth. Your thighs twitch on either side of his lap when he pulls away, cold breath cooling the wet, darkened patch of skin on your throat. He swears under his breath as his hands trail down your waist to your hips, thumbs resting on the top of your bottoms.

“Would you, um… want to try something new, then?” You offer, sitting back to look him in the eye, ready to catch any amount of uncertainty in his two-toned gaze. But you find none, for he captures your lips again and nibbles on your bottom lip, another hum or approval vibrating against your mouth.

From there he hands the reins to you, opting to lean back into the cushions of the sofa as your tongue guides his in a slow embrace. Your palms both land on his chest, fingertips starting to massage the thick muscles underneath his t-shirt. Shouto sighs as your hands slide down his torso, and just as they dip underneath he sits up slightly, tearing the flimsy material over his head in one quick sweep. With the fabric out of your way, you try to keep yourself calm, your eyes now feasting on his broad, sculpted chest and abs. Saliva begins to pool in your mouth at the wonderful sight, your tongue poking out to wet your lips as you scan over his physique again and again.

Just as he’s about to make fun of your lustful stare, you move in to place a few light kisses to his jaw and neck, the action making him tense up and flex his gorgeous torso for you. Careful not to leave any marks on his throat, you make your way down his chest, taking a moment to leave a ring of wet smooches around his nipple. The muscles jump again for you, his body sensitive to your foreign touch as you slowly take the bud into your mouth, sucking just enough for him to squirm.

“That kind of… ahh, tickles,” Shouto mumbles as your tongue traces over his skin, his bottom lip between his teeth as you move to the other side of his chest and repeat the action. He sighs as you pull away, welcoming the kiss you place on his lips afterwards. His abs become rigid underneath the slow trail of your fingernails that move south, his eyes opening mid-way through the kiss as your hand grows closer and closer to his pelvis.

Just as he’s about to pull away, you move back from his mouth, your shirt flying over your head and onto the floor behind you. Shouto can barely breathe as he looks at your bare skin, the smooth expanse of your shoulders to your hips on display for him, save for the bra covering your chest. He’s fixated on the tops of your breasts, the round, smooth flesh mesmerizing him completely. Sure, he’s seen your cleavage before, but in comparison to this, that’s nothing.

“W-Wow…” he falters, struggling to tear his gaze off of them. There’s a little bow in the middle of the cloth contraption, and he can’t help but compare the sight before him to a present. Oh, how he wants to unwrap it…

You giggle at his awe-struck expression, your self-esteem soaring higher than it has in months. Just as you’re about to instruct him, he moves a hand to cup one side of your bra, his thumb running over your skin. A whimper escapes you when he squeezes you, his face moving closer so that the tip of his nose runs across your collarbone, his lips ghosting kisses across your chest. You wonder if he can feel your heart racing beneath his lips as they trace the cusp of your bra— how it races when he presses his face between your tits, inhaling the warm, clean smell of you that lingers there. “M-Mphhh, Sho…” you sigh as he sucks a hickey into your skin, his mouth pulling your flesh out from under the fabric cup.

Your hands fumble as they move behind your back to undo the clasp, but Shouto doesn’t have time for that, it seems. Instead, he opts to push the straps from your shoulders, tugging the bottom of the material down your ribs and completely exposing your chest to him without ever moving his mouth from your skin. You still manage to unclasp the confining material, letting it fall to the ground without a care. When he does finally let go of you, he moves back to examine your naked chest, his lower lip disappearing between his straight, white teeth. His eyes are half-lidded, and he dives straight back into your chest, circling around your areola with swift kisses and teasing licks, repeating the same process you had done to him. His warm mouth enveloping your nipple makes you let out a stifled cry, your hips jerking against his lap on their own accord.

Shouto moans at the movement, his hand gently squeezing your other breast as he sucks on the pert bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it with ease. You reposition so your legs are on either side of one of his, placing your clothed core against the rough material of his jeans and beginning to move your hips in slow, wide movements. It only urges Shouto on, for he switches his attention to the other side of his chest and repeats the same ministrations there, one hand coming to cup your ass and move in tune with your slow gyrations.

At this point you can feel yourself leaking onto your panties, your excitement only multiplying as he allows you to grind against him. You’d never imagined he’d be so eager to touch you, after so much time of him rejecting your advances. But you couldn’t care about that now, with your pussy brushing all over his muscular thigh and his mouth attacking your bare chest. The thrill only increases further when you readjust your hips, moving closer to him and feeling the hardness of his erect cock tucked into the front of his pants. You can feel your cunt twitching around nothing, drooling even more for him as you rub yourself against his front, your head falling back as you start to pant.

Shouto whines at the friction, his face falling into the corner of your neck as he tries to gather himself. Was this what he had been missing out on all this time? He sighs as he wonders what you look like completely naked— how you would look with your legs spread for him, wrapped around his skull, or better yet— his waist. The knowledge that you want him is too tempting— he can’t get enough of you, can’t stop himself from shoving his thumbs under the hem of your bottoms. And then you’re standing, letting your clothing hit the floor and leaving yourself exposed for his eyes, save for your panties which have another little bow at the front. His eyes travel up and down your legs— a part of you that has always attracted him, perhaps a bit too much. They look delicious presented like this before him, bare and inviting all along your calves and thighs, then leading to the panties that barely cover your hips. His cock twitches in his jeans as he inspects the marks he’d just made all across your chest, a possessive conscience inside of him murmuring its satisfaction.

“Is this okay?” You ask as you sink to your knees in front of the couch, looking up at him with cautious, yet lust-ridden eyes. The recognition of your desire makes his own appetite spike, and he nods his affirmation to you.

You smirk up at him, moving closer to him and sliding between his legs. He holds his breath as you start to kiss up his thigh, starting from the inside of his knee and moving your way toward your destination. Your hand reaches up to soothe down his chest, your other hand cupping the underside of his thigh and moving in sync with your mouth. Your fingers finally meet the button on his jeans, and he lets out the breath he was holding as you undo the metal zipper. He helps you peel the denim off his thighs, leaving the material bunched at his knees as you inspect his hard member through his tight, black boxer-briefs. You take a moment to thank whatever God there is for blessing you with such a nice cock; you can tell even through his underwear that he’s long, and thick.

The very tip pokes out of the band at the top, him having tucked it up at some point when the pair of you were initially making out. What you can see is dark pink and glazed with a pearlescent sheen of pre-cum, the material at the top of his briefs slightly damp. The legs on either side of you keep tensing and fidgeting, and as you reach a hand for his shaft his hips shift backwards, away from your touch.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, stroking his thigh as you look up at him. His expression is guarded, but you can see the uncertainty that shines through his gaze, the mask that successfully keeps others out futile to you. “Are you sure you want to continue? It’s okay if we stop here, baby.” You push yourself to sit taller using the tops of his knees, placing a long kiss to his cheek and giving him a nuzzle of understanding.

Shouto frowns, leaning into you and taking a deep breath. “No, I want to… I just, I guess I’m a little nervous? I’m not quite sure what to do…” he explains, unsure of himself.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you reply, kissing his cheek again as you continue. “Just sit back and relax, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel so good. Let me know if you want to stop at any time, alright?”

He smiles at your understanding, nodding and verbalizing an “Alright” before you capture his lips with yours. You kiss him with all the passion you can muster, and it distracts him enough to relax into the couch cushions, your hand coming up to cup his sharp jawline. Your tongues are busy tangling together when your hand lands on his abs, which jump under your touch but eventually they, too, relax after a few minutes.

When your fingers wrap around his cock through his briefs, he tenses underneath you again, his hips pushing toward you as your hand starts to move up and down. Shouto makes a muffled noise as your hand finds a steady, torturously slow rhythm, your hand squeezing around his thick shaft through the dark, cotton material. His hand comes up to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling slightly. You move your hand in accordance with the muffled sounds that escape him through your kiss, his hushed moans adding fuel to the inferno in your stomach.

After a few minutes of your slow, over-the-briefs handjob, you move back from his searing kiss, a string of saliva extending between your mouths. Your eyes lock with his, intensity sizzling as you both move the briefs off his legs, his cock springing upright in the bottom field of your vision. His length jumps when your fingers brush against the tip, gathering the silvery slickness of his pre-cum and using it to coast your fist down around his shaft, squeezing just enough to create a pleasant tightness around him.

Shouto swears as you start to jerk your fist around his thickness, your smaller hand creating a different sensation and much more appealing visual than the sight of his own fingers wrapped around himself. He moans when your hand glides over the head of his cock, his grip tightening on your hair as his eyelids flutter closed. You kiss his cheek again, catching his attention as he turns to you and allows your tongue to enter his mouth. You take all the whimpers pouring from his lips and greedily swallow them, your lips dancing with his in tune with your strokes.

Slowly you move away from his face, his lips following yours until you gently push him back to rest against the back of the sofa again. He allows you to move him backwards, heaving for air as your hot and heavy kisses leave him breathless. Once you lower your face to his lap, he tenses up, although his hips shuffle forward eagerly. You make sure to lock eyes with him as you move your mouth towards the flushed head of his cock, and you keep his gaze steady as your lips wrap around the very tip of him.

“S-Shit Y/N,” he gasps, watching as his member gradually disappears into your mouth. You glide your lips down his thick length slowly, trying not to overwhelm him as you start to suck on the tip, your hand beginning to jerk his shaft at the same time. When your lips move down, so does your hand, and as Shouto becomes accustomed to the wet, tight heat of your mouth, you slowly take more and more of him into your mouth, until the head of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Shouto throws his head back onto the top of the cushions, a hand pushing his hair off his forehead and backwards as he loudly voices his pleasure in a cacophony of moans.

The noises that slither out of the man underneath you are delicious, and you can’t seem to get enough as your pace begins to pick up. Your hand is still wrapped around the base of his length, his cock too big to fit all the way in your throat, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to take him anyways. Pulling back just long enough to take in a breath of fresh air, you smile at his wrecked expression above you, tongue tracing over your lips. “Mmm, does that feel good, baby? Do you like when I suck your cock like this?”

“Ahhaaaa, fuck— y-yeah, like that, baby… yesyesyes you feel so good,” Shouto blabbers nearly incoherently as your throat glides around his aching member. Given his stuttered response, you happily service him, content to finally have him at your disposal. His length is too impressive to comfortably fit in your mouth, your jaw stretching to accommodate him as you swallow around him, successfully stealing a broken gasp from him in response. You close your eyes and allow yourself to focus on keeping a steady rhythm for both your mouth and hand to follow. His moans just keep getting louder, a breathless array of oh, fuck, shit, yeah, ahh, and yeses with every bob of your head.

As you’re diligently sucking him off, Shouto is barely keeping it together underneath you. His cock is twitching and leaking pre-cum down your throat, his balls heavy with the need to release. He watches your lips move up and down his length, your hand following suit at the very base. His mind wanders as he wonders where you want him to finish; inside your mouth, on your tits, on your face? He groans as he pictures all three, imagining you covered in his sticky seed, wherever it may end up, has him feeling close much too quick. But he can’t stop himself, and he can’t bring himself to stop you, either— you feel so fucking good on his cock. You’re better than he ever could imagine, and it’s just your mouth that’s wrapped around him— he can’t even imagine how between your legs will feel. He barely manages to mumble your name in warning as he feels his climax coming, too charged for him to do anything to stop it.

Luckily you already know he’s about to finish, for his muscles tighten up and strain as ample warning for his imminent release. You move your lips down his cock, taking in as much as you can before he’s calling out your name and shooting a thick, heavy load down your throat. You choke on his release, not much room in your mouth to begin with, with how long and thick he is already. He’s still gushing cum as you pull off of him, a few ropes of white spraying across your lips and chin while his body shakes in ecstasy.

You sit back and wipe his release off your face with your wet hand, licking the excess off your skin as you watch Shouto’s soul return to his body. He’s struggling to catch his breath, eyes barely open as he looks down at you sitting between his legs. Despite the heaviness in his limbs, he still gathers your arms in his hands, pulling you up onto the sofa to hover over his lap. He sighs as he nuzzles his face into your neck, your soft skin helping to draw him back from the euphoric heaven you had just sent him to. His arms wrapping around you loosely, he starts to kiss your neck, his long eyelashes tickling your jaw as he showers your skin in affection. His attention makes butterflies flap around inside your stomach, and that scorching heat ignites again as his fingers slide down your waist to the band of your panties.

You try to draw back to look at him, but Shouto’s grip on you is too secure, and he won’t let you pull away from him as he just nuzzles deeper into your neck. You can’t help but gasp when his fingers dive underneath the sides of your panties— his palms gliding against your bare hips and digits splaying across your ass. “S-Sho,” you whine as he cups your ass cheeks, pulling your hips to slot above his, his cock already erect again. You whimper when he guides you closer to him, the very tip of his cock catching at just the right angle to brush against the wet patch on your underwear. Hell, the whole underside of your panties is soaked with your arousal, your pussy probably more saturated than ever before. You’re so turned on, you can’t think straight as your hips begin to weakly shift back and forth, rubbing his cockhead along your clothed slit.

Shouto sighs as his hand recedes from your panties, instead moving to rub your dripping slit through the drenched material. You moan at the feeling of his hand through the fabric, your slick in such quantity that when he pulls his hand away, a thick string of your arousal trails after his fingers. He groans at the sight, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to test the viscosity. He makes a mental note that this must be what’s meant when one has a “wap”, or “wet ass pussy”, as he recalls from a certain song. His heart is racing in his chest, the discovery of your cunt so ready for him only making his cock strain harder against your sopping panties.

“So wet…” Shouto mumbles as he touches you again, cupping your core through your underwear and rubbing his palm against your clit. He watches intently as your face contorts in pleasure, and he rolls his palm against your front again experimentally, making a mental note of your increased sensitivity there.

Before he moves any further though, he presses his lips to yours in an intense kiss, successfully distracting you as he slides your underwear to the side. He can feel your pussy twitch and contract against his hand when he lines the tips of two fingers up with the hole that your slick is pouring out of. And he can definitely feel you spasm around him as he slides the digits inside with ease, remembering to curl the tips of them just as the countless guides and videos he had watched in preparation for such activities suggested.

“Y-Yes, ahh my God, Sho—” you gasp at the intrusion, your walls fluttering around the fingers.

His long digits slowly move in and out of you, the tips curling into your spongy walls as they sheath inside you completely. You moan at the sensation of his fingers inside of you, moving a hand to your front to rub your clit. It’s not long before you’re humping his hand, your arousal leaking onto his palm as you seat your hips back and forth on his fingers. Your mouth is hanging open, intense pleasure emanating from his fingertips rubbing that gummy spot located just deep enough for your fingers to be too short to reach. You can feel your orgasm building with each roll of the hips, a slow and steady escalation toward certain ecstasy.

Shouto moans along with you, watching the look of bliss on your face each time you sit back onto his fingers, and committing it to memory. You look absolutely captivating getting off on his hand, but the urge to feel you wrapped around his cock is too strong to ignore. He pulls his hand out of your cunt, watching as the syrupy slick trails after his fingers before severing, the warm, slimy wetness returning to your spread pussy. The sight is too enticing to just look at— he grabs his cock and jerks himself a few times, watching your slick spread across his length. It feels unlike any other lubricant he’s used— spit, lotion, shampoo all nothing in comparison to the sweet nectar your body produces just for him— simply divine.

If he thinks that’s divine, pressing his cock into you is as if the gates of heaven have been exploded open with dynamite, drowning him in a pool of ethereal ambrosia that he never wants to escape. Your walls stretch around his girth and hug him like never before; it’s wetter, tighter, and hotter than anything he’s ever imagined, and if he hadn’t already cum from your mouth just minutes before, he’s sure he would’ve cum right here and now.

You’re just about there, only a third of his cock managing to push into you before your walls start to clamp, that tension in your abdomen intensifying at an alarming rate. You throw your head back and moan unabashedly as his cock glides into you entirely in one movement, your cunt wringing snug around him as you cum. You’d be ashamed if it were with anyone else, but Shouto’s so thick and long that you just let yourself ride out your orgasm, your cunt pulsing and squeezing him tight. It feels like a religious experience cumming on his cock— he’s by far the biggest you’ve ever taken, and it’s been so long since you’ve had sex in the first place that you’re too turned on to care. A fresh wave of slick begins to leak from deep inside you, the aftermath of your abrupt orgasm coming in handy as you finally come-to enough to move your hips.

Shouto’s holding onto you for dear life at this point, knuckles white as his fingers dig bruises into your hips. He’s never been squeezed so tight before— never felt anything like your pussy, like you cumming on his cock. And even though he’s overwhelmed with the mesmerizing feeling, he still manages to keep his cool somehow, now evening his breath as he begins to thrust up into you. He decides he loves your moans— every noise you make from being impaled by his huge cock is music to his ears, a symphony he never wants to end.

“A-Ahaa ha, Shoutooo~” you cry, fireworks bursting across your nerves. “You’re so big, ah— it— it feels so gooood.”

You can’t seem to close your mouth— it’s too hard to focus on anything besides what might as well be his third leg thrusting into you over and over. His movements are relentless; never allowing you to come down from the high you’d been catapulted into with just one stroke of his cock. He’s so big inside of you, he’s probably the largest you can take while still feeling pleasure instead of pain. You feel like you’re the one losing your virginity here, not him— because, God have you never felt so filled to the brim in your life— his cock stretches and penetrates you so deliciously that you feel like any orgasm you’ve had before this doesn’t really count. It can’t count, can’t compare to this, to him.

Shouto is on the same page as you, desperately drilling into your sloppy cunt as if his life depends on it. It feels so good to be squeezed by your tight little hole, to have your fingernails dig crescent-moons into the skin on his shoulder blades, and hear your desperate cries for him. “Fuck, you— you feel so good, baby,” he pants, letting your pussy fall onto his lap and swallow his cock inside of you. “You’re so fucking sexy, y-yeah… so wet for me, so good for me.”

His praise causes a wave of goosebumps to rise across your skin, a burst of energy surging through you as you start to move your hips in sync with his thrusts. Shouto’s pace weakens as he lets you take control, sitting back and absorbing the pleasure that flows through his entire body at the quick snap of your hips. He feels like he’s in a trance as your hands move to grip the tops of his shoulders, leveraging yourself so your hips swing in a perfect arc that allows his cock to glide in and out of you completely. He watches as your hips swing back, the head of his cock slipping out of you halfway, only to be slurped back inside your tight heat all the way to the base.

Sweat is starting to accumulate and drip down your bodies, but neither of you are paying attention to that— Shouto reaches out and gropes your chest, fingers trapping your nipple and rolling it gently. You mewl at the sensation, your hips working even faster now, the dull ache of another climax forming in the pit of your stomach. You furiously hump his lap, your thrusts becoming off-beat and sloppy as your muscles scream with exertion. Frustration blooms in your heart— your stamina must have reduced in the past few months of abstinence.

“Sho, I’m… gonna cum again, fuck I’m so close,” you whine, pushing your ass onto his lap and stirring your guts with his cock as you swivel your hips.

Shouto hums at your confession, an arm winding around your hips and his hand landing on the plush underside of your thigh. His fingers dig into your flesh as he supports your body with his arm, his hips rutting up into yours with force. Each thrust has stars dancing along the borders of your vision, the power behind his hips much stronger than your desperate humping from before.

“I wanna feel you cum on my cock again, Y/N,” Shouto moans, tongue poking out to flick against your nipple, your tits in his face due to the change of position. “Want you to squeeze me and milk everything out of me, y-yeah…”

You nearly scream when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves with vigor as those two-toned eyes bore into yours. The surprise quickly morphs into bliss, your cunt wringing around his length as you feel yourself hurtle toward your orgasm for the second time. It’s not long before you’re there, ecstasy rushing through your entirety as you clutch onto him tightly, your toes curling and body shaking from the rush.

“Fuck,” he swears, both hands moving to grab your hips and pound his cock into your quivering cunt, delivering another level of pleasure to your orgasm. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes darting between your face and your wet pussy that keeps swallowing him whole. “Ahaah— c-cumming—”

Shouto lets out a loud groan as he pulls out of you, hot, white ribbons of cum spurting across your stomach as he climaxes. Your hand reaches down to jerk him off and he continues to paint your skin with his seed, his body shaking as his orgasm ripples through him. His throbbing length is slick with your love juices, making it easy for your fingers to slide around him.

His head hits the back of the couch as he releases the last of his load, chest heaving while he tries to collect himself. The devastating pleasure of your climax leaves your body feeling weightless and your brain loopy, and all you can do is lean against his athletic physique and catch your breath.

“I love you,” Shouto whispers seriously in your ear, fingers deftly playing with the ends of your hair. He means it; he feels like his heart is so full of happiness, and he’s so comfortable basking in the afterglow of his orgasm with your naked skin on his.

You stifle the laugh that bubbles up in your throat, a small smile playing on your lips. “So sweet~” you tease, cuddling your face into his neck as his hands rub the length of your back. “I love you too, Shouto.”

Shouto hums in content, arms hugging you tight against him for a brief moment before he relaxes again. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he confesses softly, nudging the side of your face with his nose. He can feel your lips turn into a grin against his chest, and he smiles at your content.

“You’re being so sappy right now,” you point out, unable to stop smiling as you turn to look at him. “I really like this side of you, I’m happy to see you like this.”

“I’m happy, too,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against yours in a sweet and short kiss. “I kind of wish we did this sooner though…”

You laugh at that, and his soft smile turns into a grin that he doesn’t bother to conceal. “Mmm, I think it was worth the wait,” you disagree, snuggling closer to him and rubbing your skin against his affectionately.

Shouto looks down at you resting against his chest, examining your blissful smile and eyes closed in content. Yes, he thinks.

You were worth the wait.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

wow that ended so soft pls excuse me im on my period and so emotional at the moment lmfaoooo... okokokok but post coitus snuggly sho is KILLING M E ... anywAYY lol let me know if you enjoyed!! this was kinda different from the usual smut i write so! i’d love any feedback i could get :)

as always, thanks for reading! 💗

➥ masterlist

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#todoroki shouto smut #todoroki shoto smut #todoroki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my fics

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atlabeth · 3 years

Text

everything happens for a reason part 6 - zuko x fem!reader

The thing about forever is that it's a fucking lie

part 5 | masterlist | part 7

a/n: you all know whats coming lmao i got nothing to say for myself

wc: 3.5k

warning(s): pakku's usual sexism, typical siege of the north stuff, mostly angst but a lil bit of fluff in there

chapter title comes from forever is a lie by bea miller!

“I can’t believe that your tribe doesn’t teach waterbending to women!” Katara fumed, the snow beneath her feet packed tightly from her continuous pacing. “I mean, how can they even do that? Master Pakku’s all about ‘his culture and his teachings’ but his teachings are completely sexist!”

Y/N just nodded along as she listened to Katara — Master Pakku had refused to teach Katara, and after a disappointing healing lesson she had found Y/N to rant. “Yep. It’s unfair, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

Katara frowned and stopped in her tracks. “Don’t you want to learn how to fight too? I love being able to heal and help people, don’t get me wrong, but healing isn’t all I want to do.”

A shaky sigh fell from her lips and she shrugged, adjusting her position on the platform of ice she had made to sit on. “Well… yeah, I guess. I know a couple of martial moves, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know more. But Katara, I—”

Y/N was silent for a moment as flashes of the past played behind her eyelids. “I’m not like you. I’m not the kind of person to challenge the rules. Not anymore.”

Katara shook her head, already back to her pacing. “I think you’re selling yourself short. I saw your healing during your class — you’re really talented, Y/N, and I know that skill will transfer over to fighting.”

“Thank you, but— but it doesn’t matter how good we are. Master Pakku is just as stubborn as he is talented, and I think he’d rather die than be a decent person. It’s a shame though. I’d really like to see someone knock some sense into him.”

“Yeah…” Katara sighed. “Hopefully Aang is having a better time than I am.” She looked up at the sky then fixed Y/N with a wry smile. “Speaking of Aang, I should probably get back to him and my brother. Sorry for talking your ear off the whole night.”

Y/N waved her hand around nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. You have my permission to rant to me any time you want while you’re here.”

Katara grinned and offered her hand, which Y/N took with a small smile as she got up from her ice platform. With a slight movement of her hand she bent it back into the ground, and the two girls began their walk back to the city. “I just wish I knew how to get Pakku to let up.”

“You’ll think of something,” Y/N reassured.

Katara did indeed think of something. Y/N’s wish of Pakku getting some sense knocked into him was granted when Katara challenged him to a fight, which was quite possibly the best thing that Y/N had ever witnessed. Though she ultimately lost, he still decided to take her on as a student — and in a move that Y/N would forever be grateful for, Katara had gotten Pakku to take her on as well. Katara made history that day, and she felt a shining sense of admiration for the girl for shaking things up.

And now, her days consisted of early mornings spent training, afternoons in classes, and nights doing homework, as well as fitting in time to hang out with Yue — it was a miracle she had any free time at all.

Lately though, it seemed like all Yue could talk about was Sokka. She liked him just as much as he liked her, but Yue was good — no matter how much she cared for someone, her tribe would always come first.

(“Did I hear that you and Sokka have a date later tonight?” she teased. “Aren’t you moving a little too fast?” Yue was silent at her attempt at humor and Y/N frowned. “Yue, are you okay?”

Silence lingered in the air for so long that Y/N almost thought she didn’t hear her, but finally the princess spoke as she pulled down the collar of her jacket to reveal an engagement necklace. Y/N gasped.

“It’s from Hahn,” she said quietly. “He proposed an hour ago, and I accepted.”

“You what?” Y/N cried, prompting a slight grimace from Yue. “Hahn— you can’t stand him!”

“Y/N, please,” Yue sighed. “He’s not that bad — he’s handsome, I guess. And he’s the son of a noble, and he’ll be really good for the tribe.”

“Yue, you’re the one who has to deal with him. He proposed to you, not the tribe — Spirits, half the boys in this tribe like you, why him?”

“It’s best for the tribe,” she repeated, her words an attempt to convince Y/N as much as herself.

“But what’s best for you?” Y/N countered.

Yue hadn’t answered, and had made up some half-baked excuse that she had to be somewhere. She had watched her go sadly, hoping that she would figure something out with Sokka.)

And it’s not like she wasn’t happy that her friend had found someone, it was just…

Y/N was upset that someone wasn’t her. And she didn’t know how to deal with that revelation.

But one morning, while making idle conversation with Katara as their lesson came to an end, a matter much more pressing came to hand.

Black snow. Soot raining down from the sky, tarnishing everything it touched.

A feeling all too familiar brewed in her chest as she met her friend’s eyes, and one thing was clear.

The Fire Nation was coming.

The air was even more frigid than usual with the knowledge of an imminent invasion, and Y/N had parted ways with her friends once they reached the town hall to be with her grandparents. The tension in the air was thick as Chief Arnook stepped up to address the people.

“The day we have feared for so long has arrived — the Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe, but they will never vanish from our hearts. Now, as we approach the battle for our existence, I call upon the great spirits. Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us! I'm going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sokka stood up. “Count me in.”

Her eyes widened as she met Katara’s from across the room, and she looked equally surprised. “Sokka…”

“Be warned: many of you will not return.” Several other men stood up after Sokka, including her grandfather. Despite his age he was a skilled fighter, but that was no comfort to Y/N. She reached up for his hand and shook her head almost desperately, but he smiled sadly and squeezed her hand, a sentiment to express words unsaid. “Come forward to receive my mark, if you accept the task.”

As he walked forward to join the line, she found the only solace she could in her grandmother’s open arms, burying her face in the fur of her jacket. “He will be okay,” she soothed. “He’s just as strong as he is brave. You have to have faith.”

She hoped that her grandmother was right. She couldn’t handle another loss.

Once all the men had received their marks, they left to confer about the battle plan. Y/N found her way up to the stage where a tearful Yue sat. It pained Y/N to see her in such a way, and when she sat down and offered her hand the princess immediately took it.

“I saw that your grandfather volunteered,” she said after a beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For Sokka.” Y/N adjusted her position so their shoulders were touching, and she sighed heavily. “I can’t stop thinking about my village. My father.” She met Yue’s eyes, her own beginning to tear up.

“What if it happens again?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t— I can’t do it again.”

Yue let go of her hand to wrap the girl in a hug, the warmth of the embrace managing to chip away at some of their hopelessness. “You won’t have to do it again,” she stated, the reassurance seeming like the truth when coming from her. “You’re not alone this time.”

She finally pulled away from the hug as she wiped the tears off her face, and Y/N nodded. Yue somehow always knew exactly what to say. “What would I do without you?” she asked, her voice slightly watery.

“You’re never going to know,” the princess smiled. “Because whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” That got a laugh out of Y/N and the two of them stood up as Yue gestured outside with her head. “I think I saw Aang and my father out there. It’ll help to talk with them — I think you need some fresh air anyways.”

Y/N nodded and the two girls walked out hand in hand, a small reprieve from carrying the weight of the world.

Things were so much worse than she had been anticipating.

After a short talk outside the hall with Katara, Aang, and the Chief, Yue had been transported somewhere safer as Y/N steeled herself for the front lines. After all, as a student of Master Pakku, she could fight damn well — it was just a matter of putting it into action.

But a line of warriors and children alike were no match for the strength of the Fire Nation from afar, and the first few fireballs had done their job at disrupting both the fighters and the wall — Seeing her home get destroyed hurt nearly as much as constantly getting thrown around.

After Aang had taken off on Appa and Chief Arnook took a section of his soldiers off for a different plan, the work on the ground began. The fleet of ships seemed endless , and the same went for their artillery — the fight went long into the day as Y/N worked with various other waterbenders to stop fireballs and repair broken parts of the city’s infrastructure, but just as the full moon began to show, the attacks stopped coming. Limbs heavy with exhaustion from their work in the field, Y/N and Katara met up with the princess back at the balcony of the palace.

“They’ve stopped firing,” Yue noted as they all gazed off into the distance.

“Thank the spirits,” Y/N muttered as she worked out a knot in her shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept going.”

Just then, Appa came into view and a grin spread across Katara’s face. “Aang!”

He landed below them and the three girls hurried down to meet him. Aang landed on the ground, exhaustion clear in every part of him. “I can’t do it,” he muttered as he placed his head in his hands. “I can’t do it.”

“What happened?” Katara asked as she ran up to him, Yue and Y/N close behind.

“I must’ve taken out a dozen Fire Navy ships, but there’s just too many of them!” His large grey eyes were full of hopelessness, and Y/N’s heart ached for the boy. “I can’t fight them all.”

“But— you have to!” Yue pleaded. “You’re the Avatar.”

“I’m just one kid,” Aang countered wearily. He buried his face in his arms and Katara kneeled next to him in an attempt to comfort him. Y/N could almost forget about the pain in her body at that moment, feeling an odd responsibility to this boy as she looked down at him.

“Aang,” she muttered, following Katara’s example and kneeling next to him. “You’ve already done so much for us. Just by being here, you’ve inspired hundreds of people — you’re a beacon of hope all on your own! We don’t expect you to take out this whole navy by yourself. As long as you’re here, fighting with us? You’re helping us more than you know.”

He managed a slight smile at that and he took her outstretched hand, getting pulled back to his feet with her help.

“We’ll have a better view from up there,” Katara noted, pointing back up to the balcony. “You can help us keep watch, Aang — in case they start attacking again.”

He nodded and the four of them began the walk, the Avatar in slightly better spirits.

“The legends say the moon was the first waterbender,” Yue said once they had reached the balcony, all of them gazing at the sky. “Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.”

“I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night,” Katara mused, causing Y/N to hum in agreement.

“Our strength from the spirit of the moon, our life from the spirit of the ocean,” she said. “They work together to keep balance.

Aang’s expression brightened at her words as he popped up from the ground. “The spirits! Maybe I can find them and get their help!”

“How can you do that?” Y/N questioned.

“The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit World,” Katara explained excitedly. “Aang can talk to them!”

“Maybe they’ll give you the wisdom to win this battle!” Yue exclaimed.

“Or maybe they'll unleash a crazy amazing spirit attack on the Fire Nation!” At that, all three girls met him with strange looks. Aang coughed and straightened his posture. “Or wisdom. That's good, too.”

“The only problem is, last time you got to the Spirit World by accident,” Katara said with a frown. “How are you going to get there this time?”

Yue’s eyes lit up and she looked at them with a smile. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

A few minutes later, they were standing in the Spirit Oasis, the most spiritual place in all of the North. Yue, Y/N, and Katara all shed their coats as Aang walked around, marvelling at the beauty.

“I can feel… something,” Aang said as he sat down, getting into a meditating position. “It’s so tranquil.”

Soon enough, after a few moments of silence, Aang’s eyes as well as the arrow on his head began to glow.

“Is he okay?” Yue gasped.

“He’s crossing into the Spirit World,” Katara reassured. “He’ll be fine as long as we don’t move his body. That’s his way back to the physical world.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Y/N whispered, astonishment etched into her face. For as much as she had been taught about the ocean spirits, she wasn’t well-versed in the Spirit World as a whole — she was thoroughly fascinated by every part of this.

“Maybe we should get some help,” Yue suggested, still on edge as she took a few steps away from the gate.

“No, he’s my friend. I’m perfectly capable of protecting him. Besides, I already have some help here.” She smiled at Y/N, a sentiment that she returned happily.

A deep voice, almost mocking, broke the silence as it echoed throughout the oasis. “Well, aren’t you a big girl now? Even got yourself a little student.”

The three girls all whipped around to find the source of the voice, and Katara’s whole body stiffened. “No…”

“Yes. Hand him over and I don’t have to hurt you.”

Y/N immediately eased into a bending stance along with Katara as the princess fled to get help, but her confidence faltered when she took the time to focus on their assailant.

She almost didn’t recognize him — it had been nearly four years since she had last set eyes upon the boy, but it was as if he had become a completely different person. His head was shaved completely save for a ponytail, and blues and reds marked his skin in various cuts and bruises. His eyes held an anger she had never seen before, an expression only heightened with the addition of a large red scar across his left eye.

“Zuko?” she breathed, her chest tightening up beneath the weight of the revelation. Katara stared at her in bewilderment — she had no idea that Y/N knew the prince that had chased them halfway across the world, but Katara supposed that she had no reason to ever suspect she did.

His eyes flashed with recognition as they ran over her, and it seemed as if he had a similar epiphany as he staggered backwards. “I… I thought you were dead.”

“You’re with them,” she muttered, blood turning to ice. “Your nation is invading, and you’re helping them— you’re after the Avatar? What are you doing, Zuko?!”

The momentary surprise was replaced by steely determination as he shifted his weight forward and kicked up his leg, sending a blast of fire that she barely managed to dodge. “You know nothing!”

Y/N fell back into position next to Katara, but the newfound knowledge was like a fog over her mind. “Whoever he was when you knew him, that’s not him anymore!” Katara yelled as she bent water out of the pond and blocked his following attacks. “He won’t hesitate to hurt you, so you can’t either!”

“O-okay!” she stammered. This was the moment she had been waiting for, wasn’t it? After training with both Katara and Pakku, her martial skill had increased tenfold, and she was desperate to try it out — she only wished her first opponent didn’t have to be him. But another fire blast snapped her out of her paralysis, and she jumped into action.

The two girls worked impossibly well together, one stepping forward when the other fell back, the bending between them nearly seamless. Any fire that the prince sent their way was quickly extinguished, and with two against one on home turf, Y/N and Katara were able to hold him off with relative ease.

Y/N bent another jet of water up from the oasis and shot it at Zuko, the force of which knocked him several feet back. Katara took the opening and froze his feet to the ground, then began to move her arms about as she formed a ball of water around him — one more movement and it was frozen solid.

“You little peasant,” he growled. “You’ve found a master, haven’t you?”

The orb of ice began to glow, the air around them becoming hotter and hotter until it melted around him. Blasts of fire were flying at them as soon as Zuko hit the ground, and they were forced to retreat back towards the oasis as they grew more intense.

Y/N drew up a shield of water, extinguishing the flames on impact. Zuko dodged around them, his fingers inches away from Aang’s collar. Y/N propelled the water already at her fingertips towards Zuko with a grunt of effort, which sent him flying into the shallows on the other side of the oasis. She conjured up a large wave and sent it towards the prince, sending him up the side of the wall and trapping him once Katara froze it.

She breathed a sigh of relief and let her arms fall, a part of her wondering how they were still connected after the tediousness of the earlier battle. But this, one on one in a fight with real stakes? It was as exhilarating as it was nerve wracking, and she had never been so thankful that Katara had gotten her in with Master Pakku. Y/N felt intensely guilty over the pain she had inflicted on Zuko, but she tried her best to push it out of her mind — like Katara said, he would’ve done worse if she hadn’t fought back.

“You fought well,” Katara smiled. “I told you that you were talented.”

She chuckled and shrugged, cheeks heating up slightly at the praise. “It’s not exactly my first fight, just… the most intense.” It reminded her of the early mornings and late nights spent sparring with Zuko, a memory that only twisted the dagger in her heart even more.

The two girls smiled at each other as they began to walk back over to Aang — it seemed the boy was undisturbed by the fight by virtue of his glowing tattoos and closed eyes — when Y/N found herself squinting from the rays of light filtering in.

“Huh,” she mumbled. “The sun’s out. The sun’s out— Katara!”

Y/N turned to find the prince free from the ice, and the pair barely had time to draw water from the pond to shield themselves from the impending flames. But it was too little too late, and the power of the blast sent them back several feet. They slammed into either side of the gate, the force of it immediately knocking Katara out.

Y/N gasped in pain as she tried to push herself up, but the fight combined with the impact of her landing had taken a toll on her and she collapsed once more against the gate. When the smoke from the fire cleared, Zuko was there with Aang’s collar in his grasp.

“You rise with the moon,” he muttered, his face tinged with the slightest bit of guilt as he met her eyes. “I rise with the sun.”

The last thing she saw before her consciousness faded out was the boy she loved escaping with the Avatar.

why did i make yue and y/n like this when i KNOW what i have to write next omg i hate myself

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895 @ilovespideyyy

atla: @marianne1806

#zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #zuko x reader fic #zuko #zuko fic #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fic #avatar fic #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar x reader #sadie writes #ehfar #i already had this chapter half written so thats why its out so soon lmao #SOMEONE doesnt know how to hold their chapters and wants to release them as soon as she finishes them #its me. im someone

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Nie Huaisang is the cutest thing monsters have ever seen, they can be yao dragons or giant turtles one look at nhs and they want to feed hug or kidnapt him nmj trainning involved recovering his baby brother from every monsters nest around qinge

ao3

“I’m sorry,” Nie Mingjue said, his teeth gritted together and his arms shaking from the strain of holding Baxia up. “He’s mine.”

The massive tiger glared down at him over Baxia’s blade, currently stuck in its teeth, and growled something.

“I know,” Nie Mingjue said. His legs were shaking now, too. “I know, trust me, I know! I’m human, he’s – young, yes, yes, I know. But he’s my little brother! I’m not giving him up!”

The tiger spat out the blade, knocking Nie Mingjue backwards on his ass.

“And when you change your mind?” the tiger demanded. “Will you abandon him then?”

“No!” Nie Mingjue exclaimed. “Never! He’s my brother!”

“Mark your words,” the tiger said ominously. “Or else.”

It turned and stalked off, its tail waving arrogantly in the air, until its towering white form disappeared into the distance.

Nie Mingjue sighed in relief. “Huaisang?” he called, and a small head popped out of the nest the tiger had started building, blinking owlishly at him. “Come on, come to da-ge. It’s time to go home.”

“But Master Tiger said we were going to play…”

“Yes, well, he wanted to play for too long,” Nie Mingjue said. “Only a few centuries, give or take. Let’s go.”

It started back when Nie Huaisang was born.

No, more accurately, it started when Nie Mingjue’s father fell in love with someone he probably oughtn’t have, which according to the sect was not a terribly uncommon problem for him to have, and decided to bring home a bride.

Nie Mingjue could still remember the first time he’d seen the Second Madame Nie. They’d all been lined up to greet her, all the sect and close members of the clan in rows according to rank, Nie Mingjue fidgeting in the inside of the house proper in his first tangle with formal clothing outside of the discussion conferences. She had come sweeping in with her head held as high as a princess, seductive and bewitching.

Every movement had been perfect, the eyes of all the men fogging over in lust and the women in admiration – or visa versa, depending on their personal preferences – and a wicked smile had lit up her face when she had stepped across the threshold, officially becoming the sect leader’s wife, and maybe everything would have gone along with whatever plan she’d had back then if she hadn’t next seen him.

“Oh, look at you,” she exclaimed, rushing over to pinch Nie Mingjue’s cheeks between her hands. “What a delectable little morsel you are!”

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue said, staring up at her with big round somewhat-worried eyes.

“You charming little dumpling,” she said. “You adorable mouthful of meat! Spoonful of egg yolk!”

Nie Mingjue cast his eyes around to see if anyone would be willing to help him.

“My eldest son,” Nie Mingjue’s father said, not without pride – albeit perhaps a puzzled sort of pride. “He’s probably just about old enough to come to the forecourt, if you don’t want him to live with you –”

“Oh no,” she said. “He’s definitely living with me.”

And so she stayed, and Nie Mingjue stayed with her, and she doted on him in a way he found pleasant if mildly disconcerting. Within a year, she was pregnant, and irritated with it; six months after that, she was round and complaining, even though Nie Mingjue solemnly assured her that she was as beautiful as ever.

“This is your fault, you know,” she told him, and he blinked at her. “It is! Don’t get me wrong, your father’s a charming bull when he wants to be, and of course he fucks like a champion stud, but I stayed here for you, my little cabbage roll, my charming chunk of liver.”

She patted her belly.

“That means this here is all because of you. So you’d better take responsibility!”

Nie Mingjue considered the issue for a little. The argument seemed plausible, so he raised his hands and put them on her rounded stomach. “I will take care and watch over him for all my life,” he vowed, and the baby inside kicked his hand in response, sealing the pact.

“Oh you are so cute,” she said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “My darling pork bun! My little fish cake! I could eat you right up, if only you were just a little bit older!”

When Nie Huaisang was born, she disappeared in a welter of blood, but Nie Mingjue’s oath remained.

The trouble started after that.

“You can’t raise a cub like that properly,” the winged lion argued, bating its wings as if that would help it make its point better.

Nie Mingjue glared at him. “Watch me!”

“It’s for your own good, little human. He needs his own kind –”

“I’m not listening to a treasure-seeker!”

The lion scowled at him. “I’ll have you know that most humans think I’m good luck!”

“You’re not trying to steal most humans’ little brothers, are you?!”

The winged lion sighed, a deep sound, so very noble and long-suffering that Nie Mingjue couldn’t resist the urge to lift his foot and kick the lion right in the paw.

“Brat!”

“Don’t care!” he shouted. “You leave my brother alone! He’s my responsibility, not yours! Piss off!”

“You can’t even feed him properly -”

“I’ll figure it out!” Nie Mingjue bared his teeth and wished he was old enough for a saber.

“You little…fine. Fine! I’ll bring you a book on how to feed a huli jing kit, and you keep to it, you hear me?”

“I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “But don’t you even think of taking him away!”

“On your own head be it,” the winged lion grumbled. “Not everyone’s as understanding as me.”

“Why are you wet?” Nie Mingjue’s father asked him.

“Water monkeys,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “There was a nest.”

“Water monkeys? Don’t they normally stay away from people…? Or, I suppose, were these ones feral?”

“Thieves.”

“Ah. Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose…bad luck for you to run into them here, of all places. But good experience! How many people your age can say that they fought water monkeys?”

“Can we go home?” Nie Mingjue asked, a little plaintively, and rubbed his nose. “How much can you really have to say to the Jiang sect, anyway?”

His father chuckled. “More than either of us would like, unfortunately. But if you’ve had enough of water, which no one can blame you for, maybe you and Huaisang can go shopping in the pier instead?”

That would work, Nie Mingjue thought, and nodded happily.

(Sect Leader Jiang was extremely embarrassed about the ghostly rats in the night-market – he claimed they’d never seen neither nose nor tail of them before the Nie brothers had accidentally tripped over their trap and had to flee from the swarm...)

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nie-er-gongzi,” the white-clad cultivator from the mountain said, smiling broadly and saluting deeply.

Xiao Xingchen had made himself famous during his first half-dozen night-hunts alone for his extraordinary grace, bearing and strength, and he said he was on a mission to help the world. He was beautiful, virtuous, and matched each ideal of gentlemanly arts.

Sects throughout the cultivation world were drooling at the thought of enticing him to join them, fighting for the opportunity to put in a good word with him.

Not all sects.

Nie Mingjue stepped forward, purposely putting Nie Huaisang behind him.

“Don’t you even think about it,” he said, hand on the hilt of his saber. “Buzz off, birdbrain.”

Xiao Xingchen might wear white, but Nie Mingjue knew a zhuque chick when he saw one.

“I found something for my aviary, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang, seven years old and delighted with his clumsy autonomy, announced.

Nie Mingjue, less than a full year into his new role as sect leader, rubbed his eyes. “Oh?” he asked, only somewhat wanting to scream endlessly into the void, which was better than usual. “That’s nice, Huaisang…”

“Come look! It’s so pretty!”

“I’m a bit busy –”

“But da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue sighed and got up, following Nie Huaisang to the door only to come to a complete stop.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said to the fenghuang currently pretending to be a rooster in a cage, as if anyone would actually mistake phoenix flames for regular feathers. “Do you have no dignity left?!”

“You can’t adopt the bashe,” Nie Mingjue said to Nie Huaisang, who pouted. “It eats elephants; we’d be broke within three months.”

He turned to the giant python.

“You can’t adopt Huaisang,” he said. “I will literally murder you.”

“Why can’t I go watch the eclipse?” Nie Huaisang complained. “Everyone else is going!”

“I’m not risking a tiangou.”

“The…dog that eats the sun? Really, da-ge, is that even real?”

“You know what,” Nie Mingjue said, “you’re grounded just for saying that.”

Nie Huaisang grinned.

“Maybe I want to go and live among the qilin!” Nie Huaisang screamed, fourteen and hormonal about it.

“Well you don’t get a choice!” Nie Mingjue bellowed back.

“You’re not my father! I don’t have to listen to what you say!”

“I’m your fucking sect leader and yes you do!”

“I hate you!”

“I don’t care if you hate me! You still aren’t going to go live in a field with some magic pointy deer and that’s final!”

The qilin herd wisely chose to withdraw.

“Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao hissed, and Nie Mingjue looked up from his work at him – he hadn’t heard Meng Yao this upset since he’d shoved him into a closet to get him out of way during the whole dangkang boar hunt debacle. “Da-ge, there’s a dragon outside.”

“Again?” Nie Mingjue said, standing up to stretch and feeling oddly unbalanced. They’d just finished another session with the song of Clarity, so he really shouldn’t be feeling like this; he would need to write to Lan Xichen again about his fears that the treatment really wasn’t working. Lan Xichen would probably only say to give it more time, another chance, but still… “Let me go talk to them. Dragons are the worst.”

“No, da-ge, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said. “It’s not a water-serpent or – or even a jiaolong – it’s a dragon.”

“A flood-dragon is a type of dragon,” Nie Mingjue said, following Jin Guangyao outside. “You know that, it’s in the name, what’s the big – oh, I see. It’s a celestial dragon.”

Jin Guangyao glared at him with an expression suggesting that he was under-reacting, but Nie Mingjue really didn’t have the capacity in him to reach with appropriate fervor at the moment. He and Nie Huaisang had been fighting a lot recently, every little thing escalating into a giant argument, and he was no longer sure if he was doing the right thing in trying to force Nie Huaisang onto the path of his ancestors. After all, unlike Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang had – somewhat different ancestors, on his maternal side.

And, he supposed, Nie Huaisang was old enough to decide otherwise, if he truly wished…

Still, Nie Mingjue was as stubborn as a mule and had no intention of giving up his baby brother without a fight, so he braced himself and went over to the frankly massive creature draped over the entrance gateway and much of the training yard that the entirety of the Nie sect was doing its utmost best to pretend that they weren’t seeing.

Nie Huaisang was sitting on the thing’s five claws – an imperial celestial dragon, apparently – because of course he was.

“Excuse me,” Nie Mingjue called up to the dragon, which turned its head to regard him, an entire production that took nearly a quarter ké to accomplish. “The brat there is mine, please return him.”

“Da-ge!” Jin Guangyao hissed again, but Nie Mingjue waved him away.

“You have raised him well,” the dragon said, which was…a good deal nicer than most of these interactions usually went.

“…thanks?” Nie Mingjue said suspiciously, ignoring Jin Guangyao’s splutters of “It talks?!” “I think?”

“I have chosen to grant you a boon,” the dragon announced.

“…right,” Nie Mingjue said. “If this ‘boon’ is that you’ll take him off my hands, I’m afraid I’m going to have to refuse. He may be trouble, but he’s still my brother.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, indignant. “Don’t be rude. I asked him for this!”

Nie Mingjue frowned at him, unable to resist the feeling of hurt even though he’d already told himself to expect something like this. “…you want to leave?”

“No, da-ge, don’t be ridiculous. I asked him to improve your health!”

Ah.

“Huaisang –” he started to say.

“Don’t you ‘Huaisang’ me!” his little brother shouted. “I know you’re trying to hide it, but it’s getting worse, isn’t it? San-ge told me so! He said I should get ready!”

Nie Mingjue made a mental note to strangle Jin Guangyao, who had no right to say something like that to Nie Huaisang even if maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to emotionally prepare Nie Huaisang for the upcoming bereavement and inheritance he would need to face.

“Anyway, he said to get ready, so I did!”

“You can’t just ask a divine dragon to fix me, Huaisang. That’s not how this works.”

“Uh, it totally does, and I did, and he agreed. So there!”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms and glared. “And what did he want in return?”

“The boon is a reward for your past merit, not a trade for the deeds of the future,” the dragon said, not even slightly hiding how its whiskers were shaking with suppressed laughter. “You have travelled a difficult road, and borne the weight of it well. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“If you were to die, he would undoubtedly petition the creatures of the underworld to return you.”

“Well, fuck,” Nie Mingjue said, having not considered that. “Fine. Whatever. Heal me and I’ll try to keep an eye on my health going forward.”

Maybe more Clarity? He could try to free up his schedule, get in a few more sessions…

“I just give up,” Jin Guangyao said behind him. “I just fucking give up.”

Nie Mingjue, assuming that he was talking about Nie Huaisang’s nonsense, agreed whole-heartedly.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #nie huaisang's mom #my fic #my fics #child development #same headcanons as three times the charm #Anonymous

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fangirl--writes · 3 years

Text

A Dance. Jeremiah Valeska x Reader

AN: Hello! Long Time no see huh? I have started writing again and what better way to start than with the softest boi!

Link to the song the Reader plays: https://youtu.be/pIgZ7gMze7A

Let me know what you think and if there should be a part two??

I was aiming this is right before and during S04/E17

*****************************************************************

It was still.

Soundless suave from the occasional tick of the old hands of the grandfather clock placed elegantly in the corner of the spacious room. Dust was gathering on the table tops; you had been ignoring it for about a week or so.

Sometimes it gets to him-

Sometimes.

Your significant other, Xander Wilde.

Lately he’d been holing himself in his office, or on a conference call with his associates.

The stoic, ginger haired man was busy, you understood this.

Owning your own company was a lot.

Your leg began to bounce softly off the edge of your cushioned chair, tapping against the plush fabric to a rhythm familiar as you turned the next page in your book.

He was busy sure- but he made time for you.

Dinners, take out naturally delivered by his proxy. Movie nights, occasionally spent curled up on the couch that now sat neglected on the other side of the room.

Your favorite however; was the times he’d flip on the record player; the corner of his lip would twinge in the faintest of grins. His knowing grin as you called it, he’d usually flash one as he selected the music for your dance.

Xander’s ocean eyes would drift over to you, peeking from over the top of his glasses as the record would start sending you into a near giggle fit every time.

He’d reach out, sweep you off your feet and gently glide around the room in an endless nonsensical pattern. His hand was on your waist as he led you in an imaginary waltz, pulling you ever so close your noses nearly touched.

He was different then, his face would drop into his rare soft grin and his eyes, you would dare say light up watching you. Your hands crawling up his shoulder and gliding down to hold his to hold him closer.

You’d lay your head on his chest and let the world, the worries, the work go.

It was nothing when you carelessly stepped across the carpeted living room, twirling about without a care in the world.

You took a breath marking the page in your book. You’d reached out to his proxy, and requested a new record, something with a little more…kick.

Well, new was perhaps not the right term but kick, definitely yes.

You rose from your plush chair, stretching your back as you set the book down. Your eyes laid on the solid wooden door that separated you from your beloved.

If layers of dust and neglected dishes piled in the sink wouldn’t make him see you, perhaps this would.

With a careful hand you spun the vinyl. The cover was worn and slightly tattered from use, you inspected it momentarily before pulling out the record. Gently you laid it on the turntable, setting into place before slinking over to the door.

You sucked in a breath as you paused hesitant at the door.

“Xander?” his name tumbled from your mouth as you rasped against the heavy wood.

No response.

Perhaps he didn’t hear you.

Again, you knocked calling his name louder.

Silence met your reserve as you let out a small huff, impatient.

The wheels turned in your head as you stared into empty space. A soft smile twitched on the corner of your lips.

Working is one thing, but ignoring you is another.

With narrowed eyes you strode back to the turntable, with a flick of your wrist you switched it on eyes darting back to the door again, just in case.

Gently you pushed the dial for the volume, going about as high as it could before setting the needle down to put your plan in motion.

The smooth instrumentals sent your body swaying as the music blared through the den.

You shifted the weight in your heels as you twisted about keeping a watchful eye on the door.

The music swept through the room, sending you into a state as your mind focused on the beat.

You put the boom-boom into my heart

You send my soul sky-high

When your lovin' starts

You swept around the furniture spinning and twirling around aimlessly, singing as loudly as you could manage. No longer was the warm reserved space a living room, melting away in your mind’s eye to stage, open and wide just for you. The soft lamp lighting transformed to bright spot lights that strobed the walls.

Jitterbug into my brain

Goes a bang-bang-bang

‘Til my feet do the same

The words fell from your mouth as if on cue, your chest heaving as you shouted out into the invisible crowd.

You didn’t notice as the door to Xander’s study cracked open, his face twisted into a disgruntled sneer as he looked out into the living room, annoyed his work flow was interrupted. The walls were shaking. His concentration broken as the acescent rumbling pounded through the door. His chest tightened as he prepared to scold you for being so loud.

His brows rose into a curious arch as he caught sight of your form twirling about. Your nose wrinkled as your face contorted fixated on the words as you sang blissfully unaware of his presence.

For a split second he contemplated turning the music down, alerting you to his presence and going back to his work, those thoughts were quickly discarded as he found himself rooted in place eyes glued to you.

He leaned against the wooden frame, mouth still agape as his eyes followed your enraptured movements, you were so enthralling, the way your hips swayed and your body danced about, wrapped in your own little world.

You take the grey skies outta’ my waay

You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day

You turned a bright spark into a flame

My beats per minute never been the same

You were singing… about him.

Xander felt his body tense, his dark brows furrowed in thought. Recently, he’d been neglecting you for his most recent project. He’d skipped dinners taking them in his office, or not eating at all, working so late into the night that he’d come out and find you curled up on the couch, the book you were reading hanging loosely in your hand or fallen forgotten on the floor.

Each time his heart panged with regret, yet, he still overlooked you…

After all this time, you still cared about him. He noticed when you set out meals for him lovingly wrapped up with a hand written note or brewed coffee before you fell asleep. His eyes fell to the table and the dust that was layered on its surface… usually the two of you would clean together. An activity that calmed you both, a menial task. But one that was fun when he was with you, the way you’d turn dusting or dishes into a game or just a time to reflect and enjoy.

He admired you, finding your sense of wonder and forever finding joy in something so small endearing.

As if on their own, he felt his body throw its self forward his feet following suit. He reached for your hand; his face flushed as he took hold of your wrist, your eyes opening in realization.

“X..Xander…” his name was soft on your lips as you peered up at him.

Your eyes sending him into a flustered frenzy he moved to spin you, trying to match the rhythm as he tottered with the music.

This wasn’t the type he was used to; the soft melodies of classical were typical in your shared home, gentle waltzing that was slow and simple.

You giggled as he clumsily danced with you, his fingers laced with yours as he awkwardly watched his feet as not to step on you. Your fingertips softly lifted his chin to meet your bright gaze, wordlessly you beckoned him to follow you. He sucked down a needed breath copying your motions, quickly coming in to his own as he spun you in his arms.

His blush faded as he moved with you, eyes settling on your face. He felt his cheeks crack as a faint line of a smile graced his lips. Xander cherished these moments with you, savored them, however; he couldn’t force back the slivers of voices whispering in his ears.

Fraud

If only she knew the real you…

She wouldn’t be dancing cheek to cheek with a monster...

Your head tipped as your lover stared ahead aimlessly his blue eyes faded behind his glasses. His chest steadily falling in shallow breathes as his grip loosened on your hands.

You been through so many of these with him, they’d become more frequent in recent months and you couldn’t figure out why.

Gently you pushed yourself against his chest as you caressed his cheek with the pad of your thumb, gingerly reaching to press your forehead against his.

He shifted under your hand, sweeping his arm to your waist to pull you closer as his eyes closed as he basked in your touch.

“Darling…”

His voice was barely a whisper as he pressed into your hand.

“I… need to

“Sir-

The urgent voice of his proxy pulled his head away from yours. Your eyes flickered to her rigid form in the door way to the labyrinth.

Immediately Xander straightened himself. Your hand falling to the way side as you took a step back.

He took a in cool breath, collecting his thoughts as he adjusted his suit jacket. His calculated eyes turned to you again; a look of faint concern etched on his face.

Xander’s tone shifted.

“Ecco take Y/N to our room.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, rather a command.

His hands reached to squeeze yours in some attempt to soothe you as he stepped closer.

The woman in the door way quickly made a move towards you.

“What’s going on?” Your voice hitched in your throat as you spoke, gaze bouncing confused between the two figures.

“Xander, Please-

You spoke again, voice cracked with worry as Ecco touched your arm nodding to her boss.

His eyes were downcast, his gaze going past you to the floor as his head shook softly. He pulled away swiftly moving past you before you could latch on to him.

“Ecco will keep you safe.”

The young blonde pursed her lips as her grip tightened, her voice was hard as she pulled you from your spot on the floor.

“Come with me miss.”

“Xander Wilde-

Your feet were firm as you rooted yourself down; your voice was harsh as you called after him again.

You will tell me what is going on!”

He paused just before he slipped away from view, your tone causing him to freeze; hesitating only for a mere moment before continuing on his way his eyes front.

You felt weak as he vanished down the slinking hallways of the maze.

Ecco tugged at your arm, now half dragging you along as she led you away from the den. Your eyes glued to the spot where he stopped, hoping he’d come back for you.

The record was forgotten now, music long over. The needle scratching endlessly in the silence of your screams, a faint memory of what was only an hour ago. You were blissfully unaware then, completely and utterly clueless to how your life would burn in the turmoil of what was coming.

tag list: @valeskaduh @seldomabsent @violentvaleska @fuwa-fuwa-yandere

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#jeremiah valeska #prespray jeremiah valeska #prespray jeremiah #jeremiah valeska gotham #Gotham #gotham on FOX #gotham x reader #jeremiah x reader #gotham fanfic #gotham fanfiction #x reader #x reader fanfiction #jeremiah valeska imagine #gotham imagine

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atlas-of-the-universe · 3 years

Text

Home (Sequel to Vision’s Powers)

Estimated Reading Time: 18 minutes

Word Count: 4,912

---

There was actually a lot that could have gone better in the situation you were in. You could have moved your feet a little quicker or maybe steadied your breathing so help your balance; but to your dismay, it proved useless. While Bucky swung unimaginably hard fists at the punching bag a few feet away from you, Natasha took you by surprise once again, knocking you off of your feet and onto the mat with a hardy slap. Your back hit the floor and sent a wave of discomfort through you. You were sweaty, thirsty, and worst of all, you were getting frustrated with the work that you were doing. Once again, you and Natasha had decided to stay late to practice your training. The consistent thwacks to the poor punching bad to the left of you echoed in the room. Bucky was barely breaking a sweat.

When your head hit the mat again, you let out a hardy groan and turned your head upwards to face Natasha. She had a light gleam of sweat around her face, but she still looked stunning. The black t-shirt she was wearing clung to her skin and her grey shorts dangled from her hips. Had it been any other situation, you may have been able to admire how she looked and how effortlessly she landed her punches and attacks. Alas, your line of sight was blurred from your eyelashes catching your sweat. It may have been a signal to stop, but your determination was a force to be reckoned with. You knew that Nat was able to see that, so you also knew she was just pushing as hard as you were willing to go. Even so, a break wouldn’t have killed you.

“Always keep your eyes on your opponent,” Nat stated. “Never look away.” Nat offered you her hand to get up and you took it. As she pulled you off the ground, you grimaced at a new pain in your lower back and groaned standing up. She dusted you off and gave you a once over before nodding. “You okay?”

You nodded and reached around to hold the lower portion of your back. “Yeah, I think I probably pulled something. I’ll be fine, but do you think we can take a but of a break for now? I should probably put some ice on this so I can be better by tomorrow.”

Natasha’s eyes furrowed and she gestured to your back. “Do you want me to take a look?” She asked. She looked concerned.

“If you could, I’d appreciate it,” You said and turned your back to her.

Nat gingerly took ahold of the back of your shirt and lifted it up. It was a little nerve-wracking, feeling her small movements, especially facing away from her. Even so, you had been through the same situation a week prior to this with Vision. Perhaps you were getting more comfortable being the newest Avenger, and the team was finally beginning to see you as an equal. With that thought in mind, you made a note of the fact that Natasha had offered to do this herself; you didn’t even really have to ask. That must show some amount of trust if she’s checking you for injuries. She placed a palm on the small of your back and pushed lightly. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel comfortable. Your breathing hitched and you controlled a sigh.

“Does that hurt?” She asked.

You shook your head and chuckled. “It doesn’t feel great.”

She hummed a bit and placed her hand on your side. It was a shocking feeling at first, and if you were honest, reminded you a little too much of the Vision situation that unfolded last week. She pushed her hand into your side and her fingers curled a bit. Of course you didn’t mean to, but you jumped and let out a surprised noise.

“Sorry,” Natasha said. “Just had to see for myself.”

She must have been talking about your pain, right? You smiled and pulled down your shirt, turning to face her. She had a small smirk on her lips, but she looked more curious than devious. “See my pain?” You joked, trying to feign some sort of innocence in hope that she hadn’t figured out your little weakness. “That’s a bit sadistic of you, Nat.”

You heard Bucky chuckle to the left of you. He never missed a beat with his punches, so you decided to stay about fifteen feet out of range of the wildly swinging punching bag. Nat glanced over at him but redirected her attention to you. “Tony mentioned yesterday at the monthly debrief that you and Vision had worked on an experiment together,” She said. “Remind me to tell Tony that it’s time to include you in those meetings. It’s only fair.”

Your heart dropped. You had known that of anyone, Tony would have been the one to tell. He was just that petty. To be honest, the fear of them finding out had slipped your mind until now. You knew that Vision knew (obviously) and so did Tony, but when you asked Tony not to tell, it would have been hard enough to keep that a secret for him. Tony loved to have his fun at the tower, especially if there wasn’t some world-wide-threatening catastrophe in place. However, with a “weakness” of the sort, you felt as though you couldn’t afford to have the rest of the Avengers know about something as childish as that. Even so, you noticed that Natasha didn’t say anything. There was still a chance that, maybe, by the grace of the Gods, just maybe he hadn’t told them. You made sure not to keep that hope to close to you. It was unlikely.

You chuckled nervously. “Yeah, they needed help,” You said. It was inconspicuous enough.

Nat chuckled and wiped off dust from the sides of your arms before giving you a look-over. Besides your hunched stance because of the discomfort in your back, you looked fine. Sweaty, but fine. “Don’t worry about it too much. Everyone has something that can knock them back a few pegs,” Natasha teased. She winked at you and folded her arms. You felt your heart sink once again. Guess Tony told them after all. “Besides, it’s cute. Actually, if we wanted to use it during your training to help you build up a tolerance to it, we could.”

Of course, Nat was all business and little play. Her and you had a very close bond and you knew that she wasn’t someone to push past a friend’s comfort-zone. You appreciated it but chuckled nonetheless and shook your head. “So, I guess everyone knows at this point?” You asked.

“Yeah,” She said chuckling. “Pretty much.”

Shit.

---

After your training with Natasha, you decided to go back to your room to hopefully shower and relax. Your arms and legs were sticky with dried sweat, and you felt completely exhausted. As much as you loved working with Nat, you knew that she tended to push you to your limit. It was necessary, but it still left you feeling drained.

You threw your bag of equipment to the side of your bed and collapsed into your sheets. You planned to stay there for a few minutes before going to shower; if you spent any more time on your feet, you were sure that you’d probably end up falling in the shower. That is certainly the last thing you needed now that your secret was out to the rest of the team. Fucking Tony. You groaned at the thought and rolled over to face the ceiling of your room with your arm draped over your eyes. Okay, so they know your secret. Now what? You stumbled through possible reactions and encounters that could take place because of it. You didn’t think they’d kick you off the team because of it, but it was still embarrassing and, to you, felt a little unbecoming of a superhero. Were you considered a super-hero at this point? Were superheroes ticklish? You chuckled at the thought and tried to imagine the big and mighty Thor rolling on the floor laughing with glee. It was a little ridiculous, but it made you giggle.

About an hour had passed since you had gotten to your room. You finally managed to get up and take a shower and resumed your original position of lying on your bed with your phone in your hand. To be honest, you had started to get hungry and remembered that you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Probably not the best course of action. You glanced at the time and grimaced: 8:27. It wouldn’t be too late to have dinner, but Natasha always advised you against eating after 8. It always made training less bearable. However, since your blood sugar was getting low, you stood up from your bed, your muscles still exhausted. It took just about everything in you to open your door and walk to the kitchen.

The last thing you had expected was to see Vision and Wanda in the kitchen together, Wanda cooking in a large saucepan. From where you stood, it looked like she was making some sort of fried rice, and a ton of it too. You took a step into the room and smiled at Wanda, who in turned smiled at you. The kitchen was brimming with the smell of fresh cooked onions and garlic and plumes of pillowy steam wafted up from the food. “Hey, (Y/N),” Wanda spoke. “Can you do me a quick favor and hand me that bowl of peppers?” You nodded, but before you were able to take it, she made a small noise which sounded surprised. “Actually, never mind,” She said. She had a smile on her face and with her powers, the small bowl of chopped green peppers floated towards her and finally spilled over into the sauce pan. “I forget I can do that sometimes.”

You chuckled. “Anything that I can help with?”

Vision at the opposite end of the island in the middle of the kitchen smiled and waved at you, “Hello (Y/N).”

“Hey, Vis,” You responded and waved.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Mr. Stark. I did my best to dissuade him from telling anyone. I didn’t expect him to say anything at our conference. I hope you can forgive me.”

You appreciated Vision’s apology. To be fair, it wasn’t even Vision’s fault, it was Tony’s. That being said, you weren’t mad at Tony either, nor were you at Vision. “Don’t worry about it,” You said, waving off his apology. “What are you guys doing in here? It’s a bit late to be making dinner.”

“We can ask you the same question!” A voice that you immediately recognized as Steve said from the couches in the corner of the room. You glanced over to see Steve, Natasha, Tony, Sam, Peter, and Thor pressed up against the couches, the light of the television screen lighting up all of their faces with a dim blue light that was ever shifting. “We were waiting on you,” Steve said, resting his arm on the back of the couch.

You smiled but became suddenly aware of your presence in the room compared to all of them. You felt meek and a bit shy suddenly. You opted to take a stool at the kitchen island rather than try to find a seat for yourself in the middle of everyone. “I’m surprised that Bucky isn’t here. Is he okay?” You asked, looking to Natasha for an answer. Just an hour ago or so, he had been with you both in the training room, knocking the hell out of those poor punching bags. “Should I go try to find him?”

“Don’t worry about it,” A voice said from behind you while a hand placed itself on your head, messing your hair around. You spun on the stool to see Bucky’s smiling face. “Glad to know that someone missed me,” He said. You felt good for a bit, knowing that you made him feel good. His black leather jacket stretched around his body and creaked with all of his movements. Maybe he had gone out for a drive or to go to the bar; it had become his main place to be since finding his own apartment. He put his hand down and looked at the rest of the group.

You turned away from Bucky to get a look at everyone else. They were all in casual clothing, a sight you normally would not have ever gotten to see. Under usual circumstances, everyone would be dressed in their “super-hero” attire, consisting of flashy colors, hard metal shields and weapons, and especially form fitted so everything went where it needed to and they wouldn’t have to worry about anything but the fighting. Seeing everyone in pajamas, sweats, and t-shirts certainly was not the first thing you expected to see. Even so, it felt homely and welcoming to see everyone relaxed. There were several bright red (courtesy of Tony, of course) leather couches and a dark wood table set in front of the three seater, and a few recliners in the same color sat in a large “U” shape around the flat screen television. You recalled the first day you arrived at the facility:

You had arrived hand in hand with Natasha who had been giving you a guide around the tower. Your past was not something that you were ready to discuss with anyone, all they had known is that you were found during a series of raids in Russia. Natasha had been assigned to work undercover for a terrorist organization. You were grateful, but to be honest, you weren’t necessarily ready to deal with your past either. Your raggedy clothes had been stripped away and replaced with a clean and ironed out t-shirt that Steve had offered you. You were in no position to say no, especially considering that your clothes were just about ready to fall off. After the tour and getting your first shower in weeks, Natasha had lead you to the room you were in now: the living room. You both sat there for hours, watching Disney movies and bad rom-coms while eating take-out. Natasha had been the first one there for you, and even helped you begin your training. She was the person you trusted the most, and every ounce of you was grateful.

Currently, Natasha was sat on the left side of the couch furthest from the television, Steve on the right side. On the other couch furthest to the back wall, Peter sat on the ottoman in front of Tony and Sam, while Thor sat comfortable in his own recliner. There were also three more recliners available, but you made a point in your head to save those for Bucky, Vision, and Wanda. But…where would you sit? I mean, you thought, I don’t mind sitting on the floor. The floor was completely clean, of course. It wouldn’t make for that much of an issue. However, scanning over the room again, you noticed a wide gap between Steve and Natasha. Natasha glanced at you and smiled, patting the open space with her hand. She gestured to come over to her with her head, and you gladly did so, making sure to be quiet and polite about sitting down. Honestly, it didn’t seem like anyone was paying much attention to the movie, whatever it was. Everyone was either chatting or on their phone. Maybe they had done this…for you? You had never seen them gather like this, and Steve did mention that they had been waiting on you. Even with that thought in mind, you pushed it off and stared straight at the television. There was a subtle fear in you over making eye contact with the others, so you kept your gaze away from the others faces.

Peter was too lost in a one-sided conversation with Thor to notice your presence in the room. You watched how his hands flailed when he was excitedly speaking and how he barely ever broke eye contact except to think. It was admirable, especially for someone his age in comparison to everyone around you. He seemed to be speaking about this new experiment that Vision, Tony and him had been working on, but something about it seemed a little too familiar. Something about his words made your ears perk up, until…

“Yeah!” Peter exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “I thought it would have been painful, it just tickled.”

You froze and looked at Tony, who was smirking. He shifted his gaze to you and bumped his eyebrows. In reaction, you immediately cast your gaze down to your knees and felt your face heat. You guessed that it had been possible that Tony did need more “test-subjects” rather than just yourself…but did he need to be so obvious about it?

“Oh, uh, that reminds me,” Tony said. Peter instantly hushed. “(Y/N), you worked on the experiment with us. Did you enjoy it?”

The fact that no one paid any attention to Peter’s indirect admission into being ticklish made you a little bit more comfortable, but it was still embarrassing. Your eyes darted to everyone in the room as they looked at you with soft smiles. You nodded and let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” you said. “It really wasn’t painful. Ah, pretty much just what Peter said.”

“Oh?” Tony said, jerking his head up. “Did it feel weird or anything?” Tony shook his head with each word he spoke with pursed lips.

You knew exactly what he was trying to do. You went through the list of scenarios that were in your head, mostly possible outcomes of different responses, but some were images of you being scorned, excluded, or mocked because of this little weakness of yours. You cleared your throat and nodded with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, same as Peter, really,” you said. Tony looked at your to further elaborate on your answer. “Just tickled.”

Next to Tony, Sam let out a rather loud groan and threw his head back onto the back of the couch. A pit immediately grew in your stomach; these were the kinds of reactions that you had been hoping to avoid. “Tony, leave the kid alone. She doesn’t need you being a creep on top of everything else.”

Tony put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Me?” He asked overzealously. “Come on, this place could use a little excitement.”

“She’s had enough excitement to last her a lifetime,” Natasha chimed in from next to you. You smiled at her, but she stared directly at Tony. “Plus, her skills in combat are getting impressive. I imagine she’d be able to take you on.”

Once again, the pit in your stomach grew and your heart rate spiked. There was no rhyme or reason why you would want to take on any one of these people in a fight. Natasha was the only person you had sparred with in the past few days, and thus, the only person you felt comfortable even beating in a fight. Your mouth spoke before your head was able to catch up, simply because of the panic. “No, no,” You said, your hands up in defense. “I don’t think I-”

“Sure you can!” Thor chimed in with a grin from his recliner (that he looked way too large for). “We’ve trained and battled warriors even smaller than you across the nine realms. Some of them put up a very good fight.” It was supposed to be a compliment, so you smiled at him in thanks.

“What do you think, (Y/N)?” Steve asked. You looked over to Bucky and watched his eyes dart between you, Steve, and Natasha. It was normal for Bucky, Steve, Nat and you to have lengthy conversations in the training room but truth be told, you had never participated in a larger group discussion with them. The feeling in the room felt devious, but you kept your cool and did you best to steel your face the way that Natasha had taught you. “Think you’d be able to take us in a fight?”

You smiled and gathered up the courage to be apart of the conversation, rather than the shy feelings that you displayed. “I think I’d rather fight next to you guys than against you.”

“Good answer,” Bucky said with a smile and patted your shoulder.

“Kiss ass,” Tony remarked. You chuckled but decided to ultimately ignore it.

Once the energy of the room had died down, you returned your gaze to see exactly what movie had been put on for you. Maybe if you had had time in the last few years to sit down and watch television, even just the commercials, you would have had an idea of what it could be. A large gymnasium filled to the brim with teenage girls was on screen, the camera focusing on a particular one who seemed nervous to be there. There wasn’t much point in asking what you were watching; no one was really paying much attention anyways. Peter went back to excitedly explaining his latest science project and how a test that he had coupling the project was coming up in a few days. He was confident, but a little on edge. He mentioned how studying would probably help him---

Your thoughts were cut off by a quick jab to both of your ribs, and your body flung backwards into the couch to guard yourself. A little giggle escaped your lips and your elbows flew to your sides. You looked behind you to see Bucky with a rather devious smirk as he leaned onto the headrest of the couch. You didn’t even notice him stand up, let alone get behind you.

“Had to test the waters,” he said, his smile not leaving his face. “Oops.”

“Lot worse than we thought, huh?” Steve said and smiled at you. You looked up at Bucky who was hovering directly over your face, barely even a foot away. Your stomach fluttered with nerves and you turned away to make sure he wouldn’t be able to see the blush on your cheeks. Before you could utter out a response to this not-so-sudden attack, you felt fingers on your side give a light squeeze. You squeaked, pushed further into the couch, and fell into a short burst of giggling before opening your eyes to see Steve’s hand inches from your torso. “Guess so!” He exclaimed, laughing.

There wasn’t really much time to be able to compose yourself between Bucky’s little attach and Steve’s. Soft giggles already flowed from your lips and your eyebrows furrowed up into a worried look. Your body smushed itself into the couch as far as you could possibly go and pinned your arms to your sides to prevent anymore attacks. With your hands in front of you, you attempted to steady your giggles, however, your words were interlaced with the subtle shake of mirth. “Wait, wait, wait, this isn’t a great idea—”

Peter turned to face you from his ottoman and laughed, giving your knee a squeeze which didn’t do anything to help your cause. If anything, it just made you jolt and your giggles get louder. He smiled at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m just glad I’m not on the receiving end of this,” He stated.

“Don’t get your hopes up, boy genius,” Tony said, standing up from his seat. “Just because we have a new victim doesn’t mean you don’t exist anymore.”

Peters face flushed but he chuckled. “Trust me,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

Between your nerves from having three people tickle you, it took you a second to register what Peter had just conversed about. Had something like this happened before? To be fair, it was easier to imagine Peter getting tickle-attacked here than anyone else. After all, he was still a bit childish. Granted, so were you so… that didn’t necessarily leave you in a good spot.

It was interesting though; when you had first heard of the Avengers, you saw them on television when you were younger. Watching them fight side by side against the Chitauri was inspiring, but this was years later. Of course, you never would have guessed that you would have been part of the team yourself. Let alone, you never would have guessed that the Avengers were actually quite playful.

The confusion slipped your mind as Bucky fluttered his fingers on the side of your neck, which automatically renewed your giggles. You scrunched up your shoulders and grabbed at his wrists, which ultimately did nothing. It was also a very strange sort of tickle, considering that one hand, or arm rather, was completely made of metal. He had cold (literally) and calculated movements, and his fingers fluttered up to the back of your ears. You squealed and held your hands up to your ears in a less than desperate attempt to stop the attack. Had it been another situation, a noise coming like that from an Avenger would have been embarrassing, but your mind was too busy focusing on the feeling.

“Bucky!” You shouted, dissolving further into your laughter, and sinking further in the couch.

Not slow enough for your mind to register what was happening, a new squeezing tickle sparked to life on your left side and you hunched over. You let out a small involuntary scream and hunched your body towards the left. You realized that Steve had taken it upon himself to help Bucky out, and really, you shouldn’t be surprised. The zapping sort of feeling in your sides and the light fluttering on your neck were almost too much to bear, and your laughter hitched. You debated on taking your hands away from your ears and neck, but that would only help Bucky. However, if you didn’t, then that would just give Steve more of an opening. Instead, your body took control, and slid down even further until your head was placed a few inches on Steve’s lap. You curled in on yourself as Steve moved his hand to your right side, which was now exposed. Bucky’s fingers switched to what he could get at in your position, which happened to be your ribs. You rolled onto your back in a feeble attempt to stop their fingers, but it only made them switch to your stomach. Once again, your laughter hitched. Deep belly laughs mixed with squeals echoed over the sound of the television. There were few thoughts bouncing around your head as you were tickled to pieces. Don’t kick Nat. Can everyone hear the movie over me? PLEASE don’t kick Nat. How long have they been going? How long are they planning this? Was anyone paying attention anymore? Guard yourself. If this was an enemy, you’d be screwed. Oh god, please don’t let Natasha use this in training. This is embarrassing. Who’s that laughing? Why is this…kind of fun?

“Guys, PLEHEHEASE!” You begged. You could hear a few scattered chuckles over your own laughter, but it was hard to focus on who they were coming from.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, stopping his movements and resting his palm on your forehead. Bucky stopped as well. “I think she’s had enough for one day.”

You were grateful for the air that flooded its way into your lungs. You were panting, but scattered giggles escaped from your lips. To be honest, you didn’t care much about the fact that your head was resting on one of the founding members of the Avengers. If anything, he was the one who decided to tickle you, so he had to deal with the consequences that came with it. When you opened your eyes, the team around you were in giggle fits themselves. Bucky was still peering over at you from behind the couch, his arms hoisting him up on the back rest. He had a wide smile on his face. Scattered conversations here and there let you know that most of the attention was off of you at this point, which you were kind of grateful for. You pushed yourself off of Steve’s lap and playfully pushed Bucky’s head out of the way so you could sit up. He laughed and ruffled your hair, before finding his own recliner and sitting down. Steve let out a laugh and looked you up and down.

“You look like you just got out of training,” he said.

Grateful for the playfulness of his tone, you laughed at what he said. “I feel like it too.”

Next to you, Natasha poked you in the ribs. Your defenses automatically went up again before she placed her hand on your shoulder. It was her way of telling you that you could relax now. At least, that’s what she did during training. “Welcome to the real Avengers.”

“Real?” Sam said from his seat. “If I remember correctly, we’ve saved the world too many times to count. That’s real.”

“Lighten up, hotshot,” Tony spoke. “We can still be the Avengers without having a stick in our ass. Maybe you need the America dream team over there to teach you how to do that too.”

“You touch me and I’ll kill you,” Sam said with a smile on his face.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this place was a lot more familial than you thought. And maybe, just maybe, you could find this place becoming a permanent home for you.

#Avengers x reader #Ticklish!Reader #tickle fic #avengers tickle fic #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #vision #sam wilson #tony stark #wanda maximoff

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

A Decent Workout (NSFW Pierre Gasly)

Masterlist

Completely and utterly self indulgent fic inspired by how damn GOOD Pierre looked over preseason testing. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit

The buzzing of an alarm woke you not long after the sun had risen over the deserts of Bahrain. You groan, rolling over and smacking the solid shoulder of your boyfriend, startling him awake as well. “Turn it off, Pierre.”

He does as he’s told, then clumsily tucks an arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Voice rough with sleep, he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” You echo, nuzzling into his warmth. You curl your frigid hands against his chest, utilizing your personal space heater to the fullest extent. “How long until testing?”

Pierre rests his cheek on your head. His hand traces lazy circles on your shoulder blade like you have all the time in the world. Your eyes slide shut again, sleep beaconing on the horizon. “About an hour.”

You sigh, suddenly awake. “Not much time for lounging around then."

Eagerness mingled with disappointment in his reply. “First day of the new season.”

Pierre's excitement had been palpable the entire week. Buzzing about like a honeybee on the first day of spring, he had prattled on about the specs of the AT02, what changes he was most excited to see, and his predictions on how the car would compare to others in the paddock. You offered your thoughts when prompted, but were just as happy to listen to his happy ramblings and share his enthusiasm.

It had been his idea to arrive in Bahrain early, allowing the two of you a few precious, uninterrupted days with each other. From now on, his weekends would be packed. No more last minute trips to ski resorts or visits to Charles in Monaco. Starting today, his primary focus became Formula 1. He would travel around the world to compete in a total of 23 grand prix this year, and you would follow faithfully to cheer him on.

You lay tangled in each other for a few minutes, trading sweet kisses. “I have to go,” Pierre murmurs against your lips. You tighten your grip around his bare middle, determined to make him stay a little longer.

“You’ll be gone for so long though,” You whine, pouting. The last few days had spoiled you. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Eleven whole hours without a beautiful Frenchman to keep me company.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, you can watch the entire session from the comfort of our suite.”

“It’s not the same as being in the garage.” Damn the personnel restrictions the FIA had imposed for the upcoming season. You wouldn’t be allowed in the paddock for a single race. You understood and respected the decision, but it bothered you that you couldn't be there when he inevitably made it on the podium this year.

“I know.” Pierre tapped your arm in silent request. Reluctantly, you release your death grip and allow him to slide out of bed. He turns his back to you and stretches, granting you a moment to drink him in. He had packed on a significant amount of muscle during the offseason, filling out in all the right places.

Deciding there was no use trying to go back to sleep, you rise and join him at the dresser. He rummages through it, finally settling on a plain tshirt. As usual, you can’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly slides the fabric over his head. How did he make an everyday act so inherently sexy?

Catching your stare, he fights the smile playing on his soft lips. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” You say simply. Going up on your tiptoes, you press a meaningful kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He holds out his pinkie to you. You smile, wrapping your own tightly around it. “Promise.” He allows you one more passionate kiss before he slips out the door to make his way to the track.

At least one perk of staying in a suite was the fully stocked kitchenette. You grabbed an apple before brewing a cup of strong coffee, taking in the view off the balcony while it percolated. You could just see the track from here, something you knew Pierre had specifically requested. Although it was early, heat already rippled from the pavement. Hopefully his Alpha Tauri would stay cool and not throw a tantrum in the intense temperatures.

After a quick shower, you threw on one of Pierre’s extra shirts and let the comforting scent envelop you. Settling into bed with your coffee in hand and a laptop humming on your legs, you wait for the testing livestream to begin. In the meantime you scroll through your phone, reading the comments on the pictures of Pierre arriving at the circuit.

His carefully selected outfit had caused quite a stir and honestly, you understood why. A loose blue shirt, white skinny jeans and sunglasses. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been impressive in any way, but on him… He somehow always managed to deliver exactly what his fans - and most importantly you - craved.

And when the livestream started and he stepped out on the track with his white and navy Alpha Tauri suit half undone, the moisture-wicking underlayer practically painted on… You damn near lost it.

In the months since last season, you’d forgotten how mouthwateringly attractive he was in a race suit. The underlayer left nothing to the imagination, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. The famous Bahrain heat didn't help your sanity either, the sweat soaked fabric turning slightly translucent in places. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as it flips between cameras, desperately praying for another glimpse of your frenchman.

How were you supposed to wait nine more agonizing hours for him to return?

As if picking up on your neediness, you didn't see another shot of Pierre for twenty minutes. The camera cut to the Alpha Tauri garage, where Pierre’s car waited in the pit lane. The closeup of him geared up sitting in his Alpha waiting patiently made you slap a hand over your mouth. Those eyes. You knew the little quirk of his brow he threw at the camera was meant solely for you; a way to unravel you when he wasn’t physically there.

You silently cursed him for how well it worked.

Moments later, the tire blankets are peeled off and his car is lowered to the ground. Gasly was one of the first drivers to head out onto the track, giving him plenty of clean air to lay down fast laps. He completes seventeen laps in the first hour, and by lap twenty he holds the second fastest time, less than a second behind Verstappen.

You try to focus on the precision and skill Pierre is displaying, but your mind keeps wandering back to the image of him standing on the track in his race suit. The consuming need to strip him out of it is incredibly distracting. It doesn’t help that your social media feeds are flooded with images of it either, offering you no reprieve.

By the end of the second hour, Pierre edges past Verstappen to take the fastest lap and go purple. He nearly holds onto it at the end of the session, just a few tenths slower than Ricciardo and Verstappen. It doesn’t matter; pride and love swell in your chest when he finally pulls back into the garage, his excitement evident before he even pulls his helmet off. The Alpha mechanics share his excitement, the camera showing them congratulating him before cutting to post session interviews.

As much as you tried, nothing could make you focus on Max or Daniel’s interviews. You spun the ring on your pinkie impatiently, waiting for Pierre to make an appearance. Ages later, he finally took a seat at the press conference. He took no mercy on you. Again dressed in crisp white and navy that accented his sun kissed skin, the ring twin to yours back on his finger…

“Fuck me,” You groaned, throwing your head back. Even with half his face covered, he was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He carried himself with an easy confidence that no one else on the grid could match, on top of the world and determined to make it everyone else’s problem.

The entire time he spoke, you dreamed of running your tongue up the column of his neck, right over his Adam’s apple. You could taste the salt settled in the hollow of his collarbone, hear his breath catching as you worshipped him.

Only half an hour until he came home to you.

The interview finally ended and you snapped your laptop shut, tossing it to the chair at the bedside. The second he came through that door, you’d pounce on him. Ten hours of straight torture, being forced to endure watching other women on social media drool over him and being unable to congratulate him on his amazing morning session at the garage.

And fuck, would you congratulate him.

Minutes dragged by as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, the endless pictures of Pierre not helping your desperation. You started at the sound of a key fitting in a lock. Throwing your phone aside, you scrambled from the bed, launching yourself at the door as it opened.

“Hey baby-”

You cut him off with a feral kiss, your lust boiling over. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his bag and kicking the door shut behind him. He caught you when you jumped, broad hands cupping your ass as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I love whoever designed Alpha’s suit,” You mumble between the open-mouthed kisses you pepper along his stubbled jaw. “You look fucking amazing in white.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull, exposing the thick column of his neck. Your tongue darts across his skin, savoring the softness. He groans, his grip shifting to dig his fingers into your thighs.

You don’t pause when he lays you on the bed, mouth continuing its needy exploration down to his shoulder. He settles over you, his solid body a familiar and welcome weight against you.

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything once you stepped out onto the track,” You tell him, hands slipping under his polo. “Do you know how many women were talking about you today?”

“There’s only one that I care about,” He murmurs, pulling back to strip off his shirt. You take advantage of the power shift to wriggle out from under him. “Where are you-”

“Lay down,” You say, quiet but firm. The corner of his mouth quirks up but he obeys, taking his sweet time. You don’t mind; watching his shoulders ripple as he settles back against the downy pillows.

“Miss me much?” He taunts, the deep baritone resonating with some primal part within you and sending a shiver down your spine. “Usually our roles are flipped.”

You bracket a bare leg on either side of his with a wicked grin. “Do you really think I’d let you set the pace when you tortured me all day?” You bite your lip and let your gaze wander over the hard planes of his pecs, down his sculpted abdomen, finally coming to rest at the line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You don’t miss the way his attention dips to your thighs, your center barely covered by the hem of his band tee you wore.

Pierre grins, folding an arm behind his head. “Do your worst.”

Your shirt joined his on the floor, piercing blue eyes eating up your newly exposed skin. You sink forward, eye to eye with him. You tip your head to the side, letting your hair slide forward to tickle his shoulder as you lean in to whisper, “I will.”

Lips, teeth and tongue float over his skin, leaving small, easily hidden marks in your wake. You let your hands slide across his abdomen as your mouth makes its way down his sternum, pausing to delight in his rapidly beating heart.

Fingers brushing the waistband of his riot-inducing white jeans, you press a tender kiss just below his belly button. "Why do you always insist on wearing white?"

"D-drives you wild," He gasps out, stumbling over the simple words. You hum against his skin in response, cock twitching against your shoulder. One of his hands flies back to grip the headboard, veins in his forearm bulging.

Only when his eyes slide shut in anticipation do you finally undo the button, unzipping his fly agonizingly slow. Your name is a breathless plea tumbling from him as you ghost your fingers over his length. He lifts his hips just enough to allow you to slide his jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. The tip of your finger runs along the underside of his shaft, causing him to groan. The headboard creaks under his crushing grip as he tries to stop himself from shattering at your barest touch.

Flicking your tongue over the tip, you spread the bead of precum that had gathered there. Slipping into French, Pierre swears viciously, his free hand tangling in your hair. He may know how to make you squirm from across the city, but you knew how to return the favor tenfold.

"You gonna win for me in two weeks, my love?" You purr, curling your fingers around his cock.

"I'll w-win every race if it means you'll fuck me," He replies immediately, wholly submitted to the promise of your touch.

You hum noncommittally before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the head. His hips buck, but you're already reacting in anticipation of that very movement. He groans in frustration when your mouth leaves him. A welcome change from your normal games, when it was his head between your thighs, his teasing tongue flicking across your center, your hips rocking in frustration. You enjoy his frustration for a few breaths, lazily drawing circles on his hip like he had done to you that morning.

"I think that could be arranged."

Bracing your hands on his chest, you position yourself so your slick folds brush against his cock. Arching your back, you grind your hips against him, your own chest heaving in time with his. The hours of anticipation had left you dripping wet, evidence of the effect he had on you. You silently praised yourself for your restraint; you wanted to drag out his need and tease him like he had done to you all damn day.

"Mon amour," he murmurs, and you damn near lose your mind. Two words in his native tongue, dripping with honeyed softness but spoken with such rawness, it sets your soul on fire.

You reach a hand back, guiding him into as you sink down. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the thickness of him, and you have to give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness.

Sweat beads on his golden brow as you begin to ride him in earnest, his hips rolling to meet yours. Panting, you dig your nails into his forearm, leaving angry red crescents behind. No matter how many times you fucked, it always felt like the first. The perfect fit never ceased to amaze you, the angle of your hips putting delicious pressure on that magic spot inside you with every thrust.

"Pierre," You breathe, head falling back. His own thrusts become more frenzied, the wet sound of skin on skin sending a bolt of ecstasy through you.

His breathy moan of your name guides you over the edge into oblivion, your orgasm slamming white hot over you. Your desperate movements begin to slow, Pierre stilling beneath you as you struggle to regain your senses. Limbs shaking, you roll over, allowing yourself a moment to steady your breathing before turning back to him.

Pierre jerks when you take him in your mouth once more, tasting yourself on his cock. Hollowing your cheeks while taking as much of him as you can, you wrap your hand around the rest of him.

"Fuck," He mumbles, over and over as he thrusts his hips into your mouth a handful of times before his release finds him. His hips jerk as he cums, your tongue coaxing every last drop from him. You let him finish before swallowing the salty liquid, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Sighing blissfully, you collapse onto the pillow next to your beloved. His arm hooks around you, still sticky with sweat but you don't care.

“I would say that counts as my workout for today,” He jokes, voice shaking in the aftermath. You laugh, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Tomorrow, I choose your outfit."

Pierre’s laugh rumbles through you, setting your toes curling. "As long as it makes you attack me when I get home, I'll wear anything you ask me to."

#my writing #pierre gasly #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf

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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

Text

12. Draco's clever boyfriend

Prompt used - pushing hair behind others ear | Draco is flustered by Harry's affection|

When Draco became friends with harry after the war, harry had changed a lot, the days where they used to call each other prat had long gone, their conversations had become so civilized that if you asked a stranger if they seemed like they used to be arch nemesis once, they’d laugh at your face.

However with Draco discovering his sexual orientation it wasn’t easy being around harry, since harry was Draco's gay awakening. He realized it after staying around harry how much he was interested in men. And it definitely didn’t help when harry was simply very affectionate in behavior, maybe it came from not having enough affection growing up or it was the aftermath of the war, Draco didn’t know and as much as he appreciated it, he sometimes hated harry for showing affection in ways that caused Draco's heart to flutter.

“ if it annoys you so much just tell him to stop doing that” pansy suggested him one day when they went out for tea

“ but that would just crush his heart “ draco replied calmly sipping his tea

“ no it won’t draco, he’s harry, he’s the most understanding man in the world” pansy stated as if it was the most obvious thing

" but that doesn't mean it won't hurt him that I don't want him doing affectionate thing's to me and then him understanding would be a problem " Draco sighed.

" honey, if it bothers you then just explain it to him. I am sure it's a little thing, he won't be that hurt if you explain him properly " pansy said sweetly.

" no pansy you don't understand-"

" what do I not understand Draco, you're clearly bothered by him showing affection that way and I know it's a bit awkward for you. Just tell him maybe tone down a bit " pansy furrowed her eyebrows in confusion of why Draco was Rolling his eyes

" i- I nevermind, I'll tell him to tone down a bit" Draco cut back

" no what is it, tell me ?" She leaned forward on the table, pushing her tea aside " this is clearly troubling you and I want to help you Draco "

" it's not troubling me pansy. I- If I tell him to tone down I know he'll completely back off " Draco explained

" and that is a problem because ?" Pansy asked raising her eyebrows.

Looking forward while exhaling Draco confessed " i- because I think then he'll do those things to Someone else and -"

" and you don't want that ?" Pansy asked smirking as she leaned back in understanding the troubling part

" yeah " Draco exhaled.

" so you want him to tone down or maybe stop being annoying but if Harry does it someone else, it would bother " Draco nodded " honey you've got some serious problems " pansy chuckled.

" thanks pansy for this enlightening information that I haven't figured out myself" Draco sarcastically replied. Laughing pansy shook her head " you like him, Draco, that's what the problem is. I must say I'm not surprised "

" I'm not in love with him " Draco defend

" I never said you're in love, but now I think you might be " pansy smirked

" fuck you pans" Draco rolled his eyes. For the rest of the conversation pansy kept teasing Draco about it.

As it turned out Draco was in fact jealous of Harry showing the affection the way he showed him to someone else. He only discovered it in a party when Harry was standing talking to some guy,Colin from work. He had not only bought the guy a drink but also slightly kept touching his arms every once in awhile.

" you'll crush the glass Draco" Pansy Smugly said when she noticed Draco. It wasn't a big deal but the way Harry kept touching the guy, stirred something in him. He tried hard to avoid the fact that Harry had been touching the guy but failed miserably because when he came back to talk to them, Draco Only interested him in one word answers which obviously was weird for harry.

Draco assumed that it was only matter of one day but when he walked in on Harry with some guy from work again talking while almost holding hands, like they had just shook hands, Draco couldn't resist the roll of eyes. He had gone back to his office without even talking to harry and when asked upon why he came, he Only told him he forgot.

His jealousy started to tone down when one day while harry and Draco were out shopping for Ron's birthday when Harry noticed something.

" you for your ears pierced ?" He asked with an amused smile. Smiling back Draco nodded. He didn't thought Harry would've actually wanted to take a good look on it until he realised he did.

" looks nice " Harry complimented pushing Draco's hair behind his ear. He almost stopped looking for a moment when Harry did it, Harry had been so close to his ears that he could almost feel his breath down on his neck.

" you have nice ears by the way " Harry complimented

" thanks " Draco awkwardly replied and then Harry moved away resuming to look for gifts.

It was soon Harry developed a habit of pushing Draco's attractively slightly Long hair behind his ear each time he got a chance like he did it while he was reading on the couch in Harry's place while the rest of his friends were invested in conversation. Harry had done it so absent Mindedly that Draco couldn't even smile. Once he did while they were out on a lunch outside office, Draco had almost blushed , while harry smiled fondly at him. He also did it while harry and Draco were standing next to each other for a meeting in the conference hall, Draco assumed Harry wasn't paying much attention to meeting but it was Only for a miniscule of second that Harry had taken to do it and resumed listening to the meeting attentively. And the most recent time was at Hermione's party for work while they were standing next to each other admiring the event when Harry had did it purposely and Draco could only smile. He enjoyed Harry doing this so much that he purposely covered his ears with his hair so that Harry would push it behind and harry did.

It was all fun and games until he noticed Harry doing the same with Ginny. It was as if someone had taken Draco's heart out of his heart, squeezed it and put it back inside. He hated this feeling, until now he didn't believe that Pansy was right or he didn't wanted to but now when he saw Harry holding Ginny by her arms, looking in her eyes while talking to her, leaning in towards her every once in a while, pushing her hair out of her face, Draco was beyond pissed that whenever Harry tried to approach him for the rest of the event, he simply walked away. When Ron's birthday party ended, Draco had simply wanted to go quietly but Harry had unfortunately caught up.

" hey listen, I left my wand at your place when I stopped by. Mind if I tag along ?" Apparently Draco couldn't ignore anymore so he simply nodded and they both side along apparated to Draco's place.

" it was a nice party right " Harry spoke while Draco was taking out keys from his pocket.

" yeah" Draco gave a short reply and opened the door, allowing Harry inside.

Frowning Harry walked in with Draco.

" it must be around the kitchen table " Draco said as he immediately walked into the kitchen and looked for Harry's wand.

" found it ?" Harry asked while absentmindedly looking for his wand in the living room.

" not here " Draco replied as he even checked the drawers. Deciding that the wand wasn't in the kitchen he joined Harry in the living room.

" my god, why didn't I thought of it. We could just accio it " Draco suddenly said. Harry stared at Draco dim witted

" o- oh yeah or we can look for it just like this. I mean I might've even left at Ron's place-"

" accio wand " and the wand flew out of from Harry's jacket into Draco's hands.

Holding the wand in his hands, Draco raised an eyebrow asking for an explanation.

" i- I didn't know it was there " Harry stupidly lied

" I'm not Ron Harry " Draco rolled his eyes

" okay fine. I had to talk to you, you kept ignoring me during the party " Harry threw his hands in the air

" I was not " Draco lied, defending himself.

" you're lying " Harry raised his eyebrows as if it so obvious.

" and how do you know that ?" Draco crossed his arms

" because your voice gets high when you're lying " Harry pressed his lips in a thin line trying hard not to break a smile.

Narrowing his eyes Draco defied " no it does not "

" Draco, I know when you lie. It does get pitchy " harry insisted

" fine even if I am lying why do you care, I'm sure you were the time of your life at the party " Draco rolled his eyes throwing Harry's wand at harry and walking into the kitchen just to walk away from Harry.

" why do I care ? What do you mean by that ? You're my friend, I wanted to talk to you but you kept dodging me off like a ball "

" alright, fine, you wanted to talk then talk " Draco slammed his hands on the table

" no I wanted to talk at the party-"

" then pretend we're still there. Just talk Harry, what you so desperately wanted to say that you had to lie to come here" Draco mocked

" wha- I'm not desperate to talk to you -"

" If you don't have anything to talk about Harry then leave " Draco pointed his hand at the door

" no I won't. I won't leave without you giving me an explanation about why you're being such a prat ?" Harry gave him an annoyed look

" look it's already late, if you really have to talk about something important then do otherwise I'm going to bed and you're welcome to do anything you like " Draco rolled his eyes backing off a little

" don't dodge off the question. It's not just today, you've recently been dodging me off whenever we're around people, what is wrong ?" Harry asked leaning over the kitchen table on the opposite end of Draco.

" If you really don't have anything to talk about that is important -"

" it is important to me Draco. I want to talk about this. I need to -"

" you want to talk about it then listen, I'm mad at you" Draco slammed his hands on the table again closing the distance between their faces

" what have I even done to make you mad at me ?" Harry asked, his British accent sounding much more British than it had ever sounded.

" i- nevermind. Can we not-"

" no we have to. I need Answers " Harry huffed

" look I'm tired-"

" so am I, so do us both a Favour and tell me why you're actually mad at me ?" Harry bobbed his head forward to make it more impactful

" i- I'm going to bed, you can leave whenever you want " Draco sighed as he started walking towards the bedroom but harry wasn't done and jerked Draco's wrist to look at him.

" you're not going anywhere without having this conversation " Harry was now more annoyed that before. And as much as it should've annoyed draco, it Only upset him that he was annoying him.

" watch me " Draco raised his eyebrows and wiggled out of his grip but it was just one second before Harry pulled him back again and slammed him against the wall, closing the distance between them.

" answer me Draco " Harry was furious at Draco's attempt to dodge him off again

" why do you even care, so I'm mad at you. I'll get over it " Draco furrowed his eyebrows at his Persistent behaviour.

" Because you're my friend and I don't want anything I do to Sabotage this thing " Harry answered

" well you already have Harry so congratulations " Draco huffed trying to creat some distance between them but harry wouldn't budge

" then at least tell me what did I do? You know I can't stand this " Harry desperately said finally creating some distance between them.

" why? Why can't you stand it ? It's not like we're best friends or something..I'm sure you have other friend you can cozy upto and they'll treat you just the same " Draco rolled his eyes taking the opportunity to walk into the living room.

" cozy upto ? What are you even on about ?" Harry asked turning Draco around once again to face him. Caught in the act Draco couldn't defend himself anymore, in his anger he had slipped the only crucial information he should not be slipped.

Sighing Draco ran his hands through his hair and harry immediately pushing his hair behind his ear " this " Draco suddenly said

" what?"

" this, you pushing my hair behind my ear! Giving me a coaster when I don't even ask for it , changing the songs on the radio while I'm reading for me, sending me memos before lunch to go outside, leaning on me, resting your head on my shoulder, touching my arms, noticing me, complimenting me. Everything you do for me or I thought you did but you do this for Everyone, call me stupid, Merlin I am stupid thinking I'm the only one who you did this for but I'm not. You do this for everyone, so there you go. Thought I was special but clearly I was stupid, idiot to even think that Harry potter would ever be slightly interested in me " Draco finally breathed out after the rant. Harry looked at him awestruck As if he hadn't really expected Draco to actually tell the truth.

" so you're mad because you think I do this with everyone !" Harry asked quizzically

" Merlin I sound stupid. Let's just pretend this conversation never happen-nmph " Draco was cut off by Harry pressing his lips on his. Surprised Draco took a step back for a moment to see any signs of hesitation or reluctance but when received with none, he kissed harry back. His hands automatically pulling Harry closer by his waist. Harry losing his hands in Draco's hair, pulling his head down a bit to close any distance left. Draco hadn't ever not thought about not kissing harry and now when he was finally kissing him, he poured all the desperation and desire in that sweet moment of passion. The more they spent time kissing the more they realised how much they had been missing out on and figured they could do this if it only hadn't been for breathing.

When they separated to take a breath, flustered Harry said " never knew you could be the jealous one but I guess it worked "

" you planned this ?" Draco asked shocked

" some times yeah. I had to know if you felt the same" Harry mumbled

" you're a bastard " Draco chuckled and kissed him again .

_____________________

" so that clever bastard knew what he was doing?" Pansy asked with a smug Look on her face

" I have to say my boyfriend is a clever man" Draco chuckled.

" what are you guys talking about ?" Harry suddenly joined, wrapping his hands around Draco's waist from behind and kissing his shoulder

" your Ill structured plan to get me to kiss you " Draco smirked as he leaned back into Harry.

" it worked " harry shrugged

" and I think it worked for much more " Harry Whispered in Draco's ear. His eyes widened at the Meaning of Harry's word

" at this point I pretend I don't hear Harry whispering Draco something about sex, suggest you get used to it too pans " Ron said as he passed by then eating his Sandwich to pansy who was standing their slightly embarrassed.

And they all laughed. everyone loved Harry and Draco together, he'll they'd been Betting that they would get together. It took time but it did. At the end it worked out for everyone's best.

Requests open

Day 11- hottest couple in Britain | Day 13-love is a choice

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ct7567329 · 3 years

Text

Pass: Rex x Reader

A loud sigh escaped your lips as a holopad was slapped down next to you.

"Here are the list of all the troopers that need their annual evaluation. Make sure you can get them all done within the next thirty rotations," General Shaak Ti informed you, urgency in her voice.

You hummed in response and picked up the holopad, browsing through the list. All ARC Troopers were reevaluated annually to ensure they were still the best fit for the position. The list could easily be knocked in half if the 501st managed to make their way to Kamino anytime soon. The mid-rim sieges would make it difficult but you had to get it done.

Begging Anakin to let the 501st have a few days off on Kamino wasn't too hard to accomplish. He complied to it faster than you expected but you weren't going to complain. There was plenty to do before the reevaluations. Testing new weapons, giving new battle combinations and evaluation their ability to adapt were just a few things that needed to be done. And you had to figure out how to do it.

The only thing you enjoyed about the task was catching up with the troopers. Throughout your time as a special ranks trainer at Kamino, you've developed many friendships with the soldiers, and unfortunately, you never really got to see them again once they were shipped off.

Your heart jumped a little when you saw the number 7567 on the list. You recognized the number as a Captain named Rex. He was one of the hardest working soldiers you've worked with. Right before he shipped out, he buzz cut his hair and dyed it blonde, making him the only soldier in that captain training program to not have the standard hair cut with brown hair. You admired his willingness to be unique.

Roughly six rotations later, the 501st finally arrived on Kamino, giving the majority of the men a much needed break. You figured Anakin would be in the mess hall so you made your way there to meet up with your long time-no see friend.

It was never difficult to find him. Anakin was always the center of attention. According to his Padawan, he enjoyed telling elaborated stories about before the war to the clones. You approached him from behind as he rambled on about his encounter with a bounty hunter when he was only fourteen.

"Wow, let me guess, you used your lightsaber without holding it. You used the force to levitate it?" you butted it, chuckling slightly.

Anakin turned around and threw his hand up, "(Y/N)! Always a pleasure to see you. Let me introduce you to my new men!"

You smirked and shook your head as Anakin began introducing them. It appeared as if Rex wasn't present.

"And this here is Hard-"

"Case," you laughed, "You forget. I've worked with every solider that steps foot off this planet."

"Great to see you again, General!" Hardcase salutes, "And may I add, your beauty has multiplied since."

You rolled your eyes, "Not even the brutality of the war can take away his charm. But, he takes after his general I suppose."

The men snickered as Anakin gave you a glare.

"Anyway, I sent you a list of men that need their evaluation. I know you're here for a while but of you can let them know to get it done as soon as possible, that would be great. I have thousands of troopers to test."

"You wish is my command," Anakin playfully bowed.

You exhaled and began to exit, "I'll catch up with you all soon!" you called out.

As you exited the mess hall, you began to reminisce on the old days of being a Padawan and filling around with Anakin. The two of you always managed to pull off shenanigans that usually resulted in a conference by the council, but you wouldn't change a thing. You turned the corner to head to your quarters when you knocked into a solider, causing him to drop his helmet.

"Oh my gosh I am so sorry...Rex?" you gasped, once you realized who it was.

Rex's jaw dropped, "General. You remember my name?"

"I remember every soldier's name," you grinned, using the force to pick up his helmet, "especially the special ones." You handed him his helmet.

"Is that a compliment, sir?" he asked, slowly taking his helmet from you.

You bit your lower lip, "Perhaps. How has the war been for the 501st?"

He let out a heavy sigh, "There's always some uphill battles, but I think we are all just glad to be back on Kamino. Even if it's just for seven rotations."

"Me too!" you nodded. Trying to hide your reddening cheeks in his presence was nearly impossible. They say war drains you, but Rex was even more handsome than you remembered.

"Sir? Aren't you always on Kamino though?" he asked, making a confused face.

"Oh no. I mean I'm glad that the 501st is back. You guys are the finest soldiers to come out of my training. My favorite to be around, if I may add."

Rex's entire demeanor when from solider talking to general to a look of more compassion, "You mean that?"

"Lying isn't the Jedi way. And even if I wasn't a Jedi, who would lie to someone like you? Don't sell yourself short, Rex. Don't think just because you're 'just a clone' you're any less than anyone else. And-"

You stopped for a moment, realizing what words. were actually coming out of your mouth.

"And.." you drew out the n sound, "Don't forget to pick a time slot for your evaluation! Can't wait to see how much you've grown on the battlefield!" you rushed to say, before taking off to your quarters at a quick pace.

As you hastily walked away, Rex turned to look at you. He wasn't quite sure what to make of what you said. As far as he could remember, you were always kind to him, compassionate with your words, but never that caliber. Though he would have loved to think of it as a flirtatious encounter, he knew that would be something he could only dream of and continued to make his way to the mess.

"Are you knifing stupid!?" you yelled to yourself as you entered your quarters. In that moment you knew you messed up. If there was anything you were taught as a youngling, is was that admitting your attachments is a tell tale sign you are completely attached. You sighed and flung your body onto your bed, hoping a nap would clear your mind.

Meanwhile, Rex ate his grub hastily. This wasn't common for him at all. Especially since the men of the 501st were used to actually conversing with Rex during meals.

"What's got you eating like a bat out of hell?" Fives asked, turning his head to face his vod.

"Just a little busy," Rex mumbled, stuffing the remaining food in his mouth.

Fives raised an eyebrow, "With what? We have six whole rotations for evaluations, and our evaluator is General (Y/LN). You've said before you two were friendly during your training. I'm sure she'll go easy on you!"

Rex didn't respond.

"And last we heard, you have no interning on becoming Commander Rex," Jesse butted in, "That takes less work off your shoulders. Some of us are looking for promotions."

"You really think you're getting promoted to arc trooper," Hardcase laughed, getting an eye roll in response.

Rex finally got up, "I saw General (Y/LN) in the hall and she asked if I wanted to assist with ARC promotions," he lied, "Just thinking about whether or not I'm fit for that responsibility."

He walked away, wanting nothing more than to find Anakin's droid, R2.

"Told you you should have been kissing Rex's shebs!" Hardcase hummed at Jesse as Rex exited the mess hall.

At last he was alone with his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about your conversation with him. As much as his heart told him it was flirtatious, his mind told him other wise. It didn't take Rex long to find R2.

"Hey R2!" he called, the droid rolling towards him and greeting him with a series of beeps.

"I need to know if I have access to know where General (Y/LN)'s quarters are located."

R2 buzzed, telling Rex the location.

"She gave me access?" he replied softly, "strange. Thank you."

Rex made his way through the seemingly never ending halls. He figured the Jedi quarters had to be hidden deep in the halls of Kamino. After what felt like forever he reached the door to your quarters and knocked.

A knock startled you from your nap. In a hurry, you straightened up your bed and laid out your meditation mat, sitting in a meditative state.

"Enter," you called, your eyes shut. As the person entered the room, your eyes were still shut. By reaching out to the Force, you knew it was Rex.

"Captain, you seem a bit, conflicted," you announced opening your eyes to look at him, "take a seat."

The door shut behind him and he sat down across from you on your meditation mat.

"You do know that Captains are not permitted to supervise ARC selection, correct?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

His lips parted, "Sir?"

You smirked, "Jedi thing. I know what you told your brothers." You stopped for a moment and saw his face drop, "but I would have done the same."

"Huh?"

"What's bothering you, Rex?"

"Uh, nothing. Just nervous about evaluations."

"You think you can lie to a Jedi," you rolled your eyes, cocking your head at him again.

Rex pressed his lips together and looked down at your meditation mat, "you know why I'm here don't you?"

"Perhaps," you shrugged, inching your body towards his.

He swallowed at your closeness to him and he whispered, "so what was it?"

You gave him a shy smile and leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. For being at war for so long, his skin was surprisingly soft.

"That should answer your question, Rex."

Rex's cheeks were flushed, a tan outline of your lips stained on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Rex," you sighed, moving back to your spot on the meditation mat.

"For? You easily just made me the luckiest man in the galaxy. I've wanted this moment for a long time. Figured I would be foolish to actually dream of it." Rex's smile remained on his face, "If I don't do my evaluation, do I just get to stay on Kamino until I take it?"

You chuckled, "I get this is your home, but trust me, you'd rather be out on the battlefield."

"I can't get cheek kisses on the battlefield," he smirked contagiously.

The two of you looked at each other in an awkward silence.

Rex finally broke it, "Don't get my wrong, your training is flawless, but unfortunately I wasn't given romance lessons, so I'm going to give this my best try," he paused for a moment, "would you be interested in a late night snack together in the mess tonight?"

"As long as you're interested in late night holovids in my quarters afterwards," you blushed back.

Rex confidently beamed, "It's a date." He reached out for your hand and softly kissed the back of it, "Now as much as I would love to stay, I have an evaluation to practice for."

You looked up at him as he left the room, "A little birdie told me you'll pass."

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

where he's been

I did it!

I wrote the happy ending/second part, in which he makes the deliberate choice to show her and there is healing and there is joy and there is love <3

Everyone say thank you to the anon on tumblr that asked me about this when I did the WIP game, because without them we wouldn't have gotten here...

But we did! I finished a multi-chapter thing!

Trigger Warnings: scars, intrusive thoughts, trauma, references to the events of the Foyet and Doyle arcs, mild sexual content, surgery, medical things (Route 66 references mostly)

read on ao3!

previously: part one

Part Two: He Shows

The first time Aaron shows Emily his scars, she smiles.

He shows her deliberately. Because he wants to. Because he loves her, and he loves himself. Because he trusts her. He wants to be vulnerable with her in a way he could only ever be with Haley. He wants to do this, for her, and for himself. He knows they are not beautiful, that she may flinch at the sight of his humanity as everyone seems to do, but he needs her to see them. Properly. In a way that is right.

His body feels more like his with every day that passes now. He will never forget the pain his fathers emotions brought, or how he felt completely paralysed and pinned in place by George Foyet and his knife. His mind may never recover. But he's been making progress, and despite the emergency surgery, his body is recovering and he's proud of it. He's proud of himself.

And he's proud of Emily too. When she was in Paris, and he was too consumed by grief to do much more than look through the files they had on Doyle, he would feel a sense of pride in her, and all she had overcome. In all she had accomplished. In all she had survived, and continued to survive. But most of all, he was proud that she never let Doyle win.

Even when he tried to scar her body forever as a punishment for everything she had done, even though she had been right, she had always been right, she didn't let him win. She wore that scar with the same pride everyone on the team did. Because those scars made them human. They reminded him they weren't untouchable, but they were stronger than anyone gave them credit for.

It took a while for her to get there. There were still days where she would scrub the area till the skin went red, as though enough force would remove it. There were days where she would think of how far plastic surgery had come, and wonder- if she was given the chance- whether she would keep the marks. But there are other days, where she doesn't even hesitate before wearing shorts. Before wearing something with a lower neckline.

It's different for Aaron. Not for any real reason, he's just a different person. The scars that cover his torso, the scars that match the killer of his first love, of the first woman to teach him that when the poets said love hurt, they did not mean like the pain that came with smashed glass or belt marks, they meant a pleasant hurt, were almost impossible for him to accept.

The ones on his back became easier with time. Because they healed, and they faded to silver lines. He can still feel it, and can still tell when someone has touched him there. He no longer flinches, as the touches placed there are warm and gentle. Neutral. And he was a child, who deserved to be safe. A child, who shouldn't have known how to fight.

The ones left by Foyet were harder to come to terms with. He cannot feel there properly. The few times Emily has touched him- over his shirt, only ever over his shirt- he has either winced at a phantom twinge of pain or stared at her blankly because the area was numb.

He used to feel like he should've fought back. Properly. His gun was on the table, he could've grabbed it. He knows he could've because he dreams of that night more times than he doesn't. Being exhausted wasn't an excuse. Elle told him it was, but he remembers how she was- so unforgiving of herself. He wouldn't extend himself the courtesy she hadn't.

Foyet’s scars were just different. He hated having the same marks as a killer. He hated how, every time he walked into his apartment, he would remember. Vividly. The moments from his childhood still haunted him, but some of them were starting to blur together. But the feeling of the knife plunging in- he would always remember each and every single one.

The stitches tore during his thirty-four days off. He had sent everyone away, not wanting them to see just how much he needed them, because he needed to convince himself they still believed in his invincibility. The irony of his situation, especially as Derek held his hand from the bed to the wheelchair, was not lost on him. But then he regained his independence.

Then the damage done almost became irreversible. Collapsing in the conference room had been terrifying for everyone, but waking up had been the hardest thing he'd ever made himself do. During one of his brief moments of consciousness, he realised it was the damage Foyet had done when he scarred him that had led him to the abyss he'd visited once, and only once before.

When he finally gained the courage to look in the mirror, he broke. The scars were never going to heal properly, he'd realised that right before the pain became overwhelming. Foyet's hadn't. No matter how careful he may have been the second time round, the scars were never going to fade. They were still red, just less angry.

Seeing them after the surgery, in the same apartment, with the same mirror, sent him back in time. They were too red. They were too deep, too much and he couldn't look at himself, couldn't go through the pain of realising just how strong one man's hold on him was. Not for a second time.

Emily found him like that. She didn't walk in, knowing he would never recover if she did. But when he emerged thirty minutes later, wearing Haley's college hoodie that had always fit him perfectly, she took his hand. She kissed his forehead, and played with his hair as they watched one of Jack's cartoons. A part of her felt guilty for not saying something, but he felt more grateful for that than she would ever know.

They had sat on the couch until they fell asleep then. They were sitting on the couch when she touched the biggest scar, causing him to wince and run out, leading to her seeing them for the first time.

Because sometimes, the world is cyclical, they're sitting on the couch when he shows her.

This time, Jack is at a sleepover. There had been a gala, and he had looked so happy as he accepted his reward. Shocked beyond belief when Strauss announced her retirement. But so incredibly happy when she named him her successor, especially when he realised there was no reason he had to become a paper-pusher. There was no reason for him to change.

He looks so perfect, cheeks glowing and genuine smile overpowering everything else about him that she can't help but kiss him the moment they get in the car. If they seemed like love-struck teenagers to everyone that drove past then so be it. He looked handsome in his suit, but happiness suited him even more and she wouldn't let anyone dampen it.

So they're sitting on the couch, and his hands are running up and down her arms like he still can't quite believe she wants him. Her dress matches his tie- of course it does, because Aaron pouted and stared at her till she told him the colour- and she looks so beautiful that all he wants to do is watch her. She doesn't even have to do anything, so long as he can admire her.

Just like before, she touches his torso. Before he looks down, she pulls her hand away like he burnt it. A silent apology starts to pass her lips, but he kisses it away before it gets the chance to escape. Tonight, there will be no apologies. There will be no sadness.

Only them and the love they fought so hard for.

"Aaron," she says. "What's going on?"

He cannot tell her, his heart suddenly racing. He knows that he's ready to do this. He knows he wants to. He knows that there will be no shame or judgement if he suddenly stops halfway through. He knows all of that, but the traitorous, self-sabotaging part of his brain wants nothing more than to throw her out.

Before she sees his humanity. Before she gets too close and gets hurt. Before she decides that he is too damaged, and too messy, and too ruined for her to love.

But there is a piece of his brain that is stronger than that. A piece that knows she has seen his humanity every moment since she met him, all those years ago. That knows she has already gotten too close, but with her eyes wide open to all the danger that could come. She loves him. She loves him knowingly and deliberately.

He isn't ruined. He never has been. And yes, he is messy, but everyone is. She knows him. Perhaps better than he does. So she won't leave. Not this time.

He's not said anything for a while, and she's starting to worry. Then he takes her hand, as he has done a thousand times before, and the weight of it grounds her. She trusts him. Whatever he is going to do, he will do because they both want it.

"Close your eyes. Please? I'm not going to touch you, but I can't- if I say it, I'll back out," he whispers.

She realises suddenly, randomly, that the lights are still on. "Okay," she whispers, and complies. Talking feels too loud.

"You can open them now," he says, a few minutes later.

She does. And for a moment, she has no idea what's happening.

And then she sees. Properly. He's taken his shirt off, and his scars are completely visible to her. All of them. She's never loved him more. For trusting her enough to show her who he is. For loving her enough to be so vulnerable without fear. For being so brave that she no longer feels afraid of anything.

"My darling," she says, because Aaron feels too casual. But she has no words.

He takes her hand again, and presses it against his chest. She can feel his heart racing underneath it.

"This belongs to you. Whatever is left of it, however long it may beat for, it all belongs to you. Because I love you. And I trust you. So break it if you must, but carry the pieces with you because they are yours, now and forever."

Emily can't help the tears that start pooling in her eyes. She understands where this is coming from. He thought that this would be the thing that made her hesitate. One day, he will realise that this is the thing that convinced her that it was right. She had known for a while that she was going to spend whatever portion of her life that he wanted her for with him, but now she was so sure that the thought didn't fill her with dread.

There are no words in a language she speaks to tell him how much this means to her. So she settles for the ones that will do. "It won't be the pieces that I carry. It will be the whole thing. For as long as you will allow me to. I love you, Aaron Hotchner. I love you, I love you, I love you." She smiles as she says the words, not once moving away from him.

He smiles, as he always does, before he kisses her. He smiles through the kiss.

It is perfect. It is beautiful. Standing there, with him so vulnerable and her so irreversibly in love, it is hard to believe that the place they are creating their happy ending, is the same space where he was once stabbed in. The place where she set off that chain of events not so long ago.

They go to sleep, in the same bed, wrapped in each others' warmth. It feels perfect. The photo of Haley they keep on the dresser seems to glow even brighter, like she too is so proud of who they have become.

The first time Aaron shows Emily his scars, she smiles.

And Aaron does too. Because now he's shown her. Properly. And he saw her face, full of love and admiration and pride in how far he has come. She's seen them. But it was his decision. And that, more than anything, heals the final piece of his soul that Foyet destroyed.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #tw intrusive thoughts #tw scars #tw trauma #tw surgery #cw medical

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

Blighted

For my precious Sunshine, @5-secondsofcolor's birthday!! Which is technically now, because it is 1 AM on the 20th of May and I am a mad woman. Love you and I hope you have an amazing day, when you see this of course.

Here is your fic, FBI/Behavior Analyst!Calum. Female OC.

Ivy says she's cursed after taking the same career path that took her father's life. Calum's new on the team, a liaison and media specialist, but he's looking to get his toes wet.

AKA your regular old jaded pessimist veteran and bright eyed rookie buddy cop story. Please enjoy!

CW: In depth descriptions of death/crime scenes. Depictions of violence, gore, and blood.

Enjoy my masterlist (on a haitus)

Search for more writing in the h writes tag

________________________

The whiteboard never leaves. It glows behind her closed eyelids. When staring down at the neck of a bottle, she sees it floating just as the bottom of her drink. She’s cursed. But she knew that the moment she tried out for the academy. The second the thought floated across her mind, she would be doomed just like her father. Ivy tried her best to reroute herself--she got into the arts, was first chair flute in her highschool’s orchestra. She was president of the Homecoming committees her junior and senior year, and worked during the summers at her church's camp.

And yet when she went into school for her degree, she gravitated towards psychology and criminal justice. She saw her mother’s fear. The closer it came to graduation and the more the two of them talked about what she would do after graduating, the more the thought lingered, I want to get into the Bureau like Dad. But she couldn’t utter that. She couldn’t say those words without tears welling up in her mother’s eyes.

Ivy suspected her mother always knew about the desires. Ivy didn’t remember all the nights clearly, but sometimes she’d peek out her bedroom door and see the glow of the light downstairs. Ivy followed it, side stepping the creaky fourth step from the top and from between the banister’s she’d find her dad sitting at the dining room table. The kitchen light glowed from behind him and his tie would barely hang on around his neck.

“Boo,” he’d say quietly, knowing the slight shuffle of Ivy’s feet.

“How’d you know I was there, Daddy?” she’d ask, carrying herself the rest of the way down the stairs and make her way through the living room to climb into his lap.

“I can hear your feet above me,” he’d respond, pointing above them.

And they’d spend an hour, sitting at the dining room table. Ivy asked about her dad’s latest trip. He only ever told her when she was young that they were helping save people, putting bad people away. Ivy wonders if this is where it started. If this was where her father casted the spell, leaving Ivy somehow starry eyed about what it really was he did. Ivy would always look at this job with a little bit of that hope that her younger self had, and she’d always be fucked to never be able to walk away from this line of work.

It would kill her--much like it had killed her dad. But unlike him, she’d see the bullet spiral out of the barrel. Her dad had her and her mother to get back too. It wasn’t a weakness. Ivy admired her father for sticking with his dreams and also making the hard calls to make sure his family knew he cared too. But the need to decide would always be a slight hindrance, would always be the key to living or dying in this line of work.

All that’s left of her father, besides the memories and a few of his old t-shirts that got remade into pillows, is the whiteboard she keeps at her desk. There’s a whiteboard for the entire team to use of course. But this whiteboard is the one that her father used in his office. The one where he made his notes, scribbles. The one she’d write notes to him in the bottom left corner that never disappeared until she wanted to replace the note with something new.

“Thomas, look alive, and enjoy.” The manilla folder hits her desk with a quiet thwack. Ivy blinks from the whiteboard up to her senior officer. Kennedy carries on, dropping folders on every desk and each one of them stands without needing any further prompting.

Kennedy’s been in the field for years. It was all over his face with the deep frown lines. His brow seemed permanently furrowed, as if he questioned every waking second. Ivy liked to tease he worried even about sleep. But no one could sink a decade and a half into this line of work and not come out on the other side with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“And where’s this new guy?” Kennedy asks, glancing over the office.

Ivy looks up from her copy of the file. She heard rumors of someone else coming by the office, assisting them occasionally on cases. But those rumors floated around weeks ago, long enough that she chalked it up to just that--rumors. It doesn’t shock her though. Things start at rumors often, and sometimes they come to fruition and sometimes they don’t. Ivy follows Kennedy’s eyeline and doesn’t spy any new faces.

“Want me to keep an eye out for any lost souls?” Ivy offers, glancing back up to Kennedy.

“Nah, I need your eyes on this one. Head up to the conference room and I’ll be there once he shows up.”

With a nod, Ivy closes the file. She swipes the whiteboard from her desk with a couple markers and heads up to the conference room. The rest of the team sat flipping through their files too, Jenkins sitting right near the front but moved down one seat. They’re not new, having been around for a couple years. But Ivy can tell their type--getting in chummy with the boss, trying too hard. They’re a good addition, but Ivy’s waiting for the day they take a hunch and it doesn’t lead to the results they want. A loss will show their true colors, how well they can handle being wrong sometimes. No one on the team is perfect, they’re all hedging bets. Ivy’s taken her lumps of hunches being made too late, or the wrong bets placed. They’re not often. No one likes them. But they happen.

Diaz, Russell, and Burke and scattered throughout the rest of the table. The three of them have been there longer than Ivy. But they all accepted her with open arms. Diaz and Burke were more muscular. They had the brains to match, but they came up the pipeline from their local PD departments and aren’t afraid to get into a tussle. More often than not, Ivy winds up pulling Burke from fights than she’d care to admit. Diaz’s much too big for Ivy to attempt physically restraining, so she referee’s those fights that he gets into.

Russell’s their man behind the screen. He was good at getting through the internet loops, figuring out how to sort databases for the information they need without so much red tape and delay. He preferred to stay behind the lines, but could handle a tussle. Ivy doesn’t count herself as the brains. But her gut had some sort of true north needle that, more often than not, was right. She could see patterns faster than most, could sniff the air after someone and assess how much she could and wanted to trust. Kennedy consulted her often. Whenever she felt like she had something, he’d hush the crowd for her to formulate the full thought. Kennedy didn’t always agree with her assessment, but had to listen to it. He needed to listen to it.

“Nope,” Russell huffs, shutting the folder. “Fucking hell. Kennedy told me it was rough, but I didn’t--I didn’t think it was this rough.”

Ivy settles in next to him sliding him a marker. She draws roughly a tic-tac-toe board. “It not getting easier for you is a good sign.”

Russell makes his first move, the marker squeaking just a little. Ivy follows up with hers. She knows if she makes it too obvious, too easy, Russell will forfeit the game. So she tries to play along, like she’s vying to win.

Russell places his second X though his hands shake just a hair. “Yeah, but compared to you guys, I feel like if someone took a gnarly enough shit it would make me queasy.”

“A bad enough shit could do that to anyone,” Diaz pipes in, his own folder still open but his forearms pressed down over the photographs. Russell’s been around the block, definitely seem some rough things, but has always had a softer view of the world. Still wants it to be good despite all the bad he’s seen.

Ivy places down her second O, noticing the pretty obvious wide open spot she left Russell but looks up to Diaz. “I think I heard through the grapevine you were on the losing end of one of those shits yesterday,” she teases.

Diaz reclines into his seat, his chest bouncing with his laughter. “All because of your cooking Thomas.”

“My cooking is not that bad,” she defends, the cap of her black marker pointing him out.

Burke snickers too with a shake of her head and opens her mouth to speak but the room fills with the voice of Kennedy. “Aren’t y’all old enough to be left alone not to talk about shit for five minutes?”

“Never too old to talk shit, sir,” Diaz returns, his smile lifting only half his face up. He’s a charmer, whenever they go out to bars out manage to get a moment’s peace not hounded by work, he never seems to be at a lack of folks coming up to him. He’s already got a girl, but with the hair that cascades always neatly placed and the dazzling bright grin, anyone could fall for it.

Kennedy huffs his laughter quickly and then shuffles deeper into the room. “We’ve got a new friend, so let’s play nice.” As Kennedy makes head way, Ivy notices the man behind him. He’s tall. The black dress pants and black dress shirt don’t hide everything beneath them, but Ivy’s not too shocked to see people who work in the field like that with some sort of muscular physique. There’s something about his face though--something about the way his brown eyes dart around the room and his smile never shows any teeth that something familiar tugs at her.

Kennedy goes around the table introducing Ivy first, then going to Russell, coming down to Jenkins, Diaz, and then Burke. Each one of them lifts a hand or nods at their name. “This here is Hood, Calum Hood. Joining us as a new liaison.”

Ivy’s no good with faces sometimes. But names she hardly ever forgets. Hood, she met him once a few years back at a lecture. Not that she did them often, but Kennedy got more face time. But he made sure to spread the love between the team. He asked her to tag along. Calum must’ve been in the crowd, had to be, and had to have asked a question because Kennedy told her to remember that name. And she had.

Kennedy continues on with something. Ivy suspects he’s warning Diaz to keep any hazy tactics to a minimum considering how much of a mess they’re walking into. Ivy nods once more at him, and then faces back to the whiteboard, the tap on her arm prompting her too. I’m a scaredy cat sure, but not dumb, it reads in Russell’s handwriting. She spies his X in the bottom corner, opposite of where he would’ve won.

“Pull up a seat, Hood. We’ll have more time for pleasantries once we’re up in the air. But I want everyone to at least be familiar with this case.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is smooth, Ivy notes. A soft volume and accented but smoother than she would’ve pegged.

The team breaks down the file, recapping mostly what they’ve already read but Kennedy’s old fashioned this way, needing to make sure people have done their homework. It’s an extra step than completely necessary, but having the quick meetings has always made this team feel more like a second family. There’s always a common goal in mind for them and they’re always reminded of it. No matter what happens out in the field, they all want the same thing.

“We soar in forty-five minutes. So let’s hope wheels can turn in the air. Hood, I need you to keep in mind the local PD’s been taking a lot of heat for the last couple of months. So we don’t want to take too much star power, we’re only here to assist and whatever we can do to put the local’s good grace back onto that PD we need to.”

Not quite what she expected, though with his demeanor and looks, he’s sure to work a crowd or newsroom well. She’s sure he’ll be on the ground with them too.

“Understood,” he replies and with that, all of them push away from the table. “Agent Thomas,” Hood says, reaching out almost as if to touch her elbow but never actually do it. He continues to speak once she looks over to him. “I-I don’t know if you remember. But we met at a lecture a couple years back that you held with Agent Kennedy. And I just wanted to say that I’m excited to be here, working with you all.”

“Thomas, here, does not respond well to flattery. Trust, we’ve all tried,” Diaz laughs, clamping down on Hood’s shoulders.

“I appreciate it,” Ivy responds. “Glad to have a fresh mind on the team.” There’s no smile, at least, not one she’d give Russell, Burke, Diaz, or even Jenkins. But Calum watches her give another curt nod with a quick quirk of her lips, and then leave, stacking her file on top of the whiteboard.

“Don’t sweat it. She’s in work mode,” Diaz assures. “We get off the clock and she’s a hoot. But on the clock, it’s strictly business. I will warn you, Thomas will burn you.”

Calum’s left, watching Diaz, Burke, and Russell leave. Jenkins turned tail the second Kennedy got done. It’s not that he wants to mix business with pleasure. He’s just been studying Thomas, attending as many lectures that she gives as he can. She didn’t always go directly by the book, there was something about her method that used the evidence, used science, but also had some sort of intuition. Thomas just knew things and when attempting to quantify it, she didn’t always have the words for it. Calum just wants to see that in action, understand what it is about knowing that isn’t always present in the facts.

The plane ride is comfortable. Plenty of seats even though they squeak just a little. Calum watches Thomas sit and everyone seems to sit spread out from there, keeping her at some sort of center. “Mobile. They don’t mind the hustle,” Ivy starts.

“Crossing state lines is risky, especially after the escalation,” Burke interjects.

“But wouldn’t that be a reason for it? If all the crimes look different, enough crossing state lines might make the unsub feel confident, like they’re getting away with something.” The entire plane turns to look at him. Calum freezes for a moment. He knows better. He knows so much better than that. Fuck.

“Valid. But we shouldn’t settle. Travel might be part of their job. We’ve got a good cluster to possibly estimate a home base. Get comfortable, perfect the craft here and then spread out. But why come back? Local PD's hadn't quite connected anything, until the return. More families, found exactly the same. Even when they cross state lines, all points wind back to a specific geographical location,” Burke returns.

“Hood, you got the inside of the media. What does it look like?”

Thirty minutes of his forty five was making sure that he could at least nail down this run through. And it’s easy, even with the squeak of Ivy’s dry erase marker, to run down the media reports, what information has been released and what hasn’t been released. He makes note of what the team doesn’t want to get out and what they do want to keep available to the public.

All the while, Calum watches the way Ivy writes over her board, the squeak over and over on specific strokes. He wonders for a moment what she’s writing, what it is that she needs to keep written track of. But he doesn’t get a chance to fully flesh out that thought before he finishes his spill and Diaz cuts in. They’re fast, not quite settling on any one theory. More like compiling the possibilities, not wanting to eliminate things but ranking how plausible they all could be until the pieces click.

The first thing after the flight lands, they head for the precinct. The lead investigator greets them, and there’s no pause. They’re pulled into the frenzy, looking at boards. Calum tries to keep his head in the game, but he is watching Ivy. The way she settles in her chair, her marker always moving. He’s not even sure it’s words anymore, just a constant circular movement. Sure he’s here to help regulate media outlets, and he can do that in his sleep if local PD and media follow his instructions to a T.

But he needs an in, to show he’s more than just the new meat on the chopping block. He’s worth something. “Is the last crime scene still available?” Calum asks.

The room turns to him, well most of the room does. Ivy keeps circling, but she speaks. “The plan’s to go in ten minutes. Whatever’s got you preoccupied, leave it in your go bag.”

Kennedy chuckles, tapping at her foot. “Give the kid a break. He was buried in news coverage the second we got into the door. But Hood, shake the cobwebs. This isn’t your small town’s rodeo anymore. If you need to be caught up, ask. But if you’re going to be in the room, keep those ears open.”

A task easier said than done, but he nods, resting his elbows on his knees. God, they’re going to think I’m an idiot. The room goes back to its normal buzz, but Calum keeps his head buried in his hands.

“Talk to me. What are your theories?”

Calum lifts his head. Ivy’s closer now. He can see the black marks on her hand from where she’s held it up against the swirls and lettering. “Clearly I’m barely treading water here.”

“First day nerves, but you can shake it. You wanted to see the crime scene. Why?”

“Why there? We have indications that the unsub spent a lot of time there, even with the interruptions they've seemed to caused. They're still meticulous. I want to follow their steps. What did they do first? And why? What do they need from a crime scene before it’s done?”

“Good. But what else?”

“What-what do you mean what else?”

She smiles, much different than the first one. It shows her teeth, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. “What else?”

He goes quiet, reclines back into the seat and closes his eyes for a second. What else? There’s a lot else. “I mean, the next obvious thing is why these victims? But besides that, how comfortable is this person? Do they feel a need to be rushed, fast, get-in-get-out or can they blend in? I have a hunch they can blend in. Maybe people even trust them. They are perfectly ordinary and in essence, they have to be in order for the fantasy to work. Detection means they have to get sloppy. Being sloppy’s not an option, so blending in it is.”

“Bring that to the crime scene.” Something taps his knee and Calum cracks open his eyes to see her, standing. Her whiteboard still gently rests against his knee. She’s not looking at him though. Her gaze is locked onto the board next to him, displaying the crime scene photos.

“What’s your secret?” Calum asks. He’s almost positive she didn’t hear him due to Ivy’s lack of prompt response. But then she turns to him.

“Secret?”

“Thomas, Hood, you comin’ or what?” Kennedy calls. “I can deal without Diaz, but I need you, Thomas.”

“I’ll remember that,” Diaz laughs as they walk through the glass doors of the precinct.

It’s not Calum’s first time at a crime scene. But the second Calum steps through the door a chill runs through him. The carpet and walls are still bloodstained. Everything about it the scene just feels wrong, makes Calum want to immediately step back out of the house.

“You feel that?” Burke asks. She continues on deeper into the house, slipping into her gloves.

“This is when Thomas says she’s too Black for all this and gets the hell out of dodge,” Diaz barks. He squats down to the blood on the carpet. Ivy’s already deep into the house, seemingly guided by a force unwillingly to let her go. She doesn’t respond verbally, just lifts her hand, the middle finger extended out in the general direction of Diaz.

And Calum is standing near the threshold of the door, trying to pinpoint why it feels so cold in a house in Texas in the middle of the summer. His hands feel sticky even inside the latex gloves. His first step is shaky but he stops next to Diaz. “There are drag marks from the blood,” Calum notes. “This isn’t where they were killed, just staged.”

“The unsub staged all the victims here in the living room. We know that. Pictures show the parents at the ends of the sofa, children in the middle, dog on the floor.”

“But there’s blood on the walls. We know the Dad’s 6’1,” Calum returns.

“And we don’t have forced entry. So, whoever is wreaking havoc isn’t threatening enough for someone not to answer the door.”

Calum turns to the sofa where the family was found. “It’s picturesque, poetic even. You’ve got a whole family right here, at your will. They knock on the door. It’s dusk, sun’s just starting to set.”

“They have a ruse that gets them inside. We already know they have to blend in with the community. So what can you use to get into a house? Who gets into a house without a problem?”

Diaz goes into the kitchen where in the case file it mentions when the family was finally discovered food was still out on the table. “The window doesn’t have to last long. But it has to be just right. All three families were either eating dinner, or just done with dinner. So why dinner time?” Diaz turns from the stove to face Calum.

“It’s when everyone is together. They’re not just going after a family, but very specific family dynamics. Which means both parents need to present, two kids seems to be a minimum.”

“What’s the average dinner time you’d say? With this job, I eat whenever I fucking can. But before this, excluding people like us, when is the average person sitting down to eat?”

“6, 6:30 I’d guess. That’s assuming the average person is working a job that calls it at 5PM. A town like this is either on the verge of collapsing or being bought out. So I assume a lot of people are traveling outside to the city for work, so the commute might be even later. But I wouldn’t hazard any guesses that our unsub’s just haphazardly picking houses.”

“No, no, you’re right, Hood,” Diaz states, walking over to the table. “I guess what I’m saying is the timing. No one hears anything. But our unsub’s using a gun. That’s not quiet. And there’s not a lot of city noise this far out. They’re spending hours in the house and somehow getting out undetected. But striking at dinner time, with the setting sun, means this person’s around outside the house. But no one’s noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Hunting seasons,” Calum returns. “No one really flinches at the sound of a gun shot because people are hunting year ‘round here.”

“And it seems like humans are on the menu.”

“An appetizing thought.”

******

Ivy’s not sure when the chill finally left over the course of the day but it returns when she walks into the precinct and sees the entire room in a frenzy. Kennedy spies her and it’s just a look. Not much different than his resting face, but somehow she knows with that slight arch in his eyebrow. Another family--while they were proding over photos the killer was already moving on, already in the midst of their attack.

And it shouldn’t shock her. Well, to be more accurate, it doesn’t shock her and maybe that’s the thing that scares her. “I’ve been doing this too damned long,” she mutters to herself. “Hood, you’re with me. Get the address and let’s see what that gut of yours cooks up.”

“How’d--Is Kennedy going to be okay with that? The call just came in a few minutes ago.”

“Get the address and tell me how you like your coffee,” Ivy says. Kennedy’s going to come to the scene anyway, but she doesn’t tell Calum that.

There’s not another word before Calum passes in front of her. “Cream and two sugars,” he answers as he goes.

“So Black, got it.”

Paused at the desk of a detective, he looks over his shoulder. “Cream and two sugars,” he re-emphasizes with a tiny smile and holding up two fingers. Police station coffee’s never the best, but it’s better than nothing. When on a case, time is also imperative and they take what they can. Ivy fixes Calum’s cup first, slipping a lid on and keeping the stirrer through the hole. She pours her cup with no additions.

“Not even creamer? Not one?” Calum questions.

“Takes too much time,” she returns. “Burke, you staying?”

“Yeah, Russell got those files over just before the call came in. Besides that crime scene’s bound to be crowded as all hell and I swear if I walk into another house and catch a chill after seven years of doing this job, I just might quit.”

The two ladies laugh. Ivy recovering first to respond, “I need you to keep me sane even though you’re just as much trouble as Diaz.”

“Which is why I’m going to say here, work with Russell. We’re going to need Hood back before the 5’oclock news. Whatever you find at the scene will help solidify our profile and we need it soon. We need the hands on this clock, because it’s ticking ahead of us.”

Ivy nods. It’s no fun being behind. “Kennedy, we’re moving or we’re dying.”

“I trust you. There’s something off about that last one that I want to walk through again.”

“Let’s rock and roll,” she says to Calum, handing him his cup of coffee. “Mr. Cream-and-Two-Sugars.”

The drive is relatively short, all thanks to Ivy’s lead foot. But they need to get there fast, while things are still fresh.

“Did you always want to do this?” Calum asks in the silence of their drive. The radio doesn’t even play. Ivy knew he had questions. He wore them on his face, brows furrowing anytime he was the slightest bit hesitant about something.

“I don’t think I had a choice.”

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? We’ve all got choices.”

“My dad worked with the FBI until it killed him. And I think about how he used to tell me it was his job to help put bad people in jail. And I believed him.”

“The bug bit you before you even had a fighting chance.”

Ivy nods, taking a quick glance to Calum. “But if I had a prettier face, I’d stick with liaison too.”

Calum huffs out his laughter. “I went the journalism route first, sue me. Besides, that’s you admitting you think I have a pretty face.”

“I forget faces—so don’t think too highly of it. And I’m probably old enough to be your mother. You attended some lectures, I remembered your name. How’d you convert?”

It’s silent for a moment and Calum contemplates her statement, old enough to be his mother. “Given that my mother has shared her fountain of youth with my sister and I, you might be shocked to know I’m nearing 30. And I converted because of you and your work under Kennedy and his old superior Rogers.”

“All the greats,” Ivy teases, but she doesn't sound impressed. More like tired, used to it.

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah, because somehow the Bureau hasn’t realized their mistake.”

“Mistake?” Calum asks around his sip of coffee.

“Kennedy’s going to retire soon. He's done 15 with our unit. Another ten prior to that climbing through the ranks. Then they’re going to have to find a replacement.”

“You say that like it won’t be you.”

“Because it won’t.”

“You’ve been with Kennedy for so long. He’s obviously going to recommend you, Ivy.”

“He can recommend but people higher up get the final word.”

The truck stops just in front of the house, and Calum knows the most logical thing to do is just focus on the case, walk the scene. Do his job. But he reaches across the console and wraps his fingers around hers for a second with a squeeze. “You’ll get it. They’d be dumb not to bring you to the head of this team.”

“There’s an altar or a shrine. It’s small.”

Calum pauses with his hand on the door. Ivy continues beside him. “Go to the eldest child’s bedroom. In a corner you’ll see the small shrine. Our unsub left one at the last house. And the house before, I’d bet. And this house too. That’s what Kennedy missed. What other cops missed too. Make sure you get it photographed. Besides, I’ve been doing this job too long and don’t know if I’d even want the added responsibility if they promoted me.”

“How’d we miss that?”

“We didn’t miss shit. We saw it when we needed to see it. We see things when we need them.” It's the way she says it, like she has to believe that makes Calum believe too.

The sight rocks Calum--he knew it wouldn’t be easy. But he didn’t know it’d hit him like this. The room spins, just a little. And his heart racing. Mostly because he can’t stand the thought that this could be someone he knows. These people weren’t anticipating their would be like this. And what does that even mean for him? What does his end look like?

“Hey, whoa. Whoa.” An arm comes around his waist and he follows the lead of whomever’s grabbed him.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’m a fudge brownie. It’s okay to not be alright in there.”

Calum rests against the side of the house and squats down just a little. His elbows hit his knees. His breath is heavy, falls from his open mouth almost like he’s going to vomit. But his stomach’s not churning anymore. Not with the fresh morning air hitting his lungs. “Fuck,” he breathes out again, eyes blurring just a little.

“But you’re okay. Take a breather.” Ivy’s shoes turn up in the dirt. "Get him a water, will ya? Hood, take a minute. It's alright. I'll be inside when you're ready." Calum just watches her go. It takes a moment for him to lift his head. It has to get easier. Or least he hopes it does. It takes him a minute, inhaling deeply before he stands up straight.

The rest of them processing the scene goes by in relative silence. Occasionally, Calum pipes in with an addition to their theory. Ivy hums in agreement. And it’s not until they step out and slip out of their gloves that Ivy says anything. “This is why I drink my coffee black.”

“I’m sorry. I really--I don’t know why this one got me.”

“It’s the kids. Kids are the worst.”

Calum looks up to the sky. There’s a few clouds, but not many. “The photos are bad, but in person is way different.”

Ivy watches Calum, the way it takes him a second to come back to earth it seems. “Don’t ask yourself if it gets easier.” When his gaze lands hers, she can see the furrowed brow again. The question drips off his face. “You’ll only disappoint yourself. And this job’s not for the weak of heart. For the people that can’t take some losses with the wins.”

“You said it yourself. You wanted to put the bad people away.”

“Eight year old me wants to believe it’s as easy as putting the monsters away. Thirty-one year old me knows for a fact what the losses are, who gets caught in the cross-fire. It’s not easy, not in the slightest.”

“Innocent lives do add up.”

“Which is why I try not to do math on the job. They all slip up. They all reach a point where their methods don’t satiate the need. They all make a fatal flaw and counting the unfortunate lives on the way to that will have you walking from the Bureau faster than you can blink.”

“So what makes you stay? If it’s all so fucking bad, what keeps you going?”

Ivy nods to the car, pulling the keys from her pocket. “We need to solidify our profile and you need to run press ASAP. But to answer your question, the thing that keeps me going is that fact that they do get caught eventually.”

******

Eventually seems to come up faster than Calum anticipates. He was sure it would take weeks. After getting back to the precinct more information in Russell’s digging found a connection between all the families, a Venn diagram that overlapped to their X on the map. Another couple of days and it all unravelled. It’s a blur, when he tries to think back to it, on the plane. The only grounding thing is when one of the children, a little girl about 6, pointed out the tattoos on his hands. In all this time, he was sure the tattoos would be a barrier to entry--they’d somehow put him in a place that others would think he was nothing but trouble. But somehow, despite the terror she had done through, that little girl liked his tattoos, found some sort of comfort in them.

When he told her they were for his parents, she smiled at him. She said she wanted one for her parents too and then asked if he had anymore and how old he was when he got them. All of which Calum was more than happy to answer while the medic checked over her. Her older brother came soon after, asking a few questions, but overall he was much quieter than his sister. Understandable for what was endured. In the end, Calum’s just glad he didn’t see them staged on a couch, bleeding out onto the cushions.

There’s a small bit of turbulence and the shakes cause Calum to open his eyes for a moment. Ivy’s seated across from him, whiteboard on her lap, headphones in her ears. A tic-tac-toe grid drawn across it in the middle, but in the corners are some swirls, a crude drawing of the shrine from the case. Calum leans forward and tugs on the board just a little. She lets it go without a fight and hands over the marker.

Calum makes an ‘X’ in the top left. “You said this job doesn’t get easier.” He looks up to see if Ivy can hear him and is relieved when she pops out one her headphones. She raises her brows like she wants him to continue with the thought. And Calum’s not even sure he should. Instead, he hands over the board back to her. If seeing death doesn’t get easier, then maybe it just means he gets better at it. Maybe it means that not being okay with death is a good motivator to keep down this path.

“The job doesn’t get easier. You’re still human. You still want a spouse and a kid. You might want two dogs and a cat. You might want that white picket fence one day. You’ll want to close your eyes and not see death. You’ll want to walk down the street and see humans as humans again. You’ll have nightmares. Don’t hide from it. Nothing’s wrong with you for wanting that. But we’re in a world now where we see the horrors--what’s on the other side of everything you wanted. It’s a liminal space and it’s heavy to wade through.”

“I just want to not freak like I did the other day. It’s not easy. But sometimes I fear that maybe I bit off more than I could chew.”

Their game of tic-tac-toe has been forgotten, placed in the seat next to Ivy as she leans forward in her seat. “You said you were converted because of me. What exactly about me was it?”

“You just know things. When you walk onto a scene, you have an air of knowing. How can you just pick up on it in a snap?”

“Well,” Ivy laughs, “if that’s the only reason you want in, I warn you to get out.”

“I want to help. I want to save people,” Calum adds on. But then it hits him. Maybe this wasn’t the business of saving people as much as it was stopping people. Sure, they prevent future murders, but that didn’t always negate for all the lives lost. But they did save that family today. He saved that little girl that wants tattoos like his. “I want to save people and I want to stop people as well,” he finally adds on.

“There will always be monsters in this world,” Ivy warns.

“And there will always be heroes.”

“Make no mistake, Calum. We don’t have capes. We don’t swoop in all the time at just the right moment. Sometimes we are late. Sometimes we’re reacting more than we are being proactive. Sometimes we fuck up.”

His heart stops for just a moment at the mention of his first name. He’s always Hood, or at least has always been Hood. Just like she’s always Thomas to the team. But she said his first name. Unmistakably so. “Did-did you just use my first name?”

“You used my first name, first.”

When had he done that? He didn’t recall, but he couldn’t combat it either.

“Look,” Ivy continues, “the fact remains. We will fail. We will make the wrong call, or the right call just by the skin of our teeth. We will walk down the wrong direction only to figure out, we know it’s the wrong one. We get it right. A lot more often, we get it right and we minimize the death count. But we’re human--you don’t have to take it on if you don’t want. You don’t have to suffer.”

“If I don’t suffer and win, then that little girl suffers and loses. Then the next person loses. And the next. Their suffering or mine--the choice is clear.”

Ivy studies Calum for a moment. She sees the resolve on his face. Just how much sacrificing himself is a no brainer for him. It was a no brainer for her too. But admittedly, she was cursed. Maybe Calum wasn’t. Maybe she could save him, even if she couldn’t save herself. But she wasn’t in the business of saving people, only stopping them.

“I can’t stop you, can I?” she asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Stop you from killing yourself with this job.”

“If it’s killing you, then why don’t you leave?” His head cocks to the side, now intrigued by her honesty.

“It’s like you said, I got bit before I could escape. I’m cursed. Are you?”

The little girl flashes through his vision again, and his chest tightens for a second before the relief kicks in. He could chase that feeling, the knowledge that he saved someone, one person. And that he helped put away one more person causing harm. “I am now. Ruined--because even though I can’t save them all. I can save some. I can help keep some people safe. I don’t think there’s a better reward than that.”

With a nod, Ivy looks back to their game on the whiteboard. They would’ve tied, she can see it after where she placed her ‘O’. But she hands it back over to Calum. “Kennedy’s going to shit himself when he realizes he’s got too hard heads on his team.”

“You’ll shit yourself when you realize you’re inheriting the second hard-head on the team after Kennedy leaves.”

Ivy scoffs. Of course, Calum still believes in the shiny idea that hard work yields rewards. “And this is where I can still tell you’re new to this--the dreams are still shiny and ideal.”

“All the work you’ve invested, they’d be--”

Ivy interrupts him. “I know, they’d be dumb not to.”

“Then why do you keep saying it won’t happen?”

“I’d call my pessimism a curse. But at this point, I think it’s a personality trait and the truth.”

“And let me guess, this is why you take your coffee black too.”

Ivy winks at him before her smile takes over her face. “You know it.”

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imaagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #fbi!calum #behavior analyst!calum #h writes #calum hood blurb #calum hood x oc

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buckysbabygorl · 4 years

Text

They’re Playing Our Song (Part 1)

Summary: Y/N has no idea how to dance, and Bucky insists on teaching her

Warnings: None

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,387

Masterlist

Bucky stood alone in the kitchen, his hair settled nicely in a low bun as he stirred the boiling pasta, Duke Ellington playing softly in the background.

He finally had the compound to himself, with the rest of the team out at one of Tony’s fancy galas to promote a new invention he’d whipped up; something to do with his micro-technology.

Bucky hadn’t listened very well to the details, excited at the idea of having time to himself. Since his therapy in Wakanda had concluded, he’d been bombarded with team exercises, missions, and press conferences discussing his recovery and being one of the team’s newest additions. Bucky had grown to love the team as if they were his own family, and after a long process; reconciled with Tony to the point of civility, even going as far to say develop a friendship.

Yes, he’d loved all of them dearly, but my god were they overwhelming. They were boisterous and energetic, it reminded him of the Howling Commandos from all those years ago…

But as of late; with things like press, adjusting to the team, awaiting the public’s full acceptance of him, as well as Tony’s… it was all a bit too much. Bucky just needed some time to himself; cook some of his mother’s recipes and listen to his Dad’s old records. Though he didn’t have the actual records, Spotify was just as good. He reminisced as he listened and cooked; thinking of his father twirling his mother in their kitchen while the radio played, his sister and him watching from the dinner table. They had both passed away when he was very young, but it comforted him to remember how happy they’d been in the time they had.

Bucky had been adding some spices to his sauce, when he heard the slow shuffling of feet coming down the hallway. He’d thought everyone had left, and was surprised to see Y/N sleepily entering the kitchen.

“Oh, hey Buck. I didn’t know you were here.” Y/N was just as surprised to see him, expecting everyone to have left by now. Bucky looked over her figure, her clothes rustled from sleep and hair slightly messy.

He smiled, “Hey Y/N. Isn’t it a little late to be getting up?”

Y/N grinned tiredly at his teasing, “Took a nap, little tired from today.”

She yawned as she recounted to Bucky the day’s events; she and Nat had returned from a mission in Barcelona. Clearly the time difference hadn’t affected Nat as much as it had Y/N, as soon as they got off the plane Nat had been buzzing with excitement for the gala. She pleaded with Y/N to come, but she wearily declined.

“-Besides, I’m not much of a party person anyways.”

Bucky nodded in understanding, “I get it. But I'm surprised you didn’t go, this could’ve been your big debut kid.”

Y/N had recently joined the team, only a short time before Bucky. With his new arrival, she had been somewhat washed over as the press became focused on Bucky. Not that she minded of course, Y/N wasn’t one to beg for the spotlight, content to be doing the work she needed to do behind the scenes.

Y/N scoffed at that, “I think I would’ve got a little lost in the crowd.”

Bucky laughed, and Y/N raised her eyebrows in question. “What? You don’t think so?”

Bucky continued stirring his sauce, “You? Never. You light up a room, doll.”

With his back turned from her, he didn’t see Y/N’s reddened cheeks as she laughed. Bucky had always been one to playfully praise and flirt, she knew there wasn’t a heavy tone to it but she couldn’t help but be flattered by his remarks. He often complimented her in small ways; in fine details about her character. An ovation of her laugh, a regard of her kindness.

Y/N always wanted to return the favour, but she didn’t know how to approach it as casually as he did; she couldn’t with how seriously she meant them.

But what Y/N took as ‘pats on the back’ from Bucky actually held much more admiration than she was aware. Bucky was completely infatuated with her. And to everyone else, he was transparent in his affections. But he knew Y/N; she was shy, soft-spoken, and completely oblivious to any attention that ever came her way.

Of course she was strong, powerful. She was a part of the team after all, but the hero you are on the battlefield doesn’t always reflect the person you are at home. She was clueless.

So he’d patiently wait and once she took notice of what had been blatantly handed to her all this time, he would let her decide what to do with it. The day she took notice, if it ever came, he would go from there. And if by any chance she liked him back, Bucky would be the happiest man in the world. He just had to be patient.

“Well, even if you’re right,” she started, “I don’t know if I’d really fit in there. The talking, the loud music, and I’m not much of a drinker… two glasses of champagne and I’d be done.” Y/N hopped up onto the kitchen counter as Bucky cooked, swinging her legs back and forth over the edge.

Bucky shrugged as he poured the sauce over the pasta, “You get used to it.” He admitted. Back in his day, he had been a social butterfly but it hadn’t come easy. His family had been fortunate enough during the Great Depression, and he followed his father along to crowded events with big wigs and party goers. After many introductions to strangers by his father, Bucky had to learn to socialize. He picked up the conversations, he poured drinks, he took girls out to dance. He became a true charmer.

“I had to learn when I was younger, it’s kind of like acting. Before you know it, you’ve learned to play the part perfectly.”

Y/N hummed in interest, “Then why didn’t you go tonight? Seemed like it’d be right up your alley.”

Bucky thought a moment as he prepared their plates, that had all been then. The bright eyed kid from Brooklyn, before the war. This was now, after everything he’d been through…

“Just not ready yet doll,” he responded honestly, “But someday, just you wait. I’ll shmooze up to all the suits, I’ll fit right in. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get a dance out of me.” Bucky winked as he handed Y/N her plate, chuckling as she rolled her eyes.

“God I hope not.” She said, hopping off the counter and moving to the table.

Bucky feigned offence, “What? Scared I’ll step on your toes?”

He sat down, handing her a knife and fork as he joined her.

“Not at all,” she said. Y/N twirled her noodles with her fork, raising it to her lips, “truth is; I’d probably step on yours.”

Bucky chuckled, “You a bad dancer?”

“Not necessarily, just don’t know how.”

Bucky set down his own fork and looked at her in disbelief, “Whaddya mean you don’t know how?”

Y/N giggled at his outburst, “I’ve never danced before! Why is that so surprising?”

Bucky exhaled in frustration, “The people of today, I swear… how do you not know how to dance? That was the first thing my Mama ever taught me how to do properly!”

Y/N had grown up on a small farm in Iowa, any leisure time was spent running errands or helping out her parents. Dancing had been the last thing on their list of priorities; not that they’d had many dances in town. Though there was the Annual Hot Dish Tuna Fish jamboree, but Y/N often found herself too busy to go. Or dateless.

“I never had the time!” She admitted, “Wasn’t exactly on the top of my ‘to-do list’ Sarge.”

A soft trumpet had announced itself from the speaker, shortly after followed by Louis Armstrong’s scatting. Bucky smiled, wiping his mouth with his napkin before standing.

“Then I’m going to teach you.”

He stuck his hand out to Y/N as she looked at him, surprised.

“What, now?”

“Yes, now. No time better than the present” He reached for her hands, gently tugging her to rise and join him in the open space.

He felt Y/N tense a little as he placed a hand on the small of her back, other hand curling up into hers as he raised their arms together. “This okay?”

Y/N nodded, shyly looking down to her feet as Louis’ sung. “Uh, yeah. Yeah! I just, I dunno I feel silly.”

Bucky smiled as his brows furrowed, “We haven’t even started. You can’t look stupid not doing nothing.”

Y/N giggled, “Careful, your Brooklyn’s slipping out.”

Bucky shrugged slightly as he adjusted his hands on her, “Music brings it out of me I think.”

“Well, it’s quite charming. I can see how you’d get girls to dance with you back in the day.” She admitted.

Bucky thought back to the dive bars in the 30’s, the church dances, the jazz bands; and all the pretty girls he dipped and twirled to each and every song. Bucky had never been without a dance partner; but he couldn’t recall one he’d enjoyed having in his presence as much as her.

“I did have a number of gals to practice with, yes. But I’m tryna focus on this girl in front of me.” He teased.

“Right, right,” Y/N shook her head of her thoughts, “Sorry, continue.”

“So,” Bucky pulled her in closer to his hips, “I’ll give you some breathing room, but you’ve gotta get a little close. Helps me lead you.”

“Okay…” Y/N nipped her bottom lip in concentration, nearly halting Bucky’s thought process all together, “Now what?”

“Right, um,” Bucky rolled his shoulders to relax himself, “Don't be so stiff. Remember this is fun, just let loose.”

“You’re telling the wrong person to let loose.” Y/N remarked.

“Oh c’mon, I’ve seen you drink with Wilson, I know you can let loose.”

He slid his arm against her, curving his right elbow beneath her left arm. Y/N could feel the heat of his hand through her cotton shirt, and felt herself tense again.

“Relax, I’ve got you.”

She didn’t realize how close he’d been, the low rumble of his voice echoing in her ear. She felt herself shiver.

“I know you do.”

He smiled softly, “Place your left hand a bit higher. Now you just move with me.”

He guided her to the left, their feet shifting slowly with the beat of the music. As Y/N realized that there wasn’t much more to it than that, she felt herself ease into him more, into the soft music… they stayed that way awhile, comfortably swaying.

“See, it’s not that bad.” Bucky comforted, gently spinning them to the lyrics.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, “I guess not. It’s easy with you at least, I couldn’t say the same if I had a different partner.”

Bucky watched as her lip pulled into a soft grin, and a feeling of boldness grew in his chest.

“I guess you’ll just have to keep all your dances for me, then.”

Perfectly timed, the trumpets picked up and Bucky clutched her tightly, dipping her down with his strong arms.

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she happily giggled. She held on tightly but knew he’d pick her up with ease.

His became confident then, as he pulled her back to him before lifting her into the air. He started spinning as his strong hands rested against the skin of her thighs, holding her up. She couldn’t help but laugh as she looked to the ceiling, hands firmly gripping his shoulders. He was in awe then, over the moon to know that he was the cause of the happiness in those eyes. She looked back to him as he lowered her, feeling lighter than she had in months. She hadn’t had a moment like this in a long time; doing something new and fun, in the arms of someone she… trusted.

“Feeling good, doll?” He asked.

Her laugh was more melodic than the brass instruments, she was at a complete loss for words; fair too lost in the moment to give him a proper response.

“Again!” She exclaimed.

Bucky happily obliged, lifting her again as they both laughed.

They weren’t sure when the trumpets died down, or when the next song began. Or the song after that, or the song after that. They could’ve danced for hours, and maybe they did. They only separated when the team drunkenly stumbled in from their gala.

No one took note of their closeness, too disoriented from their own night of dancing and drinking.

They all talked about nothing important; remarking over the night's moments that Bucky and Y/N wouldn’t really understand unless they had been there.

But, neither of them really minded. They had shared moments of their own that had been worth missing the silly party.

They didn’t say a proper goodbye, Y/N mumbling a quick goodnight to him as the team settled in the main room.

“Awe c’mon, you’re not gonna say?” An inebriated Banner called out.

Y/N smiled sweetly, shaking her head. “Not tonight, I’m still pretty beat from Barcelona. But keep the party going for me.”

A chorus of disappointed groans filled the room, as well as a few joyous ‘goodnights’. Bucky watched as she exited, wanting to call out, wanting to do something. It didn’t feel right ending it like that. He felt like the moment was fleeting him now; like he was losing something special.

Defeated, he turned back to join the others.

“Hey.”

A soft voice called out, forcing Bucky to turn back. Y/N peeked around the corner, hand raised to wave slightly. “Thanks for tonight, I needed that.”

Bucky smirked slightly, but before he could respond, Y/N had already turned away and started down the hall.

It hadn’t been tonight, but maybe next time Bucky could say more. Maybe next time, he could say what he really wanted.

Masterlist

Author’s note: SO! I literally suck at finishing series, I know I have so many others to write as well as requests (I haven’t forgotten dw), but I’ve been wanting to write this fic for so long, I wanted it to be perfect and I think I’ve finally gotten it right with this one. Hoping to update my other fics soon! Let me know what y’all think, and let me know if you want to be added to the master list and/or list for this series xoxox

Songs referenced are:

The Gal from Joe’s by Duke Ellington

When You’re Smiling by Louis Armstrong

Master list: @babyblue-07 @pinkdiamond1016 @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky fanfic #bucky #buckysbabygorl masterlist

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kybervisions · 3 years

Text

slight obsessions [bucky]

summary: after months of obsessing over a senator, bucky is given the opportunity to save her. he then visits her in the hospital

author’s note: warning, warning, this will feature aspects of the u.s government,,, \\ lil bit of fluff and mentions of torture ,, just a kidnapped senator and bucky pining ,, requests are open :)

The security footage of your kidnapping at the fundraiser was leaked to the media. Millions watched as a prominent U.S senator was ambushed and drugged before being dragged into an unmarked vehicle. Bucky’s heart ached. “We’ll find her,” Sam, well-aware of Bucky’s infatuation with you, promised his friend.

Bucky was unprepared to find you in the state that you were, bloody and bruised. There was a cut above your eyebrow and blood dripped down your face. Your skin was riddled with red and purple. The metal cuffs around your wrists and ankles dug into your skin and caused you to bleed. There was track marks on your arms and your knee didn’t look too good either.

You looked nearly unrecognizable — almost nothing like the senator that so adamantly advocated for his pardon.

“Captain?” You mutterly weakly, barely recognizing the two figures near the doorway. The drugs they pumped into you fucked with your vision and made you feel absolutely sick. You could barely keep your eyes open. Everything hurt and you shivering from the lack of warmth.

Sam quickly ran past Bucky and his fingers searched for a pulse on your neck. Weak, but it was something. Once up close, Sam could see the multitude of track marks on your skin and his fingers gently touched them, causing you to cry, something that completely shocked you. Zemo had stopped giving you water a few days ago.

“We’re going to get you out of here, senator,” Sam pulled out a Widow’s Bite, which he had secretly stolen from Natasha, and used the electricity within the bite to override the power source of the cuffs.

When the cuffs opens, you were released from the vertical interrogation chair. Before you fell on the concrete floor, Bucky quickly reached out to catch you.

“Fuck!” You shouted and startled Bucky. You bit your lip in an attempt to silence your pain. After weeks of absolute hell, you were sensitive to touch. Tears filled your eyes and you weren’t strong enough to hold them back. “It hurts,” You whimpered. You felt sick. Cold and weak and wanting to puke but having nothing in your stomach to regurgitate.

A protectiveness he had not felt since before the war consumed Bucky. Seeing you so weak and in pain filled him with both anger and the need to make you feel better. Your big, soft, and tear-filled eyes awakened his primal instinct to defend and protect.

He acknowledged there was still something wrong with him, because even in the state that you were in, Bucky wanted nothing more than to press his lips against yours and hold you against him.

For a short second, while looking down into your eyes, the world was quiet.

“C’mon, man,” Sam urged them. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be in here when the timer goes off,”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky agreed. “Um, can you run?” He looked down at you again. You were smaller in person. The television must make everyone look like titans. On the screen, you had such a larger than life presence. Whether it was asking questions during committee hearings or speaking out against a bill, you were imposing.

“She can barely stand,” Sam answered before you. With all the drugs in your system, you were nearly unresponsive. “Pick her up and let's go!”

Once they reached the C.I.A medical facility, Sharon told a room full of reporters that the senator had been found and was being examined by professionals. She did not give too much information, which was typical for intelligence agencies.

By “being examined by professionals”, Sharon meant you were undergoing surgery because whatever was injected into your body caused you to go under septic shock. She omitted that part, not wanting to give the public further cause to worry.

After the surgery, only family was allowed to enter your hospital room. Some of your staff was able to bypass that rule. You were still recovering, but your top aide, Winnie, had begun planning your first public appearance.

“You’re a certified badass now,” Winnie informed you, and it made you chuckle. Winnie had been by your side since you were a congressional freshman and you loved them to death. “The corpses will have to show you actual respect now,” They smiled, referring to your coworkers as corpses gives them a bit of joy.

“I’m sure Stern will find a reason to call me a traitor to the country,” You replied. Your strong opposition of the intelligence agencies earned you a lot of enemies.

“Yeah, well, he’ll — ”

The door had opened and there stood a “Hi, sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bucky stopped at the doorway. He was holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers and scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact.

“Sergeant Barnes,” You smiled. Bucky looked to you, and he’d never seen or heard anything as beautiful. He had heard you say his name a thousand time over, but hearing it in person was just swell.

“Bucky’s jus’ fine, senator,” Bucky returned a toothy grin. You swear you had died and gone to heaven. He was even more beautiful in person.

“Bucky,” There was a shine in your eyes when you said his name. His name sounded so pretty coming from your mouth.

“O-kay,” Winnie chuckled and their eyes bounced between yourself and the soldier, who was just a few feet away from them. “I’ll be back tomorrow to hash out the details,” They turned to look at you and gave you a small peck on your head. “Be careful,” It was a warning.

Bucky stepped into the room, allowing Winnie to easily slip out.

Now that the blood and dirt had been washed out, Bucky could truly admire how striking you were. You were glowing. There were still bruises and healing wounds but they didn’t diminish your beauty.

He set the flowers on the visitor’s chair.

“I wanted to properly thank you and Mr. Wilson for saving my life,” You told him. He took a few more steps towards you. “W-Winnie has a press conference planned once I’m discharged, and there might be a Medal of Freedom in your future, after the Congressional Gold Medal, of course,”

“What?”

“Yeah,” You smiled. “It took a little bit of convincing but the bastard caved eventually,”

Of course you had recommended him, and Sam, for such prestigious awards. It was further proof that he had been vindicated from the dark part of his history. You helped profoundly in his path to finally accepting himself, and for that, he would always love you.

When the nightmares returned, Bucky would rewatch your old speeches for the campaign to pardon him. He felt pathetic — having to listen to a woman he had never met before passionately advocate for his freedom in order to feel better. You saw him as human, worthy of forgiveness.

“I know they’re practically worthless in the age of superheroes, but I thought I would be nice,”

It would be nice. “Thank you,” His smile slowly faded as the conversation took a serious turn. “For everything, the campaign and the pardon and now these medals,” A breathy chuckle escaped. “I...you never attended the ceremony,” He commented on your absence during his pardon. It had plagued his mind for countless nights.

“I wasn’t invited,” You chuckled at the irony of it — having spent months working for his freedom only to not be present to watch it happen. “A picture leaked of me at a protest in college and they thought it would be too controversial for me to attend,” You shrugged it off.

Ensuring Bucky’s freedom was all that mattered. Your acknowledgement was not important to you in the greater scope of things.

“I’ll make sure you get invited this time,” Maybe you could give a speech before he’s awarded the medal. He could finally be present to hear you praise him.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on your lips. Your nervousness returned. There was a distinct look in his eyes that terrified and excited you all the same.

“Senator, time for your medication,” A nurse entered the room and pushed a cart with her. There was an IV set, some pills, and a cup of water on the cart and all that medicine made Bucky feel anxious.

He was well aware of the dangers of so much medicine and he was scared. He couldn’t afford to lose you now. Not when he finally has you within his grasp.

“The pills help with the pain and the IV gives me nutrients,” You noted the panicked look on Bucky’s face when he saw the cart. “Or so they claim,” You looked at the nurse, who was not entertained by your accusatory comment.

“I should head out,” Bucky nodded. “And allow your drugs to be administered in peace,” You laughed, and he was quite proud of that.

Feeling bolder, Bucky took a few final steps toward you. You offered your hand and he lightly held your wrist, stilled bruised, and bowed down to kiss your hand. It was a small and sweet gesture, but it left you an absolute mess. You held your breath and felt your heart in your throat.

Bucky admired you once more before leaving the room. He nearly memorized how you radiated in spite of the harsh cold white light that illuminated the hospital. In that moment, he was certain you’d be his.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagine #winter solider x y/n #marvel one shot

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Fourteen

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone has had a nice week! Warnings: Hoo boy...Cursing... Yearning? First Contact™? Let’s just say the gif is very deliberate Summary: Before all of this, before Spargo, before Uthea C4, I might’ve been bummed that I was staying on the ship while Thaleh beamed down with the rest of the away team.

The nice thing was that it was a contained incident.

The not-so-nice thing was... Well, that it was an incident.

A contained incident that had been witnessed by Una and Spock, two people who I knew would probably never let me live it down.

Koutov was a forest plant.

When I had occasion to translate Koutovian text during my dissertation, the substance of the text had been around an herb blend for tea. Koutovian tea was renowned in the quadrant; Spock had had it and spoken highly of it, which meant it had to be pretty damn good. Thaleh was going to take the lead on this particular mission. At least, Thaleh was supposed to take the lead on this particular mission. I had been pretty relieved about that. I was more than happy to take a step back after Larilia; she wanted me to take more of a hand in training Ensign Paledore, anyway. The beginnings of our journey to Koutov had been riddled with stops to other planets - Deneva, Kantare, Calder II, Valakis. Before all of this, before Spargo, before Uthea C4, I might’ve been bummed that I was staying on the ship while Thaleh beamed down with the rest of the away team. And then Thaleh had been ‘borrowed’ by Admiral Cornwell for a conference on Starbase 218, and I was left acting Lieutenant Commander. This was akin to when she had been on leave - but it was much, much worse; when Thaleh was on leave, the work had been more evenly spread between myself and a few other officers. This time, given my proximity to the Captain and the missions that I had been undertaken recently, Thaleh had entrusted me with more responsibility. I wasn’t upset with her - she hadn’t expected to be pulled off of the ship to assist Cornwell, and the fact that she had left me as acting Lieutenant Commander meant that she had an incredible amount of trust in me. But I was tired. I had never been so busy in my time on the Enterprise. Thaleh had left me briefings for the other stops to be made on the way to Koutov, but they weren’t complete. I spent my off-hours researching and filling in the questions I still had. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in, like, days,” Thira did sound a little worried as she said so, which was sweet of her. I shot her a thin smile from where my head was resting against the back of the couch in the lounge. “I’ve been kinda… You know. All over the place,” I waved my hands around, “It’s been busy down there.” “Are you going to keep covering for Thaleh, or-- I mean is she going to be back from the conference after Koutov?” I groaned, bringing my hands up and scrubbing at my eyes. “I have no idea, but I’m sure Captain Dimples will sort it out.” “What’s that, lieutenant?” “I said, ‘he’s the Captain, plain and simple, I’m sure he’ll sort it out’,” I fibbed. I kept scrubbing at my eyes, refusing to look through my fingers. When I did pick my head up and lower my hands, I found Pike and Number One standing in front of myself and Thira. I did my best to keep a straight face, though my cheeks were burning. The corner of Pike’s mouth was lifted, like he was trying not to laugh. “We’ll be arriving at Koutov in approximately six hours,” Number One informed me dryly. I nodded a little. “Okay… I mean, the population has a good handle on Federation Standard.” “I’d like for you to beam down with the away team, if you wouldn’t mind,” Pike said. I shook my head a little. “Of course, Captain.” He gave Thira a nod before he began to step back around the couch. He stopped just beside and looked down at me. “And lieutenant.” “Sir?” “Nice catch.” I frowned, brow furrowing, “Not sure I know what you mean, sir.” I could see Pike still fighting back a smile and hiding said dimples in the process. “Perhaps I misheard you,” He conceded. “You must’ve. Maybe you oughta get that checked out. I’m sure Dr. Boyce would be happy to test your hearing.” “Six hours, lieutenant.” “Yessir.” Pike strode away, leaving me alone with Thira and Number One. “...‘Captain Dimples’?” Una repeated once he was gone, arching a critical brow. I slid back down in my seat. “This is usually the part of the dream where the floor opens up and swallows me.”

It had to be because I hadn’t gotten much sleep, right? It had to be. Sleep deprivation and adjusting to the new atmosphere. Class M planet or not, it wasn’t as if Koutov had the exact same atmosphere as Earth, or the Enterprise. On top of that, my body was running on four hours of sleep. That was what was making my stomach twist was anxiety. That had to be it - had to be. But why hadn’t that feeling kicked in only half an hour ago?

We’d been beamed down to a botanical conservatory on Koutov - myself, Pike, Number One, and Spock. We’d been greeted by their Minister for Intergalaxy Relations, Bimao Nenreotov. Pike and Nenreotov had briefly discussed Koutov’s remaining in the Federation, the reason for our visiting the planet in the first place. Nenreotov had been incredibly forthright in the planet’s decision to remain in the Federation, and had been graced with one of the Captain’s wide, be-dimpled smiles. Even during that conversation, which was arguably (at that point) the most nerve-wracking part of our mission, I hadn’t been plagued by the anxiety.

Nenreotov had invited us to tour the conservatory. I hadn’t been plagued by anxiety then, either. As our tour began, we were each offered cups of tea. Spock looked pleased, and fell into an easy conversation with Nenreotov about Koutovian tea. He fell into step beside the Minister, with Una on his other side, leaving myself and Pike to bring up the rear, cups in hand.

“Well that went smoothly,” Pike had commented quietly.

“Certainly more smoothly than the last time I was beamed down to a planet,” I’d agreed, “Told you you wouldn’t need me.”

I felt Pike cast me a sidelong glance, “I was glad to have you along regardless.”

“Yes, I’m very good at sitting still and saying nothing.”

“That’s not true. You’re awful at sitting still.”

Pike and I had continued to hang back, sipping our tea intermittently and listening to Nenreotov tell us about the plants in the conservatory. An attendant had been along to collect the empty mugs from the group of us not long ago.

But now my stomach was twisting, and my throat was dry, and what was the Minister pointing out to us? Ah, Vulcan Mint, lovely. Of course.

I wrung my hands where they were clasped behind my back, careful to not draw attention to myself. I couldn’t be rude and ask to beam back to the ship. That would be rude to the Minister, not to mention another offense to add to the list of that day’s slip-ups.

“Are you warm? I’m boiling,” Pike muttered to me. I looked up at him and was surprised to find him a little flushed. I nodded, facing forward.

“It is a little warm,” I agreed quietly, doing my best to downplay my discomfort.

“A little? I feel like I’m back in Mojave -- Hang on.”

He cleared his throat, drawing the Minister’s attention as we neared a fountain.

“The lieutenant and I are going to sit for a moment and catch our breath.”

Nenreotov tipped his head to the side at the explanation; he looked between myself and Pike before nodding once, “Of course.”

“Are you quite alright, Captain?” Spock asked, brow furrowing.

“Sure,” Pike waved him off, “Just a bit warm. You all go on, we’ll catch up.”

Una had that look on her face again - the one she’d given me after Sandblossom. But now it was directed at Pike.

“Follow the path when you wish to catch up, we’ll keep it true,” Nenreotov gestured to the white marble path through the conservatory that we’d been following. Pike nodded. I lowered myself to sit on the edge of the fountain. Pike remained standing, watching the others go. I sighed, looking down at my hands. Why were my palms sweating? I rubbed them against my pants before I reached up, tugging the zip down on my collar a bit. I sighed at the feeling of air brushing over my throat. It was another few moments before Pike lowered himself down to sit beside me.

Maybe it was how warm I already was, or how warm he’d mentioned being, but it felt like heat was rolling off of him like a furnace. I looked to him as I heard him sigh, watching him tip his chin up and undo his collar. I let myself gaze at the bit of his skin that I could see from that angle before I quickly turned away, feeling Pike’s gaze shift to me.

“You alright?” he asked. Why was his voice so soft, so low? Did he always sound like that?

“Mhm,” I gave a quick nod. Anxious as I was, I suddenly wished I’d told Pike that I really wasn’t warm at all, that I was perfectly fine, and had left that Captain alone to open his collar and cool off.

“You’re an awful liar,” He accused, knocking his knee against mine.

“Oh, because you’re so great at it?”

“I’m better than ‘he’s Captain, plain and simple’.”

I groaned, tipping my head back; the sound was covered by Pike's laugh.

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you.”

“Absolutely not. You’re a quick thinker, I will say that for you,” He added as I lifted my head again.

“And that is about all there is to be said.”

“That’s not true.”

“Right. I also can’t keep still.”

“You’re also smart, clever...Resilient and…”

I chanced a glance in Pike’s direction and was surprised to see him looking at me.

“And…?” I pressed gently.

“Lovely.”

It was said with such a quiet sincerity that it threw me. I felt my breath hitch a little in my throat. I had to look away - I was staring, I was sure I looked like an idiot. Thing is, Pike was staring, too. Pike was staring, and his lips were twitching into a small smile.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, just… You’ve got a freckle on your eyelid. Never noticed,” He mumbled. I shook my head a little.

“Well, you don’t have many occasions to stare at my eyelids… Or reasons to want to.”

My eyes drifted to a bead of sweat that I saw slipping down the side of Pike’s face. It seemed to be sliding in slow motion - down his cheek, hugging the sharp curve of his jaw before it trickled down to his throat. I don’t know what possessed me, but I reached up, steadying my fingers against his neck and using my thumb to wipe away the drop before it could disappear. I found myself frozen again. I needed to move my hand - what the hell was I doing? I more felt than heard the hum that Pike made and that spurred me into action.

“I--Captain, I--”

“It’s alright,” He murmured, even as I began to shake my head, even as I began to pull my hand away, finally.

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s alright,” He insisted again, catching hold of my wrist. My stomach was a tornado of butterflies; my heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I felt like I was going to explode. Why was he still holding to me -- I glanced down as I felt his thumb smooth reassuringly over the soft of my wrist, and then looked up again as I felt his other hand cup my chin.

“You’re still so warm,” He said quietly.

“So are you.”

I meant for it to come out defensive, but I heard the damnably breathless way that it left me.

Pike’s hand dropped away from my cheek, and I bit my lips to tamp down a whimper. I watched as he dipped his hand into the water of the fountain for a moment. He pulled his hand back out, shaking it off a little. He met my eye, looking for any hesitance or discomfort on my part. When I held still, he slipped his hand under my collar, cupping the side of my neck. My eyes fell shut at the rush of coolness against my skin - I couldn’t help the whimper that left me this time.

“...Christopher,” I breathed out; my wrist rolled in his hold to grasp at his hand.

And then I heard him murmur my name. My name.

Not my last name, not Lieutenant.

I opened my eyes to look at him. He was so, so close - as close as he’d been before in his ready room, as close as he’d been when he’d promised he wouldn’t let Spargo take me from the Enterprise.

It was the clicking of incoming heels that cut through the fog. I felt my stomach flip, the butterflies dissipate, the anxiety flood back in as I hurriedly pulled my hand from his. Pike didn’t rush to lower his hand from my neck, but he did turn away to see who was coming.

Number One and Spock were coming around the bend of the path. I could see from Spock’s single raised brow and the twist of Una’s mouth that whatever they’d seen was more than enough. Before either of us could explain or speak, Number One said, “We need to get you both to Medical.”

Fucking Koutovian tea.

To say that Boyce was visibly amused by the circumstance was an understatement. He kept shooting glances at the biobed on the other side of the Med Bay, where Pike’s vitals were being monitored by Nurse Chapel. I hadn’t been able to meet Pike’s eye since we’d been beamed back aboard and rushed to Medical.

The blend of spices that had been included in the tea that Nenreotov had given us included a strong amount of Susurrus Concalesco, or Whispering Flush - a plant native to Koutov. It was served to prospective mates on Koutov to suss out the viability of successful partnerships. Whispering Flush heightened the effects of the chemical components of attraction if they were already present in the bloodstream -- adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, testosterone, oxytocin.

Spock, Una, and Nenreotov had had the same tea, the same spice blend, and were totally fine. Pike and I were, well… A different matter. Apparently Nenreotov had pointed the herb out to Spock and Una on the tour as they’d walked on, mentioned its use in the blend we’d been given, snickered about our ‘symptoms’.

“Your heart rate is still a little high,” Boyce informed me as he lowered his tricorder, “But that’s something that should wear off as the tea leaves your system. Go back to your quarters, get some rest. Come back in twenty-four hours if you’re still feeling the… Effects.”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be delicate or trying to tease and make light of the situation to make me feel better, but either option sucked. I nodded and mumbled my thanks, sliding off of the biobed. I didn’t look at Pike as I left - I couldn’t. What the hell could I even say?

Thira was on-shift when I arrived back in my quarters, thank god. I was still overheated, still thrumming with nervous energy. A cold shower would help, right?

My mind drifted back to the feeling of Pike’s hand, cool and dripping, sliding under my collar and I groaned, closing my eyes. I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t think about it now, I sure as hell couldn’t think about it later. I couldn’t just assume Pike’s interest despite the plant’s use. I had to put my Spock cap on. Pike could have those feelings for someone else, could’ve had those hormones in his system, and I was just the nearest body. And sure, maybe that wasn’t the kindest light to paint Pike in, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when I was on that planet. I hadn’t exactly done a good job at keeping my hands to myself. I wondered how long it would take to get transferred to another ship. Maybe there was an opening on the Hiawatha? No. No. Spock cap. I was jumping to conclusions. I couldn’t make any rash decisions while this tea was in my system. Fucking Koutovian tea.

Shower. I could start with a shower. A shower, and then maybe a Klingon poem. I unzipped my collar, pulling it away from my neck. I groaned as I heard my PADD beep. What now? Number One, ready with the lecture that had surely been imminent for months now? Or maybe it was Ensign Paledore with a question with the translation exercise I’d left him with.

I lifted my device and froze when I saw the message there.

Pike: I need to speak with you. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Mine

5. Draw me like one of your French girls

Genre: Min Yoongi x oc

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.3k

At this point, I’m seriously considering commissioning my own fanart.

It all started the next morning at our first press release. Somebody had the bright idea to show me some fanart that’s been rolling in the past few weeks of a certain k-pop rapper and I. Not gonna lie...we look good together.

Too good.

Then again, everything about Min Yoongi has seemed pretty good since I woke up to a couple more texts from him this morning. I passed out after his late-night/early morning apology, but he sent another text not long after.

4:32 MYG: So does this mean I’m forgiven? Bong-cha made it sound like you enjoy holding grudges.

9:02 MYG: Morning. I hope everything goes well with you today...is it alright if I keep texting you?

9:02 MYG: Just so I can keep tabs on everything. I don’t want this to get too out of hand for you.

Obviously the poor man is just as worried about all of this as I am. I couldn’t help but give a sleepy chuckle when I woke up to his messages.

So far, I’ve done a wonderful job of ignoring how nice it felt to wake up to a good morning text.

I’ve also done a great job at keeping calm and breezing past any weird questions from the current press conference I’m in. That is, until a Korean reporter (I have a hunch they’re from Dispatch) pipes up not only with a question, but with visual aids!

“Cara, do you mind if I ask you a question? Would you like a translator?”

Reminding myself to be gracious and kind, I shake my head. “Go ahead. I should be alright without a translator, thank you.”

The reporter nods, shuffling forward until they pull a paper out of their file in hand. She gives me a sickly smile, passing the paper up to our security guard who does me the honor of bringing it right to my outstretched palm.

“This is one of the newest renderings, I was just wondering how you have been feeling about this entire situation?”

I already guessed what this was going to be about, but the picture in my hand confirms it.

It’s fanart.

To be honest, it’s very well done. It’s a watercolor, the artist placed us walking along a rainy sidewalk. Hand in hand, Yoongi’s gummy smile on full display while I look down at my toes.

Sebastian whistles beside me, clearly as in awe of the artwork as I am. Before me the reporter still wears her smile, waiting for a response. I pass the paper down the line, allowing Rhea to get a chance to admire the fanart.

Maybe it’s the boost of confidence I received upon reading Yoongi’s text this morning that has me grinning back at the reporter with a saccharine smile.

“Did you draw this? It’s very well done.”

Not everyone can understand Korean in this press conference, but the few that do start chuckling. The reporter blanches for a moment, smile faltering.

“N-no, but if you could answer the question-”

I’m sure I look very disappointed as I look down at her. She definitely works for dispatch; she practically reeks of it. Maybe that’s what gives me the boldness I need as I realize that I’m not even her direct target; Yoongi is.

Yoongi’s nice. I don’t think she is.

“Oh, everything is going fine. Honestly, I should get in touch with this artist. They’re very talented.”

The reporter’s eyebrows flick up, sensing a new method of attack. “Were you thinking of commissioning your own?”

“Honestly, I might consider it. Maybe it’ll make my aunts quit hounding me every Thanksgiving about my love life.”

With that, the paper is handed back to the security guard, but the reporter motions for him to keep it. Confused, he hands it back to me. I turn it over so I don’t get caught staring at it during the conference. That’s the last thing Yoongi or I need right now.

As the reporter takes her seat again, I can’t help but feel a little triumphant. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

🌙

12:22 ME: I never said you were forgiven, did I?

As soon as we get out of the press conference we are ushered into a van which takes us to another interview. I figure that now is as good a time as any to text Yoongi back, seeing that this morning I woke up late and was too flustered to come up with a response.

“Who are you texting?” Sebastian asks. “Is it your friend that always calls you?”

I consider lying to him for a moment, but realize that it might actually be nice for him to know. He can keep me from being unrealistic when I start to fangirl.

He may also help me to keep that promise I silently made a while ago: to not go so easy on Yoongi. Right now, it’s proving harder than expected to dislike him.

“Nosy.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “You’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, that only happens when you get texts from me.”

“Ha! Right. It’s a secret...kind of. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll try my best not to.”

Taking an unnecessarily big breath, I spill my secret that I’ve kept for approximately 12 hours.

“It’s Yoongi.” When there’s no immediate reaction from him, I backpedal. “Also known as Suga?”

Before Sebastian can respond the ping of my phone pulls my attention away.

12:26 MYG: Oh good, you responded. I was getting worried you were actually mad. So is it alright if I keep texting you? I don’t want to mess with your schedule.

“You’re smiling again.”

I look up to see an annoyed Sebastian Stan. He’s not very good at sharing attention, and it would appear that Yoongi is no exception.

“How strange, I didn’t realize.”

12:27 ME: That’s fine.

12:27 ME: But I am mad!!

12:28 MYG: Hahaha sure

“Cara, we’re here.” Sebastian says as he clambers out of the car. I follow after him, pocketing my phone.

There’s a few cameras outside waiting for us, but we’re able to make it inside the building without too much fuss. Once we make it into the room where we’re supposed to have one of our interviews, Sebastian pulls a paper out of his back pocket.

“What’s that?”

He smirks at me, unfolding the paper. It’s the fanart from earlier. I didn’t even realize that he’d pocketed it.

“Tell Suga I say hi, at least.” He poses with the papers just below his chin, giving the best puppy dog eyes he can muster up. It’s rather convincing, if I’m being honest.

“You weirdo,” I mumble as I snap a photo. I’m quick to send it off to Yoongi, captioning it.

12:37 ME: Sebastian says hello.

Our interviewer is just about to come into the room when I receive a response. Not having the self-restraint to put my phone away, I quickly take a look. Sebastian peers over my shoulder, curious as well.

12:40 MYG: Winter Soldier!!!

12:41 MYG: Hi. Did he draw that?

I cackle, quickly translating the message. Sebastian looks appalled. “I have better things to do than draw fanart!”

“Yeah, like write fanfiction, right?”

He grins at me. “Obviously.”

12:42 ME: No, but he says he’s writing fanfiction.

12:42 ME: We’re about to start an interview rn but I’ll tell him to send you his rough draft later. 😏

Interviews pass, and it isn’t until I’m finishing up dinner that my phone pings with another message from Yoongi. I nearly impale Sebastian with my fork as I lunge for my charging phone; he’d come into my hotel room to eat dinner with me.

“Watch it!” Sebastian grunts, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate. We were promised lunch by Rhea earlier but it ended up just being a small snack as she was whisked away by a long-lost friend. The two of us managed to control our hunger for as long as possible, but Sebastian wasted no time calling up some food for us before we even got back to the hotel.

We barely beat the delivery boy here. He wasn’t all that surprised that we were American. Sebastian had tried out some very choppy Cantonese. What did end up surprising him was that he was delivering a meal to the Winter Soldier. I was able to sneak into my room undetected while the boy’s eyes were bugging out as Sebastian signed his hat.

“Sorry,” I mumble around my food.

9:12 MYG: I’m still waiting for the rough draft.

I translate the message to Sebastian, who cackles and promises to get started on it as soon as possible.

9:14 ME: Sorry, Sebastian said he’s still trying to write it. I’ll let you know when it’s ready!

9:15 MYG: That’s alright. I’ll be patient.

9:15 MYG: I saw a clip from your press conference today.

My stomach lurches as I realize what clip it was that he probably saw. Does he think I’m some crazy fangirl now? I mean, I might be. But he doesn’t need to know that.

9:18 ME: I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?

Sebastian notices my change in expression and shoots me a worried look. “Everything alright?” I shrug.

“Yeah...I just hope I didn’t get him in trouble with what I said at the press conference today. I think that reporter was trying to go against him somehow.”

“He’s a big boy. Did he say anything about it?”

I look back down at the messages even though I already know what he said. My stomach lurches again as I see the three little dots at the bottom of the screen.

“No, not really. He just said he saw a clip or something. He’s typing right now, though.”

9:20 MYG: I thought I was the worrier. No, you didn’t. How was the rest of your day?

“What’d he say?” Sebastian grabs our cartons of food, tossing them into the wastebasket.

“He’s just…”

“Are you blushing?!” My friend stares at me from across the room, eyes wide. “No way! You like him!”

“No! No I don’t!”

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me! You’re so into him!” Sebastians hurries back over grinning wide. “Wow, he must be a good texter.”

That really is helping my blush. “Nooo, he’s not. He’s just nice. That’s it. It’s just fun having someone nice to talk to, you know? He feels really bad about everything and - Sebastian quit it - and it’s just sweet of him to care. That’s it.”

Sebastian stops looking at me with his puppy dog eyes and leans back in his chair, a contemplative look overtaking his features. “I thought I was nice to talk to.”

I pause for a second, breath getting caught in my throat. “Y-you are. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shakes his head, giving me an award-winning smile. “No, I know. Aren’t you going to respond?”

“Oh! Yeah!” I focus on my phone again. There’s an uneasy feeling rising in me at Sebastian’s comment, but I brush it off for now. He’s always been bad at sharing his friends. He’s the same with Anthony Mackey, I’ve seen it up close.

9:25 ME: True, I’ll let you worry. My day was good, just finished up dinner. How was yours?

“There, I-” I look up proudly only to find Sebastian’s chair empty and the door clicking shut. “...I did it.”

MYG: It was great. Got lots of work done.

MYG: Have you decided if you’re going to come to the festival or not? Also, Bong-cha says hi.

ME: Wow, she can’t even tell me herself. No respect. No, I honestly didn’t even think about it today...but I’m pretty sure we’re all going either way.

MYG: Haha she’s not happy with your comment.

MYG: She’s reading over my shoulder, I promise I’m not reading our conversation out loud. Is your director making you go?

I just miss the chance to respond as my phone lights up with an incoming call.

“Bong-cha, quit reading my conversations you little weirdo.”

“Hey, how’s it going with you? I’m great, thanks for asking.”

“Are you still in the room with everyone?”

“No, just left. You should see Yoongi right now, though.”

“Why?”

“He looks like a kid in a candy store every time he gets a text from you. It’s adorable.”

“Yah!”

My friend’s cackle soars through the phone, and I swat at the air as though I could somehow get her to stop.

“Please tell me you guys are coming to the festival.” Bong-cha’s sudden change in tone has me pausing, chewing on my lip.

“We are. Why?”

“Come stay with me!” Bong-cha shouts. I jump up, a grin already working its way onto my face. “It’ll be just like old times. And, I was looking at the schedule you sent me...there’s a couple of nights where you’re done relatively early. We could go do something fun!”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. My phone is buzzing with incoming texts, but I ignore them for now. “Yeah, that’ll be fun. I’m not sure if I can come stay with you-”

“C’mon,” Bong-cha whines. “I never get to see you anymore. We’ll make it work! Oh, I’ve gotta go, Tae brought Yeontan. But let me know!”

With that, Bong-cha cuts the line and leaves me on the other side caught between excitement at seeing my friend and dread at having to come face to face with Yoongi. Texting is one thing; but actually spending time with him?

“Just be his friend,” I mumble to myself. Settling down, I attack my food once more. The space where Sebastian sat before makes me furrow my brows.

What’s going on with him? I mean sure, we’re really good friends. But we still see each other constantly, why would he be so possessive?

It’s probably all just in my head. My phone light up with the texts I received a couple of minutes ago while I was still on the phone, and this time I physically cannot restrain the smile that comes through as I realize Yoongi is still texting me.

MYG: Really no pressure about the festival. I know Bong-cha really wants to see you, but please don’t feel like you have to come and hang out with us.

MYG: We’re not even that cool, anyways.

MYG: Are you just hanging out with Sebastian tonight??

I stare down at my phone for a moment, the smile being wiped from my face. Plopping down heavily on my bed, I close my eyes and power off my phone.

Yoongi is nice. So nice, apparently, that I can’t even tell now if he’s trying to get me to stay away. The fact is simple: he’s a nice man who has a reputation to uphold and is trying to keep everyone happy. That includes me.

He’s nice for texting me and trying to make sure I’m doing alright. Any decent human being would do that. But there’s also the fact that I’m new to this game in the spotlight and I know that I’m not going to be able to keep my feelings out of this.

I take a moment to breathe, forcing myself to push away the impending panic that sets in. This is no way to live, and I know that I’m only setting myself up for heartbreak when someday I don’t wake up to a good morning text from Yoongi.

It’s only been one day of communicating and I can already feel myself getting too attached.

Powering on my phone again, I flinch at the new texts.

9:17 MYG: Bong-cha just told me her evil plan. 😩 Did she tell you about it on the phone?

9:31 MYG: Sorry if you’re busy! Just text me back when you can. Let me know about your plans for the festival, too.

Even though I’m itching to text him back and waste away the rest of the night talking to him, there’s another more pressing matter I have to face. Quickly getting up and leaving my phone there in order to fight the temptation, I grab my room key and head a few rooms down. A quiet knock and a few seconds later and Sebastian is opening up his door.

He looks down at me warily, and I feel almost like we had a fight because of the way he’s looking at me. Emitting a loud sigh, he shakes it off and grins down at me in a way that makes me question if I even saw the previous expression at all.

“Hey,” I mumble out weakly. Moving past him into his room, he follows silently behind me.

“Hey…?”

Without another word I land face first onto his bed, the action pulling a laugh from him. Good. His laugh reminds me that this is real. This friendship is real, and Sebastian for all his annoying teasing, is a true friend.

Bong-cha is miles away and busy. She’s also biased. So Sebastian is the next best thing.

“I’m freaking out,” the pillow muffles my words but I know he hears me loud and clear. The mattress dips on one side as Sebastian settles onto it, and a moment later a hesitant hand begins kneading the flesh at my shoulders. I let out a satisfied sigh.

“What’s going on?” His tone is gentle, and the sound of it nearly tugs some tears out of my eyes.

“I’m pathetic, Sebastian.” I clutch his pillow and bury my face farther into it. “I’m so pathetic! I’ve literally never met the man before in my life, and I’ve spent the last 24 hours sending a few texts back and forth and I already feel like I’d jump off a cliff for him!”

Sebstian’s hands pause in their kneading for a fraction of a second before continuing on. “I told you you liked him.”

I turn to look at him, and again I catch that wary gaze before he drops it. “Really? ‘I told you so’? Rude. I need help, Sebastian. It’s never going to happen, he’s just being nice, and I just need to be cordial and get through this. Right?”

He nods, contemplating a bit. “Sure. He seems like a great guy. But at the end of the day, the two of you are just caught up in a weird media frenzy and that’s it. Is that what you want me to say?”

“I guess.” I huff, flipping onto my back as I stare up at the ceiling. “Why do I like him though? Am I just desperate?”

Sebastian stands up and laughs. “No way. If you were desperate you would be falling for me, not some inconvenient, crazy famous kpop star.”

Somehow his words make me laugh, the feeling easing the panic a bit. “You’re right, I guess.”

🌙

I end up passing out in Sebastian’s room only to wake up at 3 am and find myself a little too close for comfort to my co-star. Gently untangling myself from his mess of arms and legs, I sneak out of his room and back to my own.

Half-asleep and looking the part, I groan at my reflection in the mirror as I try to brush my teeth. Pointing at my reflection with my toothbrush, I give myself a pep talk.

“You are not pathetic,” pause to spit, “you’re not desperate,” rinse out the brush, “you’re just friendly. You’re practicing making new friends, and Yoongi as well as all of BTS are a part of that. That’s it.”

So when I finally settle down into my cold and very empty bed, I don’t feel very guilty sending Yoongi a late-night text. He never texted me again after the last one I saw, and I easily brush off the feeling of disappointment and replace it with relief.

3:13 ME: Yeah, we’re going. No, I have no idea what the evil plan is. Do we need to come up with a counter-plan? And sorry I never responded...I was busy annoying Sebastian and left my phone in my room. Good morning! This is payback for your late texts last night!

I fall asleep easily after that, double checking that my phone is on silent before snuggling deep down into my pillows.

Honestly, what do I even have to worry about? Everything is going great with promotions, the movie is finished and should be well received, and in a couple of days I’ll get to go see Bong-cha and make new friends!

Into the silence, I can’t help but laugh. I’m not dumb enough to believe that everything will go as planned.

Especially not as my dreams take over and the only thing I can dream of is a man in a black suit, turning around to greet me over and over again. I can never quite see his face, but somehow I know him.

Even in my unconscious state, I lie to myself and say that it’s not Min Yoongi.

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