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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 years

Text

Only Ours

Fandom: Stranger Things

Rating: T

Pairing: Steddie, Dustin x Suzie

Category: fluff, songfic, domesticity, established relationship

Summary: Dustin blinked at them, surprised. "Wait, Steve. You...don't have one?"

"One what?"

"A song. For you and Eddie?" Dustin tried again, eyes shifting between them as if he expected it to be some kind of a joke. "Come on, isn't that like a classic relationship thing?"

Eddie learns that Steve would very much like them to have a couple song and since he's the only one with any musical taste in this relationship, it's up to him.

You can also read it HERE.

I fully support the idea I read in other fics that if Eddie were to get a cat, its name would be Ozzy. In fact, I believe that Eddie would spoil the cat rotten and tell the cat that whatever it did was "so metal, darling" and Steve would self-combust with jealousy over a cat. Except Ozzy would sometimes do the cat thing where their alliances change in a split second and Eddie would be left with two sassy and gorgeous creatures who'd team up from time to time just to keep him on his toes.

Why 1990 you ask? Because the perfect song for my boys only came out then.

Oh yeah, now the story.

December 1990, Hawkins, Indiana

Four years ago, the world didn't end, although it certainly tried. Steve's head throbbed just thinking about it, so he mostly just attempted not to. Some people had been reported missing but were, in fact, dead. Other people had died but then it turned out they were just resurrected/transported into another dimension/kidnapped to Russia. The ground split in Hawkins in an angry X shape and killed more people, injured some and destroyed a large chunk of the town. Levitation, gruesome deaths, terrifying sounds of crunching bones, Hawkins had it all. And since most official channels were useless, it was up to the Hawkins' young and finest, sometimes also weirdest and some additions from other places like California, to do something about it. Which they did, yay, world saved and all, now back to your lives, college, high school, you name it, and keep that trauma under the wraps, yeah? Others might not understand.

Apart from the interdimensional monster fighting, superpowers, government conspiracies, possessions and more Dungeons and Dragons references than he ever cared to know, Steve also had a few surprising personal revelations.

One, his parents sucked. Not slightly, not subjectively, but massively and in so many ways that his brain decided You know what, let's just erase this shit. He sometimes wondered if that was the reason why he felt so stupid, that his head just decided that in order to get rid of the thoughts of his parents, everything else from that time should also go. When they decided to leave Hawkins for good and graciously left him the house sitting next to a melted line in the ground, he breathed a sigh of relief. There had been a time when he'd give anything for them to notice him, but after the hell of 1986, his friends threw a Farewell, suckers! party (well, Eddie and Robin did and Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle happily joined) and after raiding his father's alcohol stash, setting up an improvised shooting range outside with their perfect family photographs and desecrating his mother's beloved tablecloth with red wine, he felt unexpectedly free. He could do anything he wanted and...yeah. He'd have to figure out where to start with that.

Two, he had no fucking clue what he wanted, but fortunately his heart didn't wait for the brain to catch up and just pointed in the direction of recently resurrected Eddie Munson and shouted "GO!". Steve should have probably found it confusing, he should have had a sexuality crisis, but he was so tired after all that crap, Eddie was actually great and his eyes were pretty, and maybe it wasn't figuring out his sexuality but rather finding a person he clicked with. He still liked boobies, but he also liked Eddie. Robin tried to educate him on what he was, but after seeing a few of their disgustingly romantic looks, she just settled on Eddiesexual. Steve didn't protest (much).

Three, he still was a romantic. Steve had always played up the romantic side with the ladies and did what was expected of him, wooing, flowers, dinners, all that, because that's what you were supposed to do. But he was completely clueless when Eddie agreed to date him. What do you get a guy for a date? Or more precisely, what do you get Eddie? As it turned out, he was overthinking for no reason because all the roads led to Eddie's heart. It took a while for him to calm down, but Eddie took everything in a stride and even when Steve knocked on his door, sleep-deprived and babbling about the prettiest flower he saw on his way from work that reminded him of Eddie and he just had to pick it for him, Eddie would just grin, say "another score for the Harrington charm, come on in big boy" and wear the flower proudly in his hair until it wilted.

All of these revelations lead to some changes in his life. When things settled down, he sold the house, not sparing a single look when he shut the door behind him for the last time. It was a final goodbye to his prior shitty life and when he moved to a much smaller, older and cheap, but cozier house, he felt like he could breathe again. Then Eddie moved in with him, as they both decided the distance was not too great, but absolutely unnecessary. And when Eddie suggested getting a pet together, Steve's first thought was his father's voice, saying Absolutely not, animals are messy, there is no merit to them, Steven. The second thought was giving that voice the finger, grabbing the his keys in one hand, Eddie's wrist in the other one and driving to the nearest shelter. So year 1990 saw him living a comfortable, quiet life with Eddie and Ozzy (because what else would Eddie Munson call his cat, right), both working not very prestigious but normal jobs. They would still meet their friends often, the whole survived-the-end-of-the-world squad might have left Hawkins here and there, but always returned, as if there was a magnetic pull to the place. It was probably just difficult to feel fully at home somewhere else, where no one understood your caution, your quirks and nightmares. With Nancy and Robin's support ("Nagging," Eddie corrected him, "it's called nagging, Harrington"), both Steve and Eddie applied to a community college and got in, seeing it both as a good step forward in their lives, but also a much needed fuck you to the Harrington senior expectations and Munson predetermined criminal future.

And hey, it wasn't the life Steve had imagined before, but it was so much better than any fantasies he had for his future with Nancy because what he had with Eddie was real, it was domestic and comfortable and just home. They got to see their kids grow up and couldn't be prouder of them, even though they had at least one of them over every single day, providing relationship guidance and reassuring them that even if, for some unimaginable reason, their college dreams didn't work out, it wasn't the end of the world (because that was a bit more dark, screechy and filled with floating particles), that things work out in the end, look at them, community college and all, who would have thought that the former jock with more hair than brain cells and a metalhead who took three years to graduate would do so well for themselves? You have nothing to worry about, nothing at all.

When Dustin got older, he and Suzie finally started travelling to see each other. He would often complain to Eddie and Steve during his visits that even all those years later, his friends would always send him on his way with a heartfelt rendition of Never Ending Story and sadly, Eddie didn't turn out to be as sympathetic to his plight as Dustin might have hoped. When he learned the finer details of the Starcourt debacle and how the world was saved by Suzie's genius and Dustin's voice, Eddie collapsed into Steve and howled in laughter while Dustin mouthed "traitor!" at him. Steve just grabbed the nearest pillow and offhandedly muffled Eddie's outburst.

"Don't take it personally, man," he told Dustin while Eddie choked and gasped for air under the merciless fabric. Somewhere in the room, Ozzy gave a concerned chirp, but Steve ignored it. "I think it's cute and they might be jealous, you know? I think it has to be really nice to have a song like that," he smiled at him and eased his grip on the pillow. "Will you behave now, Munson?" A muted confirmation seemed to be enough and Eddie sat back up, trying to fix his hair which now looked like a bird's nest.

Dustin blinked at them, surprised. "Wait, Steve. You...don't have one?"

"One what?" He wasn't really paying attention, trying to untangle Eddie's rings that got stuck in his curls. This man needed a constant supervision and Steve was the right man for the job.

"A song. For you and Eddie?" Dustin tried again, eyes shifting between them as if he expected it to be some kind of a joke. "Come on, isn't that like a classic relationship thing?"

Steve's ears went slightly pink. "Um, no. I don't think I've ever had one. But I think it's really cool and you and Suzie have something like that, don't let those other shitheads ruin it for you." His smile was genuine and comforting, but Dustin's mind was already racing.

He turned his focus to Eddie, frowning. "Really, Eddie? All that musical knowledge and not a single song for the two of you?"

Eddie hugged the pillow that had nearly cost him his life seconds ago and grabbed a strand of his hair, pulling it in front of his face. "I don't...I don't think it ever came up?" he says, eyes darting to Steve. "Why didn't you say that was what you wanted, Stevie?"

Steve just shrugged, the pink hue returning. "Um. I always thought it came up naturally? Like. When you get your first kiss during a song or something, then it's your song?"

"Well, yeah, it can be like that, I guess," Eddie admitted, frowning. "But I don't think there are any rules to it. And if there are, screw them. You're gonna get that song, baby, no matter what. Time for some research." He slapped his thighs and suddenly jumped up, rushing from the door. By the sounds from the next room, Eddie was rummaging through his entire musical collection.

Steve stared at Dustin with furrowed brows. "What...has just happened?"

Dustin rolled his eyes. "It's called communicating your wants and needs, Steve."

From that moment on, Eddie started something that could only be called a quest. He was completely serious about fulfilling this single wish and while he normally played his music at obnoxious volumes, he ended up digging up his walkman and listening to tens of tapes, scribbling his notebook and whenever Steve approached him, Eddie would stop the track and shoo him away. Steve was growing concerned with the amount of time Eddie was spending on...well...his wish. He tried to backtrack, told Eddie that it wasn't a big deal, it didn't really matter that they didn't have their song, but Eddie always cut that crap short. "Steve. If I can do this one single thing for you, why the hell wouldn't I? Let me handle it. If I have a candidate, you will be the first one to know, okay?"

And so Steve waited. It took weeks and he was slowly getting worried that he set Eddie up for a failure, because while they met here and there in their musical taste, it wasn't exactly compatible or anywhere near the love song territory. So when Eddie finally called him over one evening, just after the holidays, he was equally excited and terrified.

"So," Eddie started, clearing his throat. "I just want to let you know that I tried to take everything into consideration. Our styles. Suitable lyrics. I went through a ton of songs, and trust me, there are tons that feel like they are about us, but I was...I was trying to find something that would represent how I see you. And I think...I think I finally found it, but it's just a suggestion. If you don't like it, we can drop it."

Steve recognized the album before Eddie could continue, it was one of the newer ones that Eddie picked up and he had to chuckle, more in amusement than disappointment. "Slaughter?" he snorted and pointed at the band name. "Really, Munson? I mean, sure, sounds about right for what we went through-"

"Will you just - can you please shut that pretty mouth of yours and listen to it?!" It could have sounded annoyed, except not really, because Eddie was never mad about Steve's music preferences (or lack of them). Only then did he notice that Eddie looked genuinely nervous, his eyes were everywhere but on Steve and he was chewing his lip with enough force to make it red and swollen. He was wringing his hands and pacing in the narrow space of their room, back and forward, only squeezing two steps in before spinning around on his heel. Ozzy gave a quiet mrrrow and rubbed against his ankle, almost making Eddie trip. After the stream of creative insults against the poor (but definitely not sorry) creature ended, Eddie sighed and picked the now very content cat up, rubbing his chin. "Seriously, Stevie. It's not a joke, I swear, I just...when I heard it, I immediately thought of you, you know? I mean, it says Lady instead of...I don't know, Stevie, but I guess that would be too specific and it's not like we're the target audience, I guess. I can sing that line for you though. If that bothers you. So just try it, please. If you don't like it, I will never bring it up again." He finally looked at Steve and how could he refuse those beautiful dark eyes?

Steve felt the involuntary rise of the corners of his mouth, something that Eddie brought into his life. Dustin was always making fun of Steve grinning like an idiot in the presence of their dungeon master, but Eddie liked it, often pinching his cheeks and peppering kisses over his forehead until he turned Steve's chronic frown upside down ("but with less bats," he always added and that was a guaranteed chuckle right there). So if Eddie liked him smiling, Henderson could bite Suzie's...computer. Crossing the short distance between them, he stroked Ozzy's ears and kissed Eddie on the lips, short and sweet. "Of course, Eddie. Even if it's not the one, I always appreciate you broadening my music horizons," he remarked with a grin.

"Oh, you don't." Eddie's shoulders finally relaxed and he laid Ozzy on the bed, petting him in place of an apology. "Sit down with me, yeah? Before the majestic feline decides to maul me for my insolence." With that, he leaned over to the cassette player and hit play.

Okay, so the initial guitar wail may have freaked him out a little. Eddie didn't do a low or even a medium volume. He flinched and his hand on Ozzy's back twitched, but then Eddie's fingers were over his and... Hm. The intro isn't that bad. Not romantic, but nothing scream-y or too heavy. Actually, the melody wasn't bad at all. Steve gave Eddie an encouraging smile and the marvelled at the returned grin.

And then the singing started. A bit husky, yet still melodic, but that didn't matter because all he could focus on were the lyrics.

I've been livin' in this lonely world

Wishin' I could find someone to love

Hopin' someone would come from above

Change my life

Steve's breath hitched. That hit too close to home. Way too close. His fingers started trembling, but Eddie's hand was there, warm, large and with callouses felt so good on his skin.

Then I noticed you there

You were my angel sent from my despair

I know that you are the lady who cares

Eddie's grin became more muted now, a bit unsure as he mouthed Stevie over the lyrics, but Steve tightened his grip on the other man's hand. Ozzy made a chirp of disappointment and left the bed for something more fun because the back scratches were becoming infrequent, but Steve didn't even notice.

I want to spend my life with you

With you

He felt like he might cry. His eyes burned a bit and oh, he got it now, why Eddie would think of him and why he could only think of Eddie with this song. Those long fingers were caressing his knuckles as if he was the most precious piece of fine art he'd ever seen and there was so much fondness in Eddie's eyes, those stubborn wrinkles around them showing as he kept smiling and Steve loved him so much he didn't know how to cope. He redirected his straying focus back to the lyrics because Eddie wanted him to hear them. Eddie picked this song for them, for him.

I think of all of those sleepless nights

To survive

It's like the earth was standing still

You know I hardly had the will

A bitten off sob escaped Steve's throat. He was used to hiding his soft side from everyone, but never from Eddie because he never made fun of him, never judged. Eddie might have chuckled to himself when he noticed Steve's glassy eyes and uneven breathing during romantic movies, but he always pulled Steve closer, arm around his shoulders, burying his face in that luscious hair and never commenting on the dampness on his t-shirt. Steve still couldn't understand how or why, but he had learned - with Eddie's stubborn support - that he was not only loved, but loved for exactly who he was.

Then I noticed you there

You were my angel sent from my despair

I know that you are the lady who cares

I want to spend my life with you

I want to spend my life with you, baby

My lady

You're true

He wasn't exactly crying, well, not sobbing, but there were a few rogue tears and Eddie just moved closer, pulled Steve against him and began stroking his hair, all while gently swaying to the music. Steve was so, so thankful that Eddie understood, that he didn't panic or immediately halt everything because something made him cry. Perhaps that was the definition of true love, to be known and still loved, to enjoy the nearness and choose the lazy domestic mornings and slight annoyances over temporary butterflies.

I want to spend my life with you

I wanna spend my life with you

Only with you baby

I want to spend my life with you

You know you're my little angel

I want to spend my life with you

Okay, that was it. He couldn't just wait for the song to finish, not now and certainly not with Eddie right next to him. Steve tackled his boyfriend onto the bed and Eddie produced an undignified squeak when Steve spun them around, burying Eddie's upper body in their mountain of pillows. He only had a second to appreciate Eddie's delighted bark of laughter before kissing him silly, not caring for once that his tears were visible and dripping down onto Eddie's face. He would have loved to be a bit more refined in his technique, but he was (in Dustin's words) an emotional mess, so enthusiastic and wild it was. Not that the rest of the lyrics were helping in regaining of composure.

Oh don't you knowI want to spend

All of my life with you babe

'Cause you gave me all your lovin'

And baby I know it's true

'Cause you're the only one for me

Baby I'm the one for you

The song was becoming quieter and he could feel Eddie's hand fumbling on the player and pressing stop. Then it returned to his hair and Steve might have forgotten to breathe, but it was becoming obvious that he wasn't getting out of talking that easily. Eddie's hungry kisses were slowing down, becoming gentler and finally turning into little pecks. He managed to grab Steve's jaw and take a shaky breath. "Holy shit, big boy," he laughed and stroked the moles on his boyfriend's throat. "I gather that's a Yes, I like it?" he whispered, still grinning.

Steve wiped his eyes and leaned his forehead against Eddie's. "As if you couldn't tell. Yeah. Yeah, I liked it. A lot. I think...I think it's the one, Eddie. If you're okay with it."

Eddie pumped his fist in the air victoriously. "More than okay. I guess I'm just relieved it wasn't a complete miss, I hadn't been that nervous since I was a teenager. I mean, I wish this song existed when we got together, it would have been a much easier confession and it would still hit all the points." He stilled when he heard a sharp intake of breath. "I hope you're okay with all of them...?"

"Shit, Eddie," whispered Steve and buried his face into Eddie's t-shirt. "I loved it. All of them, but that...chorus, I think, that one the most." He wondered how to say the million things swirling in his mind, how this song managed to silence the "bullshit" he had always feared, how he'd never thought anyone would ever say these words to him. To be someone's absolute choice.

To his surprise, Eddie just laughed and hugged him like an octopus, hands, feet, all crushing Steve in a long-limbed hug. "Ah, yes. You seemed surprised at that, so let me ask you. Do you really doubt I want to spend all the years I have left and then some with you, Steve? When we live together," he nudged Steve's side gently, making him squirm, "we have six kids and a cat," another nudge, another squirm, "we're in the middle of saving for that dream road trip of yours and, most importantly, you make the best goddamn pancakes in Hawkins? Jesus, Stevie. I'm not giving you up, even when you're much older, bald and you spend all your day bitching about Max and Lucas's kids skating on our sidewalk. You're stuck with me, so deal with it."

Steve smiled through his tears and leaned down into that tight, crushing embrace. "Yeah. That works for me. I do want that, Eddie, all of that. And..."

Eddie relaxed his arms and tilted his head at Steve's hopeful tone. "And, Stevie?"

Steve's breath tickled Eddie's ear as he whispered: "You said you had more songs that reminded you of us. I'd like to hear them."

He laughed then, free and wild, as if that was it, that was the ultimate highlight of his life. Nothing better would ever happen, except that was a lie, wasn't it? In a life with Steve Harrington, this was just the beginning. "Are you asking me for a mixtape, Steve? After four years?"

"Mhm." Steve's lips moved to Eddie's throat and well, it looked like a turtleneck for tomorrow and the day after that. He found it difficult to remember why it was a bad thing. "I can offer those beloved pancakes of yours as a compensation."

Eddie moved his leg to the side and threw off Steve's balance, flipping them around. "Oh baby, you've got yourself a deal" he grinned before gently nudging Ozzy out of the door and closing it, because some things were definitely not meant for cat eyes and ears.

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

No beta, we die like all the characters whose names begin with B, so sorry. I don’t have a beta reader and I’m fully aware there are some gramatical errors, if anyone is willing to put up with a non-native speaker raging over all the “perfect” tenses, I will love you forever.

Oh yeah. The song is Spend My Life by Slaughter.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #strangerthingsfanfiction #fluff #steddie brainrot #songfic #ish

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dreamwritesimagines · 8 months

Note

It’s CMA-

Omg she acknowledged that she feels safe and that’s growth from where she used to be! Clover is becoming more emotionally intelligent and doesn’t even realize it haha

Lmaooo “classic cactus” clover is right… artists…. (/j)

Lmao Ben has mastered the art of lying to Anthony over the years; once again Dream’s writing of sibling dynamics is absolutely golden

I also love that clover knows that palette knives aren’t sharp because it means that she’s been paying attention to him and the things he loves too ❤️❤️❤️

I love the tie in to the last chapter with her concern about his hands and his art<3

Also awww she’s actually going to tell the bridgertons! That’s a huge first step for her considering how long it took her to tell Ben. She’s growing!! Augh you love to see it

Their domestic loveliness even when no one else is around to see- be still my heart (I see clover feels the same LOL)

Penelope what the fuck dude… this whistledown is awful. Girl is full on getting on my nerves dude……

Are we going to get to see Anthony and Ben’s convo? I would love to know how that went

Ah Ben is teaching clover how to lie to his family lmaoooo

NO FUCK NO FUCK FUCK FUCK NO NOT HER MOM FUCK OFF TO HELL GET OUT OF HERE RUN CLOVER FUCK FUCK FUCK

Fuck yeah clover!!! Put her in her place!!!

Ugh I had suck a sinking feeling in my stomach reading what her mom said. I still have the heebie jeebies she is SO gross. I hate her SO SO SO much; I just want to scream AUGHHHHHH

(Seriously my entire body language changed the more she talked. I am so tense now lmao heart racing for an entirely different reason)

(Lowkey reminded me of my mom)

FUCK

Okay now that that’s out of my system (/lying) FUCK I am so proud of her for being able to walk away and be rational and not panic; good for her! But fuck that was/is a terrible feeling

I am glad that we got to see clover’s growth and everything, but this is such a terrible way to see it.

I know that this chapter was necessary and it was mostly good but that bit at the end slightly tainted things. Like again, I am proud of her, but fuck if that doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth.

Dream I hope there will be more fluff to come after this shitshow…. I don’t use this term lightly, but what a monster, my god……

CMA darling hiiii! ❤️

Yessss exactly! Like, being with Benedict and also being surrounded by her real family made her feel so safe that her parents showing up didn't have the same impact on her as it would have at the beginning of the story! ❤️

Artists 😂

Omg honey that's so sweet of you! ❤️I enjoy writing sibling dynamics so much! ❤️

You caught that detail yessss! 🥰 Clover pays attention to everything he does even if she plays it cool 😂

Yesss she is! ❤️ She feels very comfortable with Violet, she knows she's very different than her mother ❤️

We will have more domestic fluffy moments 😏❤️ Very soon 😏

Pen is making moneeeey 😂

We can get a HC with Anthony and Benedict's convo if you'd like? ❤️

Oooh that reaction to her mom is a great sign! ❤️ That was exactly what I was trying to do, because I wanted to make her a bit different than the father but still keeping her as her horrible self😂

Yessss, I think this chapter was important to show Clover's progress in general and how she changed ❤️ She would have reacted very impulsively and then crumble after that conversation if it had happened earlier, but Benedict helped her get stronger against anything and everything❤️ So no matter what her parents tell her, it barely has any impact on her ❤️

More fluff you say? Oh I think you will like the next chapter very, very much 😏

Thank you so much for this love! ❤️

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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

Text

Aaron Hotchner / Tell Me to Stop

Request: "The heater broke and I’m freezing get over here" + "The Classic™: The hotel only has a king sized bed, I guess we’re sharing."

Word Count: 5,188

Warnings: Fluff, angst, some violence (its criminal minds, what do you expect), me having way too much fun with one of my fav tropes

“Sorry you got stuck with the short end of the stick,” Hotch intones, the two of you carrying your go-bags into the small motel you were now stranded in. The team had flown down to this small town in the middle of nowhere – with one hotel in the nearby vicinity. Unfortunately, being the only hotel did not mean superior technology - they had double booked two rooms. Which meant, two members had to be put up at a nearby motel – and lucky you, you both had drawn the short straws.

“Short end?” you smile up at Hotch, who looks as unruffled as ever, “Did you see the first hotel?” He snorts in reply, “Pretty sure I saw fifteen health code violations walking past the threshold.”

“And this is any better?” you shrug, looking around – it was a small motel: rundown, not well lit (you wondered if that for the more discreet clientele or because they couldn’t be bothered to change the lightbulbs out), and even the bell Hotch dinged at the counter was all but rusted over completely.

“Well, it’s not the outdoors in the middle of winter. So, I’ll take it,” his lips quirked upwards, and you couldn’t help but stare a moment – his smiles were few and far between these days, especially after Haley. Any smile you could pry from him was something you cherished, even though you would never admit it.

“Room for two?” you jumped, not noticing the woman who appeared at the counter now. Her sleeves of her flannel shirt were rolled up, despite the cold, and her straw like hair framed her face, grinning too widely at the two of you.

Hotch seemed unfazed, “Two rooms actually. We were sent over here by the Creswell Hotel in town. They said you would accommodate us.”

“Yes, yes,” she flipped through some charts, “Unfortunately one of the rooms we had for you was just taken.”

“You booked the room you were holding for us?” you repeated, and she looked up from her list, tilting her head.

“Did you expect me to hold it forever, my dear?”

You stared, voice rising with every word, “It’s only been twenty minutes since we left-”

“We’ll take the one room, thank you,” Hotch interjected, taking the key from the woman, and steering you away from the counter, “Sorry, I just didn’t want our other room to magically get booked.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you shook your head, “sorry. I just can’t believe her. This is ridiculous.”

“Better than sleeping outside right?” you rolled your eyes at that, as the woman waved you over to your room. And that’s when it dawned on you.

You were going to be sharing a room with Hotch. She unlocked the room for you, handing Hotch the key, before flicking on the light.

Both your eyes fell on the bed. Bed. Singular.

There was one bed.

~~~

The conversation with the manager went as well as the first one did. There was nothing she could do. Of course, you thought, staring into your go-bag, of course you would end up sharing a hotel room with your boss.

“Do you mind if I shower first?” your head snapped up, and you shook your head, “Look, I know this is…uncomfortable, but it’s just a few nights. Obviously I’ll take the floor-”

“Hotch, I can take the floor-”

He shook his head, a wry smile pulling at his lips, “You take the bed,” and he adds, “that’s an order.”

“Also,” you call after him, “can we not tell the team about our…living arrangement?”

He quirks a brow, throwing his towel over his shoulder, “Morgan and Garcia don’t need to know about this.”

“Thank you,” he closes the door behind him, and after a minute or two, you hear the shower start to run. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your teeth bared down on your lip, remembering how much Garcia had teased you as you waited for the cab to take you to the motel.

“Come on, Y/N, we all know that you and Hotch-”

“Are co-workers, nothing more,” you hissed, pulling her aside, “There’s nothing between us. We’re just friends-”

“Friends who spend late nights at the office? Friends who stare at each other far too often? Come on, Y/N, you have worked here less time than most of the team and you have spent more weekends with him and Jack then the rest of us.”

“I-“ You sighed, holding your head, “I don’t want to push him into something he’s not ready for Penelope,”

She put her hands on her hips, “How is he supposed to know what he’s ready for when he doesn’t even know you’re an option?”

Her words continued to ring in your ears. You walked the length of the room – which was about 6 strides before you had to turn back around again. Your boss was currently showering, one door separating the two of you. Heat burned a trail down your cheeks, warming your neck.

Screw showering. You needed to go to sleep. You had to do something other than think about the words burning on your chest, ready to spring from your lips. The windows rattled, and you shivered, rubbing your sides as you knelt besides the radiator. Your fingers grazed the metal – it was barely warm. You turned the knobs, trying to get the heat going, until –

“What are you doing?” You jumped, the knob coming off in your hand.

Shit.

Your shower lasted far too long – but it was needed to wash away the sense of dread you felt. Unfortunately, as you turned the water off and stepped out, it was immediately replaced by nerves. You pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. You had opted not to wash your hair, knowing your odds of drying your hair would be slim to none, and you would rather not add a hospital trip to top off this wonderful night. You paused before the door, heaving a heavy sigh, before opening it.

You found Hotch not sleeping, but toying with the radiator, “You didn’t tell me you went to radiator repair school in between law school and the FBI.”

He shook his head, sighing, “I didn’t, but I’m starting to wonder if that would have more useful than my law degree.”

You shivered again, and it wasn’t just the shower – it had gotten colder in here and it would only get colder throughout the night. You glanced at the barebones set up that Hotch was going to calling a bed tonight, and back at him.

You caught his eye and he cut you off, “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Y/N,”

“Hotch-”

“It’s just one night, I can-”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that I sleep on the floor,” your cheeks burned, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I was going to say we both sleep on the bed.” He opened and closed his mouth, jaw set as he seemed to consider it, “We’re both adults. We’re friends.”

You sat on the bed, arms crossed, and he tilted his head, “And you’re fine with this?”

You gave a soft chuckle, “I suggested it, so yes.”

He sighed, “But-“

“Hotch,” you pulled yourself under the covers, “Get over here, it’s freezing.”

You tried to pay no mind as he slid into bed beside you, ever so careful – like everything he did. You noticed his hair was still damp from his shower, the smell of his shampoo strong – was it mint?

You shook yourself from these thoughts, turning from him to face the edge of the bed, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

You thought the end of it, but it wasn’t.

You couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how much you intimidated the act. Eyes closed, breaths even, snuggled in the corner of the bed, and yet…the Sandman denied you. You needed to sleep, at least for a few hours for tomorrow. A lack of sleep led to mistakes which could led to a life lost. And yet, you knew every second that passed as you thought about this was another second you weren’t sleeping. And finally, you narrowed the problem down to two things – one, your boss sleeping next to you and the fact you fell asleep sleeping the other way, which would entail facing him.

You couldn’t tell if Hotch was sleeping. He hadn’t moved much since he settled in. Was he pretending like you? The windows rattled again and a cold breeze made its way through the thin glass, and through your thin blanket.

Fuck it. It was cold and you were tired. You turned around, eyes still very much shut, but curiosity pulled at your eyelids to just peek.

But you didn’t have to.

“Still awake?” your eyes opened to find a pair of brown ones staring back at you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “despite my best efforts.”

“Is something on your mind?”

“Not really,” besides not being able to sleep with you lying beside me, “How about you?”

“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time with you, and I still can’t figure out if you’re lying or not,” his brow raised, you bit back a smile, “You can’t always brush aside your own thoughts.”

“I can try,” you relent when he frowns, “Hotch, I can’t.”

“Why can’t you? I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone,” he admits, “things about Jack, about Haley. I want to be that for you too.” You stay silent, eyes staring at his pillow rather than him, “Unless you don’t trust me?”

“I do,” you sit up, allowing the blanket to bunch by your legs, and he follows suit, leaning on one hand. “Too much. That’s the problem.”

You lift your eyes to his, and you find him staring, his gaze heavy with the same emotions – fear, hesitance, and something else – something warmer.

Would it be so bad? You thought, would it be so bad to give yourself the one thing, the one person would’ve wanted so long, and allow yourself to have it? He dared closer, his breath against your lips, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, and I’ll sleep on the floor, and I’ll never try this again,” he whispers, so quietly, and it breaks your heart. It exudes of the hesitance, the desire, the brushes neither of you spoke of, the lingering looks, the simple domestic routine the two you adopted without a second glance, and the fear – the fear you would both lose it all.

“Don’t,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his again. And you are enamored – in how he feels so soft against your lips, in the warmth of his hand cupping your face, and the quiet whisper of your name on his lips when you part for a breath, “Hotch- Aaron, I-”

He draws away to look at you, and you shake your hand, fingers at the back of his head, carding through his hair, “I’ve just wanted this for so long,”

“I have too,” he admits, teeth brushing against his bottom lip, “I just never-”

“Wanted to hurt you,” you finish with a small laugh, “Garcia was right, we are both idiots.”

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and then to your forehead, “At least we learned,” you lean up to catch his lips in another kiss, and he returns it – his hands daring lower now, as you lean back into the plush of the bed. His lips leave yours, trailing open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, “and I’ll never make the same mistake again.”

Your eyes open at the sound of your phone ringing, and you almost believe your in your own bed, until you feel someone shift beside you, and you hear his voice, “Hotchner,”

So, it wasn’t your phone. You blink sleep away from your eyes, and see him sitting in the bed beside you, “We’ll be right there.”

His forehead furrowed, and eyes dark, though his gaze softens when he sees you staring, “We have to go. They found another body.”

You sit up, pressing a small kiss to his lips, rolling your thumb to smooth his creased brow, “Let’s go.”

But he stops you, “About last night,” and your heart tightens at his expression, was it over that quickly? “I don’t know how I’m going to get anything done around you, so I’m going to have you work with Reid and help him nail down the geographic profile.”

Your worry dissipates, and your frown quickly grows into a grin, “Think I’ll be a distraction?” You sit up on your knees, attempting your best doe-eyed expression, and he smiles.

“You already were,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “it’s just for now. While we both get used to it.”

You drape your hands around his shoulders, pressing your foreheads together, “I know, and you better get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~

You were working with Reid to put together a geographic profile, staring at the map pinned to the board in front of you. Reid had placed markers on the various places that the bodies had been discovered, along with abduction sites, looking for some sort of comfortable radius. Your brow scrunched in thought, you didn’t notice Garcia until she tapped your shoulder.

“Penelope, did you find something to help-”

“No, no, but they had to reset the internet in this place for the fiftieth time because this place doesn’t know Google Fiber from the fiber they eat at breakfast,” she waved you off, her painted lips curled in a mischievous grin as she pulled you aside not so subtly, asking much too loud, “How did it go last night?”

You were luckily expecting to be grilled by her, either sometime during this trip or on the plane ride back, “Nothing happened last night because we’re professionals on a case,” you rolled your eyes, “and because we’re just friends.” You added.

“Come on, I know something must have happened – Hotch always works with you in the field on these types of cases, and suddenly, you’re with Reid?” Reid looks up from the board, slightly affronted, “No offense baby boy.”

“Garcia, please,” you sighed, checking your phone, “The Wi-Fi’s back on, you should get back to work.” She protests, but you shake your head, “Unless you want me to tell the boss?”

She pouts, but relents, “I will get you to tell me what happened last night. Mark my words.”

You sigh, shutting the door behind her, turning back to the board, when you feel Reid look, “Got something to say?”

“It’s just interesting,”

You look over, and he bites his lip, “What is?”

“That you said you were professionals and then added you were friends,” Reid says, flipping through a case file, “almost like being friends was an afterthought, or that you’re something more. I just figured something out about the case.”

Your mouth hangs open as he puts the phone on speaker, and you hear Hotch’s voice ring out, “What did you find?”

Your head snaps up as you look from Reid to the phone, “He’s stalking the women in a pattern – it seems random, but when you-”

“Spence,” you cut him off gently, “I trust you, but where is he going to hit next?”

Reid’s eyes fly over the map, “The north end, the area that his second victim was taken.”

You hear Hotch give orders out to the local police and agents, “Both of you stay at the precinct and help Rossi deliver the profile.”

Rossi arrived shortly after, “We are looking for a man in his late 30s to early 40s,”

“A veteran, a man who’s seen the horrors of war and has remained untreated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Reid continued to the on-looking officers, who stood with either their brows furrowed or furiously scribbling notes, “This may be because of lack of access to resources from the V.A. or a refusal of treatment.”

“He is suffering from a psychotic break,” you intoned, pointing to the map and the scattered points concentrated in a southern part of the map, “he’s seeking his victims out in these areas that he is familiar with. We believed at first it was because he grew up in the area, but we no longer think that’s the case—”

“Why?” a man you recognized as a lieutenant pipe up, his stern face looking thoroughly unimpressed, his arms crossed, and eyebrows raised. He was just looking for an opportunity to undermine you, wasn’t he?

“Because,” you kept your tone carefully even, the last thing you needed to garner animosity amongst all these officers – the team was only there by there by their good graces, “someone who grew up in the area wouldn’t have ventured into this territory-“ you pointed to a section of woods to the west, “where bears often hibernate.”

He said nothing, and Rossi then continued, finishing up the profile, “We advise being cautious around this man, he is overwhelmed by his delusions and is extremely dangerous.”

“Unless it’s one of you?” the Lieutenant scoffed, muttering under his breath, “you just want the credit—”

“It isn’t about credit,” you snapped, “we are trying to stop a man from hurting more innocent people. The exact reason why we are all here, Lieutenant. Or did you forget?”

His face turned several shades of both red and purple, lips twisted in an ugly scowl that made his eyes bug out, and he stomped away towards his captain’s office. The sergeant cleared his throat, “Dismissed, get to work,” he crossed the bullpen as the chatter resumed, flashing you an apologetic look.

“You didn’t need to add the ‘did you forget?’” Rossi sighed, shaking his head.

“It was a reasonable question,” Reid started, before Rossi cut him off with a look.

“You’re going to have to talk to Hotch about this,” Rossi glanced at the lieutenant and captain barely visible through the captain’s parted blinds, “Or they will.”

“You what?” It had been a few hours, and still, the team had come up with nothing. Every time they got close, the unsub seemed to slip away – and now he knew the police were closing in on him. And now, he had resorted to guerilla tactics to hide out. The team’s only chance to catch him is when he will resurface for another target.

But that wasn’t your most pressing concern at the moment.

Instead it was your boss, standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed, and brow thoroughly furrowed – though now you appreciated how much the suit did for the intimidation factor, because Hotch glaring at you in a t-shirt and boxers as opposed to his suit? Very much not the same thing. Although…difficult in other ways.

“I snapped at the lieutenant during the profile,” you keep eye contact with him, despite the growing need to look away from the mix of both anger and disappointment in his gaze, “we’re here to catch a murderer, and he was acting like it was-“

“A turf war? That’s because it is,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his brow, “You know we are only allowed to come to these places—”

“Yes, on good graces of these cops-” You scoff.

“They are officers,” he corrected you, his voice tight, “This is their community. I understand it’s frustrating to be undermined, but—”

“No, you wouldn’t understand,” you said quietly, a quiet chuckle lodged in the back of your throat.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You turn away, holding your head, the ghost of a pressing headache on the horizon, “I’m a woman, I’m periodically underestimated just by my very existence – just by how I choose to define my gender and how society deems to view me. You, on the other hand, are an older white man – you can only fail up,” his lips were a tight frown, “So yes, I told that man the focus of our job is to catch bad guys because it was the truth.”

“It is,” Hotch said slowly, rounding the bed, hands raised, “But it’s not for us. Our job is to help them do their job, and we can’t do that if they stop calling us.”

“I know,” you cross your arms, “I know, I just—”

“Just what?” his arm slowly wraps around you, “what’s bothering you?”

Your fingers brush against his cheek, tracing his jaw, “This,” your fingers run across his lips, and he presses a kiss to the pads of them, “This will just be another reason for other people to underestimate me. Another reason to pass me over for a promotion. Another reason to—"

“I understand if you don’t want to do this,” he swallows, “I always did. I never want to hurt you or your career.”

“I know,” your lips press against his, “and that’s what makes it harder. Even though we shouldn’t,” another kiss, this time against his pulse point, “even though it’s probably wrong,” your lips grow more insistent now, his hands snaking lower and lower, “even though this is risking both our careers.”

And you pause, pressing your forehead to his, “But we shouldn’t,” his hands fell away, and you shook your head, the absence of his warmth making you shiver.

“We shouldn’t.”

He slept on the floor. It was somehow harder to sleep without him than it was with him. Probably because you knew what it felt like to sleep beside him. You hoped he hadn’t noticed you staring at his back as he quietly slept, wondering how you had come so close and gone so far in such a short amount of time.

It made your head spin. How could things change so quickly?

But anything could change – even in a single moment.

And it did.

~~~~

“We should pull her out,” Hotch watched your cam, as you hiked up the trail that yoy, Garcia, and Reid had pinpointed as one of two trails he could be hunting at, “she’s gone too far.”

“She can handle herself, Hotch,” Morgan intoned, arms crossed, “she’s got this.”

He kept his face in a careful mask, his mind was caught in a carefully concocted storm, and he could barely keep the walls up, “Ten more minutes,” he finally said. And it wasn’t a question – but an order.

But ten more minutes was all he needed.

Out of nowhere, he had you on the ground, knocked over the head – dragging you to where he kept his victims – including the one he still had. He kept each of his victims for shorter and shorter amounts of times. But he always got rid of them in the same way – he would grab another before he disposed of the other.

“Go, now,” Hotch said, before grabbing a vest, “And I’m coming too.”

~~~

You groaned; a soft noise pulled from the back of your throat. Damn bastard got the jump on you – although that was the point. Were you dead? But the ringing of your ears and the distinct screaming ache in your head told you that you most assuredly were not – death wouldn’t hurt this much.

“Are you okay?” a small voice asked, and you blinked, eyelids feeling heavier than the sky carried by Atlas, a titan with the weight of the world on his back – how wholly ironic, that’s how you always felt. And your shoulders ached just like his must have, but – the chains clanged above you – his pain wasn’t from being chained to a wall. “Hey, are you okay?”

Finally, your vision relented a few degrees of blurriness, allowing you to lift and turn your head – a woman chained the same way you were presumably – arms strung up high, joined by two cuffs looped around a chain that was hammered into a rocky wall of a cave.

“Yeah,” your head disagreed, screeching with every thought you had, “well not great,” your eyes squint in the darkness, looking for dancing shadows in the pitch black, “he isn’t…here is he?”

“No, you’ll know when he’s here – the smallest noise makes an echo,” she says, and she’s right – you can hear the tiniest of waterdrops plink against the stalagmites, “I think he’s going to kill me when he comes back.”

Her voice is raw, the terror quavering in her words, and you wonder – what he had done to her? Each victim had been tortured in different ways from the military – somewhere waterboarded, others were cut and bleed, others were beaten. Whatever it was – she spent the majority of the time screaming.

“It’s going to be okay,” you grit your teeth, trying to strain against the restraints, “my team is on their way, I’m an FBI agent.”

There’s a growl that emanates from the darkness, and then a roar, “WHO SENT YOU?”

The unsub charges forward, wild eyed and bleary, holding a shotgun to your neck, as the victim sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He made me-“

“SHUT UP,” he ripped apart your clothes until he found the camera and your GPS tracker, crushing it under his boot, “Now,” he pressed the barrel to your chin, “Who. Sent. You?”

~~~~

I took you for granted. That’s the first and only thought he has when he hears a gunshot ring out in the bowels of the cave, echoing with the hideous squelch of blood. A scream rings out, along with the sound of sobbing, following the shot with disturbing synchrony – a symphony of his worst nightmares.

He doesn’t remember much. He remembers running, the sounds of Morgan and JJ yelling for him, and small whimpers that sounded against the rocky crags. And he found you – covered in blood, the scarlet dripping running down your arms and a splash across your face. The unsub was on the ground, unconscious, in a pool of his own blood, as the woman beside you cried.

Morgan and JJ undid her restraints, while Hotch checked you over, his hands patting the length of your body for injuries, “Are you okay? What—” Your clothes were ripped up, the blood dripping across your chest. He pulls off his windbreaker and drapes it over your shoulders.

“He found out I was an agent, but he thought I was a Russian agent,” you shook your head, “he thinks he’s a soldier in the cold war. He had us chained to the wall. He was going to shoot me, but I managed to convince him that I was part of the same covert unit he believed he was in. He undid my chain and that’s when I went for his gun. He fired it and it caught him by the shoulder. He fell over from the recoil and knocked himself out.”

He frowned at the blood, that covered your body, “Then what—”

“Pig’s blood,” you wrinkled your nose, “He was going to cover me in it and then—” you cut yourself off, “either way, I’m okay.”

“I—” he cuts off, when Morgan and JJ call you guys out, “we’ll talk after.”

He watches you as the paramedic does a basic check-up, “Have you told her how you feel?”

He blinks, looking over to see Dave with a raised brow, “Yes, I have,”

Dave breaks out in a grin, “It’s about time—”

“We decided we shouldn’t be together, Dave,” he shakes his head.

“Aaron—”

“What will people say?” Hotch cuts him off, “about her? What will happen to her career—”

“You can’t control everything, Aaron. Neither of you will know what will happen if you date, but both of you know what will happen if you don’t—” Hotch tilts his head, as Dave sighs, holding forehead, “You’ll both be miserable. You make each other happy. She makes Jack happy. You don’t get that very often in life, Aaron. Take it when you get it.”

Dave nods, before walking towards the car, and Hotch takes one last look at you, wrapping up with the paramedic, before following him.

He knew what he had to do.

~~~

As you step off the plane and make your way into the office, you shake the events of the day off, “Get some rest, sweetheart,” Morgan squeezes you in a one armed hug, before Garcia crushes you in a full one, “whoa, whoa baby girl, easy, she just got patched up and now you’re already trying to break her in two.”

“I was just so worried,” Garcia stepped back, “are you sure you’re gonna be okay getting home?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” She squeezes your hand one last time.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says, walking towards the elevator door with Morgan, Reid, and JJ.

“You know it’s actually possible to split someone in two with just human sheer force?” you hear Reid say before the doors close.

“Reid, I didn’t need you to tell me that,”

You finish grabbing your stuff, heading towards the elevators, when Hotch calls your name, “Can I see you in my office for a second?”

You nod, following him to his office, heart in your throat.

He shuts the door behind you, and he just stares.

You tilt your head, shifting in place, unsure whether to sit or not, “Are you okay?”

He shakes himself from his stupor, “I should be asking you that,” he takes careful steps towards you, “I almost lost you today, I—”

“Aaron, you didn’t lose me,” you hold yourself back, from finding his hand, from cradling his cheek against your palm, instead keeping your arms crossed against your chest, “you could never lose me.”

“I already did,” he breathes, and instead his hand found your cheek, and his hand found your fingers, pulling them from your chest, “when I didn’t fight for us.”

“Aaron—”

“Tell me to stop,” Hotch tells you, fingers brushing gently over the curve of your face, “tell me to stop loving you, but I can’t. I’ve tried. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Our jobs—”

“We can talk to Strauss, together, we can figure this out. After almost losing you – something happened to you and we never—” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat, “You are taking a bigger risk than I am I know, I know you are,” his voice is strangled, “and I never want to pressure you into something you don’t want, but I’m telling you where I stand.”

“Aaron,”

“You don’t have to respond,” and you smile, fingers intertwined with his.

“Oh, but I have to,” and you press your lips to his, “because I love you, and I never want to lose you.”

He kisses you then, arms wrapping around your waist, as one of yours found purchase on his shoulder, the other fisted in his hair. His chuckle rumbles against your lips, “Sorry you got stuck with the short end of the stick,”

You laugh, shaking your head, “It’s never the short end if I’m with you.”

Tag List: @infj-slytherclaw, @ciarawriitesmarvel, @evans-dejong, @laneygthememequeen, @good-heavens-chris-evans, @aberrant-annie, @possum-pancakes, @spoken-stardust, @there-will-be-p-e-a-c-e, @quitepointless, @sabrinafey, @emmalvei-blog, @fantasy-never-ends, @ihateitwhenyourejustvague, @dreila03, @arabellathorne, @antmnwasp, @jellijinnie, @danisnonexistent, @peaskyblonders, @that-aesthetic-wannabe, @llamaproblem, @hurricanejjareau, @kmart2124, @ughitsbaby, @factualfic, @kamieshep, @freewriterofdarkness. @dizzydancingqueen, @evee87, @unusualtingz, @lavenderblossom12, @panagiasikelia, @alleycat2496, @witteksquad, @agenthotchxxxx, @aberrant-annie, @pan-pride-12, @possum-pancakes, @spoken-stardust, @carisilover, @cringeemospntrashassbutt, @aaronelishotch, @quitepointless, @geekgirleve, @amyisantisocial, @emmalvei-blog, @my-life-is-here-soo, @patricks-fabulous-face, @omg-its-vixen, @maraudermae, @flowersprettyflowers, @kobrakai1972, @bowieisawizard

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch x you #hotch x reader #criminal minds imagines #hotch imagines #hotch fanfiction

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mrskurono · 3 years

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title: Regret Nothing || Hanamaki x fem!Reader a/n: man idk anymore just thinking about Makki 24/7 is my job now word count: idk it’s a drabble tags: fluff, domestic au, angst if you squint, dirty joke at the end character(s): Takahiro Hanamaki (hq)

The one sided shouting match in the living room sounded lively as ever for a Saturday.

Peeking your head around the corner to see your kids pointing at the tv going on about something you were destined to be filled in about later. What you didn’t see was your husband. Certain he was apart of the foolery going on if they were complaining about videogames.

“You two, where’s your father?” All eyes are torn from the screen immediately to look at you.

That classic unenthused look they inherited from their father was shared between both tweens before shrugging.

“Dad got a text from uncle Tooru and told us to keep playing.” Your oldest shrugged it off. Returning to the two player game where the youngest had already pressed resume on their game.

“I think he went to the bathroom.” Your youngest popped off without tearing their attention away from the screen.

“Dad had to poop probably.” An addition by the oldest.

You sigh with an eye roll, “Thank you detectives. Make sure we get you two a puzzle game next time for those skills you got there.” The threat of education on their free time earned a groan from both of them. Making you grin and ruffle their hairs before going to find their father.

As suspected Takahiro wasn’t in the bathroom. If gaming time was on the line you’d seen that man out weight both kids to prove he was the ultimate winner. So it was weird that he’d told them to keep playing. On a Saturday too. This was their cheat day to play together. So when it was mentioned a text from Tooru distracted him. You were a little worried since most the time you were included on those groups texts.

Running through what could have been sent, nothing really comes to mind. Issei had said both Hajime and Tooru were doing good last Sunday when everyone had dinner. And if it was an emergency then of course Takahiro would have told you.

Combing through your own thoughts to find your husband not in the bathroom like both kids had told you. You find him back in your bedroom in fact. To your surprise actually.

“Hey, the kids are loosing that stupid game of theirs. Did they finally beat you?” You ask with a smile as you approach him seated on the bed. More than surprised by the mystery text, you’re unsure of what to think when you see old albums at your husband’s feet. With the oldest one in his lap. Open to pictures of graduation of all things. A crease forms on your forehead and you rub your hand along his shoulders, “What, did big star-kawa need an old photo for a cheesy interview?”

No response. Your frown deepens and you take a seat next to him.

“Love what’s up with you the kids said Tooru texted you and-”

“Do you regret marrying me?”

Blindsided by such a question. You take a moment to even comprehend the kind of inane question that was. Instead you can’t fathom why he even asked that.

“Takahiro what are you even talking about?” You look at the album spread in his lap then to his face, “What crap are you even on to ask that?”

He reached up and palmed the back of his neck with a little shrug, “I’m sorry...I just...Tooru sent a text about the anniversary of his first medal. It wasn’t that bad but Issei last week at dinner. And Hajime opening another fitness center....You could have done so much better than me y’know? Living abroad or at least living some place with three times as much space and-”

“Hah!”

Certainly not the reaction the man was looking to hear. It was enough that he took his eyes off the old photos to look at you literally snorting at his words. His turn to frown Takahiro didn’t see what was so funny about it all. To him it felt true.

“First off, why look at this one? I hated your uniforms so much.”

“Hey!”

“Oh just hush-” You take the album from his lap and tuck it back in the box. Only to thumb through to the third one in. Plucking it from the confines of old musty box and setting it on your lap, “Now this one.”

Takahiro frowned, “I mean, that’s not even the wedding album. What one is that one? The kids or moving or-”

“It’s my favorite album is what it is.” You answer him as you swipe your hand over the face of it.

Unlike the others which were neatly labeled. This one bore no name. No baby’s first. No wedding photos. No post high school. No nothing. It was nameless and blank.

Grumbling Takahiro was still upset that you blew him off. Even more so when you opened to the middle of the album at random to what was clearly a set of blurry pictures. To the untrained eye this was the reject pile if there ever was one.

“Do you remember that one?” You ignore his sour face and point at the waterlogged picture of what appeared to be a bowl of fruit.

Scrutinizing it a bit closer he had to think a moment, “...that was that fake fruit bowl my sister thought would be funny to give us for our first apartment....god but the photo got wine on it after that one stay at home date we had.”

“That was such a nice bottle of wine.” You shook your head, “A real shame we spilled it.”

“We?” He snorted, “I told you that kitchen was too small for decorations and to dance.”

“Oh how about this one?” You point at the rabid blurred face of both of your kids. Somewhere in the three to six range. The picture clearly unmarked by a date but with the way your oldest had a missing front tooth and the littler of the two sporting bangs almost identical to Takahiro’s in high school, it was clear they were still little.

“That was my oldest sister’s birthday party god they ate so much cake I could have killed her.” Takahiro groaned at the war flash back of the mess and trouble of sugar high kids at their aunt’s house.

“How about this?” You pointed at a picture.

One that stumped him in fact. Takahiro leaned down and tried to make out what it was with the awful sun glare that skewed literally everything in the photo. Not to mention the wine stain from ages ago. Meaning this was an old photo he was drawing a blank on.

“...is that you or me? Where we were? I don’t even remember that.”

A smile blossoms on your face and you lean your head into your husband’s shoulder, “That was right after graduation...we had that big trip planned but everyone coped out at the last second. So you and I went instead.”

“Oh the seagull thing!”

You nod and trace your fingers over the assorted poorly taken pictures. Some of them newer and some of them older. All of them clear rejects to the real well done albums. But still something about them made you happier to look at than anything else.

“If you’re gonna ask me if I regret marrying you. Then I want you to ask yourself the same thing.”

For a second he looked appalled, “Of course not! You are my everything! Marrying you was one of the best days of my life, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“See,” You close the book and take a moment to cup his round cheeks in your hands, “So that’s your answer.”

Takahiro closed his eyes and let his face rest in your palms, “But...you could have been traveling the world...living in luxury. I just...I could have done more for you. Could have been more.”

“Takahiro Hanamaki-” Your stern tone made him open his eyes to you, “Outside this room are two of the most smartest, annoying little mini you’s I’ve ever met and I would have never had them if you didn’t give them to me. They’re that wonderful because of you. Because you’re their dad. Because you’re an amazing father and an even more amazing husband.” You take a moment, swiping your thumb over his forever chubby cheek and smiling to keep yourself from tearing up, “You’ve given me the world. And then some. I’ve never regretted a day in my life with you in it. Being with you...I regret nothing.”

Choked up for a moment. The man laughs, be it too keep from crying himself. Takahiro wipes at his face and pushes his forehead against yours, “Even though I’m just a lousy stay at home dad huh?”

Again you laugh, this time pulling his face close to yours so you can kiss him hard and long. It draws out for a second before you look up at him and peck him once more on the lips, “I’ve never seen anything sexier than you taking care of those kids. Fuck living in Argentina. The sexiest place in the world is right here with you.”

Takahiro’s face breaks out to the biggest grin as he wraps his arms around you, “You uh...was pretend to make another one of those mini me’s you think are so cute?”

“They’re on the second boss fight,” You grin with a kiss to his cheek, “Hurry up and shut the door and we can do more than pretend.”

#hq #hq!!#hq makki #makki #makki x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu makki #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro x reader #hq hanamaki #haikyuu hanamaki #hq x reader

100 notes · View notes

hillariat · 3 years

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Bubbline fanfic rec list

I did it. I made a master rec list of good Bubbline fanfics. Will keep updating this until I leave the fandom.

Grouped by setting (eg. Highschool AU, AT universe, Family AU etc.) in alphabetical order. They’re all romantic bubbline unless stated otherwise. This is a living document so I’ll be updating it every now and then with new fics and stuff. For any questions, changes or additions, please feel free to pm me on reddit/tumblr @hillariat

*SMUT = A significant portion of the fic is dedicated to SMUT

*some SMUT= A part of the fic has explicit smut, but it isn't a major part of the story

*UwU=personal faves

calamitous love

Author: lexaproeighty

Setting: Astronaut AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 1,173

Tags: Fluff, emotionally stupid PB.

Summary: Author’s summary: bonnie's in her feelings. oh, and about to go into space.

what was missing

Author: spookyscaryskeletons (Buttons15)

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 8,678

Tags: Fluff, emotionally constipated PB.

Summary: Honestly the most solid, canon compliant take on their relationship. I loved this shit and half my headcanons are from here.

Author’s summary: In which Bonnie has feelings, she does, but feelings are hard and complicated and she rather ignore them until they punch her in the face.

Let you Lead

Author: purplebutterflies

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 1,225

Tags: Fluff, Mild comedy,Marceline being an idiot

Summary: Marceline being a useless gay and Bonnie taking the lead. Writing gets better after the inciting incident, trust me.

After UwU

Author: 61wisampa

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 23,888

Tags: Major character death, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Moving On, Friendship

Summary: This shit be an intense feels trip yo. Like an "I stayed up ‘til 6am" kind of intense. I had to reread this fic twice in order to emotionally process everything. It definitely isn't your average bubbline angst.

Author’s summary: It was hard, having someone similar yet different. It kept Marceline stuck walking along the line that prevented her from moving on.

Everybody Knows Your Name

Author: Sunshine18

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 8,671

Tags: Exes, Discussion of past abuse, past Ash being an asshole, pre-bubbline

Summary: Solid exploration of PB and Marcy as exes and how they started becoming "civil" post breakup. References to major events in early AT and how PB and Marcy were affected. Can be read independently of “Contact” even though it is a sequel of that.

Bitter Sugar UwU

Author: QueenOfTheRevue (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Discontinued | 72,000

Tags: Political drama, Arranged marriage, Political Conspiracy, fantasy

Summary:The plot's so intense it deserves to be in a goddamn Kdrama. Literally never read anything else like it in the fandom. A well done, intense drama set in a unique political landscape. Hybrid democratic monarchies, Age old conspiracies, fandom references, Marceline in military uniform, c'mon just read it!.

Musicology series

Author: CountingWithTurkeys

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 625,723 (as of 06/02/2021)

Tags: Canon compliant, angst, fluff, mindfuckery, sociopathic people, some SMUT

Summary: Set in a possible but not probable AT universe. Darker and heavier overall tone. It's the kind of fic that will give your brain a workout. Dysfunctional Bubbline that becomes healthier. Solid portrayal of dysfunction with a believable interpretation of PB and Marcy

Author: deltau

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 7,004

Tags: Fluff, SMUT, virtual reality, shapeshifting

Summary: Bonnie gets her VR machine working and the couple delves into the realm of Marcy's mind. Bonnie makes some pleasant discoveries and afterwards they have some fun time.

Our perfect disease

Author: JupiterDelphinus

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 112,000

Tags: Non-chronological, anthology, some SMUT, fluff, hurt/comfort, canon divergent

Summary: Past, present and future scenes from the pair. Tone and ratings (G to EXPLICIT) vary according to the chapter. Each chapter is a self contained narrative that helps build the overarching Bubbline story. Very cute, very uwu feels.

Apples after Midnight series

Author: Xekstrin

Setting: AT universe

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 18,565

Tags: SMUT, feels, fluff

Summary: Starts off smutty but then has a lot of feels. Has a legitimate exes romance plot.

The One Where There's No Gunther

Author: ijemanja (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: Coffee Shop AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 8,899

Tags: Comedy, Fluff

Summary: Has very good AT-esque dialogue.I can actually imagine the characters saying the lines.

Author's summary: All are welcome at the Coffee Kingdom, even pain in the ass vampire queens. (No Ice Kings, though.)

Double Sugar, Extra Whip

Author: amphitrite

Setting: Coffee Shop AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 4,067

Tags: College, Fluff

Summary: Classic coffee shop AU. Think a Vanilla latte. You know what you're getting

Palpitations

Author: ValhallaKoala

Setting: Coffee Shop AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 6,298

Tags: Comedy, College, Adorable af

Summary: Author's summary: Black coffee tastes just as good as a caramel macchiato, right? Right!?

Bonnibel is socially inept and makes some questionable decisions.

Viscosity UwU

Author: The Denominator

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 9,049

Tags: Feels, non-chronological, sexual references

Summary: College AU but definitely not a classic college AU. It's one of a kind, makes you feel

C's get degrees

Author: megapidgeots

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 102,550

Tags: Comedy, fluff, feels, just college roomies getting along

Summary: Classic College AU, you get what you see.

Author's summary: Bonnie has just started her first year of University, and finds she has a mostly neutral-verging-on-hesitantly-positive opinion of her new roommate, Marceline.

Cliché

Author: Abadeerly (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 67,493 (06/02/2021)

Tags: Comedy, fluff

Summary:College AU but you try to cram as many tropes in as possible. It's fun

Five.

Author: Abadeerly (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 7,883

Tags: Fluff

Author’s summary:The other woman hesitated, eyes doing that thing where they narrowed and seemingly judged Bonnibel for existing, and then she sighed. “I don’t hate you,” She murmured and Bonnibel felt a weird feeling of what felt like relief come over her.

Escort

Author: breeeliss

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 21,058

Tags: SMUT, sexual tension, teasing, build up

Summary: Marcy is a tease and Bonnie is a thot.

Show and Tell

Author: Abadeerly (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 1,527 (as of 06/02/2021)

Tags: soon to be SMUT, Camgirl, toys, strong sexual references

Summary: Character interactions (so far) are adorable and endearing. Really makes you ship them

Entry 38 UwU

Author: deltau

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 5,969

Tags: SMUT, sad feels, strap-on, car sex

Summary: Smut and sad feels

Happy Birthday, Kitten

Author: Abadeerly (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: College Party AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 3,030

Tags: SMUT, car sex, praise kink, Top! Bonnie

Summary: Cop Bonnie and Party girl Marcy. That is all. Come get your Top! Bonnie smut

Coincidence

Author: mellish

Setting: College AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 5,932

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Break up, Sad ending

Summary: “It’s like holding a test tube and not knowing what’s inside it, not knowing how much damage will be done if it breaks apart.” Traces their relationship from beginning to end. Has my fave ending line of all fics on this list.

Groupies Wanna Get Fucked

Author: Abadeerly (on both Ao3 and FFN)

Setting: Concert, human AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 4,973

Tags: SMUT

Summary: Author's summary: Bonnibel's NOT a groupie. Except, she is because this is smut. Enjoy! :)

Chemistry

Author: laurenjauregui (Ao3) / we4retheincrowd (FFN)

Setting: Concert, human AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 2,784

Tags: First meeting

Summary: Very cute character interaction. Short and sweet.

40 Weeks

Author: Plesiosaur

Setting: Family AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 221,000

Tags: Pregnancy, Cavity inducing fluff, Slice of life, sexual references

Summary: Domestic grown adult bubbline? Check. Hella extra know it all Bonnie? Check. Snarky Marcy? Check. Some deep feels and backstory? Check. Tooth rotting bubbline fluff? Check. Why the hell aren't you reading this?? This story is really good, starts slow but really picks up after like chapter 12

Pray for the Preacher's daughter UwU

Author: reliquiaen (Ao3) / ArcaFeretory (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 232,197

Tags: Slow burn

Summary:THE fic for the Bubbline fandom. Its the fic that everyone knows and recommends and for good reason. Strong execution of the Punk x Goody two shoes formula.Just... read it if you’d read HS AUs

Anonymous UwU

Author: laurenjauregui (Ao3) / we4retheincrowd (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 229,681 (as of 27/03/2021)

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, TW for abuse

Summary:The second coming of Pray for the preacher's daughter. JK. Seriously though it's a good slow burn with quality that is as good, if not better than, Pray for the preacher's daughter. The bubbline duo in this fic are just,, pure. So pure I can feel the cavities. Also the author updates every week (as of 6/02/2021)

High School Confidential

Author: gloss

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 1,085

Tags: Fluff, Flirting

Summary: Marceline never gets too attached to one place or person. In fact, it's probably for the best because her family constantly moves from place to place like nomads. She might stick around this time though. Cute interactions and flirting.

Variants

Author: laurenjauregui (Ao3) / we4retheincrowd (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 4,918

Tags: Fluff

Author’s summary:Every species has its variants. Bonnie's just trying to figure out which ones are good and which ones are bad.

A love like war

Author: laurenjauregui (Ao3) / we4retheincrowd (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 433,715

Tags: Slow burn

Summary: Bonnie moves from New York to some tiny af town in the middle of nowhere. She is not happy.

Different UwU

Author: laurenjauregui (Ao3) / we4retheincrowd (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Discontinued | 25,022

Tags: Cavity inducing sweet Fluff, Autism, discrimination

Summary: Very sweet and fluffy. Like an I will need to go to the dentist level fluff. Characterisation is a bit OOC but it's a very well written piece. I would send this to people who aren't in the fandom and say it's an original piece. It's that good.It ends off in a good place too.

Tourniquet

Author: alizarin_scribbles

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 7,883

Tags: Mutual Pining, Angst, Sad ending

Summary: Star crossed lovers that were so close.

Author’s summary: How they were now was normal enough, not too intimate or indifferent in any respect. Back then, their relations simply didn't have any room for change. Now, Bonnie couldn't help but wonder exactly how such casual acquaintanceship had led to the ghostlike fire currently trickling through her veins.

Glandular Fever

Author: reliquiaen (Ao3) / ArcaFeretory (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete |3,740

Tags: Comedy, Fluff

Summary: Author's summary: In which I bundled all the awkward situations I could into a oneshot... and then made them worse.

the secret admirer

Author: laurenjauregui (Ao3) / we4retheincrowd (FFN)

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete |4,724

Tags: Fluff, tooth rotting fluff, Bonnie being a disaster, Marceline being soft

Summary: Author’s summary: #ohsconfession220: To the girl who always hangs out in the library with the red hair and round glasses and freckles i think you’re the cutest person i’ve ever seen pls date me

Bonnie has a secret admirer... and she kind of hates it.

Will You Sign My Cast?

Author: bigpinkbaguette

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing |22,122

Tags: Angst, slowburn, childhood friends, enemies to lovers

Summary: The slow burn that hurts so, so much. Otherwise known as Bonnie is too emotionally constipated to deal with the baggage she has with Marceline.

Slacker

Author: CandiedSweets

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing |36,806

Tags: Fluff, angst, Bonnie being the most useful gay ever, Useless gay Marceline

Summary: *gasps, a multi-chapter high school AU that isn't a slowburn?! Yep you heard right!

Author’s summary: Marceline’s missed a few days of school and a certain pink haired classmate brings her the work she’s missed, but accidentally finds out something about her in the process.

Bass Guitars and Grandad's Ashes

Author: LastOneFromHometown

Setting: Road trip AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 41,448 (as of 27/03/2021)

Tags: Comedy, feels, trippy af, slight angst

Summary: Somehow makes even a funeral comedic. Has a very wild and funny charm to it whilst still having moments of feels. Trippy af, really has some AT vibes in it. Fun read.

Hooligans on the Highway

Author: Valverbek

Setting: Road trip AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 13,123 (as of 27/03/2021)

Tags: Comedy, fluff, established relationship

Summary: A lighthearted and fun read about the gang going on a road trip for Finn’s 21st. Cute & chaotic vibes.

Slaughterhouse UwU

Author: Plesiosaur

Setting: Serial Killer AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 6,846

Tags: Murder, police, gore

Summary: Who'd be the best match for our beloved serial killer? Why, another psycho of course. One of my personal favorites

The Prolific Works of the Arctic Butcher

Author: HaveFunStormingTheCastle

Setting: Working adults AU

Status | Wordcount: Ongoing | 40,627 (as of 27/03/2021)

Tags: angst, feels, exes, murder mystery,serial killer, slow burn, reunions

Summary: Bonnibel is the mayor of Kingdom city. When seemingly unconnected and unsolved murders begin popping up left and right, Bonnie starts doing her own investigations, believing that there may be more than meets the eye. Somehow that brings her on a collision course with Marceline, successful rockstar extraordinaire and her ex. Circumstances force them both to examine their shared past and revisit the destruction they each left in their wake as they investigate a sinister killer with seemingly devious intentions for them both.

There she is (Or what to do when your ex is back in town)

Author: durantesknight

Setting: Working adults AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 11,586

Tags: Exes, feels

Summary: A fascinating translation of the Bubbline relationship into a modern setting. This shit legit got me feeling.

Author's summary: Its been seven years since the last time Bonnie and Marceline saw each other, things weren't okay back then, they're not better now.

40 Weeks prequel series (can be read independently of each other and 40 weeks) :

Author: Plesiosaur

Setting: Working adults AU

1)This Could Be The Start Of Something

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 8,214

Tags: Graduation, first meeting, mild homophobia, anaphylaxis

Summary:Marceline and Jake crash a graduation party for free drinks. An ambulance was called.

2)To Fall, Gently And Otherwise

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 4,628

Tags: Fluff

Author's summary: Set between chapters one and two of This Could Be The Start Of Something. After three years of sharing an apartment Marceline really should know better than to take Jake's date advice.

3)Counterpoint

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 3,065

Tags: Hurt/comfort, intellectual rivalry, differing opinions on alternative medicine, historical character death, feels

Author's summary: Even the most perfect couples can clash when they believe in fundamentally different things. But is Bonnie ready to swallow her pride and apologize even when she thinks she's in the right?

First and Last

Author: Plesiosaur

Setting: Working adults AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 15,351

Tags: hurt/comfort, feels, family, repressed gay

Summary: Just....intense feels

Orion

Author: NightBearrors

Setting: Working adults AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 8,750

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, feels, exes, ambiguous end

Summary: Their reunion was like a tangent, colliding once only to depart again.

Dough

Author: ArrowOvis

Setting: Working adults AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 1707

Tags: angst, feels, exes, implied rape

Summary: Author summary: Dough can be a lot of things - wet, dry, fluffy, flat, pre-mixed, under-mixed...a lot. But most importantly, it can be shaped into something it wasn't before. Whether that is a good or a bad thing, only time can tell.

Alternatively titled: Bonnibel Buchman got screwed over and doesn't deal with it well.

Stripped

Author: Asharyn

Setting: Working adults AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 14,708

Tags: Fluff, some SMUT

Summary: Where Bonnie be whipped for Marcy. And vice versa. Honestly, just fluff and smut stripper AU.

End Of The World

Author: Plesiosaur

Setting: Zombie Apocalypse AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 3,465

Tags: Death, Gore, feels

Summary: zombie apocalypse AUs are basically non-existent for this ship, so here's a good one.

Experiments

Author: spookyscaryskeletons (Buttons15)

Setting: Zombie Apocalypse AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 9,194

Tags: Death, Gore, feels,angst

Summary: If you’ve ever wanted to read a zombie AU written by an actual doctor this is it. It's good. Set in The Last of Us (TLOU) universe though you can go into this without knowing anything about TLOU and still have a good experience.

#bubbline #princess bubblegum #marceline #adventure time #fanfic #fanfic rec

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my-simp-land · 3 years

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Orange Blossom Kisses

more domestic fluff because that's all I dream about. Bucky x reader. 1747 words. again, i didn't do any profreading so...happy reading!

Fridays are reserved for baking. Ever since I moved into the compound, I’ve trashed my(Stark’s) kitchen making delicious cakes, pies, pastries, you name it. Each week I try to make something for someone, but I don't tell them it’s for them. Kinda like gift giving. This week, I’ve been pestering Steve about things Bucky may like. I think he knows I’m trying to get recipe ideas out of him, so he’s made it quite difficult.

“Cakes? From the old days? Oooooh, I don’t know. It’s been so long ago. You said yourself I’m an old geezer. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“What’d ya say? I can’t hear ya. These ears aren’t as good as they used to be.”

“Oh I don’t remember any pie recipes. I was but a wee lad and didn’t pay attention to the kitchen.”

Thankfully, I got Sam to work as my spy in exchange for an apple pie. Steve had told him about the orange blossom cookies Bucky’s mother would make. Usually Steve and Bucky were joined at the hip, but on orange blossom days, Bucky and Becca would stick to their mother’s side. Steve would usually hang around and enjoy the fresh orange smell. I used a couple favors to track down an old fashioned orange blossom cookie recipe. I changed it up to fit Bucky’s description of a good cookie (don’t worry; he can be pretty critical.)

“Damn hothead. The whole building smells like an orange. What are you making?” Tony asked. He funded my Friday

baking extravaganza as long as he got his ‘blueberry stuff.’

“I’m making orange blossom cookies, Tony. Orange. Blossom. The kitchen is sticky, so I couldn't come any closer.”

“The kitchen? The whole thing? How did you manage to get orange juice everywhere?”

“I’m the one baking. What did you expe- oh hey guys. Y’all are back early. What are you doing here so early?”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky shuffled their soaking wet bodies onto the dining room rug. “Rain. Apparently, the weather station is as bad as it was in the 40s.”

Tony switches his concern from the sticky kitchen to the soaked rug, but Bucky steps into the kitchen.

“Whatcha makin, doll?”

“Uh, just some cookies. Go get dried off and you can help me if you want.”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.” Bucky hurries down the hall. His heavy steps down the hall gives Steve enough cover to slip into the kitchen behind me.

“Bucky loves orange blossom cookies. It was one of the only things that could separate us. I know you’re good at guessing, but how did you end up hitting the nail on the head?”

I could only smile. Steve was a smart guy, but he could get pretty boy syndrome sometimes.

“A little red bird happened to mention something to me. A few favors later and I was presented with the finest orange blossom cookie recipe in the Northeast.”

“I see. I guess I should’ve known the master baker could get whatever they want with the promise of a home baked pie or honey butter croissants. I’ll keep that in mind next time you need something. I’ll see you two around.”

With Steve’s departure, Bucky slides right next to me, hip to hip. He’s only wearing some classic grey sweatpants and the tee shirt I embroidered a chibi Bucky onto. His hair is pulled back into a bun, still dripping water onto the nape of his neck. At this distance, I can admire Bucky’s baby blue eyes and his 5 o’clock shadow. Once Bucky got back from Wakanda, he cut his hair short and shaved his beard, but recently, he’s been working towards the white wolf look.

“Alright, doll. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Oh okay. Uh, I’ve got all the ingredients prepared for baking. Let me check the recipe.” I go to grab the sheet of notebook paper that I scribbled the recipe down on, but Bucky gets to it before I do. He studies the paper hard. His brows scrunch together and his lip between his teeth. His metal arm falls around me and brings us shoulder to shoulder. At this proximity I can tell Bucky spritzed a little cologne on. The refreshing smell of pine and eucalyptus cuts through the overwhelming smell of oranges.

“This recipe is shit. What if I told you I know a better one?”

“Oh um well then I’d say take the lead. I hope I’ve got everything you need.”

“You’re everything I need sugar, but this stuff should be good.”

I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks. “Let's start by making the wet mix and then we’ll slowly add the dry ingredients in.”

Baking with Bucky is a dangerous game. We work well in the kitchen, but Bucky’s hands tend to wander. Resting on my lower back, brushing my thigh, standing close enough that I could feel his warm breath on my neck. By this point, my face is flush enough to cook these cookies, but the cookies are already in the oven. Maybe next time.

“Lookin’ beautiful, dollface. The cookies are looking pretty good too. They gotta rest a bit. We can work on the glaze now.”

Oh god. Things got saucy with the glaze. Not only did Bucky wiggle his eyebrows and point to the glaze in an inappropriate manner, but he was very handsy. We basically recreated that one dirty dancing scene with the kitchenaid. It didn’t help that Tony walked into the kitchen halfway through our romantic mixing. He had quite a lot to say: tinman and hothead, the cold and the hot, opposites attracting. You get the bit.

“Doll, I think this is the best glaze I’ve ever seen. We make quite the pair.”

“I’d have to agree with you there. I wonder what else we could get into.”

I realize what I said too late. His eyes grow wide and his smirk stretches from cheek to cheek. “Is that so, doll? I would love to work with you some more. Cooking dinner, dodgeball, go karts. Maybe some f-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be best friends with Steve? Like two peas in a pod? I wouldn’t want to upset Steve. That just doesn’t seem right. A disrespect to America. America’s ass, you know? A disrespect.”

That shuts him up.

“You look at Steve’s ass?”

“Well, yes. I mean no! I don’t look. I mean it’s a nice butt, you have to agree, but I wouldn’t know since I don’t look. I do not look at Steve’s ass.”

“Oooooo. You look at Steve’s ass. No wonder you zone out during meetings so much. All that cake bouncing around. Is that why you bake? Trying to recreate that dump truck? Do you look at other people’s ass? Do you look at my ass?”

“Bucky! I- I just know a good ass when I see one okay?”

“Well, what about my ass? Whose is better: mine or Sam’s? I know you’ve looked.”

Christ on a cracker this man is gonna kill me. “Bucky, y’all both have nice asses okay. Steve has the ass. You have the thighs. Sam has the pecs. It's as simple as that, okay? Why don’t we invite everyone down to try these cookies”

“Whatever you say, angel.”

Once everyone made it to the kitchen, we fixed everything up nice and served them to the rest of the family. They were an overall hit. Tony loved them because he’s a hardass, but Rhodes would’ve liked them just a bit softer. Thor enjoyed them with milk. Natasha made quite a few comments about how silky smooth the glaze was and how it complimented the cookie perfectly.

Once everyone was served and sent on their way, Bucky and I sat down to try our creation. I set our plates and meet Bucky in the common room. We cuddled up hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder in the common room to enjoy our cookies and begin a movie.

“You know, my mother used to make orange blossom cookies when I was young.” I looked up to Bucky’s face. I could see all the emotions. Pain. Happiness. Nostalgia. “My sister and I would always help her cook them. It was damn near impossible to come by an orange back in the day so sometimes we’d use other citruses. Orange was always the best. There was one time Becca had gotten some flowers from a sailor visiting from down south. The flowers were damn near dead when she brought them home. My pa told her that they would eat the flowers on their journey, so she did what she could to stick the flowers in the glaze and make pretty cookies. I wish I could remember what the flowers were.”

“I’m sorry Buck. I wish I could help.”

“No, no. I should say thank you. Coming in and smelling the orange and you telling me what you were making awoken something in me. At first, I was upset because I never got to make those cookies with my mom and sister again, but I’m glad I go the opportunity to make such sweet memories with you.” My breath was caught in my throat. I could feel the tears in my eyes and could just see the reflection of some in his. “She would’ve loved you. So strong, don’t take any shit, but so soft and gentle. You could keep me straight and make me bake cookies with you. Becca would’ve picked at you a bit to see if you’d hold, but she would’ve made you her sister quicker than I could’ve married you.”

“You want to marry me?”

“Well, doll, I love you. I’d love to spend a future together with you, but I think I should ask you to be my girl first. But I don't want you to feel pressured. Or you might like Steve or Sam or someone else. I don’t know. I don’t want to assume. You-”

I don’t you what came over me, but his lips were so sweet. They were sugary sweet from the cookie glaze, but the tartness of the orange made it refreshing. His lips felt so soft against mine; I never wanted this kiss to end.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’ll be your girl. Only if you’ll have me.”

His smile took over his face. His lips were stretched thin and wrinkles fell beside his eyes.

“My girl. My best girl.”

#bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky x you #marvel #mcu fandom #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter solider

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lucymorningstar257 · 3 years

Text

Binded OCs

So guys, I’ve been playing around with Picrew recently, and Picrew is basically a customizable avatar that you can use to design your OCs. And I thought why not with the characters from my SessKag fic? So I went deeeeeep.

Anyway, I’m sure that you have your own mental interpretation of the OCs, so these designs may or may not just spoil your impression! Also, if you’re new to Binded, this may contain some spoilers!

Let me reiterate that designs are in no way mine, they belong to their creators, and I’ve placed their respective links!

Amari Kirihata

Our very first OC, the quintessential moe girl. It has been a joy writing her. She was first introduced as having a “short bob that swayed each time she laughed” and a perpetually flushed face. I put a hamster on her head because you know, she’s cute like that. This is also unrelated but my cat tried to eat my hamster once.

“I-I’m only allergic to cats!” link

Kouhei Miyazaki

Next, the fresh breath of air in the shrine, aka the rebound boyfriend. He has what I call a boyband look? His wisecracks aside, he’s pretty intuitive, and a good distraction for Amari. I think they look nice together, eh? He’s going to be a good priest in no time. ;)

“Special delivery! Donuts on the house!” link

Ichiro Kirihata v.1

Then there’s this guy. Despite Ichiro’s shy and reserved persona, I wasn’t going to fashion him into some brown mouse. His design came easily, and very much inspired by Hyde from L'Arc-en-Ciel. He’s supposed to sport bleached cornrows (a common style among kei rockers), with piercings on his brow and lip.

“Small world? More like a small town.” link

Ichiro Kirihata v.2

He later shed his wild image for a more “managerial” style, although I think his new look screamed something else for Kagome.

“Heh. But don’t you think I look more professional now?“ link

Narumi Jyohaku

And of course last but not least, my own personal darling—light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul (going full Nabokov here lmao). The head priest. I was able to exercise more freedom in his design, because Naraku stole Lord Kagewaki’s mug and god knows what Onigumo actually looked like. As such Jyohaku was always imagined as a classic alpha male to reflect his traditional mannerisms, and my questionable taste in men. You’re either intrigued or repelled by him, there’s no in-between.

“So you had foes? And here I thought I was your only one.” link

So there you go! What do you guys think?

Also, Binded is coming to an end, so be sure to catch up when everything swings to a glorious finish!

Edit: Binded is now COMPLETE as of 29 Sep 2021

Binded | Ao3

Canon-Div. SessKag. Kagome, now a modern-day miko, discovers Sesshoumaru’s spirit during an exorcism. Desperate for answers to her inconclusive past, she resurrects and binds herself to him—a reckless decision that inevitably leads to catastrophic consequences. Domestic fluff that slips into the dark.

#creator: lucy morningstar #sesskag fanfiction #oc art #sesskag fic #picrew #binded by lucy morningstar

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moonbelt · 4 years

Text

𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬 [ᴍ]

↳ classical mythology au | the story of icarus au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + smut + fluff

⇢ word count: 14,101 (this one’s a lil beast)

⇢ description: on the day of the summer solstice a piece of the sun crashes down to earth and perhaps it was fate that led him to you.

⇢ warnings: handjobs, a bit of a size difference kink, small dom/sub undertones, butchering classical mythology to fit the plot.

It felt like the world was burning at your feet.

That was understandable. It was the morning of the longest day of summer after all. But for the ground to be so hot that the heat speared through the soles of your work boots? That bit was new. You were quite sure your town was hitting an all-new high record for the hottest day of the year.

Even as you cooped yourself in your basement workshop, the sun still seemed to boil you to death. You could only imagine how awful it was outside. But you couldn't afford to stall on your invention. It was either now or never. You were a go big or go home type of person.

Today was the big day. The Summer Solstice. And even though you couldn't be bothered by your town's usual theatrics and a false sense of grandeur, this was the one event you loved. The one event in which you got to showcase your creations and earn a bucketload of exclusive offers from neighboring patrons that came to visit.

The longest day of summer was a huge festival. For one night you got to experience the finest things the world had to offer in your small, somewhat average life. And you loved it. For one day the townspeople put away their reservations towards you and your father and for one day, you allowed yourself to dream of flying away from this tightly-knit prison.

Forcing things into being from scraps and the dregs of society was something that gave you purpose. Something that in a tiny way puts you on the map. Fueled your somewhat childish dream of someday crawling your way out of this labyrinth-Esque settlement.

The first time you snuck into your father's workshop hadn't been by accident. Even though your father had cautioned you away from the basement because he was scared you'd interfere with his process or perhaps worse; injure yourself. But at nine years old there was only so much that could keep your mind from wandering away and the townsfolk weren't exactly forthcoming with letting their heirs and next of kins play with you.

Well, to be honest, most of them didn't welcome you at all. Not that you minded. Not that you cared. They called your father a genius to his face but a madman to his back. But that was fine too. There was a fine line between the two. You thought Little Tommy was quite literally the ugliest baby to be born in the whole wide world and when Little Tommy's mother did something you hated like shoo you away from the front of her bakery, you let her know exactly that.

So yeah, no hard feelings.

But your father's workshop had always felt like the hottest place on earth. If not for that fact that you'd been so utterly bored with schoolwork and the fantasy book you'd been able to sneak out of the library, you doubted you'd even have wanted to step foot in the dark, sweltering ass crack of hell. But if you were anything it was determined.

Some might call you stubborn. Some may even call it foolishness on your part. But you know that it was destiny. A reckoning. Fate. Maybe even a homecoming of sorts. Because in there you found your true passion. Something that tied you ephemerally to this world.

In that workshop, you saw your father create things that no one had ever dared or tried to before. But of course, he did. That was the whole reason they called him a madman by night.

In fact, you were quite certain that the townspeople revered and feared him at the same time. After all, there was still a rumor going 'round that he'd been the one to orchestrate and invent the quintessential labyrinth town you lived in. But that was a different story, one you didn't care to tell. And one you believed — at the time — didn't affect you at all.

You've been wrong about many things. Your father had made it a point to let you know in every way of what you lacked and in what you failed in. But also in what you thrived. And building, no, inventing, came easily to you. Like you'd been born for it. More than destiny, more like preordained. You didn't have a choice, didn't even want one. And you'd been helpless to stop it.

But now the workshop was your life. You lived in it, breathed it and in a sense maybe you worshipped it. It gave you a sense of being after all. The whole town could isolate you, and that they did expertly, but they still hammered down your doorstep for your helpful creations that helped ease the way of life.

You both loved and loathed how much they depended on you but it was what it was. You tried not to let it bother you much anymore.

After numerous hours of grinding at your workstation, and perfecting your latest design, you climbed out of the heated workshop basement and welcomed the fresh breeze of the cool air outside.

You'd been working on a new device that would help speed up the process of washing your daily wear. At the moment the mechanics were quite frankly the best they could ever be, but you were tinkering with it for the utmost perfection for tonight. Hell, you'd already picked out an apt name for it: The Washy-Washer. Okay, yes, it did sound a bit silly, a bit ridiculous, but you weren't going to call it the hand-washer. You cringed solely at the thought.

But you needed a break. Your back was killing you and you were quite literally tired of washing all of your socks. Even if the machine did do most of it.

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the sun. It was calm and quiet in this part of town. The outskirts. But the sun was always loud. At least to you. It always felt as if the sun was trying to burn out your eyes and no matter how much you wanted to look away, you couldn't. It demanded your attention. And you gave it because what else could you do?

It wasn't like the sun was especially pretty, or particularly different than any other sun you'd seen in the last early twenty-something years of your life. But it wasn't like the sun was ugly either, so you didn't mind looking at it. Even if it did hurt your eyes.

And just like every other day, you raised a palm to the sky and imagined yourself grasping the burning sun in your hands. You imagined it would feel like a hot coal on your skin, a little bit reinvigorating but with a whole lot of pain. You wondered if it was a good thing that you thought you'd like that.

And like what had become your new normal, you daydreamed of creating wings like the birds you envied. Wings that could take you anywhere you wanted. Wings that could actually fly. The dream had been plaguing you for weeks like a disease. Visions of you donning on misshapen not-even-close-to-sturdy wings and just soaring. You weren't quite sure where you'd fly to. Maybe you'd just go until you were too tired to move.

"You are going to turn into a field of ash," the charismatic yet sarcastic voice of the town's resident homebody (and the only person that responded to your flyer looking for a housemate) yelled from inside the house.

You guess you were getting predictable these days. Too much staring at the sun and getting almost sunburnt and less of hiding in your workshop.

"The weather's trying to murder me out here," you grumbled as you pushed the creaky front door open and tapped the dirt from the bottom of your boots. "And that's how you treat me?"

Kyungsoo looked up from stirring the pot he had on the stove to shoot you an exasperated look. You had half the mind to tell him of how domestic he looked just to mess with him. "I'm preventing you from dying a sudden and painful death."

"I put a roof over your head."

"Well, I pay rent and I feed you."

It wasn't like you could you beat that. You couldn't cook for the life of you. When your father had been alive he had handled all the cooking for fear of you burning water. And when he'd married, his new wife Nau had taken over the role.

Nau was a nice woman. Although you thought sometimes that she treated you a bit too much like you were her biological daughter and not her extended family. It was fine though because at least she talked to you. Plus she told all her townie friends about the stuff you created. And she made a bomb fish-tail soup.

When your father died, she'd resorted to dropping off a weekly supply of cooked meals at your door. But with Kyungsoo around, the need had for it had practically stopped. And even though you would never tell her, Kyungsoo's cooking was way more phenomenal than hers. But you had manners, albeit a little rusty.

"You can't hold food over my head. That's just wrong." You made your way to the sink and washed the grime off your hands and face. "Plus, I gave you a friend discount when I fixed your calculator last week."

"True. But it is easy to get the friend discount when I’m your only friend," he easily replied as he moved and dumped two servings of what looked like and smelled like his signature fried rice.

You smiled to yourself. If only your dad could see you now. Making friends? Well, a friend. Singular. The town wasn't completely shitty. But Kyungsoo wasn't fond of the place either. You weren't exactly sure what caused him to uproot his life from the middle of the town where he was revered as a young chef-like god. But when he'd taken you up on your offer to be housemates to help reduce living costs six months ago, you can't say you minded.

He was a pretty easy going person and all he ever seemed to do was cook.

"So, are you still not going to have your own stall for the solstice?" You asked after you thanked him for the food and the two of you had retreated to the table set for two.

Kyungsoo shrugged, dropping his utensil to run a hand through his cropped short inky hair. "No cooking for large people ever again. They never appreciate it anyway. I'm going to be a normal person at the festival. You know, I hear the fireworks at the end are amazing."

They were. Your father used to be in charge of the mass production of them for the event. "Yeah. They're like big exploding balls of magic."

He smiled ruefully. "Can't wait."

The two of you finished your food in silence and by the time you were done you were already back to absently dreaming about wings and flying. It was abnormal the way you were fixated on it. Building wings won't be easy, heck if they were even remotely doable someone would've done it already. But it felt like an itch on your skin. Almost like you had to at least try.

Perhaps when the party was over you'd dive headfirst into it and start researching how you would even go about it. It wasn't like you had the arm strength to keep flapping your arms like a crazed person through the damn sky.

If Kyungsoo noticed your lack of speaking, he didn't mention it. And when you'd finished washing the dishes and placing them to dry. You turned to find him sifting through a handful of mail on the table. He'd been getting a ton of letters from former customers that begged him to come back and reopen his restaurant. He promptly discarded them in the bin immediately after.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"You'd just ask me anyway, regardless of my answer."

True. But you like you'd said 'manners.' "You ever think about flying?"

He peered up from the littered papers. "Thinking about inventing some kind of flying death trap?"

"Hah hah hah. Jokes on you when I actually do it." You scoffed at him. Did he think you couldn't do it? You'd show him. You weren't sure how but you would. "You'd beg me to make one for you to fly out of this hellhole too."

"Well, when you put it like that I can't, in good conscience, discourage you from it. Even though I know it's a very bad idea."

"A bad idea? Nay, I say. It's the best I've ever had!"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at your boastful demeanor. "Where would you even fly to?"

You didn't even have to think about it. "The sun."

You'd get up close and personal with the beast that beat down on your skin day in day out. It'd hurt like hell, you knew that. But you didn't care. You weren't planning on kissing the sun or anything. Just somewhere close to it. Maybe it'd cure you off your dreams of having your body floating in a bright, hellish landscape.

Maybe flying close enough to the sun just once would be enough. You'd come back down. It'd be the greatest achievement of your whole life. Your magnum opus. You weren't trying to die but there was a whole world up there that was calling out to you like a siren at sea. And you were going to fly. You swore on it.

Even if it meant you crash-landed from space back to earth.

The Summer Solstice celebrations had already been in full swing for a few hours by the time you and Kyungsoo made it to the heart of the town. The festivals were never all that lavish or even truly a feat of major grandiose but more of a holiday to the small community. The neighboring towns visited annually and it made good to the vineyards when everyone was drunk around the bonfire with golden and russet marigolds braided into their hairs.

Colorful streamers were erected around the sides of the cobblestone roads, the sun was on the precipice of setting with the sky marred in a beautiful match of blue, orange and purple. You watched as little kids you didn’t know and old people you did flocked round in queues at various booths marveling at the creative food options.

You stopped by numerous stalls and stands that piqued your interest. Maybe it was because it was the solstice that made all the snacks taste even more heavenly than normal. Or maybe the bolstering heat had finally fried your head.

You were having fun hauling the Washy-Washer around and having people ask you what the hell it was. You’d packed a bountiful amount of socks for the demonstrations.

And when you walked away with a cold snack in your hand and a customer swearing from here to the moon that they’ll be at the shop tomorrow to pick up an order; a burst of pride swelled in your chest. Big enough for you to join in on the crowd’s summer singing. A while after you’d finished your word-of-mouth promotion, you even sold the very one you’d brought out with you.

Kyungsoo and you watched as hundreds of fellow young adult townsfolk flooded the streets decked out head to toe with the most glitzy, sheer and barely covering cloths available. It was hot and it was a festival, so no one particularly cared.

But you guess you stuck out like a sore thumb in your practical shorts and thin tank. But you weren’t part of the show so it didn’t really matter. Plus the outfits of the solstice attendees were so bizarre that you dressing a tad normal wasn’t cause for alarm. And you guessed Kyungsoo was having fun because he was running his mouth talking about the essence and the umami of a popsicle… He was learned like that.

Pushing through the crowds, you made the most of the festival. It was a bright thing. With paper lanterns floating around and above. People didn’t make an effort to seek you out in conversation but you cracked enough jokes with your friend to forget about that. Later on, Kyungsoo had been rightfully cornered by his old friends and you had given him your permission to go forth and get ultimately wasted. You promised him that you’d get drunk telepathically as well. He’d laughed.

By the time you had made it to the bonfire in the middle of the Town Square, you almost felt as if you were like everyone else. Paying for overpriced solstice marketed booze, your body felt like you were soaring. Free. You got close enough that you felt the flames of the bonfire licking and dancing across your skin and it was almost ironic how homely you felt with it.

And like year after year, the solstice let everyone shed their inhibitions. But just as the night was getting even wilder, you knew it was time for you to head back home. You could tell when you weren’t wanted. And You were pushing it without Kyungsoo by your side. People thought you were a bit mad like your father.

You won’t lie. He had been dedicated to his craft and defied the world at every turn. But he had also been a little insane. Perhaps that was where you got your stubbornness bordering on self-destruction.

You were already busy crocking up ways in which you’d start building your wings on your way back home. It was going to be a long journey to get something even manageable but you’d do it. The closer you got to your house, the less of the bustling town you heard. It was almost as if the bright festival didn’t reach your part of town. Like you were hidden in the ultimate cloak of darkness.

But that was fine. Because one day you’d have wings. One day you’d fly out of here like a bat out of hell.

And just as a droopy smile made its way to your face there came a blinding light followed by a loud and resounding thud. It shook the very core of the earth, all the way up to the enamel of your teeth.

You could swear that the sheer brightness of the light alone burnt your retinas clean off. Before you could even process what was going on, your body felt like it was incinerating from the inside. It was so hot around you that you weren’t just sweating profusely, you were melting. There was no other word for it. You clawed at your arms in a bid to do something, anything, but the mass of slick sweat on it caused your palms to slip and slip.

God, you were going to burn to death. You were screaming before you realized it. It felt like the sun was right next to you. Instead of you flying to it, it had come right down to you. And you were going to go out in a cloud of ashy dust.

But just as quickly as the heat had flamed your skin, it was gone. Leaving only the stinging sensation of your skin and tears cooling on top of your cheekbones. The cool night air caressed your skin like a salve and you whimpered a little.

What in the burning hell was that?

You were afraid. You squeezed your eyes and hugged your body. You hadn’t even realized that you had fallen to your knees. To make matters worse, your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that it overpowered all the weak sobs from falling from your lips.

Gods, you absolutely did not want to open your eyes to whatever was out there. You’d rather run blindly all the way back home.

Maybe you were cursed? Your father had told you that the gods’ anger and wrath were fickle things. Easy to provoke and swift to enact. But what on earth could you have done to deserve it? Ah, maybe if you could just open your eyes a little bit. A tiny fraction. Practically minuscule. You won’t even notice.

But when you finally managed to peel your eyelids open, you were confronted with someone kneeling right in front of you. His frame was so big that it dwarfed you and made you feel even smaller. It was undeniable that this person right in front of you wasn’t from around here. You’d never met him, never even seen him before. You’d know if you had. He had a kind of face people got mesmerized by and subsequently spent years trying to recreate it in all their art or died trying. Dramatic shit like that.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he said, his voice breathless and airy like wind and yet deep and soul bending like rock.

Huh, funny how just as you were finally catching your bearings, the hair on your arms decided to prickle to prim attention like he was inspecting them.

“Yeah?” That’s all you got? A yeah? Gods, someone throw you in a hole. You cleared your throat as you turned your gaze anywhere but his face. “Well, I swear I don’t usually burst out crying on the street like a madwoman.”

“No, no. That would be my fault.” Now that captured your attention with vice-like intensity. “I didn’t anticipate just how much heat I would give off when I reached down. Humans are sensitive. I’m very sorry if I hurt you. It is my first time on land. I’ll do better next time,” he sounded remorseful but your face scrunched up more as his words registered.

Huh. Maybe your hearing was off because what did he mean by literally anything he’d just said… Firstly, him? Hurt you? Sure he was as big as your bed frame back home and yeah, you’d never met him before. And of course, you were wary of strangers but him? He looked like he could barely hurt the ground he walked on. Squinting your eyes at him, you scrutinized his all-white attire.

Frankly, he looked like a prince. With the way, he held himself up with a dignity that just screamed regality. And even his knee that was on the ground didn’t appear to have a single stain on the white slacks. There was no royal court in your town but from the books you’d read, you imagined he was what they dressed like. With pearly white rings adorning his fingers and a tiny strip of an embellished white gold band wrapped around his tanned forehead that was framed by his blondish almost white hair.

You swiped the back of your index finger above your top lip to remove the sweat that had built up there. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He smiled, a wild thing it was because it felt like the sun was beaming straight out from his teeth. Gods, how white were those things? Did he bleach them?

“It depends. If I don’t do anything stupid while I’m here I’m sure Father would allow me to come back. He allows my siblings to fly down all the time.” He sounded almost petulant at the fact and then like he was talking to himself, his voice quieted but perhaps he’d never practiced whispering before because his voice was still way above hearing range. “But I’m sure even they have never almost charred a human down to nothing.”

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” You barely understood what was going on as is, but he was right in front of you. Like he’d been born out of the heat.

His eyes fluttered from the top of your head to your shaking hands to your knees now scuffed from the ground. “Felt what?”

“Oh, you know the blazing inferno that just swept through here.”

“Ha, I do not know of what you speak of.”

“I’m a lot of things… dumb isn’t one of them.” You forced yourself to ignore the stinging in your knees as you rose to your full height. He did the same. “Now, I don’t know what you are and I don’t really care but, did one of the gods send you? I hear Zeus can be a bit of a bitch.”

You were right about one thing, this man towered over you for sure. You always thought you were kind of tall, but he would need to lift you by your armpits to even be on the same eye level. You didn’t know how to feel about that but you weren’t scared.

“No one sends me except Father. Sometimes it is necessary. Like now,” he said not even remotely disturbed by your accusations. “I do not speak ill of Zeus but he can be, how you say bitch but respectfully?”

You gawked at him with half the mind to laugh. Actually, you were pretty sure a few giggles escaped your lips. You? Giggling? This night was only getting trickier and weirder. You blamed the booze. It was the only reasonable culprit in all this. Surely, this man did not just ask you for a more polite version of such a nasty word.

“You’re a funny one.” You tried and failed to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Or perhaps humans are just easily entertained,” he replied but he was smiling as well. He angled his head and peered around the dark road, almost like he was expecting to see something extraordinary burst out. “I thought tonight is the first day of estival? That is why I chose today to come down.”

“Oh, you mean the solstice festival?” You followed his gaze around the steep and vanishing road behind you. “If you still want to catch the end of it, you’d have to walk a long way deeper.”

There wasn’t much to look at down these parts of town. A scrap metal yard was located a few miles to your right behind another valley. But there was a good number of brick houses milling about. Not everyone could afford to live in the affluent and bustling heart of the town and not everyone even wanted to. Your house was about ten more minutes away but you couldn’t see it from here.

You wondered what this very strange man thought of when he looked around the land especially when the lanterns that outlined the street were few in between and flickering like their lives were one breath away from being completely snuffed out.

He turned his gaze back to you and you felt as his eyes commanded your body to attention. For some reason, he seemed a bit sad. “I see.”

“Well, if you run you could probably still make it. If that’s the reason you came into town then you shouldn’t miss it. The fireworks go on for most of the night. You can see them from here but it’s always better up close.”

“You will not go?” He asked, his head cocking to the side.

You grinned. “Nope. I’ve got to sleep the alcohol out. Tomorrow I start on my magnum opus.”

You weren’t sure if he quite understood what you meant but he nodded his head all the same. And it was then you really realized that even though the night was dark and the lanterns were dim, he seemed to glow. His skin alone appeared to shimmer and bleed light. And although it wasn’t bright enough to burn, it felt to you like he was blazing.

He didn’t say anything in response and when you started to feel the trickle of awkwardness slip down your spine you swiveled your eyes to the side. “I’ll just get going now.”

Quickly, you pivoted on your heel and began the stroll to your house. It wasn’t like you needed to know this mystery man. And you could chock the burning episode your body experienced earlier to the alcohol messing up with your system. Yeah, that was it. Of course, it was! If after a night of fitful rest it came again, then and only then would you make a big deal out of it.

You hummed to yourself on your way back and for some inane reason, you had a bit more pep in your step. Like your talk with the mystery man invigorated you or something. But that couldn’t be true, you’d only just met him and you didn’t even know his name.

Hah, you felt like you could start on your wings project right this second. A clear mind and non-intoxicated emotions be damned. You’d already started preliminary sketches of how you wanted it to look like. Soon, you were going to head out to the scrap yard and sift for materials. Hopefully, you found things good enough.

You were in a good mood. One of the bests since your father died last spring. Your father had been your only companion for a long time. And he’d been your everything. Your role model, your shining light. The one that believed in you more than you believed in yourself. And although you’d admit, he had fueled your stubbornness to the point of annoyance, but he’d been your best friend.

And today, almost a year and a half later it felt like you were finally releasing a breath you’d held in for so long.

But you must have been crazy out of tune with the outside world because you did not realize that there was a second silhouette following closely behind you. It wasn’t until you’d fished your copy of the house keys from your pockets and had already begun the act of shoving them into the keyhole that the presence behind dawned on you.

You flipped around, ready to claw the person’s eyes out with your bare hands if it got down to that only to meet the same brown eyes you’d just left down at the crossroads.

It appeared that this man was getting more tangled with you than you’d anticipated.

“Did you get lost or something?” You sighed as you relaxed your stance a tad. The sleepy part of drinking was quickly catching up to you. “This is really far from the festivities.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice. And then scanned your old mismatched, creaky door that you’d sworn you’d get changed after your father had died but procrastination got even the best of you. He didn’t seem repulsed by it but you thought it contrasted too deeply against his pristine white clothes. Was it possible for the wood to scuff his fitted embroidered mantle? He stuck out so much in front of your house but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“The first person we meet on land is our fatum. I stay with you till I find what I was sent for.” He said in lieu of an explanation. He poked a finger into the sliver of space between his neck and his collared shirt and pulled the garment nervously. “At least that’s what Father and the rest of my brothers said.”

Fatum? You weren’t quite sure what that word meant. But you remembered that he’d spoken about this mission he’d been sent here for. You wondered if he was like you in a way. Perhaps he only had his father and his siblings. Maybe this was his first time leaving his village?

Sure, his sentences were a bit weird and it sounded like you and him were on way two different pages. Because what did any of that have to do with you? You had yet to leave the town. That was probably why you were obsessed with the notion of flying over. But he didn’t look poor or desolate. If anything, he looked like a king surveying over his subjects.

“I still don’t get what you mean by any of that but okay, let’s say I believe you. What were you sent for?”

He cocked his head to the side innocently. “I do not know.”

Gods, you were getting a headache. You suddenly wished you hadn’t partaken in some of the indulgences of the night. Alcohol was definitely not helping your situation right now. You weren’t drunk per se but you could already feel a truck of nausea knocking on your door.

“Then how would you know when you’ve found what you were sent over here for?” Never mind the fact that you couldn’t babysit this man you’d never met. You were going to be super busy fulfilling orders and building wings. “Plus normal people don’t just let random strangers follow them around. I don’t even know your name! Some might even call this stalking.”

“I have many names,” he slid his index finger away from bruising the collar of his shirt, ignoring your first question. “But you may call me Chanyeol. And I will not stalk you for I do not really know what that is.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Truly.”

“Okay then, Chanyeol. How long are you in town for? And just so you know, I still don’t buy whatever it is your selling.”

“I will be here ’til the end of summer.” Looking you up and down like he suddenly questioned your sanity, he added. “I am not selling anything.”

Odd. This man was very odd. But you had no idea why his oddness was causing the corners of your lips to tilt upwards. Maybe it was because of how serious yet endearing he looked. Or maybe the heat did fry your brain and all your sense of self-preservation and reasoning.

“Is this about the house-sharing offer I put up in the community board?” You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms across your chest. “That was months ago and I already found someone. I’m sure if you ask someone else they’ll let you room and board with them if you’re willing to pay rent.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

You swore on your left boot that you saw a ghost of a smirk dance across his lips. “Would you let me stay with you if I pay rent?”

Hah. You couldn’t tell if the booze was making everything funnier or what. But he really was funny, this Chanyeol. And dazzling. You would’ve thought he was a living, breathing star.

“Maybe.”

And like you were in a trance, you watched as he reached up to his forehead and carefully unclasped the white jeweled crown-like headband. He held it out to you like you’d even know it’s worth. You stretched out a palm and he dropped it gently. The lingering heat from his body slithered up the skin of your arm.

Chanyeol beamed at you as if he’d just solved all the problems. “Would that be enough?”

To be honest, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you carried a human gem to a currency calculator in your head. But when you looked at the band closely, you could tell that the gems were at least real. And the gold wasn’t fake either. Maybe you’d take it downtown and get it looked at. Maybe.

Wait, you couldn’t possibly be considering his offer, could you? And what were you going to tell Kyungsoo? That you just upped and got a new housemate on a whim? Plus no one in town even knew him. Or at least you didn’t. You could handle yourself in a fight but you wouldn’t be able able to do anything if he killed you in your sleep.

Gah, you were tired.

“May I ask what Fatum goes by?” Chanyeol was still smiling. Almost like that was his default setting. You wondered if he truly was happy about all this.

Fatum this. Fatum that. What the ever-loving hell did Fatum even mean?

“You mean what’s my name?” You turned back to your front door and kicked it open. After you’d told him, you let him enter your home. “My name is not Fatum.”

Chanyeol’s tall and lithe body made the space inside your home feel that much smaller. In fact, he seemed to make everything next to him appear to shrink. But he looked around your old house like it was a thing of beauty. You were beginning to doubt if he saw the things you saw. Your house wasn’t ugly by any means but it had definitely seen better days.

“Okay, [y/n],” he conceded but you could hear the barely thought Fatum at the end.

Shaking your head you pointed at the longest couch you had that was placed right in front of the window. “You sleep there tonight.”

He nodded and you didn’t wait around to see if he settled in nicely or not. You weren’t going to think about this weird night any more than necessary. Instead, you were going to go pass out and tomorrow you would kick him out. It left an awful taste in your mouth to leave him stranded and abandoned outside in a foreign town. But that was the extent of your generosity.

And it was with great effort that you decided to not crawl up the stairs to where your room was situated. It took, even more, to not fall on your face. Gods, you swore you’d never drink again.

Tomorrow you would hand him his, clearly expensive, headband back and ask him to leave your mundane life in peace.

But there was a thought nagging and poking you incessantly in the back of your mind. That there was something about him that was tied to you. And the just the fact that you’d already accepted his price meant something you couldn’t yet fathom. Like you’d sold your soul to an unknown.

That night you dreamt of flying like you always did. Soaring and nimbly twisting through an orange and purple-hued sky. It was beautiful. But then you’d reach a point where no matter how many times you pushed yourself upwards, your body kept falling. The wind pressure feeling like crushing boulders on your neck as you struggled. Over and over again.

That night you dreamt that the wings you hadn’t even built yet had already broke.

You woke up with a scratchy throat and a light strum in your bones.

Last night felt more like a personal hallucination than reality. There was no way you’d allowed this Chanyeol person to stay in your house. Your brain didn’t even let you dive into dissecting the meanings of his words yesterday.

He was so freaking weird, you thought to yourself as you stifled a yawn and sat up on your tiny bed. Your hair was a mess since you’d been so out of it that you’d forgotten to braid it in for the night. So that meant you spent a good half an hour teasing the strands out of its convoluted mess. It was a torrid and teary affair.

By the time you’d washed up and gotten ready for the day it was already close to noon. You doubted Kyungsoo would’ve come hone already which meant you had to go down and scavenge for something to eat before you headed down to the scrap yard.

Today was going to be great.

Whistling to yourself mindlessly, you took the stairs two at a time. But when you jumped the last step and landed at the foot of the staircase you belatedly realized that two voices were coming from the kitchen. But that couldn’t be right.

Feeling like you were an intruder in your own home, you gingerly crept closer to the open door that led to Kyungsoo’s claimed area only to see the man you’d told yourself was a hallucination and your housemate. And to make matters even more bizarre, Kyungsoo didn’t look like he was even a tiny bit disturbed by his prescience. What?

“If you’re going to stand there and pretend like you can’t see us, breakfast for you goes straight to the dogs.” Kyungsoo was the first to pierce through your confusion.

You stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as you stared at Chanyeol like he was wrong to be here. You pointed a finger at him. “You.”

The piece of bread that he was about to stuff in his mouth hung idly from his fingers. It bothered you how at home he looked at your house. And now that you looked at him from the glow of the midday sun, he didn’t look as princely as he had last night. What with his white garments traded for a very comfortable blueish loose pants and a baggy shirt. You wondered where the hell he got a change of clothes from.

Chanyeol’s spine went ramrod straight in the dining chair. “Me.”

Your left eye twitched. “You can’t stay here.”

“I-”

“Sure he can,” Kyungsoo interrupted from his seat at the table. “He says you took his rent for three months.”

You gawked at Chanyeol and you almost threw yourself across the table when you noticed how smug his smile looked. This couldn’t be happening. You didn’t even have an extra room.

“I can stay on the couch. I don’t mind,” Chanyeol replied.

You must have posed your question out loud. Gods, you were going insane. And since when did Kyungsoo side with random strangers over you?

“He’s not random.” Kyungsoo didn’t look up from his food as he pointed to the plate he’d fixed for you on the counter. “And you can’t kick him out. You were complaining last month about being short on money. Maybe you should use him. No offense, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol nodded and you almost threw your shoe at the side of his head. “No worries, Land Brother.”

Land brother… yeah, maybe you shouldn’t think too much about all this. ‘Cause the more you tried to rationalize it, the more bizarre the whole situation got. If Kyungsoo was okay with him, maybe he truly was harmless? It was true that you were running low on funds. So many things in the house needed repairs and repairs cost a pretty penny. Plus, he was okay with the shitty couch. He couldn’t be that bad, could he?

Muttering to yourself, you grabbed the plate of eggs and toast. You hated eggs but you could never bring yourself to seem ungrateful. So, you dumped your butt into the third chair and begrudgingly had your first meal of the day.

Chanyeol looked eagerly from you and Kyungsoo and when you couldn’t take it anymore you barked out a “What?”

He cleared his throat. “What do we do we do today, [y/n],” he said your name carefully like it was something delicate.

You scrunched your nose at him. “We do nothing. I, on the other hand, will be going scrapping.”

“Scrapping?” He titled his head to the side. He did that a lot. Like you were the confusing one.

“I’m searching for materials I will need to create a set of wings.” You forced the last bit of eggs into your mouth and swallowed without breathing. “You can do whatever you want.”

You finished the rest of your food in record time before thanking Kyungsoo. Chanyeol thanked him as well. You adjusted the buckles of your overalls. Chanyeol retied the laces of his stretchy pants that you still wondered where they’d come from. You stuck your socked feet into your boots that you’d placed next to the front door. Chanyeol gracefully wore his white shoes from last night.

You pretended he wasn’t right next to you but it was impossible with how broad he was. His height alone blocked the sunlight and cast a shadow upon you. But he was smiling so eagerly like a puppy that was being let out for the first time.

Pushing through the front door, you allowed him to catch up with you. Reluctantly at first, you began pointing out your neighbors’ houses and the few things about your side of town that you thought were interesting enough. But every time you peered you at him for his reaction, he looked amazed. And soon enough, you got into your role as a self-appointed tour guide.

“Over there’s the Old Well. I fell into it when I was a kid and it hurt but it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t afraid of the water or anything. My father got me out pretty quick too.”

A few of the townspeople had stopped to stare at Chanyeol but you were beginning to understand that he didn’t understand his effect on people. Maybe he was used to it, but you weren’t. The feeling of many eyes leering at you made you feel off.

“You only have your father. Like me.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you want to fly?” He halted his steps and although you were the one in the lead, you complied. “This magnum opus of yours. Does it have to do with your father?”

You laughed. “’ Course not. I’m doing this because I want to. Actually, it’s more like a calling. I feel like I can’t rest until I’ve done this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his palm and laid it on your head. It didn’t feel weird. It felt more comforting and soft than anything. You didn’t breathe. “You and I, we’re more alike than you think.”

“H-how so?” You stammered.

Chanyeol leaned in closer and even though you were already holding your breath, you seized up completely. “Yesterday you asked me how I would know what I was sent for, correct?” He did not wait for an answer. “My mission is like a calling. I feel it and I am helpless to stop it. So, I follow it.”

You understood that. That was the one cryptic thing he’d said in hours that you fully understood. You did not dwell on the implications of that. You were too busy staring at his lips. It looked like clouds and when he smiled, sun rays shine through the gap between them.

He pulled his fingers away from your hair and you almost begged him to put it back. What the hell was wrong with you? You were going mad. Chanyeol clasped his arms behind him and tilted his head to the sky and you watched, mesmerized. Even in regular clothes, doing the most normal of things, he appeared almost godlike.

“You can help,” you found yourself saying. “I need all the help I can get anyway.”

His head snapped to you at a dizzying speed. “I accept.”

Time stood still once you’d made this pact with him. You didn’t hear the birds chirping, you didn’t feel the breeze swaying around the two of you as you stood in the eye of a hurricane. Just his eyes on you. Your eyes on him. Nothing else seemed to matter. And that sense of falling vibrated deep in your bones like a warning.

You did not heed. You did not run or cower. For some reason, you embraced it.

It was unprecedented the way Chanyeol slid into your life like a missing piece you didn't know you were missing.

And it was funny how his presence no longer bothered you because he was everywhere. When you woke up in the mornings and hauled ass downstairs. He was right beside you as you delivered Washy-Washer orders. Most of the time he did all the heavy-lifting of materials you found while scrapping. He truly was everywhere.

The only thing that bothered you was how easy it was with him.

Sometimes you found yourself going throughout the whole day preparing for a singular joke just to simply see your best smile of the day grace his face. He laughed at every and anything, granted. But you felt pride when his loud, deep laughs turned into guffaws that shook through his body. The kind of laughter that made him clap his hands together like a seal.

Chanyeol was thoughtful in a way you’d never experienced before. He was always on your side and you couldn't understand why. Or rather, you’d begun to tell yourself that it didn't matter. Because the more you were around him you realized that you didn't particularly mind.

He didn't mind being in the ass crack of hell, AKA your workshop. And to be honest, you thought that was his favorite place in the entire house. But he was always complaining about having to wear a shirt. And not because it was so hot he wanted to shed his skin. It felt like it was the other way around. Like he fed off the heat.

So, it came as no surprise to you when one month in he walked into your workshop shirtless as the day he was born. You almost smashed your finger with the hammer you held.

“No, get out,” you barely managed to speak. “You have to wear a shirt in here.”

“Says who?” These days he was smugger, bolder, and clearly did not care if you spontaneously erupted in a nosebleed.

You struggled to find apt words as you looked everywhere but his damned face. He was way too beautiful for his own good. And careless about it too. You didn't have the most prolific experiences with the opposite sex. None of them really were all that attractive to you.

But Chanyeol. O gods, Chanyeol. It was like he’d brazenly stepped into the starring role in all your fantasies. His chest resembled the washboard you’d previously used to wash your clothes. And by every will of your body, you wanted to lick it. Ah, you were going insane. He was making you insane.

“No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you.” You threw the hammer down and pretended like the haphazard clump of wood and made feathers was phenomenal work compared to the godlike creature you refused to look at.

You could feel his insolent smirk from a mile away. “Come on. You should do it with me.”

“You want me to get naked?” Gods, you were killing yourself here.

He placed a veiny hand on his waist and chided you. “Well, I meant shirtless but I won’t stop you. You can do whatever you want, I won’t mind.”

Please, you were about to commune with the dead at this rate.

Your whole body was on fire. This wasn't the first exchange like this between the two of you. It was getting more and more unbearable. You were going to kick him out of the house before you dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment.

Chanyeol moved closer to you and you swore his body heat was making you dizzy. He used the tip of his finger to lift your face and when your gazes connected, he let go. You still felt the sizzling pad of his finger on your chin.

“You know, I’ve learned a lot of things while on land,” his voice slithered up and down your spine like a wandering serpent. “You like when I’m shirtless. That’s why I continue to do it.”

You’d also learned that Chanyeol was straightforward like that. He didn't beat around the bush much and you wholeheartedly believed that he could not feel embarrassment. Or anger. He was his own filtered bubble.

“Your face never lies, [y/n],” he laughed like the tempter he was.

You glared at him. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“Never.” He replied instantaneously as he tried to suppress his snicker. He utterly failed.

Hah. This was a very fine line he was dancing on. You didn't think. You crossed it.

“Yeah?” Your voice was getting huskier. You unhooked the buckles of your overalls and let the top of it fall like one big petal around your waist. “You mean if I take this off right now, you won't mind?”

You needed him to call you crazy. You’d never been forward with anyone before. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you were coming off as sexy or demented. There was a thin line between the two. But Chanyeol gulped, visibly. His Adam's apple bobbled with the action. And there was that unknown feeling again. You wanted to bite it. Actually, no. You wanted to bite all of him.

You had no idea where this day was leading but you thanked foresight for the fact that you hadn't been welding today. Not that you ever thought about doing anything secondary in your workshop. But you didn't want to accidentally burn your ass when you threw your inhibitions out of the window.

“If you take it off, I would try not to mind,” he sighed out. All of a sudden, his breath was fanning your forehead, like oxygen to a flame. “And I would fail, miserably.”

“You should mind then. You should mind a lot.”

And like that was your sign to go, one of his hands slipped around the back of your neck and cradled it. “You know I’ve been reading.” He applied enough pressure to bring your face closer to him until your lips were a breath away. “I think I like you a lot more than I know what to do with. You… you feel like home.”

“What?” You said into the silence.

“A star. You feel like the star at the center of my universe.”

“Like the sun?”

He did not answer. And even though your temperature was raging like an inferno, when his lips landed on yours it felt like a calm before the storm.

It took a millisecond to register before your body was pushing into him. Hot desire dancing alongside your veins like an essential need. He was breathing fire into your body. And you were burning spectacularly.

He groaned and you swore the sound alone woke up every nerve ending in your body like a spell. You demanded more. No, you needed it. So you took it. And he gave it to you. He accepted you like it was only natural. Your tongue dived in callously. His tongue was pliant, weak against yours. There was nothing reserved about the way you kissed him. All those lingering looks as the two of you worked side by side. That yearning ache that had dug a hole in your stomach. He’d felt it too. He kissed you back like a man that wanted to engrave his very being into your soul.

“I really like you,” he said as the two of you caught your breaths. Your bodies were so close. So close that when he jutted out his hips, his hardened cock flattened against you like an iron rod. “And I need to know if you like me too because I believe I’m going insane without knowing.”

Sucking in a long breath, you bring your lips back to him and kiss him again. Impossibly deeper now. You hooked an arm around his neck and pushed his body even closer. You did not care anymore. You had no say over your body. It was a monster that acted on its own accord. It ground against him like it was trying to weld the two of you together.

You didn't say this often but, fuck.

Maybe you were a fool. You wanted to ask him a load of things. What did he like about you? Wasn’t he scared? Where did he even come from? Wasn't this all moving too fast? What if he regrets meeting you later on? What was going on? But looking into his eyes it felt like there was only one thing you could say.

“I like you too. Gods, I like you.”

A slow grin lit across his face and it quieted your demons even more. You decided then and there you’d go anywhere it took to bring that smile on his face. Always. It did something to your chest that made it impossible for you to not smile at him like he was a star. The star. The baddest of them all: the sun.

“As I said: I’ve been reading,” his voice a low beat in your chest as his fingers gripped your waist and clenched. You needed out of these clothes. Now. “I want you.”

Then he was going to have you. Every single part of you.

It’s embarrassing fast how the two of you rushed back into the main house. Bursting through like a dam at full capacity with his hands roaming all over you as you kissed. You were floating and you were pretty sure your eyes were dilated to all hell. The inside of the house was a fast blur as you clasped his hand and led him up the stairs to your room.

It wasn't the first time he’d ever been inside but your room was small. Made for one. Chanyeol made your room look like a hermit’s hole. But that didn't matter. Because as soon as you kicked the door shut, your clothes were flying off your body in between kisses that struck your body bolts of lightning. And before you knew it, your back was slammed into the mattress.

Goosebumps pierced through your skin as his fingers came in touch with your naked skin. The sexual tension between the two of you was going to suffocate you but. You. Did. Not. Care. You were suddenly very thankful for your father’s ex-wife, Nau, and how she’d embarrassingly taught you about contraceptives. You’d been steadily taking a local one to help with your period pains. Thank fuck for that.

With a knee on the bed, Chanyeol’s fingers trailed a path from your thighs to your hips to rest like a featherlike band at your ribcage. Your heart wanted to jump out and devour him.

You reached up and undid the piece of string holding his loose pants to his waist with one hand. The other hand was too busy wandering around his chest. Fuck, you moaned louder than you thought possible when his forehead fell against yours. Chanyeol was burning up. Like you but exponentially.

His head shifted into the crook of your shoulder as you began to pump him softly and he groaned so deep that it ricocheted off the walls and it felt like the whole room shook. “Gods, I’m going to die.” His words were accentuated by one of his hands tentatively brushing against your breasts and like he couldn't help it, he splayed his whole fists against them and squeezed.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back,” you said darkly. “You’re not allowed to die.”

Chanyeol smirked slyly down at you. “An honor it would be if I died for you though.”

And then he lowered his head and sucked one of nipples and rolled the bud between his teeth. You didn't think. You couldn't. Your back arched off the bed like a bow ready to release and he didn't stop. He teased one of your breasts with his mouth as he worked the other with his nimble fingers and then he switched. You weren’t going to let him die for you for he was killing you already.

You wanted to cry when he released your bruised tip from his lips but that was nothing compared to the hand teasingly made its way to your clit and ghosted around almost as if to check if you were wet. You were dripping. It wouldn't shock you if you found out you soaked the bed.

Slowly, his hands retracted from your body and gripped the headboard of your bed so hard you saw the veins in his arms bulge and you swore you heard the wood splinter at his fingers just as he pushed into you. He thrust so deep into you that your eyes closed on impulse and you had to hold your breath.

Fuck, you were being split. He was big. Longer and girthier than you’d expected. Gods, you were going to die. His thrusts were slow. Painstakingly. You couldn't breathe. You couldn’t think. You were falling apart on his dick.

“Open your eyes, fatum,” he demanded and you complied without hesitation. “Look at me.”

You thought he was going to go slow for a bit longer as you caught your breath in pants but just as you were getting used to his pace; he hooked one hand across your hip and flexed. He pulled out, shattering fragments of your very soul with him before he slammed back into you with rougher, deeper, and more possessive strokes. He did not move any faster but his rhythm choked you. The force of him broke you down and demanded you submit. And you did, gladly. Without question. You needed him to breathe you like air. You wanted his lips around your whole body all at once. You needed him to not stop. You were on the verge of going cross-eyed with how hard he was fucking you.

His kisses were like savage beasts as he pushed into you. You clasped your legs around his waist and dug him deeper. You could hear yourself whimpering but that couldn't be you. Since when did you whimper?

“Fuck, fuck, Chanyeol.” You sounded like you were praying.

Chanyeol invaded you like an asteroid crashing and yet it felt like you were receiving a gift.

And then his fingers found your core once more and you saw stars dancing in the moonlight as you cried around him. Your whole body trembling from the impact. And like you undid something in him, his whole body tightened as he leaned forward and swallowed your cries with his lips, groaning as he released inside you.

He collapsed on top of you and for a moment you breathed in his intensity. In the silence, there was only the two of you with hearts pounding and mouths panting.

Your stomach caved in when he finally made a move to pull himself out of you. You couldn't even begin to explain the feeling that sparked and ignited in your chest. You’d always believed that sex was just sex. But this was different. Chanyeol pulled you deep into his chest and held you there like you were a piece of his heart.

You didn't realize teardrops had slipped past the corner of your eyes until Chanyeol turned your face to him frantically.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He was so concerned it almost made you want to cry even harder.

“Nothing.” That was the problem.

Maybe you had finally crossed the bridge but somewhere you felt that this, whatever this was with Chanyeol wouldn't last. It felt like you were at the starting and breaking point of everything. You had no idea what you meant and you didn't want to tell him anything.

You wanted to be next to him until you couldn't be anymore. That was all you could do anyway.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You repeated.

“Yeah?” He laughed into your forehead as he leaned into your forehead and kissed it softly.

Yeah.

The three months Chanyeol spent with you felt like three years and then some.

It was almost funny how much time the two of you spent outside in the sun because he absolutely hated being inside. And even though your bed was the tiniest thing, somehow the two of you made it work because he no longer slept on the couch.

But then the end of his stay was rapidly approaching and you weren't exactly sure how to bring up the dilemma that had been poisoning your tongue for weeks. Was he going to just leave you? Did he need to go back home? Couldn't you leave with him? You wanted to leave this hole of a town anyway. Sure you would miss Kyungsoo and Nau but you would send them a carrier pigeon or something. If Chanyeol said the word, you would go anywhere.

However, he wasn't saying anything. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d told you that he was only supposed to stay here till the end of summer.

As the two of you tested out your fifth set of redone and recalibrated wings at the large expanse behind your house, you decided to just let it out.

“The last day of summer is soon. Would your father still need you?” Now, why did you sound like a textbook? Gods, this was awkward. Why were you even bringing it up when he didn’t? What were you? A masochist?

Chanyeol stopped helping you fasten the body of the wings to your torso. You couldn't put a finger to the emotions flickering across his face. There were so many of them. For the first time, you saw that he was in turmoil.

“You can tell me anything,” You said, turning your body so you could place a hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He sucked in his lower lip for a moment before he expelled a long breath. And like he usually did, he fixed his eyes up at the sun. But the sun never seemed to hurt him the same way it did you. “I know it’s just…”

“Come on. I’m here in my wings and you still won’t tell me? What if I fly away from you forever?” You meant for it to be a joke. In fact, you’d already pictured the smile that would grace his beautiful face but you were met with restrained anger.

“Don’t say that,” he spat the words out.

Wait, what? Had you said something wrong? What? This was the first time you’d ever seen Chanyeol angry. You never even knew he had the range. But he looked like what you’d said set him off. He looked furious with his eyebrows drawn so close to the center of his face that it resembled one white block. And if you didn't know any better, you’d say it looked like he was angry… at himself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You squeezed his shoulder even tighter as if to remind him that you were there.

Chanyeol’s breathing came out hard but it wasn't from physical exertion. You had no idea what you were supposed to do. “You can’t joke about that. I…” words seemed to fail him because his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes tightly. “What if I leave you? You know I’m not from around here. What if I leave to a place I can’t come back from? What if I’m never able to come down here again? What if — ”

He cut himself off abruptly and shrugged off your hand. Something ugly and vile twisted in your belly.

“We can go together?” You proposed even though it felt like your gut was being shredded. “If you can't come back here, I’ll just come with you. I can build stuff anywhere. It doesn't have to be here.”

Sorrow. That was the look that washed over Chanyeol’s face like a dark cloud. You couldn't understand what was going on but you were trying to. Where you not allowed where he was from? Maybe it was like a gendered village? That was okay, you could hide or something… You weren't exactly sure what you would do but you were smart. You’d find something. Anything.

“You can’t come.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you would die, [y/n],” He didn’t, couldn't, look at you. “If you follow me back. You won’t be able to make it because you would die. You can’t die for me. I will not allow it.” His resolve was strong and cutting but he would not look at you.

Your words. He was throwing your words back at you but… “Where is your home, Chanyeol?” You asked the one question you should have asked the first day you met him. Gods, you were so stupid!

“You.”

Funny, a simple word was like a knife being stabbed into your heart. Emotions bubbled up to your lips, so many that you thought you were suffocating. Your heart was begging you to just stop. Ignorance was bliss. Whatever Chanyeol was, it was not peace.

“Where is your home?” You weren't screaming but it felt like your throat was parched and scrubbed raw.

And when he finally looked up from the ground, you thought for the last time that he was a prince. No, a King.

He did not speak but he lifted a hand that you had numerous memories of fitting yours into the sky and pointed to the glaring sun. And you did not understand but you immediately knew and you hated it. And at this very moment in time, you hated him. You wanted to push him and pull him closer to you at the same time.

You looked up at the sun and you had half the heart to spit at it.

“Please tell me I did not fall in love with a piece of the sun.” Your bottom lip quivered and you hated that too. “You’re human. You don’t belong to the gods. I know you, Chanyeol. You're not… you can’t be from there.”

You were holding in your tears like they were the end of the world. To you it was. You won't cry. You dared not to. This wasn't happening. Crying made it real. Crying meant your heart was breaking right unto the sandy floor under your feet in your very own backyard. On your turf.

From your gaze at the ground, you saw as Chanyeol’s bare feet scuffled away from you till he was a good seven feet away. What was up with this stupid distance?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was no way he was crying but was that a hitch you heard in his voice? You raised your head to check and you almost laughed.

The two of you were way too alike for your own good.

There he was; standing prickly straight as he sucked in his breath so much that his chest brazenly prodded his loose shirt. And you couldn't hate him. Not when he was struggling through the same thing as you. He was the only one that understood and he was doing his best to not fall apart in front of you. And you didn’t even need to see them to know that he was holding back his emotions with an iron fist that was cracking.

“Don't apologize. You didn’t lie to me. You were honest. I just didn't understand. You said some very weird things but that was you. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I thought it didn't.”

“But if I go Father…” he tore his gaze to the side but quickly brought it back to you. “I don’t know what he would do. Gods’ are a bit bitchy, you know?” He smiled half wry, half in irony.

You let out a sound in between a cry and a laugh. “That’s fine. We’ll work it out. We’ll — ”

You never got to complete your sentence. Like a novel that did not have an ending, you watched as, in the bright light of noon, Chanyeol was struck with a bolt of light so bright that you had to close your eyes for a second and throw your hands up blindly. The heat was scorching even from this distance. And when you opened your eyes as fast as you possibly could, you realized that the light was from him.

It was then that you understood everything.

Chanyeol was the sun. Not a part of it. Not a piece. It was his being. His core. His very sense of self.

But why did he look so terrified?

“What’s going on?” You screamed at him as he maniacally clawed at his skin like he was on fire. But the sun could not burn, could it?

“I do not know!” He looked at you and his terror became your own.

Something was wrong. Something was happening and you didn't know how to stop it. You wanted to hug him but when you made a move to him, he screamed raw bloody for you to not take a single step. You were in between a rock and a fiery place.

“You can’t come next to me, [y/n].” He was in pain. You felt in from the curl of your hair to the leather of your boots. “I can't control what’s going on. But I’m okay. I don’t know what’s wrong but I’ll be okay, yeah?”

Chanyeol was combusting. He was burning out right in front of you and he wanted you to stand still? Fuck that. Fuck everything. You loved him. You would do anything. You were going to hold him down to this world even if you had to give up your hands that you loved so much.

However, all of a sudden Chanyeol tilted his head and you swore you saw the moment he communicated with whoever was above because he looked furious for one second, and the very next he shot you a calming smile. Like you mattered. Like he was trying to placate you in all this.

You were running before you couldn't think about it.

And your hand was reaching out to him with every breath you had and just as your fingers clutched the fabric of his blazing shirt, you felt the warmth he released close around you. It cradled you through your pain. It felt safe. It felt like you were dying. It felt like forever.

Instantly, there was a loud boom, a bang and then the hottest rush of air that blew past you like a caress.

Your palm was burned. His love burned. You were wailing at the world. You hated everything. You loved him so much. Your palm was bleeding. GODS, EVERYTHING HURT. Make it stop, you were begging. Please. I’d do anything Please. The pain was making you scream like a bitch.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to die. You wanted to be reborn. But the world did not give second chances. You were going to pry it out with your scorned hand and strangle your chance out. You were going to beat your destiny with a stick. You vowed it. As you cried out in pain, you promised that you would break every rule. You won't wait. You’ll fly.

Kyungsoo was the one to find you.

Passed out, dehydrated and bruised in more ways than one. But you were a phoenix that was born out of the ashes.

You knew a part of you was gone as Chanyeol was taken from you. Your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were unfeeling and the very next an overwhelming sense of rage inflamed your body. You wanted to burn the very ground you walked on. You rummaged through your room until you found the tiny piece of him you had left. His white gold headband. You made Kyungsoo tie it ‘round your head and you never took it off.

It did not help that your palm took longer than three weeks to heal. It was an ugly scar. But it reminded you of him so, when you slept at night, you gritted through the pain and the memories and held the palm close to your chest. Right over your heart. It was fitting.

And by the time your palm had healed enough, it felt like you’d aged a thousand years. Kyungsoo could not understand what was going on and you refused to talk. If you told him, he would only discourage you. And you would truly lose your mind if someone told you what you could and could not do.

But your friend was right there. He never left. Even when you were mean, he still hoped that one day he won't need to drop food outside of your bedroom door because you would not come downstairs. How where you supposed to sit at that table and not see the ghost of Chanyeol falling over the chair as he laughed like a bear?

Maybe someday you would get better. Today was not that day.

For the first time in ages, you walked into your workshop and inhaled. It was time to work.

You built and rebuilt your wings from scratch. The wooden ones never got off the ground, not even for a second. The metal one almost sawed off your arm completely but you never gave up. You were restless and you couldn’t sleep. When you slept you saw him and your hand burning. You were plagued by it. It hurt, so you did not do it anymore. Sleep only came when you were exhauseted.

The hybrid wings weren’t beautiful. A mismatch of wood and alloy. But when you jumped off the roof of the tiny shed at the back of the house. You flew. Or maybe the right word is floated. You floated for a good thirty seconds before you landed painfully on bloody knees.

“Fuck,” you spat.

Your knees hurt but it took your mind away from the present. You had to come up with something fast, You had to do something before you ran out of gas, before you burned out.

Perhaps that is why from the dregs of your mind you remembered something your father had done when you were younger.

When you were nine, you stepped into your father’s workshop for the first time. It was hot as if the middle of the earth was right there in the basement. And when you walked in, after banal arguments about safety with your father, he let you watch him as he created the greatest thing known to man.

Your father had been creating wings.

He’d never completed it and you’d been so young that it didn’t matter to you that he never did. But now as you rush back down the steps into your basement, you wonder if maybe this is fate. Maybe fate wasn't something spontaneous but rather a series of unfortunate events that we only hoped ended in less pain.

You pushed open the back door within the basement that led to your father’s workshop. You hadn't set foot in here since he’d died. It smelled like him. You wondered if he was watching you right now. You wondered if he thought you were a bit too stupid.

It took a while to find it beneath the layers of dust and junk but when you found it, you sighed in relief. It wasn't made from metal or wood or even a combination from the two. But wax. The frame of the left-wing was nonexistent while the right-wing looked like it had melted. None of that registered and that was how it became your new project.

“You need to eat,” Kyungsoo said as he brought a plate of sandwiches out to you.

Days had passed since you’d started working on the wings and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Not happy but somewhere in between. You’d poured blood and sweat into molding the wax into the right frame and meticulously preserving the feathers.

You picked one of the sandwiches and bit into it. These days you hated working inside. “Thank you.”

“You'd tell me if you were doing something risky, right?” Kyungsoo eyed the wax suspiciously.

Shrugging, you stuffed the rest of the bread in your mouth. You couldn't give him the answer he wanted so you pretended not to hear. You knew he was angry and you knew it wasn't fair. But you were angrier. Kyungsoo didn't understand. You were going to fly. You had to. You fucking had to get up there.

It took longer than you wanted but when you were done, your wings were perfect.

They looked perfect and you just knew that it wasn't going to let you down. It wasn't going to break. Wax wasn't like wood after all. You were drunk on the feeling of sunshine. It felt like for the first time in months you could breathe. You did not wait for another day.

It was already the middle of Fall. The sun was out but it wouldn't be there for much longer. Sunset was fast approaching.

You climbed up the roof of the shed with the new set of wings attached tightly to your back. You wondered if Chanyeol was looking down at you right now. You wondered if he could see. You hoped he did. You stood on the ledge of the roof and let the wind build and rest before you took a breath.

You prayed and then you jumped.

And like in your dreams, you flew. And it was glorious. It was like the wings were your very arms. Your body — your invention — defied physics, defied the very aspects of anatomy. But you were flying through cloud nine at breakneck speed. You were gliding and nimbly twisting through a bright orange sky. It was so beautiful. You had tears in your eyes.

The wind whipped your face painfully as you pushed your wings up and up and then some more. You couldn't hear anything and to be quite honest, you could not see anything either.

You followed the blinding light in front of you like an addict. You wondered if the townsfolk down below could see you. You didn't care.

You kept flying, even when you got tired. Even when your arms begged you to stop because any more and they would break, you pushed. You pushed yourself until you entered a wave of encompassing heat that instantly reminded of you that day. You were so close. Your heart felt like a match in your chest and as the temperature rose, it struck and lit.

In your drunkenness, you swore you saw Chanyeol. He was right there and you were going to reach him. Tears were falling out of your eyes without pause. You’d been reborn not as a phoenix but as a river.

And just as your body felt the pressures of being burnt alive you suddenly felt nothing. Like you were nothing but a speck in the universe. You were nothing and everything at the same time. You were not sure how long you spent in the state but the next thing you knew, you were falling.

No, plummeting. You were being thrown back to earth in a ball of fire.

You were screaming. Your wings were on fire and… the wax was melting. You’d come so close and you still couldn't make it. Your dream was sifting through your empty hands. You couldn't believe it. You were falling so fast that soon enough all you saw around you was crisped air and shattered reality.

Your body was burned. Physically and mentally. Your soul was leaving your body and you knew that you won't survive this. Who could? You were going to die screaming.

It must have been a second before your body engraved itself into the dirt when you felt hot hands cradle your battered body. You were weak and you were tired but he was like a siren. He called and you answered. You fought and he appeared.

It must have been fate that you had been the first one he’d met. He was your bright and warm star.

“You idiot,” he cried as boiling tears landed like rain on your dried, desert-like face. “I was coming to you. I was coming. I was coming. I was coming.” He held you into his chest, injuries and all be damned, as he cried.

If you could smile you would but it hurt just to wheeze. “Because you love me?”

“More than anything. More than anyone.”

And you loved him back. Love was not guaranteed at all, you knew that, but he was the reflection of your soul. He had a part of you wrapped around his heart like a vice. You won't let go. You tied him ephemerally to this world and he connected you to the largest star of them all. You could feel his soul like it was a breathing thing.

“Then I go wherever you go.”

He pulled you away from his body and through your slitted eyes, you saw the most beautiful man. The man who wore the sun like a coat. The man who reminded you of gods and how weak mortals were next to them. You’d flown into the flames and he was here.

“No, I need you to understand.” Chanyeol’s lips were moving in a way that told you he was serious. But it dawned on you then that in his arms, the burns did not hurt. It was like licks on your skin. “You are the greatest star of my universe. You are all of it.”

You understood. “And I would fall again and again. It’s all or nothing with you, Chanyeol. Do you understand?”

Maybe he did because he hooked his face into your shoulder and let out a laugh. It was rusty. He hadn't laughed in ages but it felt right. His soul had fallen down to earth first, and he had come right after. He had been searching for you for a long time, for such a long time that he had forgotten. To him, you were like the vast space beyond the sun.

You’d flown to him, even if it killed you. Nothing else mattered after that.

“You. I came down for you. I was sent to you. I am sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to reach back down.”

At first, you did not know what the hell he was talking about. Several minutes passed before you did. And that was when you grinned as tears poured from your eyes.

He finally knew.

a/n: ahh if you made it down here, thank you. im so happy you read this and i hope you enjoyed it, and yes i cried while i wrote this. i have been wanting to do this since i listened to Zayn’s 2018 Icarus Falls album. and i hope i actually did my imagination justice. pls dont hesitate to tell me what you think! :)

⇢ masterlist

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Note

Can I request a soulmate au with anyone you see fit? I don’t mind I just love that sort of mushy stuff, CONGRATULATIONS ON TWO HUNDRED FOLLOWERS

Soulmates [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Authors Note: you may recognise a quote in here from Dawson's Creek— if you spot it, I love you. it's something that has always resonated with me a lot. This was so fun to write. If you followed me on twitter the chances are you'll know all about Lady Lord and she does make a brief cameo in here :) I've found a new passion and that is writing domestic dad! Maxwell. Anyways, thank you for the amazing request, I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings: angst but it's funny I swear— light hearted fluff and just a little ~sexual tension~ but nothing explicit.

Rating: 15 (just to be safe!)

MASTERLIST | Submit your requests HERE

Summer 1993

Maxwell tucked his daughter into bed and switched on the nightlight. "What book would you like me to read to you tonight?" Maxwell asked, pushing the reading glasses that were perched on his nose into a more comfortable place. He kneeled down, his back aching slightly with age, and flicked through the many children's book your child had the privilege of owning.

"Daddy?" your daughter asked, shuffling around slightly under her pink silk bedding. She reached over and grabbed her favourite teddy bear, nursing it in her arms.

"Yes princess?" Maxwell replied, pausing momentarily from looking through his daughters books and turning to face the little girl. Her eyes were big and sparkling, and they reminded Maxwell of your own eyes.

"What's a soulmate?" her voice was sweet like honey, innocence dripping from her tongue as she blinked her pretty eyes with curiosity.

Maxwell pondered for a moment, hesitation filling his gut. Maybe this would be a better conversation for you to have with her; he thought. Maxwell was never really good at explaining such topics, or talking about feelings. But, this was his daughter— and she was as pure as could be. He wanted her to know. He wished that his parents had told him of the concept long before he found out about it.

Maxwell straightened himself up and shuffled closer to his daughter. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his chest. She shuffled her head slightly trying to get comfortable, but in the process, her hair got caught in the little clip of his suspenders. Maxwell carefully removed her hair and brushed it out of her face. He had never prepared himself for this conversation; so he was just going to do what you always encouraged him to do. Speak from his heart.

"It's uh... Well, it's like a best friend but more. It's the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It's someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don't make you a better person, you do that yourself - because they inspire you. A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever. It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did, or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you will always love them. Nothing can ever change that."

"So… mommy is your soulmate?" your daughter asked her father. Maxwell nodded, a small blush creeping on his cheeks. "Who is my soulmate?"

"I don't know princess, that's something you'll learn for yourself one day." Maxwell said, planting a gentle kiss into his daughter’s forehead. "Why did you ask such a question?"

Your daughter's mouth twisted into a proud smile that could only be comparable to one of Maxwell Lord. "Today, at school, Augustus held my hand during recess. And my friend, Katherina, told me that little Gussy might be my soulmate."

Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. "Who's Augustus?" he frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Augustus Emmeline the third!" Your daughter beamed.

"The third, huh?" Maxwell raised his eyebrow. "My little treasure, you tell daddy if he ever hurts you, okay?"

"Gussy would never hurt me." your daughter rolled her eyes, a small giggle escaping her lips.

Maxwell figured tonight wasn't the best time to explain the woes of heartbreak to his eight year old daughter, so he let her comment slide. He kissed her nose again and turned out her night light. "Get some sleep sweetheart, you have ballet and piano recitals tomorrow."

"Okay daddy, I love you." she shuffled to her side and clutched onto her teddy bear even harder, closing her eyes.

"I love you too." Maxwell smiled before leaving her bedroom.

You were in the kitchen, changing the cat litter, when your husband snuck up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your neck. He rocked his hips into yours, swaying side to side like he was dancing with no music. "What you doing?" Maxwell sing-song’ed in your ear. You laughed, tearing yourself out of his grip.

"Sorting out Lady's litter," you grimaced, nodding your head towards the long haired white cat who was sitting by the back door, innocently staring at you and Max.

"Thought I could smell something." Maxwell pinched the bridge of your nose and you gave him a roll of your eyes.

"Did she go to sleep okay?" You asked Maxwell, setting the cats litter tray back in place. Lady Lord, your white kitty, mewled a 'thank you' before scurrying off into the living room.

"Yes," Maxwell nodded. "She did, however, ask a strange question," you looked at your husband, prompting a further explanation. "She asked me what a soulmate was."

"She did?" you raised an eyebrow in inquiry, washing your hands in the sink and drying them with a soft towel. "What did you tell her?"

"You know," Maxwell shrugged. "Just spoke from my heart. Like you always tell me too."

You smiled, approaching your husband and tugging on the straps of his suspenders. "Good."

"It reminded me of when we found out we were soulmates." Maxwell smirked and you let out a sigh. "Do you remember?"

"Oh my goodness Max, how could I forget?"

Winter 1984

"I refuse to believe that this monster is my soulmate." you growled, eyeing up Maxwell Lord up and down feeling nothing but disdain for the smarmy businessman.

"Well baby, you better believe it." Maxwell rolled his dark brown eyes, a devilish smirk sprawled across his lips.

It irked you- it angered you. Every little thing he done annoyed you; and now this revelation? You were beginning to believe he was playing a sick prank on you— and he had Diana and Steve in on it as well. You couldn't understand why they'd share Maxwell's malicious intentions against you (or so you presumed they were malicious… everything that man did was suspect), but you wouldn't put it past Maxwell to manipulate them.

"It's true," Diana sighed, shrugging her shoulders casually. "Eros told me himself."

"Eros." you deadpanned, placing your hands on your hips and knotting your eyebrows together in unamusement. In the corner of your eye, you spotted Maxwell's smirk grow as your annoyance festered inside of you.

"Or more commonly known as Cupid," Captain Steve Trevor beamed, innocently spewing out his unwanted explanation. "Eros is the winged God of Love. He shoots two people with his arrow and they become soulmates. They find each other and they fall in love." You studied Classics at university; of course you knew who Eros was.

"I know who he is!" You spat furiously and Steve raised his hands in defense. You felt your cheeks burn up with anger as the concept of Maxwell Lord being your soulmate dwelled upon you. You turned back to Diana, in hope that there had been some sort of misunderstanding. "Eros’ father is Ares, the God of War. Can we really trust him?"

"His mother is Aphrodite," Diana replied non-chalantely, failing to understand your point. "Besides, Eros is neither Ares nor Aphrodite. We need not to compare the winged God of Love to his parents."

"So, Eros just came and visited you, and told you that myself and the CEO of freaking Black Gold Cooperative are soulmates? There's no way." Before Diana could reply, Maxwell cleared his throat. Your head snapped to face him. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you." You pointed your finger, digging it hard into his chest. He swatted your hand away and straightened his posture under your glare.

"Actually, I found out from this." he brought out a peculiar, amber gem from the pocket of his suit jacket. "Eros just confirmed it."

"You found out from a pretty rock?" You folded your arms across your chest.

"It's a dreamstone-," Maxwell began to explain but you cut him off.

"I don't care." you scoffed, grinding your teeth together in white rage. You turned back to Diana.

"Listen," Diana said, her voice as sweet as honey. She raised her hand and placed it gently on your shoulder, meaning nothing but comfort. "Eros told me that every soulmate shares the same soulmark. Do you… do you have any marks on your body that could be—"

You processed her words, thinking long and hard. "I do, I have a mark on the inside of my thigh." You shuffled around uncomfortable.

"Can I see it?" Maxwell beamed, his chocolate eyes sparkling.

"Not unless you want a fucking lawsuit." You snapped back at him and you watched as his charming but smug smirk fell from his face. He rolled his eyes and took a step back from you. "Diana, is there another way we can make sure that we are soulmates?"

"We could kiss and see what happens?" Maxwell suggested and you clenched your fingers into a fist. Would this man ever learn to shut up.

"It's true, you could kiss and see if you feel anything." Diana pointed out and you pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance. Maxwell howled with laughter while Steve just stood there, as confused as ever.

You sighed, holding your face in your hands before turning back to Maxwell. "Show me your soulmark."

"Show me yours." Maxwell charmed and you wanted to scream.

"No."

"Yes."

"With all due respect," Steve cleared his throat. "You two argue like an old married couple." He raised an eyebrow and nudged Diana. "Are they always like that?"

"Yes." Diana smirked.

"No we are not!" You and Maxwell yelled in unison.

Your head snapped towards Maxwell and he couldn't help but smile at the angry scowl playing on your lips and the crinkle in between your eyebrows.

"Diana and I are going to head out and get some coffee, do you two want anything?"

You and Maxwell were too busy bickering to hear Steve's polite offer. Pointing your fingers at each other, both of you demonstrating your power struggle as your voices slowly became more raised. Steve and Diana exchanged a look before realising they best be on their merry way.

"My office, now." Maxwell growled in frustration, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into his extravagant office. Usually his micro-agression would have earned him a punch in the arm and string of insults from you, but despite his firm grip on you, his hand slipped down your wrist and his finger interlocked with yours.

You would've pulled away from him. Gritting your teeth together, you could think of a thousand curses to scream at the slimy CEO but instead you were left feeling slightly dazed. There was a spark when his fingers graced the back of your hand. Like genuine electricity. And it had lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. He sat you down on the loveseat by his desk and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Did you feel that?" he asked and you frowned.

"Feel what?" you grumbled.

"That… that spark." Maxwell's hand fell to his hip as he stared at you, perplexed.

Yes, you had, and there was no denying it. Instead, you opted to avoid eye contact. He had his way with people— his charming business strategy. His charisma could make the whole world fall for him. But not you. You wouldn't fall for him.

"So stubborn," Maxwell huffed, as if he was reading your mind. He slipped into the loveseat and sat next to you, his dark eyes gleaming. "You think I wanted this? Of course I didn't. I don't have time for relationships." You scoffed, about to interrupt him but he raised a finger and continued. "I'm too busy. I'm better alone anyway. But we have something special. I hate to admit it, but you can't keep running away from the truth."

He was right. Fuck, he was right and you hated it. All this time you had been shutting out the truth. It was like destiny had brought you two together. You were the complete opposite of Maxwell Lord, but maybe Eros was right for shooting his arrow into you both. Maybe he done it for good reason. Maybe you and Maxwell completed each other.

"You're disgusting," your voice was merely just a croak. You couldn't give up. You had to keep fighting. "You built the foundations of your business on lies. You're a fraudster, a scammer, and you should be in jail." Your own words made your heart shatter.

Maxwell looked away from you, his eyes glossy. Your words stung. "You can hate me all you want, but we were chosen for each other. I don't understand it. I don't think I'll ever understand it. But this happened for a reason."

"How can you be sure?" you whispered.

Maxwell cleared his throat. "The dreamstone… and Eros and… everything Diana has told me. I hate to believe it, but I trust her. She knows better than anyone else." Maxwell shrugged. "And I've felt it. And I know you have too."

"We are literally rivals." Your voice was but a mere whisper.

Maxwell took a step closer to your breaking any distance. You swore you could feel his warm breath tickle against your neck as his words sent shivers down your spine. "Kiss me."

You looked up at his once chocolate brown eyes, now practically ebony and completely lust blown. He gently raised his hand to cup your cheek and swiped his thumb across your jaw. What had happened to you? You were succumbing to him. Because you knew, deep down, it was true. But you remembered Diana's words. A kiss would confirm it.

"I hate you Maxwell Lord." you shook your head before standing on your tippee-toes, matching his height. You tilted your head, the curve of his nose brushing against yours as you pressed your lips against his.

There it was. That same spark. The kiss was hypnotising. At first, you tried to escape the fact you were kissing Maxwell Lord, but as he slung his arm around your waist and pulled your hips into his, you figured you could maybe embrace it.

You found your hands tugging amongst his dark blonde locks of hair. You always imagined his hair to be greasy, layered in many unnecessary products to keep it perfectly styled throughout the day. But it was soft and well conditioned. As you pulled gently on it he bit on your lower lip and caused a sweet moan to escape your lips. That only spurred him on more, as he dropped his hand and cupped the roundness of your ass.

Both of your hands were settled on his broad shoulders, and he grumbled a little when you pulled on the lapels of his suit jacket, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. The little noise he made sent vibrations straight through your core and on instinct, you pressed your body further into him.

Maxwell glided his tongue over the plumpless of your lower lip, begging for entry, which of course you granted. You had kissed many people before but it had never felt as intoxicating as this. You couldn't stop. He was your poison, and you were addicted.

But why him. Why would Eros match you with a man like Maxwell Lord? He was cunning… manipulative…an amazing kisser. You pulled your away from him, detaching your lips from his with a pop sound and looked up into his nervous eyes.

"Did you feel anything?" his voice was hoarse and rasp, as if the kiss had took everything out of him.

You couldn't lie anymore. You couldn't kid yourself. You took a deep breath.

"Maxwell, I've felt something for you since the moment I started working here. All my life I've hated you. Your father and your shitty business stole from my family. But when I scored the job at the museum, and when I saw your speech in the main hall, I felt something inexplicably unique. Something I've never felt before. Seeing you stand there and witnessing your charm with my own two eyes ignited something primal within me. I needed you— more than I've ever needed anything before, and I cursed myself for it. You didn't know me, but I knew you. I knew of all the hurt you caused me, and my family, and many other families around the world. I knew of your greed and ruthless nature. And I tried so hard to hate you so bad."

"Everybody thinks they know me, but they don't. Everyone thinks they have me all figured out from my infomercials… or they judge me based on my parents. Let me tell you, I'm not my parents." Maxwell assured you and you offered him a small comforting smile. "I'm sorry Black Gold Cooperative hurt your family. I know it might not seem like it, but I'd never want to hurt anyone."

And for some reason, you believed him. You saw the kindness in his eyes. You knew he was genuine. You had gathered up so much hate for him over the years. So much anguish. You never thought you'd ever be able to forgive him.

"Eros put us together for a reason." you whispered and Maxwell tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I think we can make this work." he told you, his voice quiet and of a deeply pleasant nature.

"Yeah, me too." you replied, your heart fluttering.

"So…. about that soulmark on the inside of your thigh."

"My lawyer is one of the best in the country Lord, don't try me." You winked before flicking your hair and leaving his office, the door slamming behind you.

This was going to be the start of something amazing.

Taglist for this specific AU: @heythere-mel @kiwi-the-first

Permanent taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!): @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord x reader #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #wondertrev #ww84 #wonder woman #soulmate au #pedro pascal requests

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

baby, in your kingdom (for valentine’s <3)

read on ao3 tagging: @today-in-fic @iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor @scullllaaaaayyyy

Mulder proposes to Scully during the Requiem bed scene.

So you may have seen the text post I wrote imagining a version of Requiem where Mulder proposed and didn’t go off to Oregon at the end...I couldn’t stop thinking about that, so it turned into this. This is my favorite prose that I’ve written for a fic, and it might turn into a series someday because this concept is just so rich and worth diving into. Happy Valentine’s Day, and enjoy a treat on me to numb the pain hehe.

T, 1.7k, more angst than fluff (oops) but the tenderness is there too

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

He needs to tell her one thing and ask her another. Should be simple enough, except it never is when it comes to words passing between them. It's in both their natures to leave the sweetest sentiments unsaid lest they lose their luster when voice meets air. And what he has in mind is not exactly the easiest of utterances, neither the former nor the latter. One is the kind of admittance we fear when the phone rings unexpectedly, the other a declaration the unluckiest people go to their graves without getting. Delivering both at the same time is a sin if he’s ever committed one. And for once, he cares what count God has against him. What if he isn’t able to see her again, even in the afterlife?

He’s been weighing one decision for awhile, looking for the balance between his conviction and her virtue. He could have done it when she came back to him with her baby-faced blush, accepting the cross he clung to in lieu of her. Or when she showed him the x-rays, and they spelled out no hope. When he cried by her bedside and she didn’t stir--he could have done it then, she wouldn’t have known. But it means nothing unless it means everything to both of them, and she wouldn’t have--no, couldn’t have--given him the answer he wants back then. He holds this as the sacred truth that governed him then and will govern him now. He has no room for regrets.

The scuff of their shoes against the baseball diamond was the first time he realized that maybe, maybe this manic impulse of his had some basis in reality. Not a solid one, nothing they could cross a canyon with, but in time…

And then he was inside her brain, privy to her thoughts, and what was an unsound bridge had become a stairway to Heaven only they could climb. Fuck a safety net, he wouldn’t be needing that anymore.

Then he got the call from Billy Miles, and he thought of her ouroboros, and isn’t that what they’ve been doing this whole time? Circling some greater truth that they’ve always known?

Every circle ends where it begins and begins where it ended. This is what he’s thinking when he spots Billy’s badge, and they glide over the X he painted when they didn’t yet trust each other (but so badly wanted to), and when he lays eyes on Teresa Nemmans and she is not Nemmans but Hoese, and there is a child in her arms.

Seven years. And what do they have to show for it? What they mean to each other has changed, but it’s not like anyone can tell. He called Scully his partner then, and he calls her his partner now. Oh, the time they have wasted.

But it will be wasted no more. Seeing her with the Hoese baby, cooing a lullaby into its precious ear…seven years ago, he told her of the government’s conspiracy and how nothing else mattered to him. That is no longer the truth.

There is a truth they both know that is stronger than anything. When she appears at his door, flushed and shivering like a puppy left out in the cold, his head and his heart finally hit the same wavelength. He will shy away from fate no longer.

She doesn’t wait to be invited in, she knows his bed is hers for the taking. He lifts her shoes off her feet like he’s kneeling at an altar, wraps his arms around her as if it’s what he was put on this Earth to do. Contrary to popular belief, he has quite a reverence for domestic bliss. He’s been searching for it since his own reflection of it was shattered at twelve years old, and it has finally come to him.

He is scared to death that he’ll fuck it up, but not so scared that he’ll back away. In other words, his approach to everything in his life. It occurs to him then, with his lips on her temple, that he would set his own flame to the office and every X-File in it if she asked him to. If that’s what she wanted. He wouldn’t even have stepped foot back in that haunted place after its first burning if she’d given him an indication that it was not her desire.

“Scully,” he starts, nuzzling her neck, “I was thinking about when you asked me if I ever wanted to stop...if I ever wanted to get out of the car.”

“Uh-huh,” she breathes so faintly that he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t felt it in her lungs.

“Well, I do want that. I’ve always wanted that. Remember when we were in Home and I said I’d like to settle someplace like that?”

Scully chuckles against him.

“Obviously not in Home, but you know, some place with the small-town sentiment without the, uh, familial connection.”

“Mm-hm,” Scully murmurs, sensing a larger point that he has strayed from.

“I just never knew how to get to it--I never thought that I could get to it, because I grew up thinking my parents had that, and then I saw they never did at all.”

Scully tucks his open palm under her chin, listening contentedly.

“So I spent my time chasing apparitions,” he continues, “things I couldn’t see, because I stopped believing in the things that I could. It’s like…the invisible things could surpass my expectations easily, but the visible ones could only disappoint.”

Scully feels cocooned, protected, and warm. She latches her attention to Mulder’s voice to keep from drifting off, kissing his knuckle to show that she’s listening.

“And I’ve realized, Scully,” he says, an edge in his voice, “that it’s a fucking waste of time to live like that. Like doing laps on a lazy susan and wondering why you’re never getting anywhere.”

“I know,” Scully says, her voice quiet but certain.

Mulder laughs lightly. “I know you do, that’s what you’ve been saying all this time...I just didn’t see it before.” He kisses her shoulder, lingering in the final moments before doing what cannot be undone. “And so I have something to ask you, but there’s something I have to tell you first.” Rawness permeates his voice.

At the sound of this, Scully cranes her neck, her gaze falling upon his face for the first time since they laid down. She can barely see his hazel irises through the reflecting pool in his eyes.

“What is it, Mulder?” she asks, concern pressing up against her urgent need to know.

He closes his eyes, the sight of her too much for him in this moment. What he wouldn’t give to feel like he could live with himself if he kept this a secret.

“I’ve seen a neurologist, I’ve had MRIs, it’s all conclusive. My brain is diseased from whatever Cigarette Smoking Man did to me. Fatal, my neurologist says.”

“Mulder…” Scully sits up, her whole being gravitating toward him. She runs her fingers along the space where she knows he bears his scar.

“Who told you this? And when? Have you had symptoms…?”

Clearly, she does not want to believe him, and he understands.

“I’ve been going back and forth to appointments for a few weeks. It was just confirmed the other day, I didn’t want to worry you until I knew more.”

“And your symptoms?”

He recognizes the darkness in her eyes and pucker in her forehead that forewarns tears. “Disorientation, dizziness, memory loss...sometimes I feel like I sleepwalked right through my day. “

‘Why didn’t you tell me?” her voice crackles.

He kisses her hand. “I thought you might go to some dark places if you tried to diagnose me.”

“Well, you’ve just turned the lights out on me with no warning!”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I didn’t know how best to approach it, I just knew I wanted to cause you the least pain possible.”

“You wanted it to be nothing so you wouldn’t have to tell me,” she notes, not accusing, just speaking plainly.

“Well, yes. That would have been ideal.”

She swallows back tears, wrapping her arms around his neck with grave sincerity. “But now I’m here to fight right alongside you.”

This is what they do--have done, for years. Make his pain her pain and vice versa. Hurt hurts less when shared.

Mulder pulls away first, and it feels like peeling off a layer of his skin. Still, this is as necessary as anything he has ever known.

“That’s why I was wondering--and listening to it now, I realize this is probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t know, I thought you might understand...will you marry me, Scully?”

Her breath catches and before she can think of anything else, she is careening toward his t-shirt to cover her tears. She clutches at the material, pulling it from his midsection to her face.

As far as Mulder’s concerned, there’s an elephant stuck in his throat. “I really don’t know what that means,” he stammers.

Scully lets him see her, tear-stained skin and all. “Yes, Mulder, my god yes! Do you honestly think I’d say no to you?”

“I would, especially in this situation.”

It’s a classic Mulder comment, but Scully’s not laughing. She pulls him in again, just wanting to feel his skin against hers. Their breaths slow in time with each other’s, their heartbeats matching pace. Scully’s lips brush his mole.

She speaks into his skin. “You saved me when it was impossible. I will do the same for you.”

Mulder thought he might hold it together until those words slipped from her lips. The elephant in his throat turns to stifled sobs.

With silent tears still streaking down her cheeks, Scully runs her thumbs along his lips. Just as she did when they thought his brain was getting better. The love in her eyes is equal to then too.

“My constant, my touchstone, remember?” she professes. “Then, now, and always.” She presses her lips to his forehead, and he thinks she must be healing him.

#yes it's valentine's but it's a pandemic valentine's #so have some angst with that fluff #the x-files #txf fic #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #requiem

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lesbianlotties · 3 years

Link

supercut of us - The Old Guard (2020) - TOGFemslashFortnight

@tog-femslashfortnight - Saturday's Prompt: Free Choice

This is especially for everyone at the TOG Femslash Discord <3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Andy | Andromache the Scythian/Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman & Quynh | Noriko Characters: Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Quynh | Noriko, Nile Freeman Additional Tags: TOGFemSlashFortnight, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, ish, Headcanon, Friendship, Team Bonding, World Travel, Fluff and Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Words: 3517

Inspired by 57 headcanons shared on the TOG Femslash Discord... (which you can find along with their creators here)

After Andy and Quynh are reunited they decide to travel the world with Nile. Andy deals with her uncertain mortality, Quynh deals with the twenty-first century, and Nile... deals with both of them. It's fun, exciting, sweet and never boring.

There was just something about the way Quynh was holding Andy’s hand, which was perfectly complemented by the exact pressure of Andy’s hold, but defied by the purposeful pattern that Quynh’s thumb was drawing on the back of Andy’s hand. Then, of course, there was also something else to be said about the particular arch of Andy’s eyebrow, or just a flash of a frown in Quynh’s face, followed by Andy biting her lip, and answered with a brief pout from Quynh. Which lead to-

“What are you guys doing?” Nile blurted out, finally exasperated by the way the two women had been silently staring at each other for four minutes doing nothing but exchanging microexpressions and holding hands. “Did you guys changed your mind?” she tilted her head.

“No,” Quynh replied slowly, “I was just asking Andromache if she’d like me to stab her just once more to check if she is still immortal.”

Andy rolled her eyes, not very happy to be reminded about the fact that she still couldn’t figure out if her immortality was back or not. She had scars now, but still healed much faster than she should. It was complicated. “We’re ready to go, Nile,” Andy grumbled, as they finally followed the younger woman to the plane. With just one look Quynh had let her know she wasn’t feeling particularly great about being locked in that small plane for a long period of time. Andy was comforting, and reassuring, let her know that she disliked it just as much. “It’s safe though, trust me, I’ve only crashed one without meaning to once, or twice. And it was back when they were considerably less safe,” she added.

“Without meaning to,” Quynh shook her head fondly, “And that wouldn’t even be you at your worst now would it, my heart? You love falling from high places.”

Before Andy could protest, Nile was exclaiming, “Oh you have to tell me about that Quynh.”

“Not again,” Andy groaned, falling into her seat in the plane.

Once inside, it was obvious that Quynh’s anxiety of the reduced and unfamiliar place was kicking in again. With a smile as kind and bright as ever, Nile offered her her phone and headphones and said, “You know what I think could help? Music. And I have just the right-”

“Just the right kind of meaningless, over simplified, repetitive-”

“Oh, excuse me, I forgot classic rock was the only valid form of music. Andy, you’re a cliche grandma.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Quynh agrees with me!”

Their always-loving, never-ending bickering stopped for a moment, so they could both look at the third member of their group looking for her evaluation of the argument. Quynh, who had been so completely engrossed in Nile’s favorite playlist of pop music that she had missed the take-off of the plane entirely, only looked up when she took notice of the silence around her. “Hm, what?” she took off one earbud, looking from one face to another and nodded, “Yes, my heart, you are too old to understand. And this is actually really good.” She went back to her music and, by the end of the flight, she may or may not have accidentally started listening to a jazz music playlist, and ended up absolutely loving that too.

During the first hour of their hike, Nile tried to remember that she was exploring the world with the two oldest women on Earth, women who could teach her absolutely everything, women with knowledge so invaluable it was difficult to comprehend. Women who, also, sometimes acted like annoying children.

“You slipped on a little bit of mud and broke your skull when you fell down, that’s worse,” Andy argued.

“Not as bad as dying because you failed to balance your own axe on your head! Even after I told you not to do that, Andy,” Quynh insisted.

Teasing each other like that was as natural as breathing, but that little detail of Quynh calling her just Andy, it had the oldest woman narrowing her eyes and suspecting it was better to give up the fight. “Anyway, it was Nile who shot herself in the foot for no reason at all,” she mumbled, attempting to change the subject.

Except, “Yeah, but it didn’t kill me,” Nile raised her hands in faked innocence while the three of them started laughing. As annoying as it could be to travel with the oldest couple on Earth, it was also a lot of fun.

Quynh had opted to stay behind to rest and look over their camp, so it was just Andy and Nile slowly riding their horses around.

“You’re doing great, kid,” Andy sent a smile her way, “Just a little more practice and you can join me on the Mongol Derby next year.” The younger woman replied with a genuinely frightened expression. She was just learning how to do that, she didn’t need to think about the absurd things that Andy, who apparently had loved and befriended horses before anyone had even thought about domesticating them, would do. Still, she knew she’d probably end up joining her and being dragged into whatever chaos that experience would entail. “I hope Quynh will join too, she’d be amazing. Though, I didn’t tell you this but, she used to be terrified of horses,” Andy finished with a soft chuckle.

Nile laughed along with her and as a reflex she looked back in the general direction of where they’d last seen Quynh. When she looked back at Andy she was surprised to find a not entirely unfamiliar look of melancholy on her friend’s face. Before Quynh came back, that was Andy’s usual look, but it had been a while since Nile had seen her like that. She took the risk to say, “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, when you lost her.”

For a second, Andy looked surprised to hear those words. “Good,” was the first thing she replied, wholeheartedly hoping the young woman would never even have to imagine that sort of pain, that absolutely devastating loss of having your universe ripped to shreds, decades of looking over your shoulder to find out your better half is no longer there.

But, on second thought, she remembered how closed off she had been when they all first met Nile, and in a matter of months Quynh was back and everything had changed too quickly. Perhaps she owed her some part of the story.

“I never really stopped looking for her, you know?” Andy took a deep breath, her heart warmed by the genuine interest in Nile’s gentle eyes. “Just weeks before we found you I was still trying… It was hell though, back then, when it first happened. I got my revenge and a little too late I found out there was no one alive who could tell me where she was. Then I had to accept she was impossible to find, and accept I’d never be the same again. I shave this whole thing off,” Andy ran a hand through her hair, making the most of that brief moment to try to soothe her raging emotions, and remind herself she was just remembering, and this time Quynh really was back, waiting for her nearby. “I got into piracy for a couple of years, still bent on revenge and staying closer to, you know, the ocean. And a lot of regrets.”

“It brought all of us here though, right? She’s back,” Nile added with a smile that she hoped could cheer up her friend at least slightly. It worked though. Andy, not for the first time, found herself not only endeared by the young woman’s optimism, but surprisingly agreeing with her.

This time it was Andy and Nile waiting for Quynh by the beach. The island was just big enough for the three of them to hide without worrying that someone would figure out if was Quynh it was who had just killed one of the wealthiest men in the world. When she arrived at their spot on the beach and took a seat by the fire, she was still impeccably dressed, barely a hair out of place.

“Well, that felt good,” she sighed, getting comfortable in the sand, “Also, you’re welcome. Unless you had stock in his company. Actually, I don’t know how that works. It doesn’t matter to me, and I bet it doesn’t matter to any part of him left.”

Despite Nile’s shocked, slightly disturbed, and somewhat confused expression, Andy smiled, completely smitten by the woman beside her. “Take a look,” she told her lover, nodding her head toward the sky, not taking her eyes of Quynh, “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

“Mesmerizing as always,” Quynh replied in a whisper, leaning back on her hands to look up at the stars above them as the two of them always loved to do. “Always changing…”

“Wait, what?”

Smiling at the younger woman’s confusion, Quynh added, “Hey, Nile, bonfires are perfect for some good stories. What do you think, are you interested?”

Nile agreed immediately and Quynh expertly launched herself into dozens of epic tales that, with the power of only her words, took the three of them all over the world and all over history. She reminded Andy that this wasn’t the first time they took care of greedy dictators. She talked them through the discovery of lands for the very first time. She brought legends back from the dead and left Nile speechless. She even indulged herself in sharing one or two of her favorite stories of Andy and her, including her time spent as a sculptor with her obvious muse being Andy, and also all the myths she personally started with one of the many special swords Andy singlehandedly created for her.

A very important part of the stories was the interaction between Andy and Quynh. It didn’t take long for Nile to understand how whenever Quynh hesitated on some part of her magnificent stories, Andy was always there ready to provide the missing piece of the puzzle. It might have to do with some part of Quynh’s mind perpetually lost to the unforgiving ocean. But, judging by the way it looked like Quynh expected Andy to fill in the blanks for her, it suggested that this habit of sharing their memories as one wasn’t new at all.

Quynh was an expert in the art of storytelling. She knew exactly how to tease the knowledge only she had about Andy’s life before immortality, including their birthdays, and yet keep it all still a mystery. She knew just how to bring Nile close to tears with the tale of the Scythian warriors’ welcoming arms giving Andy her first family, and her longest-lasting name, and yet keep to herself the memory of it being just the last name Lykon got to call her.

When Nile can’t help herself anymore and falls asleep, Andy half expected Quynh to be just as tired, but she wasn’t all that surprised when instead the love of her life stood up and offered her a hand. “Are you joining me?” Quynh asked, nodding her head toward the sea, the gentle waves crashing on the shore.

“Are you sure?” Andy asked, but immediately took the hand offered and followed the other woman’s lead in taking off their clothes and walking to the shore.

“It’s terrifying, I admit that. I wouldn’t dare do it without you,” Quynh looked unusually bashful and vulnerable for a moment, the moonlight catching the precious light in her eyes just right, “But there’s just something about it… I need to prove I’m stronger, you know?”

“I am completely certain of that fact, my love,” Andy replied with a smile, taking Quynh’s hand and going into the water with her. And she meant her words. Five hundred years of torture beyond human comprehension, and Quynh was still here, still alive, still herself. There was nothing in this world stronger than her, Andy knew that as a fact.

Taking some time to finally stand still and relax in a safe house was a great idea for several reasons. Firstly, Nile would be lying if she said she didn’t miss a stable internet connection, which she made quick use of to sign up for an online Art History course. Plus, the isolated charming little cabin near the woods was the only place where Andy could possibly get away with adopting an actual wild bear cub.

“You stole a baby bear?!” Nile exclaimed, lowering the sword and giving up her training for a moment, because the sight of Andy arriving at the house carrying a bear in her arms was a little too much to easily comprehend.

“She lost her mother,” Andy shrugged, as if it was the most common thing to go around the woods picking up orphan bears to raise like pets.

“She does this often,” Quynh mentioned to Nile, lowering her own sword and instead picking up her recurve bow, “Personally, I prefer big cats. But it’s cute, isn’t it?”

Nile narrowed her eyes and looked at Andy. “I mean… look, that’s not normal. I love penguins, they’re my favorites and I’d love to have one, but they’re not pets. Dogs are my favorite pets, that’s normal!” Before she could get to her arguments about bears not being fit for keeping as pets, she was interrupted by Andy’s newest friend running toward her and instinctively hugging her leg. “Oh… okay, fine, it’s cute but…” But this was her life now, and she wasn’t exactly complaining.

Life in the various safe houses they stayed was fun, pleasant, and a very particular kind of peaceful that was only possible when living with actual immortal warriors. It was, at least, never boring. And sometimes it was also surprisingly sweet.

Nile had the brilliant idea of introducing Quynh to many, many things about modern culture. This included a quick review of the twentieth century, and Quynh reacted horrified by world wars, fascinated by 1920’s style, and skeptical about the moon landing. This, somewhat accidentally, involved introducing her to hitmen, leverage, other shows and movies that she passionately loved or disliked, and it was hilarious to watch Andy and Quynh bicker about how attractive or definitely-not-attractive the actors and actresses were. And there was also the occasional video game. Though Quynh definitely developed a love-hate relationship with Candy Crush, often saying to Nile “I’m your friend, your family, I teach you archery tricks that no other person alive knows, and this is how you repay me? You give me this devilishly addictive little game?!”

Later, Nile was pleased to find out that both women were skilled in doing hairstyles for her, and, even better, since they had learned with Lykon thousands of years ago, they knew ancient styles that thoroughly impressed the young woman. Cooking was, more often than not, a struggle for the three of them. Baking, on the other hand, was a wonderful experience. Maybe Andy didn’t do much beyond distracting Quynh and eating the majority of everything they made, even before it hit the oven. But it was still a good time and, judging by the way Andy nearly burst into tears whenever Quynh offered her any sweet pastry, it was easy to guess there was some sort of meaningful history behind it.

Nile was also lucky enough to witness the moment Quynh found out that same-sex marriage was a perfectly legal thing in some places. Maybe she couldn’t marry the love of her immortal life as soon as she would have liked, maybe they would need to fake a few documents or even try to take advantage of some odd American laws, but she couldn’t wait for the moment it’d finally be official. Andy perfectly understood how she felt. Maybe they had absolutely no need for anyone or anything to certify their love for each other, but it would surely be fun to get to do something that for centuries was denied to them. That was partly the reason why Andy had attended college a handful of times, as soon as it was legal for women to do so, just to proudly get kicked out.

As perfect as the dynamic between the three of them was, they all needed their moments to themselves, and Nile had learned when to give the couple the space they needed. Plus, she also got time to herself. This entire life was a, literally, never-ending adventure, but it was necessary to take the time to breathe, take a step back, and think about things. One of Nile’s favorite things to do to achieve some peace of mind was journaling. Truthfully, it started as a desperate attempt to write letters to her family that she would never send. But it soon became a helpful habit that kept her grounded. And also busy, on those times when Andy and Quynh disappeared for a handful of hours at a time.

It was starting to happen less and less, but it was still a common occurrence for Quynh to wake up feeling the weight of the entire ocean on her chest. She’d wake up startled, a desperate scream already halfway through her throat, and already halfway prepared to die again. Some nights were harder than others, some nights it took several minutes for Andy to convince Quynh she was safe and alive and far from the sea, and get her to calm down. But then, of course, there were some easier nights, when the warmth of Andy’s body beside her would quickly bring Quynh back to her reality. She’d be shaking, frightened, afraid. But she’d turn to Andy, even with tears and in her eyes and smile in relief.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe Quynh,” Andy immediately whispered in the softest tone she could manage, wrapping her arms around her lover, bring her closer, letting her find comfort in her touch and the sound of her heartbeat.

After a few moments, with her face pressed against Andy’s chest, Quynh wondered, “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Andy promised, kissing the top of her head, “And no, as a matter of fact, you didn’t. You fell asleep and I was just reading.” That got Quynh’s attention, getting her to finally meet Andy’s eyes. “It’s been a long time but… The Odyssey, remember that one?”

“Your favorite,” Quynh said softly, granting the other woman a genuine even if small smile, before cuddling closer to her. “Read it to me?” she asked, knowing nothing would make her feel safer, feel better than that. This moment, this connection brought by holding each other tightly, reminded both of them of a time in their past. Shortly after losing Lykon, they would embrace each other just like this, usually after a battle, and it was the only way to soothe their fears, it was a silent promise. The painful memory was gently replaced by Andy’s words recounting her favorite story, a different reassurance, a sweet gesture, and everything Quynh needed at the moment.

“You,” Andy said, and kissed her, “are wearing my shirt,” she added, kissing her again.

“Well,” Quynh returned the kiss, “It’s obviously not mine, Andromache,” she teased her, and bit her lip. Pleased with Andy’s eager reaction, Quynh continued kissing her, and let her hands start roaming her lover’s body. She was sitting on Andy’s lap, always more comfortable there than anywhere else. She kept one hand on the other woman’s short hair, since both equally loved it when she played with her hair, and with the fingers of her other hand she caressed Andy’s jaw, her neck, shoulders, and finally arrived at her upper arm. Then she pulled back from the kiss just enough to say, “You have a new scar.”

“Do I?” Andy replied and when she tried to go back to another kiss she was gently rejected.

“I notice, you know?” Quynh added. She had a somewhat complicated relationship with Andy’s scars. They represented a new and interesting part of her lover for her to cherish, so she enjoyed checking up on these small changes every now and then. But it was impossible to ignore that they stood for the love of her life getting hurt, and being, more or less, mortal. She still healed, slowly but surely, and certainly faster than regular people, but… Before her thoughts spiraled out of control, Andy’s gentle hand on her cheek brought her back to their conversation. She had been mindlessly tracing one of Andy’s scars with her fingertips, a new habit that turned out to be comforting for both of them.

“I know,” Andy said with a small smile that was quickly returned. There was more she wanted to say, both of them, but in their case, it could perfectly well be said silently. Starting with resting their foreheads together, taking a deep breath, and holding each other just a little tighter. It was enough, because their love was loud enough to fill the silence for thousands, and thousands of years.

#you guys said 57 headcanon i said YES #watch as i make a mess of myself trying to explain how andy is immortal but gets scars??? why oppossing hcs why??#anyway i really hope you guys like it!!!#the old guard #andy x quynh #andromaquynh #immortal wives #andromache the scythian #quynh #nile freeman #tog #the old guard fanfic #TOGFemslashFortnight

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when-i-was-your-angel · 3 years

Text

Hues of Blue

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (40's and Present)

Word Count: 1486

NSFW: Non-Explicit

TW: Rage attacks, Steve being angry

Tags: ANGST, Minor Fluff but mostly Angst

A/N: This is set between TFA and TWS! Steve still thinks Bucky died in the war. bold sections are flashbacks.

Summary: Steve tries to paint a portrait of Bucky. What color were his eyes again?

Inspired by my good friend Meral, @/CAPSBVRNES on twitter. Love ya, doll.

Steve had a long day.

Said day started with a rather pleasant dream about waking up with Bucky in between his legs. This was quickly ruined by his alarm clock. Little Steve hadn’t seemed to notice that it was, in fact, only a dream. After Steve had er- taken care- of that problem in the shower, Tony called. There was some life or death mission debrief he was needed on. So he drove two hours through New York City traffic to get to the tower, only to find out Tony needed his opinion on what qualified as a “classic” suit. Steve didn’t even dignify him with an answer before he stormed out of the building. Now, four hours later and his day wasted, he was finally arriving back home.

Steve unlocked the front door of his Brooklyn brownstone and stopped dead in his tracks.

Boxes. Boxes upon boxes of… art supplies? Based on the pictures and labels on the boxes they were filled with paints, canvases, brushes, pencils, easels, and more. Steve looked around nervously and spotted a note on top of one of the many cardboard boxes.

Sorry, Capsicle. Had to get you out of the apartment so I could deliver this shit.

Paint me something pretty.

-T.S.

A hesitant smile made its way onto Steve’s face. His day just got a whole lot better.

- - - Three Hours Later - - -

A few hours, a shit ton of cursing, and a helping of elbow grease later, Steve had himself an art studio. He had set up the three easels Tony got him, positioning them in front of the windows in the office of his brownstone. There was also a simple desk in one of the boxes that he rather enjoyed the look of. It was simple but made of solid oak. He could just picture Tony saying ‘It’s old fashioned, like ye ol’ Cappie.’

With a slight grunt, Steve stood and looked around his new studio. He hadn’t had something so… domestic in years. He smiled and unwrapped a canvas, sitting down in front of an easel. He raised a pencil to his canvas to begin sketching… and nothing happened. “S’pose seventy years and a cryogenic freeze gives you art block.” He thought.

Steve stood and walked around the few rooms in his modest house, looking for inspiration. His gaze flickered over his photo album. “That’ll do.”

He picked up the leather book, flipping through it. There weren’t many pictures. It had been difficult to get a photo back in the 40’s, and he didn’t have many people to take pictures of nowadays. A few pictures of his ma, one of him in the third grade, and- Bucky.

A black and white version of his best friend sat before him. He was told not to smile in his military ID photo, but the little shit found a way to flash a grin right as the camera clicked. The photographer had been too lazy to redo it- and that was it. Bucky was smiling like a damn runaway criminal in his personnel file. Steve worked the picture out of the clear film holding it in place. He had gotten the photo from SHIELD’s files. It was one of few pictures of Bucky in existence. Less than a dozen original copies were left on this earth. He ran his fingers over the sharp of his Bucky’s cheekbone and the plump of his lips. He remembered all the cold New York nights when those lips sat on his neck. Bucky would spoon him- ‘For warmth’ - he said. But the pink lips on the shell of his ear, on the pulse carrying his life’s blood, said it was for so much more.

So Steve went back to his new art studio and sat down in front of his easel again. He clipped the small photo to the wooden frame and picked up his pencil. He took a deep breath and started sketching. He bit his lip in concentration as he worked. After thirty minutes or so, Steve had a drawing that resembled something like his best friend. He smiled and set to work mixing his paints.

Steve always started with the skin. Habit of his from before when he was using cocktail napkins and a waiters pen to draw. He managed to nail Bucky’s complexion pretty much spot on. The cool shades of his under-eye and the baby pink ones of his cheeks.

Then came hair. Shades of brown highlighted with yellow and pink in the lightest of spots. Bucky always hated how thick his hair was but loved the effect it had on the ladies. Said it was a pain in the ass to take care of but it was all worth it when he brushed a hand through the locks and had all the girls positively swooning.

Next was clothes. The green of his fatigues wasn’t perceptible in the black and white photograph but Steve knew that color better than the color of his own eyes.

Eyes.

What color were Bucky’s eyes?

Blue. But there were a million shades of blue. Cerulean, teal, turquoise, baby blue, stormy blue- Ah. Yes. A stormy blue-grey color. He could see them now. Staring into the crisp ocean of his eyes as Bucky kissed him for the first time. He was smaller back then, barely came up to Bucky’s chin, but he didn’t care.

December 1941 - Four Days Before Bucky Leaves

“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky said after Steve opened his door to the frigid New York City air.

“Hey, Buck. What’re you doing here?” It was a reasonable question. It was midnight and Buck hadn’t been by in days.

“Can’t visit my best guy before I ship off to war?” Bucky gave him his smirk but Steve could see the fear in his eyes. The unspoken ending to that question- ‘before I never come home’. Steve smiled and stepped aside, letting him in.

Steve smiled at the memory. He looked down at the paints before him. Blues and whites and purples and reds. He started mixing them carefully, hoping to put a physical representation of the color he still saw in his dreams.

“C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat.” Steve said, walking towards his very empty kitchen.

“You don’t have’ta-”

“None of that. What would Mrs. Rogers say if she knew I wasn’t feeding my guests?”

“She’d call you smart and tell you not to waste your food on a dead-” Bucky stopped himself. That’s not what Steve needed to hear. Steve was quiet as he made his way across the threshold back to Bucky. He stared down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.

“You’re going to come back. You’ve gotta.” His voice was small. Bucky’s heart nearly shattered at the sound. Bucky took Steve’s hands in his, squeezing them slightly.

“I will. I promise.” Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes to reassure him that above anything else, he meant the words he was about to say.

The colors weren’t turning out right. Greens were too blue and blues were too purple. Everything was a mess. Steve felt himself growing frustrated and brought his mind back to simpler times. Times with him.

“I’m always going to come back to you because-” His breath hitched and Steve took notice, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Because I love you, Stevie.” Steve tilted his head in confusion. Why did Bucky seem so nervous? They had said they loved each other before.

“Yeah, I love you too, Buck- why’re you-”

“Oh, not like that- for Christ’s sake.” Then Bucky was kissing him.

‘So this is what love is.’ Steve thought. Then Bucky’s tongue was tracing Steve’s lips.

Oh.

Paint was everywhere. Frantically, Steve mixed colors in a blur of tears. ‘It’s not right.’ He thought. ‘That’s not him.’ ‘That’s not my Bucky.’

Bucky shared his bed that night. Unlike other nights, however, they were both naked. Pressed against each other for ‘warmth’, should anyone ask. Steve watched Bucky long after he fell asleep. The crease in his eyebrow, the setting of his jaw, the way his eyes moved behind closed lids- chasing dreams. Soon enough, Steve curled into Bucky’s body as he always did. They spent the next four days like that. Wrapped in each other. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t cold.

Steve screamed as he threw his palette out the window. The glass shattered and rainbows of light filtered through the broken glass- mocking him. Steve kicked and cried and punched until the entire studio was a mess. In the aftermath of his rampage, Steve lies on the floor. Surrounded by glass, paint, splinters, and blood, Steve sobbed. He broke because he was gone. He crumbled because they didn’t have enough time. He was wrecked because ‘if only we had known. If only we had tried earlier.’

Steve lies on the ground in a brownstone in Brooklyn.

Numb.

Broken.

Cold.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #angst #marvel #fanfic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #the first avenger #the winter soldier

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princess-of-the-worlds · 4 years

Photo

tldr: As of this October, it has officially been one year since I first watched Torchwood and started reading fics. Although I didn’t start writing my own fics until March 2020, I have written...like a lot of fics in the past seven months. But I wanted to celebrate my favorite fics by other people. So here is Part 1 of probably several eventual fic rec posts. These are what I consider fandom staples.

To The Sticking Place by zephyras13

The end justifies the means. Failure is not an option. There is always a choice, except when there isn't. These are the phrases Ianto Jones lives by and he refuses to allow anyone, even Captain Jack Harkness, to change that. Jack/Ianto, AU, Torchwood One Agent!Ianto.

(janto & others | complete | mature | 96K)

Nik: I legitimately cannot explain why I love this fic so much other than the fact it is so great! It was one of the first fics I read, and I still adore it. It follows canon so well while making you feel very range of the emotion spectrum. The author’s take on Ianto is so complexly-written but still feels true to the canonical Ianto. Literally one of the first fics I’d rec to anyone new to fandom. A must read.

only fools fall by transjackianto

“Oh my god,” he gasps out when his laughter has died down to softer chuckles, “I am so glad I stuck around to hear that. Thank you Jack, I needed to laugh today. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he pushes back from the table for the third time but Jack stops him again with a hand over his own. It is a softer touch than before and that unnerves Ianto more than anything.

He looks up, terrified he’s going to see some kind of earnest emotion on Jack’s face. When he finds Jack looking instead like he swallowed a handful of pins he relaxes. He’s not sure he could handle finding out Jack had some kind of ridiculous unrequited crush on him.

“I know,” Jack groans, dropping Ianto’s hand and letting his head thunk against where his arms are crossed on the table, “I want to punch myself just for saying it, but I mean it Ianto. I need you to be my boyfriend.”

Aka, Ianto just wants to make it through his summer as a newly single sixth form graduate and eagerly await the end when his ex comes back from her summer trip and they can reunite.

His ex-friend Jack Harkness throws a wrench into the works.

(janto, lisaianto, & others | complete | mature | 182K)

Nik: Okay, so I’m a tiny bit biased with this one considering that the author is my friend whom I adore and also one of my favorite people in this fandom. And I...also betaed this entire fic. But take it from me! It’s so, so well-written and the shift from enemies to lover is so perfect. There is angst, oh so much angst, but it is worth it. Plus, it’s incredibly hot! And I know the author has eventual plans for a sequel, although no promises when it’s coming. Another must read!

Halfway Back by Sholio (@sholiofic)

Team Torchwood run a sanctuary for magical creatures, and this time they've got a basilisk on their hands.

(gen | complete | teen | 13K)

Nik: Okay, so literally anything by Sholio is perfect. They have an incredible grasp of the team dynamic that still blows my mind, and their fics have topnotch Owen-Ianto interactions. But I chose this fic because the premise felt like almost nothing I’d read in this fandom before. Plus, there is still the requisite amount of Owen angst in this. (Also check out The Cartography of Feeling, which is another personal favorite.)

Conversational Japanese, Plus Frogs by james

Tosh and Ianto have been taken prisoner. They cope.

(janto | complete | teen | 6K)

Nik: One of the older, shorter recs on this list but still a classic. A fascinating in-depth character study of Ianto and Tosh and their friendship in confined quarters that also explores the trauma that follows some of Torchwood’s misadventures. I don’t think I can say much else besides urging you to read it!

Sharkreef (Or, Why Torchwood Was Set in Cardiff and Not the Bermuda Triangle) by queenfanfiction

There is the story of a team who tried to save Earth from aliens. This is not that story.

(janto & many, many others | complete | teen | 2K)

Nik: Look, I know that some will actually despise that I included this rec, but this fic is ICONIC. It’s cracky, yes. Cracky crack. Very crack. But it’s also legitimately one of the strangest/whackiest/what-the-fuck fics I’ve ever read. It always startles a genuine laugh out of me. It has all of our favorite tropes...coupled with some lobsters. (Sidenote: This reminds me of John Mulaney/SNL’s Diner Lobster sketch, which I also encourage you to watch.)

Insignificant Other by parachutewoman

Ianto is tasked with telling Rhys that his newly wedded wife has ditched him to go to London with Jack on a “very important mission”. Refusing to have his day ruined, Rhys drags Ianto along to the Six Nations final and the two ‘other halves’ try to make sense of their place in the world and their partners’ lives.

(janto & gwenrhys | complete | mature | 6K)

Nik: Ianto-Rhys friendship content is something that is severely lacking in this fandom, which is a damn shame. You can see from COE that Rhys seems to genuinely care about Jack and Ianto, which I presume is from post-Exit Wounds bonding with his wife’s coworkers. And I know that the audiobook Ghost Train has a lot of good Ianto-Rhys bonding, although I just haven’t had the time to listen to it yet. Either way, this fic, and the other fics by this author, are very well-written and beautiful. This one, set circa S2, has just the right amount of angst mixed in as well as you watched Ianto go from reluctantly accompanying Rhys to actually enjoying himself. I definitely enjoyed this fic.

Beast Inside by Flamingbluepanda (@flamingbluepanda)

"Argue with anything else, but don’t argue with your own nature.” - Phillip Pullman

Inside us all, there is an animal that expresses our soul. How would the world change were those animals outside?

(janto & others | complete | mature | 26K)

Nik: Admittedly, this one is also a bit biased because the author is my friend and I am their loyal occasional beta, but I started reading it before I met the author. Although daemons do come from His Dark Materials, they have become a sort of AU on their own, and thus, you do not need to have read HDM to read this excellent fic. I definitely have not. There is angst, there is fluff, there is canon compliance. And there is Dai. Dai, Rhys’s corgi daemon, is probably not the one you would expect to steal the show, but he stole my heart. (I mean, Navi and Emma, Jack’s bear daemon and Ianto’s terrier daemon, adorable respectively...but Dai!) Expect to fall in love with Dai by ths end of this fic!

To Let by Amand_r

Ianto Jones is a good housemate.

(janto & lisaianto | complete | not rated | 12K)

Nik: Now this fic is a little bit different from the rest because it is not only second person POV but is also outside POV, which makes it slightly odd to read at first. But I can assure you, it is most definitely worth it. Ianto’s unnamed housemate makes for an interesting perspective into Ianto’s personal and domestic life as well as exploring his relationship with Jack. His housemate, of course, doesn’t remain one-sided, with loss and love and life of his own, but you can tell that his bond with Ianto is genuine. This fic provides a nice break from the explicit canon while still exploring familiar events.

Your Job Knows What It Is by ShastaFirecracker

Torchwood Three, 2045. Bram Hudson's just been recruited by Jack Harkness, it's xir first day of work, and orientation is being handled by some old man named Jones.

(janto | complete | gen | 9K)

Nik: Okay, I lied. This fic is outsider POV as well, but Bram is so well-written and complex even from the short while we have with xem. As an alternate to the previous fic, this one provides great, interesting exploration into a future, slightly different Torchwood while also serving as a COE fix-it fic. Older Ianto is just as badass as when he was younger, and the insights into his relationship with Jack are sweet and will leave you craving more.

Worrisome Heart by thepsychicclam

It's 1922. Ianto accidentally stumbles upon a speakeasy owned by Captain Jack Harkness. When Ianto becomes a bartender, he quickly learns how dangerous everything around him truly is, and more importantly, how dangerous Jack is. But the longer he knows Jack, the more he doesn't care.

(janto | complete | explicit | 42K)

Nik: This fic, this series in fact, is one of the only complete Historical AUs I have found in this fandom. Set in 1922 New York, it features all our beloved characters as completely human and sans Torchwood and aliens, which - of course - means that they can feel a bit OOC at first. Still, as you read on through this fic and its three sequels, you will realize just how well adopted the events and characterization from canon are. If you going in thinking of this as original work rather than fic, it might help you adjust to the differences. Quite well-written!

Intersecting Geodesics by NancyBrown

Stuck in a time with a Jack who hasn't met him yet, all Ianto wants is a way home.

(janto & jackjohn | complete | mature | 37K)

Nik: There are numerous “Ianto gets sent into the future by the Rift or an artifact and meets past!Jack” fics existing in this fandom, but this is one of my favorites. For one, it’s written by the incomparable author who has many, many excellent fics that I like. (Their smut is seriously topnotch, especially for some of your kinkier tastes if said tastes exist.) The distanced younger Jack provides just the right amount of angst, and his eventual fall for Ianto is built-up just enough to work believably. The resolution is satisfying enough, and the author has a few other fics in this series to keep you going!

For Captain and Cardiff by blackhemlock

"At midnight, a nationwide security alert was sent out... Torchwood London, demands all agencies' cooperation in issuing an arrest warrant for Ianto Merric Jones, 24, of Cardiff."

Torchwood Three's Archivist has gone rogue. But, he does have a very good reason, and he looks stunning in his new suit.

(janto & tenjack | complete | gen | 42K)

Nik: Admittedly, I will often be picky in my fics featuring the Tenth Doctor because of how he mistreated Jack, but this fic features a true-to-canon portrayal of Ianto and the Doctor that I adore. It does well in building up your expectations of Ianto and the Doctor’s encountering and then subverting it. There is also good room for Jack-Ianto angst, which only adds to my enjoyment of the fic. I don’t necessarily know how to explain it, but this fic also feels sleek and modern despite its timey-wimey elements.

What Dreams May Come by AVAAntares (@avaantares)

It's bad enough that a plague of alien parasites have fallen through the rift and are preying on Cardiff's citizens. It's worse that someone from Jack's past has come from the future to confront him on Earth. But when Jack himself is taken by the rift, Ianto and Gwen are forced to rely on the most unlikely of allies to keep Torchwood running without him.

Stranded in another century on a distant planet, Jack has only one hope of returning to Earth. But time travel with the Doctor has never been an exact science, and when he returns to Cardiff, things are not at all as he expects to find them...

(janto | complete | teen | 88K)

Nik: Honestly, I think one of my favorite parts of this fic may be the inclusion of an OC, Jamiya Thane, AKA Jack’s mother. I’m just a sucker for fandom’s takes on Jack’s canonical family and past as Javic Thane from Boeshane, and this plays into it well. It’s endearing to watch Jack’s found family, especially Ianto, interact with his mother. Also included is a rather brilliant time-travel mystery that will tug at your heartstrings on many levels. Excellent soft Jack-Ianto content in chapters and a creepy use of a one-off Doctor Who creature.

Ghost Story by Mad_Maudlin

I called out. "Would you like to hear a ghost story?"

For a moment Jack didn't move, and I knew he'd recognized my voice. After a moment he said, flatly, "I don't believe in ghosts."

"It's a complicated story," I admitted, and pulled the watch from my pocket by the chain. "And it starts with 'Long ago and far away.'"

(janto | complete | teen | 70K)

Nik: This fic! I passed this fic many times on my search for new fics to read, and the summary always threw me a bit, but when I decided to take a chance on it, I realized what I’d been missing out on. There’s so many fics in this fandom, and on this list, that take familiar tropes but twist them into something new, just like this fic. Without giving too much away, I can say that this fic features Time Lords, pocket watches, shifting POVs, and a COE fix-it, all packed with a brow-raising plot twist. It’s enough to make me forgive the first person POV, which I can usually not stand but actually works quite well for this fic! A fic worth reading at least once, if not many times. It feels so utterly unique!

Time Tracks by Cyborgtamaki (@cyborgtamaki) and thirteeninafez (@thirteeninafez)

It took him a second to realise what had happened; what had felt like hours while travelling through the rift shrunk itself in his head to a mere instant of searing gold. That’s when the flicker of the fire in front of him finally registered through his confused daze. In his haste to get away from the flames around him, he slipped and fell, scrambling back until he was a safe distance away from the smoke and the heat. It was only then that he took notice of the voices behind him. He turned towards the noise of a deep, northern voice spluttering and saying, confused and almost angry: “Who the hell are you?” The man rolled over onto his knees and stood up, looking around like he’d never seen a street before. “Jones.” He sounded uncertain but then spoke again with more confidence. “Ianto Jones.”

(janto & ninerose | complete | teen | 174K)

Nik: There’s many “Ianto travels with the Ninth Doctor and Rose” fics in this fandom, but this one is the longest, most recent, and one of the most excellent that I’ve read. The authors have written in-depth chapters of the Doctor Who Season 1 episodes we already know and adore as well as adding their own unique “episodes,” all of which are deeply enjoyable. There is excellent character interactions, specifically a wonderful Rose-Ianto friendship, and so much soft Jack-Ianto. The authors have, personally, promised several more installments coming by the end of the year or later, and they are sure to be worth the wait!

Club Wales by pocky_slash

In the wake of Jack's disappearance, Gwen finds comfort in a new friendship with Ianto. Gossip, bonding, and other hijinks of understanding ensue.

(gwenrhys & janto | complete | teen | 19K)

Nik: This author is single-handedly a Gwen-Ianto dynamic icon. Their grasp on Gwen and Ianto’s respective characterization is brilliant, and their friendship in this fic, and any fic the author writes, is well-fleshed out and believable enough for the moments we only really see on-screen briefly in the show. This fic, and overall series, serves as a compelling insight into how the team originally views Jack and how Gwen and Ianto grow closer. Gwen truly was one of Ianto’s big sister figures, which is excellently reflected in this fic. A must read!

Just this once by Beleriandings (@ultraviolet-eucatastrophe)

(Everybody lives.)

(Or: when a certain Doctor arrives to save Owen Harper from a stricken nuclear power station, it begins a chain of events that will lead Torchwood Three down a very different path. From time locks and telepathy to tea and coffee, high-speed chases to unresolved sibling issues, their new lives (and new and old loves) may be different, but their bonds of friendship and family grow stronger every day. But when every child on earth starts speaking with one voice, the team are torn apart again as they’re forced to fight for their lives, and to confront monsters they’d thought they’d left behind in the past. But with all of them working together – along with some allies they’ve made along the way – Torchwood Three will stop at nothing to save their friends and set the world to rights. The consequences will ripple out across the universe and into the distant future. But they have to start somewhere, and the present is as good a place as any.)

(janto & others | complete | teen | 239K)

Nik: Many fics are post-Exit Wounds and COE fix-its, at the same time, but dare I say that this one is the best? (Or one of the best at least.) The Tenth Doctor receives his own iconic “Everybody lives” moment, but that is only where this fic BEGINS. This beautiful monster, which I mean in the very best sense considering its length, traverses Exit Wounds, COE, and slightly Miracle Day and gives everyone a happy ending. In addition, the author, another friend of mine, I’ll be honest, manages to redeem and humanize Gray in a way I didn’t think possible, but I actually found myself liking him. This is definitely a must, must read, especially if you’re new to the fandom or just finished having your heart thrown out.

The Stars Might Stick You Where You Stand by methylethyl

Following the fall of Torchwood One, Jack Harkness went to ask Torchwood Three for a job. He didn’t expect to fall a little bit in love with its director, the practical and ever-calm Ianto Jones. He also probably didn’t expect that Ianto Jones would end up holding the answers to his most precious secret.

(janto | complete | explicit | 20K)

Nik: I’ll be honestly - I’m a sucker for role reversal AUs in any fandom, and this is one fic I see rarely mentioned or recced, which I think is a damn shame. It is definitely in my top five fics; I adore it so much. Jack is cast in the role of Ianto, gunning for a job at Torchwood Three after the fall of Canary Wharf. His “Lisa” is his desperate, life-long search for his brother Gray who was taken by Torchwood when they were both children. Ianto is, obviously, the immortal director of Torchwood Three, but what makes him even more compelling is the lack of direct reference to his AU past. We don’t know who this Ianto Jones was before he, like Jack, arrived in Cardiff in the 1800s, newly-immortal and ensnared into working for Torchwood. Instead, this fic, and series, focuses on a stretch of episodes from Season 1 intermingled with elements from Season 2, as well as subverting the expected team relationships. Jack and Ianto are believably different but still realistic in their characterization, and look, I adore this AU, which I’ve already said. A personal favorite and must read!

Cling to the Ways of My Name by engagemythrusters ( @iianto-jones)

If Ianto Jones thought his legacy would die out with him in Thames House, he was dead wrong.

(janto & gwenrhys | complete | teen | 37K)

Nik: Hopefully, you’ve already read this fic by now. If not, may I dare ask what you’ve been doing with your life? This is one of my favorite fics of all-time in this fandom, as well as my favorite kidfic ever. It’s so well-written and just so damn unique. I cannot capture in words what makes it so special, although I will try. Ioan Jones is the sweetest janto baby ever, and I love him with all my heart. Jack’s adventures raising Ioan are just so endearing, and later installments, which feature Ianto, serve to satisfy the domestic Jack-Ianto as parents craving you might not even have known you had. There’s just so many little details about this fic I love, including but not limited to - Jack’s found family in the Joneses, Ioan-Anwen friendship, and Ioan loving blue. A definite must read fic to give you the serotonin you need.

Waking Gods by toldthestars

Why are Ianto's dreams coming true? What's in the box with the symbol on it? Oh, and while we're at it, what's the meaning of the life?

(janto | complete | not rated | 7K)

Nik: This fic is another one with a completely unique premise in this fandom. In fact, there is only one other fic I’ve read that even gives me similar “vibes” for this fic. Here, Ianto suddenly finds himself gaining powerful, unexplainable abilities, essentially becoming a god, and oh my, this is excellent. Ianto is just trying to do good in the world, and the team’s growing fear and distrust of him and his power really sucker-punches you straight in the heart. It’s all so beautifully-written, with powerful imagery that left me awe-struck. The janto angst is oh-so-excellent. Reading this fic for the first time is an experience that I don’t believe can be replicated.

fool me once, fool me twice by princessoftheworlds (aka me)

When, after the events at the House of the Dead, the Rift spits Ianto out on an alien planet a thousand years later, so begins a goose chase that will take him across the universe and across time until he finds Jack again.

(janto & others | complete | explicit | 52K)

Nik: What kind of fic writer would I be if I created a list of fic recs for Torchwood and did not include one of my own? I consider this fic my masterpiece. The House of the Dead!Ianto get sucked through the Rift and spat out across time and space, turned into another fixed point, as he begins his search for Jack. I don’t know if I can say much else without it sounding like bragging, but it features - in no particular order - a happy ending for one, Ianto getting some badass adventures of his own, a sorta redemption arc for John Hart, numerous references to Big Finish, and too many spinoffs with more to come! Give it a shot, why don’t you?

#torchwood #torchwood fic recs #janto #jack harkness #ianto jones #gwen cooper #toshiko sato #owen harper #nik's fic recs #nik's torchwood fic recs #i'll figure out an actual tag later tbh #i wrote this all out in three hours #so i spent TIME on it #hope this doesn't flop lmao cause i could have and should have been studying #three upcoming midterms #and now i'm rambling

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