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wesstars · 7 months

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heaven on earth (ii)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (mostly gn, only term used is “girl friend”)

summary: your friends-with-benefits situation with wednesday isn’t so friendly anymore, but if you could only uncover your own eyes, you might’ve noticed. wc: 5.5k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI! all characters involved are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, painfully oblivious reader, bad fluff, fluff to smut, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, semi-public (car) sex, mild blood, biting, mild overstimulation. a/n: not sure how I feel about this lol. special thank you to 🕷️ anon for her ideas and workshopping <3 comments/asks welcome, as always!

read part one here! this can be read standalone, but is intended to be a continuation.

masterlist

For the fifth time, Wednesday slapped your thigh to get your attention. “Turn it down.”

You huffed a laugh, and figured it was time. You were playing your ‘obnoxious’ pop playlist, full of mostly Taylor Swift and random Korean bands. It was collaborative with Enid, and likely one of Wednesday’s least favorites. Lowering the volume, you tossed Wednesday your phone.

“Alright, it’s your turn.”

The two of you were driving back from a day trip to a nearby town—actually, you were supposed to be driving back the rest of Enid and Co, also, but while Wednesday was beyond ready to leave, they all wanted to stay and do something called a “holy trinity.” How someone could have so much alcohol in so little time was so bizarre to you, but then Wednesday, of all people, rolled her eyes and downed three shots in just as many minutes, and seemed no worse for wear.

Seemed was the key word there—not a quarter of an hour later, she’d grabbed onto your arm, grip slack, and her eyes were becoming unfocused, roving all over your face only to miss your eyes and tack onto somewhere lower.

You’d coaxed her to eat something after that. Post French fries and buttered bread (she’d kill you after she knew you’d made her eat such unrefined food,) as well as a bottle and a half of water in, she’d mostly walked it off. You figured it was time to get Wednesday home. As far as you knew, the rest of your friends were still out, though you’d made Yoko promise to text you when they were leaving and when they got back. The windows were open in the car; the wind lifted Wednesday’s fringe off her forehead. You glanced over to where she was gingerly operating your phone, punching in letters on Spotify. Your heart twisted.

You didn’t really want to admit that weird feeling you had the first time, and all the rest of the times, you saw Wednesday. It was a sort of jittery one, with a swoop in your stomach, that made you want to prod her into a conversation. You’d gotten quite a bit more than you’d bargained for, from that first fateful kiss in the classroom, to every secret, heady rendezvous after. The last time you two had been intimate—fucked, in your bed—had left an indelible mark, natural as a shadow settled neatly in your chest. The bickering and play fights had only made things worse, and you knew you had to ignore it all, for Wednesday. To keep things the same, because… something’s better than nothing, right?

You supposed that “something” was where you were right now. Being her ‘girl friend,’ with a space in between, sex and unrequited feelings included, was the best place that you could ever be with her. You had those close moments with her that you could cherish, but also that emotional distance that Wednesday undoubtedly wanted. Perfect. Your childlike sentiments were ones that you were likely to carry in your heart, deep down, for fucking forever. They were never going to see the light of day.

Lilting piano filled the car, shoving images of you and Wednesday seated together before the keys into your mind. Your phone dropped back into your lap.

“Nocturne? In E minor.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“I’m surprised you know.”

“Hey!” Indignant, you nearly shot something back that was sure to start one of your bickering matches again, when an unfamiliar sound rang through the car, lovely as the music, but something you’d never heard before.

“Did you just laugh?”

Wednesday’s mumbled denial was covered up by your own laugh, bordering on hysterical as your heart picked itself up and started racing.

“Do not insult me like that,” Wednesday grumbled, rubbing the hem of her sweater between her fingers. “Focus on the road. Dying with you in a car crash is too pathetic to even consider.” Though her words were sharp as always, her even tone had something in it that, if one wasn’t careful, could be mistaken as gentle.

You snorted again, unable to stop laughing. “And if a double decker bus…” you sang, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. Wednesday’s glare nearly sliced you clean in half, and you were smart for once, shutting up immediately. She wasn’t laughing anymore, and some part of you mourned that.

After Chopin played Liszt, Liebestraum no. 3, and you wondered if Wednesday knew how to queue on Spotify. You followed the winding road up the mountain. You’d be back at Nevermore soon, but selfishly, you didn’t want this to be over. It was an odd time, with no bickering, no siege, no sex, and who could blame you if you were feeling particularly, disgustingly, sentimental? Blame the Liszt.

Turning the car off the road, you pulled into a deserted vista point. Carpe diem, you thought, throwing caution to the wind and the car in park.

“Why have you stopped?”

“Weds, we’re looking at the sunset.”

“I do not need to see it, it happens every day—”

“Oh, come on,” you laughed, unlocking the car doors and stepping out. With the wind whipping around you, blowing your hair every which way, you ducked to peek into the car. “Humor me, I guess. Don’t you feel sorry for me, or something?”

She gave you a pointed look. “I do not.” But she followed you out the car anyway.

Leaning on the hood, you looked out at the scene as she joined you. Spiky evergreens stretched out across the stony slopes, with the last vestiges of snow clinging to the tops. The sun stretched its longing light into the rapidly darkening east behind you, pulling taut the shadows and blanketing everything in an aureate shine.

You glanced over at Wednesday—despite her earlier protest, it seemed as if she was tolerating this. The tension around her brow was gone, and her arms hung relaxed by her sides. The silence wasn’t rare, but it felt reverent anyway. Your heart adored her in her outfit; it was something your mind refused to register. She was in black knee high boots, made of some leather you couldn’t pronounce, an inky dress, flowing in the wind, down to her thighs, and a soft deep gray sweater. There was a sort of bleeding sentiment, beginning to seep into your everyday life, into wondering what Wednesday would think of the book you were reading, imagining her reaction to Bianca’s quip, overthinking her hand clutching your sleeve in the courtyard.

You deliberated, vaguely, what it would be like if you tumbled down the mountainside, into those trees—would the wood be cushioning or bruising? It was a serious consideration, with all that you were feeling. Those damned feelings, ones that Wednesday would undoubtedly scorn, made you kick up the gravel underfoot in frustration.

Beside you, Wednesday cast an uninterested look over you at the noise, silently judging. A beat passed. She grabbed the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, and pulled you into a bruising kiss.

“I am going in the car. The back seat. Be not afraid.” She retreated, and gave a little smirk, one reserved for the golden light and dark trees.

It was purely unfair, as the blood rushed from your head to pool in your stomach, making your heart work overtime. Stumbling to the back seat, you’d barely sat down before Wednesday reached over to the console and locked the doors. She’d taken off her boots, leaving her legs clad in white socks scrunched around her calves.

She climbed into your lap without preamble, squeezing your hips with her thighs. The car roof meant she had to duck her head just a bit, giving you the perfect opportunity to press your lips to hers. Having Wednesday on top of you was the kind of thing that made your head spin. And spinning you were, down into that deep unending abyss where there was only the smell of hot sugar, pine, and iron.

The Midas touch of the setting sun made Wednesday seem even paler, from her exposed knees to her small hands, glowing like some ethereal being. She kissed you as if she could wrap her teeth around you, like searching for sweetness in the corners of your mouth. Sure enough, there was something about her, a sense of urgency, that threatened to take in all of you.

“This dress is nice,” you murmured, pushing it up her pale thighs, rubbing away the red marks her boots left on her calves. Your hands continued upward, to the light dampness of her inner thighs.

“You said you liked it last time.” Wednesday immediately glanced away, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. There was a faint flush to her cheeks again, but the two of you were fogging up the car windows.

You ignored the pulsing in your stomach that traitorously screamed she wore this for me? “It’s enchanting,” you said. “Like a witch of the wood.”

You nosed your way into the nape of her neck again, a favorite spot of yours, unable to stop your stupid mouth from running. “I adore it…” You pulled her tighter to your lap, skimming the seam of her underwear at the juncture of her thigh. “Can I touch you, Wednesday?”

“Get on with it,” she said, breathlessly, indulging you with a quick quirk of her lips.

Skimming the back of your hand up between her thighs, you sent your other hand to palm her chest through her dress. You felt her through her panties, the fabric soft and smooth from her slick. Dipping your hand below the waistband, you wasted no time finding her clit. Her breath came down hard—it was her tell, you knew, even when her face remained mostly impassive.

She was sensitive today, back arching with a small gasp as soon as you touched her. Hand shooting past your head, Wednesday grabbed onto the headrest, hard enough for the leather to creak. Her outstretched arm was right next to your head, and you couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss the inside of her elbow.

She sighed, unfurling tendrils of a storm in smooth skies. “You have all of me,” Wednesday said, something soft.

You press a kiss to Wednesday's forehead, equally soft, as you curl your fingers again. “If only, Wednesday,” you said, unthinking.

Wednesday froze, squeezing her other hand on your shoulder hard enough to leave pretty bruises under your collared shirt.

You pulled back, cocking your head. “What is it?”

She furrowed her brow at you, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, then glanced away quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Your fingers traced another circle around her clit.

“Stop asking.” Her voice was firm, but it had a waver in the middle, like she’d almost changed her mind.

“I’ll stop asking,” you whispered, “if you tell me what’s up.” Her eyes were glazed over with a sheen not unlike her slick that coated your fingers, something shiny and sweet.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, not even a second before she clapped her hand over your mouth.

What an Addams wants, an Addams gets, you surmised, blinking quickly. You rubbed your free hand up and down her thigh, trying to soothe her, but she only moved her hand to grip your jaw, her intent the sear of fire through the underbrush.

“I do not like repeating myself,” she said quietly, “so listen closely.” She shifted closer to you on your lap, car leather squeaking, settling on her knees so your nose was in her collar. She reached down and gave you a handkerchief from her pocket. Knowing what she meant, you pulled your fingers from her warmth, feeling a hard lump in your throat. “And make no noise.”

You nodded. She looked wild on top of you, hair mussed from your make out session, the apples of her cheeks a dusty rose.

“Honesty colors me,” she said by way of explanation. “And you talk too much, so this is how it will have to be.” She seemed to think for a moment, biting her lip. Her burgundy lipstick contrasted so starkly with her gray sweater, as if she was the only screaming color in a black and white world. She might hate that, you mused absently. Maybe she was more a whirlpool of the blackest black, sucking in all of the color and light around it so that you had no choice but to be drawn in, to the only real thing you’d ever known.

“You’re stupid,” Wednesday started, matter-of-factly. “Just like everyone else.” You nodded, used to this sort of thing by now. “But your particular brand of stupidity is showing its truth.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, arms automatically going around her waist while you leaned back to look at her. Where she was going with this, you had no idea. You only knew that that whirlpool was making its way closer and closer to you.

“At first, our… arrangement was indeed purely physical.” She paused. “But things have changed, quite drastically. I do believe I’ve reached a… point of no return, but I have since found a balance.”

Wednesday locked her eyes on yours, unflinching. “I give myself to you time and time again-” the words were unfamiliar from her mouth- “yet, you seem to give no indication that you know. ‘If only?’ It’s nearly laughable.” She gave a huff, though her gaze was contemplative. You cocked your head, mind uncomprehending, mouth dry.

“You have my heart, beating or still.” Her words rang quiet in the car. Your own heart started up again, with all the betrayal of a thrumming bass. You tried to push it down, but it didn’t erase the reality of what Wednesday had just said—did Wednesday ever lie? She was good at it, sure, but you’d long learned that Wednesday’s word was her end. “And it appears as though you are completely unaware.”

“Unaware?” You broke her rule, and you could see the tick of annoyance in her eyes. But you plowed on anyway. “Are you saying that you have my—that I don’t know that I have your—that you like me?”

“My devotion is more than that,” Wednesday said casually, “but it may be that you’re unable to handle that at this time.”

Sure enough, you could feel your body informing your mind that you were hyperventilating, Wednesday’s weight on your lap the only thing keeping you from shooting off to Saturn.

“I don’t—” you struggled for your words, the usual wit you showed while bickering with Wednesday, the strategy you’d used to defend Jericho, absolutely nowhere to be seen.

“Need I pull stars from the sky to prove myself to you?” she said, raising an eyebrow in amusement, as if she wasn’t blowing through every poorly stacked defense of yours. It would be just like Wednesday, for every word of hers to be devastating and world shifting. No one knew Wednesday Addams and remained unchanged—that was just the kind of person she was, romantic as murder via blade. Perhaps to her, your wide eyed reaction was enough of a damning confession. “You’ll be the end of me, but what bliss that would be.”

“Um,” you started, eloquently. “You’re… you’re not thinking straight,” you rasped out, mind freezing. You could feel your back stuck to the seat, unyielding. “You’re—”

“If I didn’t know you and your oblivious tendencies, I would think that it is almost insulting of you to doubt me.” She gave a small sniff, chin held high. “You think that just because you do not recognize my words, means that I am not in a right state of mind?”

In one fluid motion, she pressed her forehead to yours, and cradled your face between her two cold hands. Your name felt like salvation from her lips; “believe me, I’m wide awake.”

Your jaw went slack, and you were sure you looked as much a dumbass as you felt.

“I intended for my… vulnerability,” Wednesday’s voice wavers on the word, “to be a sign for you, but either you are just that unobservant, or you are unwilling to admit to what is right before your eyes.”

“I’d never not pick up on something on purpose, Weds.” Your brain was wading through a thick mud, unable to turn at the speed that Wednesday wanted.

“Does that mean that you are willfully disregarding the way I show myself to you?” Finally, in her words, you were able to see the exact vulnerability that she had alluded to.

“No, I’d never, I just… didn’t want to hope,” you said, embarrassed. “Romance isn’t your thing.”

“It’s not,” she replied simply, quietly. “I understand your reservations.” Wednesday’s hands held an imperceptible tremble, but her gaze was strong.

“No—of course I—” your throat tightened, but you felt the weight falling from your shoulders anyway. That was something you recognized. “Of course I like you.”

The silence rang yet again, and Wednesday’s eyes widened, the onyx of them turning warm as molten metal. The exact expression in them was hard to place, but it calmed you, in the wake of speaking aloud something you’d been afraid to admit to yourself.

A thought occurred to you, more clear than any you’d had since Wednesday had opened her mouth. “Even if we’d never—if we never have sex again, I’d still l—like you.”

Despite the way you stumbled into and over your words, Wednesday’s dark eyes on yours grew warm, pupil blurring into iris; the corner of her mouth gave an upwards tick.

“In the cracks of light,” Wednesday whispered, reverent as prayer as her fingertips traced your cheekbone, “I see the heaven on earth I’ve won with you.”

She kissed you then, and you couldn’t hold back any more. It was something like pure relief—though your mind still didn’t quite comprehend Wednesday’s confession (confession!), your heart broke the dam, pulling you down past inhibition. Spiraling to Wednesday’s gravity, it was as natural as breathing to give in.

Wednesday, all knowing as always, must’ve seen the way your resolve broke. She slid her mouth against yours, open and hot, unhurried but eager. The car leather under your thighs was as warm as Wednesday on top of you—not even she was immune to the rays of waning sunlight, it seemed.

“You know,” you muttered, between capturing her lips, “it’s just like you to say all that about moving heaven and earth. Most people just say ‘I like you.’” It wasn’t a complaint by any means; with your hands on her waist, you’d have it no other way.

“As I said, it is more than that.” She took a breath, completely steady and confident, now. “You consume me, completely.”

“And you, I,” you said softly, as if you could do anything but agree to her heady desire. “I’ve got you, Wednesday.”

Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you. It took a moment for you to realize that in her silence after your words, she was grinding down, near imperceptibly, into your lap.

“Mmm, my love,” you murmured, the significance of the endearment not lost on you, “look at you.” Sliding a hand up her back to her hair, you felt her braids through your fingers. You ran your hands down once more, under her sweater to feel the muscles around her shoulder blades. The heat you felt through her dress from where she was pressed to you, through your trousers, was something out of a darkest dream, unable to be forgotten.

Wednesday leaned up again, eyes sharp as a lance, to brand you with a kiss. She bit your lip, breaking through skin, and you grinned at the pain. It was hard and harsh, comforting like the thin edge of a knife. You felt the blood seeping into the seams of your teeth, rain in scorched earth. Intoxicated, you seemed to float closer into that sweet and dark whirlpool.

“That hurt, Wednesday…” you leaned in, voice dropping. “I wanna…” There was a beat of silence where you could only taste the copper in your mouth, sweet as you knew the slick between her thighs to be. You shifted your grip to her hips, bruising, and the soft little moan Wednesday gave in response spurred you on. “I wanna hurt you.”

You did, helplessly. Of course, you would rain hell on anyone that so much as lifted a finger against Wednesday, but to hold her trust that came with pain—you wanted that from her, to know when she hurt, when she wanted to hurt. Whether it was holding her back from the edge, or flying and dropping together to the bottom, bodies crashing against one another, you wanted it. Like something out of a classical myth, with wings of wax or blood, you would burn and be burned to feel the weightless warmth of that golden light.

There was no hesitation for Wednesday, just a look in her eyes that you’d come to know intimately as hunger. “Hurt me.” Her voice was low, nearly fond, in your ear as her eyes tracked the blood collecting on your lips. She leaned towards you and licked, tongue to your teeth, translucent saliva mixing with the burgundy. “I want it to hurt—I want you to hurt me.”

When she leaned back, her lipstick was stained with your blood, and it made you want to bleed if only she was the one taking it. You leaned your temple to her jawline, eyes burning at the sun through the windshield. Your hands continued once again up her thighs, just as reverent as before. The two of you never could do anything by half—you were always Wednesday’s. Realizing it, speaking it aloud, confessing or not, couldn’t have changed that. Despite that, as you rocked back and kissed the blood off Wednesday, you felt as though you were on your knees, professing everything you were. Giving one last cheeky swipe of your tongue on her lips, you went to tug Wednesday’s panties down. She followed your lead easily, tossing the expensive garment somewhere to the side.

“My sweet girl,” you sighed, something possessive curling in your words. “What would you like?”

“Everything.” There was a devout way about her utterance that had your hands shaking with the desire to fulfill her. “Touch me.”

Crossing one arm around her to clasp the back of her neck, you brought her face close to yours, the tips of your noses brushing.

“Everything? How much can we do with ‘everything’ when you’re so sensitive, angel?” On cue, Wednesday’s eyes slipped shut as you drew a finger along her pussy to find her wet and wanting.

“Don’t you think you should be the one to answer that?” Her voice, bold and challenging, shook up your stomach like champagne. You were completely, utterly ruined before Wednesday Addams, and it was a nearly celestial ruin, so bright and beloved it nearly hurt.

You didn’t hesitate, slipping your finger in and grinding your palm on her clit. You didn’t miss her knees sliding further apart, that elusive grin gracing her face as she tipped her head back. Only her tight hold on your shoulders kept her from falling into your lap. Your mouth tasted of iron, such a contrast to Wednesday’s burnt sugar sweat on your tongue as you licked a stripe up her jaw to bite her earlobe. Drawing every small sigh out, you took your time, curling your fingers the way you knew she liked. You squeezed your hand, heavy where her shoulders met her neck. The jagged breaths she took in response made you crave more, and your stomach burned with contentment when she let you press another finger inside of her.

Wednesday’s half lidded eyes tracked down your neck, hunter to the scent of fear, leaving a shiver in her wake. It was inexplicably easy to discern what she wanted, even as she threaded her hands in your hair, something tingling and distracting.

“Go ahead, I know you want to.” Like blood rushing back into white fingertips, her soft lips were on your neck, undoubtedly leaving a smear of lip stain that you’d have to be chastised to wipe off. Almost as if she’d read your mind, she was sucking at your skin, impatient. Already you could feel the raised welt, and the way her tongue soothed the strain.

“You’re mine,” she breathed out, harsh despite the way she was panting with every twist of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the haze of being Wednesday’s blurring your every action. “I’m yours.”

You curled your fingers, and had to bite down a moan as her teeth sank deeper into your neck, a cause and effect that you’d kill for. You swore as she set sight on your jawline, the sweet shock of her hot tongue making you shiver.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered darkly—it seemed she was satisfied with the state of your neck, since you could feel the skin throbbing pleasantly. She leaned back, proffering her own throat.

“I was always yours,” you said easily. “I can just…” you trailed off as your sharp teeth met her skin in the spot you knew she liked, making her cry out, “show you better now.”

Wednesday’s hands tightened in your hair, pulling a broken gasp from your throat. Her smirk, challenging as she took in your reaction, only spurred you on. It was pure selfishness, when you grinned lazily as she tugged. You gave as good as you got, though, each curl of your fingers and shift of your hand had her trembling.

She was close; you could feel it in the uneven cadence of her breath, almost as erratic as yours. Pulling the collar of her sweater aside, you worked your tongue against her jugular, her pulse tempting and honey sweet in your mouth. It was nearly tangible between your teeth, soft and solid, the pounding of her pulse, just milliseconds away from your own.

“C’mon, Wednesday,” you whispered in her ear, “just like that.”

Her breath stuttered, climbing up higher to the returning lump in your throat. It was always a marvel, the way that Wednesday was so incredibly responsive to you, your touch or your words. The hard catch of her lip between her teeth made you grin, and you reached out, tugging it free. You leaned in to kiss her forehead as you slipped your thumb in her mouth instead, your fingers never stopping.

“Wednesday.” She turned her glossy eyes towards you, and it was the closest you’d ever seen her to coming without really falling. “Let go.”

At your words, she gasped, and you could feel her cunt pulse around your fingers as she came. Her teeth bit into your skin and her eyebrows knitted together ever so gently—you loved to watch her come undone. She was all soft moans and flushed cheeks, open in a way that she hardly ever was otherwise. It unfurled something bright and warm in your chest, spreading out into your fingertips. You felt as hazy as she looked, the smell of her spilling into the air and undoubtedly lingering in your chest.

“That’s perfect, love, you’re so good for me.” You shushed her as she panted, eyes unfocused beneath her mussed fringe, but searing into yours. You continued your palm on her clit, holding her tight as her body stuttered. You moved your hand to cup her face, smoothing over unshed tears along her waterline.

“You’re…” Wednesday gave a low groan as you hit that sensitive spot inside of her again, none too gently.

“Yes,” you answered gently. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, won’t you?” She nodded, eager, as she pushed her hips into your hand, even though it made her whole body shiver.

“Fuck—”

You hummed in response, feeling her cunt open even easier now that she was impossibly wetter. As you worked a third finger into her, Wednesday’s spine went rigid, a whining, desperate sound you’d never thought you’d hear breaking from her throat. She grabbed your hand, and her palms were damp. Her grip on your wrist was tight, just as much keeping you from progressing as it was keeping you from pulling away. You leaned in by her ear. “Does it hurt?”

She gave a jerky nod, jaw clenched and lips parted. You would turn a storm on its head for those ways that Wednesday strayed from her control, especially when you were the one guiding that meandering path. Pressing the heel of your hand into her clit, you laughed, small and indulgent, as she clung tighter to you, a strained little cry escaping.

“Good girl, Wednesday… you’re taking it so well, aren’t you? You’re taking me so well, darling…” Fisting the front of her sweater in your hand, you pulled her off balance, tugging her close so her lips fell to yours, easy as breathing. Swallowing every single prized whimper that fell from her, you kissed her slow. Wednesday was already sensitive, but this was intense for even her, you could tell. Her breath came shakily against you as you pulled away, having smeared her lipstick to your content. Fingers sliding punishingly against her clit, your laugh rumbled low in your chest as she keened, soft and just a bit pleading.

“Very good, Wednesday, my love,” you coaxed. Her gasp, more like a sob, washed over you in a satisfaction that made you shudder. The slick from her previous orgasm clung to your hand, making it easy to keep up your punishing pace. Her tears shined like sea glass in her lashes, as devout to the cause of ruining her cheeks as the dusk outside was to darkness. You had no idea how much time had passed, only that if she asked, you’d stay right here with her until daylight again.

“I’m—” A whine rose from her throat, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You can do it, baby-” your thumb circled her clit as your fingers found their way impossibly deeper into Wednesday- “just for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated, mindlessly. This world where Wednesday let herself trust you to take care of her was one you could live in, drown in, make your home in. You raised your hand to the juncture of her neck and jaw, heavy and comforting. Reminded of every time Wednesday had put her hand in that same place on you when you were on your knees in front of her, more intimate than anything, you tugged on her wrist, instantly missing her hold in your hair. Intertwining your fingers together, you held your hands together in between you and Wednesday.

Without a warning, her fingers tightened around yours, so hard that her knuckles turned white. You could see that how hard she came took her by surprise, too—eyes wide open and pupils blown. It was breathtaking, you thought, just how much tension was in her, all tense shoulders and choked cry. Her nails dug into your skin, her grip tethering you from dropping off with her. It stung, and you loved it, the maroon of your blood welling up just enough to smear her fingertips.

Wednesday’s head fell into the nape of your neck, nuzzling like she could find the world’s secrets in your skin. Hand still in hers, you wiped away the smeared burgundy around the corners of her mouth with your thumb pad, fingers lingering.

“That was devious,” she murmured, words blurring around each other.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled. She nodded, somewhat resolutely. You eased your fingers out, tucking them surreptitiously into your mouth. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Wednesday, but she only narrowed her eyes.

Even in her post-orgasm daze, Wednesday looked dangerous. Her fringe was all over the place, getting caught in her eyelashes, and you could finally attribute the pink in her cheeks to something a little more than the fogged up windows. Surely, this was heaven on earth, having Wednesday with you, steady as planetal orbit. You shifted her to sit sideways in your lap, making sure her knees didn’t burn from the leather. She was watching you, carefully. It was almost as if she was trying to memorize you, the studious way she looked at you, like she was the sole messenger for a world that wasn’t allowed to take you in. It made your heart pound, finally in accordance with your head. You let her take her time in your arms, rubbing her shoulders. The little press of her lips was back, something you had adored for something dangerously similar to ‘forever.’ She seemed content in a way she hardly ever was, the haze in her eyes clearing as she studied you.

“You’ve changed a lot since I met you,” she commented, not unkindly.

You looked down into Wednesday’s face, at the night air drifting through her hair again. You could feel the sting from the little crescent shaped marks that her nails left. It was a warm contrast to her cold hand in yours, clasped between you. “You changed me, Wednesday.”

wednesday: you have bewitched me, mind, body, and soul… i love, i love, i love you.

reader: huh?

a/n cont’d for those brave souls that made it this far: yes, wednesday’s dress has pockets. isn’t that wonderful?

I’m SO BAD at writing fluff. plus, reader is the most unreliable narrator to unreliably narrate. should’ve put “painfully oblivious” as a warning for part one too.

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

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ccawz · 1 year

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moments II

A/n: Can you tell I really love making ot8 blurbs ands titling them moments? Some of these are based off my holy trinity songs (keshi, rini, joji) so, I’ll leave which songs at the end of it 👍

ot8! x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) 99% fluff, minimal sad stuff in Changbin and Seungmin’s. Food mention in Minho’s!! Established relationships. 1.3k words total, all blurbs less than 200 other than Jeongin’s which goes over a little lol.

“Come closer.”

You laugh quietly, sliding your hands over his arms that circle around your waist. “I don’t think it’s humanly possible for me to be any closer.”

Then he frowns, and you have to stop yourself from kissing it away, especially when he juts his bottom lip out as if he knew what you wanted to do. “Melt with me then.” He says, leaning to nudge his nose against yours. “Stay with me.”

“I’m always gonna be here, Chan.” You say, even if that wasn’t what he was looking for. “I just hope you’ll stay.”

He’s unable to keep the smile that breaks out at bay, sheepishly leaning his head against your own. “I’ll always stay if it’s you.” You hum in content, pressing a light kiss to his nose that makes a rosy hue come to his cheeks.

“You make me feel complete.” You tell him, grinning when he hides his reaction from you. Chan clings to you for the rest of the night, heart warming at the thought of you being with him for the rest of your lives.

“What’s this?”

Minho shuffles into the kitchenette, looking at the dimly lit room whose only light source was two candles atop a cake. His arms snake around your torso, chin resting on your shoulder.

“The power went out while you were asleep,” he hums. “I checked the fridge and this started melting so fast for some reason.”

He stares at the small cake, watching the smallest glob of icing slide down. “Isn’t it ice cream?”

You make a noise of acknowledgment, grabbing the lid beside you. “Oh, it is.” Minho chuckles at your realization, nudging his nose against the side of your neck.

“And the candles?”

You shrug, “I thought they were cute.” He hums, hugging you right when you lift the cake to his lips. “Minho, make a wish.”

Minho's eyes form crescents when he sees the excited smile on your face, heart racing at just the sight of you. You urge him again, telling him the wax would seep into the cake if he didn’t hurry. Finally, he blows a puff of air onto the candles, pressing a long kiss to your cheek when you cheer.

“You know I’ll always love you,” Changbin whispers into your shoulder, holding you firm against his chest. “That no matter how far we are, I’m always thinking of you.”

You raise his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Of course I do.” You turn in his hold, laughing softly when he pulls you into him again. “You tell me every time you have to leave.”

“There won't be a next time.” He says confidently, but you know him. You know he’ll never rest until the whole world knows his name and more.

“There’s always going to be a next time, Changbin.” You smile, smoothing your hand over his arm. “And I’ll be there on the sidelines, waiting for you to come home. Like you always do.”

“Do you wanna go on a date?” You stare at Hyunjin from across the room, slowly backtracking when he’d just stared at you in response. “Or not?”

He shakes his head, tossing whatever he had been doing away as he makes a beeline toward you. “Where are you taking me?”

“The new art exhibit, then maybe the spring festival.” Hyunjin claps excitedly, nudging you towards the door. “Are you just using me now?” You frown, looking over your shoulder at him.

He halts his movements, “What? Of course not! I have to know where we’re going so I can dress properly.” He sees the corner of your lips twitch and sighs, pushing you out the door. “You’re such a tease.”

“Hannie,” you whisper, slapping his cheek lightly. He stirs awake after a moment, arms stretching above his head as he groans. “Hey.”

Han sucks in a deep breath, peaking his eyes open and wincing when he makes contact with the harsh sunlight. “What time is it?” He asks groggily, blindly reaching for your hand above the sheet.

“Two in the afternoon.” You say, chuckling when his eyes snap open. “And before you ask, I didn’t want to wake you because you’ve been nothing but tired lately.”

He frowns, tossing the covers off his body, goosebumps rising to his arms at the loss of warmth. “I didn’t do anything productive today.”

You brush his hair back when he sits up, holding his chin in your hands. “You have the rest of the week to indulge. For now, just relax.” He mumbles under his breath, weight falling onto you as his eyes droop, sighing in content when your fingers run through his hair.

“You coming back?”

Felix shakes his head, knees tucked to his chest as he craned his neck to look at the starry night. “I think I might stay for a while.”

The sand beside him shifts as you sit next to him, his first instinct being to lean his weight against you. A small smile comes to his face when you take his hand, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles lightly.

“No matter how many times I come down here, it’s always the most beautiful sight I’ve seen.” Felix whispers, watching the waves crash against the shore in front of him.

A breeze blows by that makes him shiver, and a pout comes to his face when you pull away, only for a bashful smile to take its place when you swing your jacket over his shoulders. “I would say the same,” you start, leaning forward to kiss his nose. “But I wake up to you in the morning.”

Felix shakes his head at your words, resting his head against your shoulder as he pulls you close. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Stop staring at me,” Seungmin mumbled, looking down at your face in his lap. Your fingers reach up to his face, poking and prodding at his features before he slaps your hand away. “You’re annoying.”

You scoff at the jab, letting yourself fall off his lap and onto the floor. “You’re annoying.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, moving so you’d be sat between his legs, and leans his head down to face you. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

“I let you love me.” He whispered, rubbing his fingers gently against your neck. “Do you think I don’t?” You stay silent, much to Seungmin’s dismay, and don’t give him any physical response either. “I love you.”

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling them away from your neck to your lips. He leans his head down when you kiss his palm, face warming when you continue to press kisses to each of his finger pads. “I love you more.”

“You left your sweater at my place the other day.”

Jeongin bites the inside of his cheek when you tell him, making a faux reaction of relief when his mind tells him he needs to respond. “Really? Me leaving my favorite sweater?” You stare at him with a confused expression—how did he know which sweater it was— “Are you sure you didn’t just steal it?”

“Jeongin, you would complain if someone took your clothes without asking. Why would I steal it?”

He bites his tongue, looking to the side when your eyes bore into his skull. Even on the phone he was intimidated by your stare. “That’s a good point.”

“Can you just tell me what you want?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, looking away from his phone. “I want you to wear it.” A grin breaks on your face that has his heart pounding, a pink hue coming to his face when you hold your phone at a different angle, showing him the sweater you’d already been wearing.

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore,” you tell him, holding the collar to your nose. “So come home.” With a wide grin, he nods, turning the opposite way he was headed, and makes his way to you, his home.

Chan - understand // keshi

Changbin - more // keshi

Felix - a starry night in apollo bay // rini

Seungmin - like you do // joji

Jeongin - my favourite clothes // rini

#skz x reader #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x reader #skz x gn reader #bang chan x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #kim seungmin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #skz x you #skz imagines #stray kids imagines

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soraviie · 1 year

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in the public eye.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: crack, fluff, not so mildly suggestive - the holy trinity

━ a/n: requested by anon, hope you like it :) This of course greatly varies who the hypothetical MC is. If a familiar figure obviously there's more freedom in pointing them out in public but I'll go on the path that MC is ya know a normie. Also, this sits sort of borderline on realistic meaning privacy is essential so obviously the guys wouldn't be extra chatty

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: The thread itself started relatively innocuous with only a comparison of two pictures found in an absolutely godless place where all voices shrieked into a void - Twitter. But then unfortunately it went viral and soon the internet was flushed with conspiracy theories with hats more frazzled and shinier than those professing that the Earth was actually donut shaped. But it garnered eventually so much traction that the veil of the ocean, one between I-army's and K-army's was like a miracle in the night breached and soon weverse too was caught by a storm.

"He's in love he's got to be," writes a lovely person underneath the brief username of min_yoongi_has_no_business_being_this_fine

"Yeah, with that wife and seven children of his kekekekeke," writes cutiepiemomo.

jijinjung: take a look at the picture year ago, it's the same setting! meaning joonie went there twice now but he's so much happier in this latest picture

jwehopeshoe in reply to jijinjung: it could be the break...

furryspecialist: you mean to tell me that the ultimate boyfriend material is a boyfriend? shocker

chimspuppykitty in reply to furryspecialist: naurrrr we're not going to ignore how big of a player Namjoon looks like? that man better call himself pro pitcher cause he's throwing it out ToT

seokjinslefttoe in reply to chimspuppykitty: dude collects little shoes what player please??? T-T player of our hearts only

Personally with having nothing else to do it was amusing to scroll through this madness but then one specific comment catches your undivided attention.

a_nameless_stan: Whether or not, Namjoon is dating we must still be respectful. That said, I have to say he looks in love because he IS in love. It's quite a shame he is not free to share the pictures of the gorgeous person who captured his heart. I can only imagine that this person glows brightly like a sun. These pictures must be the only way he's able to share this person even if it's his face taken by them. But I believe that love like this is shared, you can see the feelings in his eyes as he's looking at the photographer and the photographer clearly values him as all the pictures are warm and visibly adoring. I wish them only the best and hopefully one day we'll be mature enough to see a picture of them together without the one-sided wall of anonymity.

seokjinslefttoe in reply to a_nameless_stan: say, you don't happen to be Namjoon himself do you 0_0

a_nameless_stan in reply to seokjinslefttoe: don't be ridiculous. My name is susan. I am clearly 17. Also what's up with your username?

"Ugh, it's been such a long day," Namjoon sighs the second he's one step inside the bedroom, dropping his entire weight on top of your legs.

"Oof! Hello, Susan of clearly 17," you tease. "Does that mean that I'm taking advantage of you?

He glances up through the hood of his jumper, leaking light water. It must have rained on his bike ride back home.

"So you saw that?" he gives an appeasing smile, one he pulls to be forgiven almost immediately.

"I did," you answer and grasp his cheeks planting a light kiss on his forehead. "Though I must say one of these days you'll let my name slip by."

He nuzzles into the blanket and quickly you sink your fingers into his hair. He was growing it out and you had become particularly fond of tugging at it.

"Don't remind me. I nearly shit myself last week when they asked me the whole thing of whose moans were those in the song's background," he whines, voice muffled as his face pressed into the duvet.

"Yes, that was rather risque," you admit. "Though I guess those seven children of yours won't just make themselves."

"Shut up," he mutters with an audible smile.

furryspecialist: so that was totally namjoon right?

seokjinslefttoe in reply to furryspecialist: yeah, gonna delete my whole account now this is too embarrassing :')

YOONGI: He moves in silence. Like a cat. In an absolutely firm statement of his nature, no one can ever expect what Yoongi is up to, where is he? What is he doing? So it's fair to say, you're more protected with him than behind the wall of the Pentagon. There are no slip-ups, no mentions except the happiness that radiates from within him. The soft smiles are accompanied by glances to the phone to read a message of yours. It's as much of a cryptid hunting as any to find if Min Yoongi is dating. And if yes, then who? The most dedicated proof is most often cited in the form of a peculiar vlive made in the middle of a late evening on an unsuspecting Wednesday. No picture, no explanation, just thirty minutes of a black screen and Yoongi's soothing voice coming through - to talk, to discuss what's in store, to calm down people whose mental wellness hinged on this peculiar cat man.

As you knew better, being the infamous cryptid themselves, you saw him hunched over a kitchen table, talking absent-mindedly on his phone. Moving about as quietly as possible you remained as much as a mystery as you always had been but Yoongi who'd been nursing a drink the whole night had worked himself into a delighted mess. He tries to be serious but sees you and giggles. And then worse begins to ask you questions.

Someone wonders whether he's been working out lately and with a shy yet simultaneously cocky chuckle, he meets your eyes and you know the shameless gleam in his eyes. You fear it. He's being too aware of his own power, it's no good for your strength.

"I dunno, why don't you check?" he answers with a giggle and a faint flush to his cheeks and invites you greedily to grope him. You only shake your head with a smile of your own as you continue making tea.

He reads another question.

"What's beautiful to you?" he reads and then lifts his head once more to pin you down.

"What I see in front of me."

You snort.

"Shameless," you mouth at him and he gives a demure, blushing smile, partially hidden behind a palm.

"You still love me though," says he and ends the live stream. To most people it remains just as another addition into digital mishaps of drunk BTS but for the dedicated folk, the lone sailors to whom your existence was their personal white whale, this was the one single harpoon they could wield. All to no avail of course given how when asked about it and whether or not he was hiding away a whole partner, Yoongi merely graces them with a polite, inscrutable dryness.

"You're imagining things," annoyingly, he smiles.

JIN: To the larger public they are but trifle comments.

"You want to marry me?" he speaks out loud whilst reading a question simultaneously occupying himself with eating rice. "I'm sorry, you'll have some stiff competition. You won't survive."

"Mr Kim, what would you like to say about the rumours of you starring in a k-drama?"

"I'd say I have my hands full. Being a romantic interest sure takes a lot out of a guy."

They're so offhand and weird and spoken with such a tone of amusement that inevitably they get brushed with him being himself. Exactly how he wanted.

"You're making me look like a crazy jealous person," you glare at him lowering the phone to see him rush into the private room in a restaurant.

"Dearest Kim Seokjin, if you don't accept ARMY's love, I'll fly out to personally present it to you T_T," says an anonymous commenter an hour ago. Jin levels the screen with a cool sarcasm.

"How fast can you run?" he asks. "Someone might chase you back where you came from."

This is, of course, the incident you're referring to though it could be any other hundred little remarks.

"Well, you are very protective of me," he shakes his shoulders, innocent, a man never done any wrong as he shakes out his umbrella. "Let's eat?"

You scoff with no malice.

"I don't plan on sharing you with millions of other people. What would I even get? A single strand of your arm hair?"

He winks and gives a flying kiss before eagerly diving behind a menu.

"If you're lucky."

But as they always do the tables turn and in a family event, Jin clings to you like a plastic wrap around a sandwich, his palm never leaving the small of your back, body heating your side like an ambulatory radiator.

"Mr Sir, what is this?" you whisper, navigating the social maze of his relatives.

"My cousin," he sneers with an angry pout. "Keeps staring at you. Have some people lost their shame?!"

"Look who's crazy protective now," you nurse the champagne glass with a slimy sense of satisfaction. He rolls his eyes but the corner of his lips quirk.

"I don't plan on sharing you either."

"Not even a clone?"

"Not even a clone. There's only one World Wide Handsome."

HOSEOK: Expensive. Expensive is all the world sees. The frequent gifts of luxury, mostly of clothes and lingerie, a single comment observing that his own fashion seemed to gradually involve a part of couples set - a jumper, a hoodie, a belt. But beneath it all, you're in his music, he needs to mention you, needs to show you discreetly to the world. You're a mention, an abstract form of lover he's both chasing and running away from. Perhaps it's an apology, a symbol of guilt for not spending enough time, for all the limitations you have to endure.

If he could, all his pictures would be of you but he can't. Though you're always present. Your laugh in the background of his Instagram stories, a part of an apartment whose decor is clearly not his own can be partially seen in the photos, he can be seen laughing with someone in the background, taken by an unsuspecting person. And when people question him - how he feels, what are his worries - he always ends them with "a friend convinced me", "a friend helped me through". One would assume that "a friend" is an inappropriate term for a partner. How does one friendzone their partner, some would even ask but "a friend" means so much to him, it means he has a wall to lean on, his fortress of comfort for when perfection surrounds him whole.

"Mr Jung, that is a very interesting bracelet," an interviewer remarks and Hoseok immediately twiddles with the hematite, recalling the moment of purchase, a rainy, overcast day but possessing the rare moment of being able to walk with you around the city.

"Thank you," he bids politely. "A friend and I got a matching set."

Namjoon shoots him a light glare. He was always pushing it.

"Must be...an important friend," the interviewer chuckles awkwardly, sweating about whether or not he'd be in the middle of a torrent scandal the next morning.

"They are," Hoseok beams with a bright smile.

JIMIN: Hides you away like a pearl in a seashell. He himself reveals little of his private life and being forever protective, it naturally extends that no one knows about you, except for very few people. In a perfect world, he'd get to flaunt you but the world is flawed and he tries to keep those flaws far away from you.

The only things to notice are shifts in his demeanour, his hobbies, and his likings. More than once he's been asked of sporting perhaps a colour you professed you liked on him, eats your favourite candy, has your favourite dolls hung on his bag, your gifts he wears like a badge of honour (and your clothes as well) but it is one shared between the honourable - you and him (and Taehyung most likely).

"Can I post this?" you ask him as he lays his head in your lap, purring if he could.

"Lemme see," he squints at the picture of two shadows against the wall - a tightrope between anonymity and publicity, one he walks quite well. "Sure, it's cute."

For a while, he goes back and you assume he's sleeping but then he mutters into the slowly warming apartment air.

"Do you feel bad that I hide you away?"

"Not particularly. I'm not an idiot, I know what I got myself into when I agreed to date you."

"Thanks," he grumbles dryly. You lean down to kiss his head.

"I just mean I appreciate your efforts of shielding me from all you endure. To have #Jimin come after me," you shudder. "Thanks but no."

"Still, it's normal for couples to post their pictures online..."

"And it's normal for some to not post anything at all. Don't stress about it too much, we have everything here. No need to parade it."

He hums and hugs your legs tighter.

"There is something I would like us to do," he mumbles, forcing your hand to glide over his hair. "I'd like to make a movie."

"A movie?" you echo, confused.

"Yeah, the kind where you have no clothes on."

You click your tongue and flick him on the back of the head.

"Ah, you pervert."

TAEHYUNG: Wants to scream your name from every rooftop in the world and wants to gatekeep you forever. Occasionally posts a weird picture of a piece of your hair or an eye or a hand, awfully cropped and extremely blurry. He's a blurry sort of guy.

"Taehyung-ah why are you going around photographing random people kekekekeke" writes user tete._.tata on weverse.

"I'm crazy lol" he responds.

"Taeyung-ah what's with the random body parts??" writes user StreamHobiYouCowards

"Beauty. P.S. I like your username."

And while the rumours surrounding his love life are incessantly flowing like the Niagara waterfall this is by far not the most suspicious he's been or to be frank, the weirdest thing he's said.

But miracles do happen, old dogs learn new tricks, a river changes its bed and Kim Taehyung shares what he feels, though still sufficiently obscure.

"It's a horrible feeling to miss someone and be able to do nothing about it," he remarks nostalgic on a short v-live. "You know I need to have some right here," he gestures as though putting you by the waist in front of him. "To know they're safe and healthy. Not let my eyes off them one bit."

"Wouldn't your eyes get tired," writes user YoongiMarryMeIfTaehyungAllows.

He sees the familiar username and blooms into a broad smile.

"Hello, good to see you," he bows in front of the camera. "You haven't stopped by in a while. I must say I do not allow the marriage to happen. Nope! Not going to happen!"

"Aw shame," responds user YoongiMarryMeIfTaehyungAllows. "But wouldn't your eyes get tired? To have them always on a single person...What about blinking Mr Kim?"

"I can always use eye drops," he explains sweetly.

"Mr Kim you are incorrigible," writes the same user and he nods, fluffy curls flopping like clouds in a breeze on his head.

"I am," he agrees. "But since I didn't give you permission to marry Yoongi, I guess I'll have to do it instead."

The chat goes absolutely berserk but user YoongiMarryMeIfTaehyungAllows remains cool and composed shooting only a clearly well-thought-over proposition -

"What if we both marry Yoongi?"

He thinks about it for a second.

"That would be agreeable."

JUNGKOOK: You're like an optical illusion or a spirit. Always there in the mirror or the reflection. When he's working out you're (forced to be) there, when he takes a selfie you're in a stray reflection. Memes are made that this could be the new sight test opticians could use but at least it doesn't go much further than that.

What they don't know how cemented you are into the streams of trusted few who can see his hidden posts or videos set to private. Has memorized your dates in full 10-minute videos and your face is permanently etched in the database of his secret Instagram account. He views them as small pieces of art, one shard of a diamond that makes you you. More than once has sent the wrong stupid couple selfie to the wrong person. Bang Si Hyuk being the first victim, Yoongi being the second. He's happy for the two of you, he is, but seeing yet another picture of Jungkook's hand on your ass as he's cuddling makes him throw up a little bit in his mouth, he's not going to lie.

"Please don't tell me you sent that picture to Bang PD again," you whimper face pressed against the bedsheets. He just had to be so menacingly cute about taking a picture of himself kissing your neck. He just had to be too god damn convincing for anyone's good so now you're facing the mortifying chance of being asked should HYBE be concerned about a possible existing sex tape.

"Nope," Jungkook frowns at the phone. "Worse. Sent it to Namjoon."

"Well it's not that bad," you sigh with some relief.

"It's the worst!" he groans.

"Oh, because your boy crush will have a certain proof of you cheating on him?" you tease and he flushes with a pout playing on his lips.

"He's not my boy crush," denies he looking like, you know, a liar.

"Sure, Mr "my happiness started when I met Namjoon"," you roll your eyes. "It's unfair you're putting such unattainable body standards on me. How can my thighs compare?" you lament the harsh reality poking him accusingly in the chest and he smiles, crossing his arms behind the head.

"I like your thighs very much," he coos, hooking a finger around the band of your underwear and letting it snap into place. "Especially would like them here," he then points at his mouth.

Unseen go Namjoon's various responses.

"wrong chat bro"

"please tell me you didn't send me this on purpose T.T"

"Jungkook hello? You were just here a second ago what the hell are you suddenly doing right now?"

"oh I know what you're doing"

"ew that's gross brb bleaching my eyes"

"also blocking you. goodbye."

334 notes · View notes

dazed-nymphsss · 1 year

Text

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪

┕━» stranger things holy trinity x gn!reader

❕warnings❕: drug use (weed), fluff, some sexual innuendos, comfort

a/n: been having a hard time recently so not only is this entirely self indulgent, but this is also for some other people having a bad time, so I hope I can help

『•• stranger things characters comforting you ••』

not proof read at all.

steve harrington

hot drinks, teakwood candles, grandpa sweaters, stars, and old film

steve has a radar for this sort of thing. he can pick up on emotions at the drop of a hat, so the moment he sees you, he knows something is up.

he'll start with just wrapping his arms around you, a simple gesture, but he'll hold you as long as you need. he'll hold you for hours, his gentle touch running through your hair.

if tears are rolling out of your eyes, he'll wipe each of them away gingerly, whispering small sweet things, "oh, honey," he'd say, voice sickeningly intoxicating, "no tears."

in true mama steve fashion, he would make you your favorite meal, along with some hot tea or some hot cocoa, whichever you prefer, and wrap you up in a nice cozy sweater.

he would search through his most treasured VHS tapes to find the perfect comfort film, turning it on and sitting down next to you on the couch.

eventually, sleep will find you, and when steve finally notices, he simply pulls the blanket over you more and gets more comfortable, soon joining you in sleep.

eddie munson

the smell of weed, colorful quilted blankets, fast food, and metal music

he would kiss every single one of your tears away

you would come to him in a wreck, and he would be frantic trying to figure out what was wrong, hating to see you in pain.

he would be quick to work you out of your clothes and stuff you in his own, dressing you carefully, placing kisses as he put the shirt over your head and pulled up the sweatpants over your hipbones.

much like steve, he would hold you until you felt alright, or at least until you felt comfortable enough to tell him what was wrong.

he would talk you through it. every step of the way. he would help and give advice or just sit and listen, if that's what you needed.

gentle words of affection and gentle touches

eddie is the kind of guy who offers you a cigarette or a joint to calm your nerves, whether you accept or decline he's 100% alright with him.

(doesn't mean he won't spark up himself)

would offer a scary movie and some food to help you through it, along with some music on standby if that's what you wanted.

would absolutely slow dance with you in the living room and just hold you, rubbing your back and telling you just how perfect you were to him.

billy hargrove

cigarettes, jean jackets, and the smell of leather seats

billy isn't one for comforting others, so he'd just think of what calmed him down, and that was late-night drives.

He would hug you and throw his jacket over your shoulders before giving you a kiss on the forehead and a sly smile, "wanna go for a ride?"

would drive you where ever you want, and if you didn't know, he would give some suggestions.

Music from the radio playing softly as the windows are rolled down, one hand holding yours and the other on the steering wheel.

When the car would stop you would talk for hours, working through everything to a point where you felt at least a little better getting things off your chest.

therapist billy is canon.

To anyone else, he would tell them to grow up and stop being such a pussy. But with you, he actually cared and wanted to see you happy.

if there was someone who was bothering you, he would most definitely make a plan to beat the shit out of them, and if it were a girl, he has many many friends who would do it for him.

(with your consent of course, if you didn't want to start a problem, he would respect your wishes... maybe.)

would possibly propose some... alternative comforting techniques that he would be more than up for.

I know, I know, this one is really short but I have something in the works, but let's hope I don't jinx it and just never finish writing it. Love you guys.

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shig-a-shig-ah · 2 years

Text

ONE, TWO, WRECKED.

You talk Shigaraki into giving you a show with a double of himself, and he winds up testing his limits in tantalizing new ways.

» pairing: Shigaraki Tomura² x afab!reader » word count: 4.5k » notes: This fic is my entry for @dabisqueen‘s Holy Trinity collab. Hope y’all enjoy--I put my whole pussy into this. » contains: gn!pronouns, switch!Shigaraki, threesome, selfcest, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjobs, pegging, double penetration (Shigaraki receiving), simultaneous orgasms. 18+, minors DNI. » ao3 mirror

"Wait."

"What?"

"Is this really how you start?"

"How am I—how are we supposed to start?"

"I don't know. I guess I expected some buildup or something before you jumped right into it."

You probably shouldn't have expected that—shouldn't be at all surprised that Tomura had gone straight to stripping. You know he's done this before—more frequently and thoroughly than he's let on, you suspect—but he still seems eager to get it over with, is clearly embarrassed by the position you've talked him into, kneeling on your bed with another version of himself only two feet away. They're both shirtless, hands paused halfway through the motions of undoing their pants. The only difference between them is that Tomura—the real one—huffs at your comment.

"It's jerking off, not making love or some shit. It doesn't need foreplay."

"Is that why we used to catch you limping around?"

"Shut up," he grumbles, but the way his cheeks heat up make you think there's more truth to your statement than he wants to admit. He glares resignedly between you and his double. "What were you thinking?"

You'd been intent on just watching them to start—that's half the point, after all, is what you'd spent weeks and weeks talking Tomura into after learning just how he used to abuse Twice's Quirk before you came along. In this case, though, it seems easier to show than tell. So, you scoot forward from where you've been sitting. Lean in to kiss him, soft and slow, teasing at his lower lip with your tongue before you pull away and turn to his clone, repeating that motion as Tomura watches on.

Then you sit back on your heels, gesturing between the two of them. Tomura's eyes widen when he gets what you're suggesting, and you pout at him before he can argue.

"C'mon, you promised me a good show."

"Fine," he mutters, shifting a little closer to his other self. It's wearing the same unenthusiastic expression, has the same pink flush to its cheek, but the half-formed bulges in their pants make it clear they're not quite as averse to this as they're acting.

Still, neither of them see to know where to start. They pause with a few inches of space between them, hands hovering uncertainly as twin pairs of red eyes scan their respective shirtless forms, Adam's apples bobbing as they both swallow hard.

Then Tomura is letting out an impatient breath and leaning in, stiffly pressing his mouth to his double's.

They're hesitant movements at first, Tomura's eyes falling closed—largely, you suspect because he simply doesn't want to stare at himself as cracked lips explore cracked lips in entirely perfunctory fashion. You don't complain about that lack of enthusiasm, though; there's something tantalizing about the sight despite the reluctance, or maybe even because of it. Your skin is already starting to grow warm as you watch on.

That heat only worsens when Tomura's lids finally blink open so he can peer at you from the corner of his eye. Crimson irises scan over you, his brow knitting just the slightest, obviously not missing the way you've already grown flustered by the act before you.

For all his reservations, that must be enough encouragement for him. A second later his lips are curving into a devious smirk and he's reaching one hand up to yank at his double's hair, kissing it harder. His teeth nip at its lip as its eyes widen momentarily, and then it's returning that treatment, mirroring Tomura's self-satisfied expression as it tips its head to watch your reaction.

Your breath catches when their tongues lap out, escalating to sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, grunts and groans periodically punctuating the sounds of panting as their hands start to wander, yanking at tufts of white hair one moment and reaching to grope at their now-prominent arousals the next. When the double's hand finally slips beneath the waistband of Tomura's pants, Tomura's hand fists at its hair, guiding its lips roughly to his neck and turning his head to look at you, letting out a hiss when the clone sinks its teeth into his sensitive throat.

"This what you wanted?" he asks you, tone entirely self-satisfied despite his heavy breathing. He keeps his eyes locked on yours when he shoves his pants down a little, revealing the erection gripped tight in his double's hand. Then he's working the double's pants down too. Its own arousal hangs heavy, flushed at the tip and twitching slightly every time Tomura's fingers tighten in its hair.

You nod in response to his question. There's an ache growing between your legs now, your thighs clenching and wetness pooling, your hand lifting to tease at your breast through the fabric of Tomura's shirt, the only thing covering you besides the thin cotton of your underwear. You whimper quietly as you pinch and tug at one nipple.

Tomura's smug expression only worsens at that sight, and more still when his free hand works between his respective bodies. He shifts a little closer to the other version of himself, maneuvering until he manages to trade his double's grip for his own, taking them both in hand. The sound of dual groans fills the room when he starts to stroke them together. It's followed by his double's head lolling back, hips bucking into that grip, a hiss of breath slipping past its lips every time Tomura swipes his thumb over their glistening tips.

Your tongue traces over your bottom lip as your hand slips between your thighs, teasing yourself through the fabric of your underwear. For a moment, that's all there is—the heady sight before you and the faint sounds of the Tomuras grunting and whining as they continue their ministrations, teeth nipping at identical patches of pale skin as they rut into a single large fist, both sets of crimson eyes constantly surveying your response.

It's not long before Tomura grows impatient with the performance, though, until he obviously wants something more than this display that's largely for your benefit. Then he's releasing his grip and fisting at his double's hair instead, unceremoniously shoving its head down towards his flushed erection.

His double doesn't complain. Only shoots you another one of those cocky looks before obediently extending its pink tongue to drag along the underside of Tomura's length, hand tugging at its own cock. It swallows Tomura down, and he swears under his breath.

Tomura tangles both hands in his double's hair. Hunches his shoulders as he starts to piston his hips, spit-slicked cock working in and out from between scarred lips as the clone sputters and gags but never stops accepting that length without complaint. When a tiny whimper slips from you as you watch, Tomura's eyes gleam, mouth splitting into a grin as he eyes your hand still toying with your clit through your underwear.

"Tired of just watching yet?" he taunts breathily.

You nod. Scramble onto your knees and forward to kiss him again, more heatedly than you had before. His tongue laps at your own, his groans filling your mouth as his double continues its efforts, and then Tomura is swearing.

"Fuck," he hisses, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls away. One of his arms wraps around your waist, his other hand still holding tight to his double's hair as he falls back against the mattress, repositioning you all so quickly it's hard to follow. One moment he's kneeling, his chest pressed to yours, and the next he's on his back, tugging you to straddle his face.

You're sure it's no accident how he's positioned you, either, facing his feet, where you can see the other version of him settling again between his thighs, its mouth still working over his cock with practiced expertise. Your clothes are gone before you know it, too, flushed skin and damp cunt fully exposed as dust falls against the sheets.

Tomura wastes no time availing himself of your heated sex. His tongue parts your slick folds and works its way greedily inside you, probing at your walls until you're gasping and grinding against his face, desperate for more. When he finally pulls back, tongue lapping forward to lap at your clit, you moan at the gentle pulse of that wet muscle against your most sensitive spot.

The double's eyes settle on you at that sound, one of its hands reaching up to grope at your bare chest, rough fingers kneading at that soft flesh before circling your nipple, pinching at that tender bud. The sharp pang of pleasure that brings only worsens the growing ache in your core.

"Tomura," you mewl, and you feel his throaty laugh between your thighs. See the double grin before it pulls its lips from Tomura's cock, dragging its tongue over that length.

"Fuck, like it when you say our name," it pants. It lifts one hand to your mouth, two fingers extended, and you waste no time parting your lips to suck at those digits, tongue laving over its knuckles and fingertips as its other hand strokes at Tomura's swollen length, drawing the occasional grunt from where the real version of him is still face-deep in your cunt. Each stroke of his tongue has that pressure building deep inside, your thighs starting to tremble.

The double pulls its hand away once its fingers are good and slicked with spit. Nudges Tomura's legs a little farther apart and drops its fingers to probe between those spread thighs. You feel it more than see it when one of those long fingers breaches Tomura's tight hole—feel the way he tenses beneath you and gasps hotly against your sex. His double's lips wrap around his cock once more, licking and sucking as he pumps his finger in and out, adding a second one after only a moment.

Tomura whimpers when those fingers press just right inside him, the movements of his mouth against your cunt growing more feverish, and then he's shoving two of his own fingers into your cunt, matching the rhythm of his double's movements as he laps at your clit. Each drag of his tongue and curl of his fingers sends you closer to the edge, your whole body going taut as you strain to reach that peak. You're not the only one, either—Tomura is whining and groaning now, his hips bucking up into his double's dual touches.

You get there first. The sight and feel of it all—the clone in front of you, lips slick with spit as it swallows Tomura down again and again, and Tomura's mouth and fingers working headily in tandem against your own cunt—has heat blooming under your skin and that pressure building deep within. You rock your hips, grinding harder against Tomura's face, and that pressure spills over, throbs of pleasure sending you keening as you come hard.

Tomura groans in bliss, lapping at your juices, his own hips rocking faster as he clearly teeters on the edge of his own release. You rake your nails over his chest in encouragement, earning a choked sound, his body tensing beneath you, and then—

And then he's letting out a frustrated grunt as his double pulls away, letting Tomura's cock slap wetly against his tense stomach. The double's fingers withdraw, too, earning another pained noise from the man beneath you.

The double ignores him. Only looks to you and says, with a wicked grin and a sharp gleam in its crimson eyes, "I have an idea.”

"Fuck."

Shigaraki can't help the swear that slips out as he moves to straddle you, though his face burns at the indignity of it. It's not just the position he's in that has him so uncharacteristically self-conscious; it's his own eagerness, too, and how badly he's hiding it. Because he's fantasized about this more than once, or parts of it anyway—you beneath him with that glossy silicone strap-on jutting out from the apex of your thighs.

Of course, his fantasies weren't quite like this—never featured this particular desire being outed by another version of himself, or said alternate looming behind Tomura as he readied himself to ride you.

Still, he's not complaining. Wouldn't even think to, not when his thighs are shaking in anticipation and his cock is achingly hard, desperate for the relief that was abruptly denied when his double decided there were better ideas than Shigaraki coming down its throat.

And, Shigaraki has to admit, he really is curious to see how much he can take.

He pauses when his knees settle beside your hips. Shifts to rut his turgid cock against your fake length once, twice, and then shifts again to let the tip of it tease at his asshole, swearing under his breath as it brushes cooly against all those sensitive nerves.

From behind him, there's an impatient click of a tongue. "Get on with it already," the other him grumbles.

"Shut up," Shigaraki hisses, but he gets on with it anyway, propping himself up on one careful fist as he starts the work of lowering himself down onto your waiting strap. You'd expressed concern, at first—about whether he could really take its thickness with so little preparation. The truth though is that this is far more control than he usually has; it's a stark departure from being bent over, some glorified onahole for a clone of himself who'd be treated the same way when it was through.

It takes little effort for the tip of your strap to breach his entrance, and Shigaraki can't help the throaty gasp that slips from his throat when he does; even when he's getting fucked by himself, that first stretch is pleasantly painful in a way nothing else quite compares to, and it's all the better now, when it's you working your way inside him, fake dick or not.

He's clearly not the only one enjoying it, either; you're watching him with bright eyes, lower lip caught between your teeth. That lustful look only worsens the heat spreading through Shigaraki's abdomen, and whatever patience he'd had left expires then. Not taking his eyes off yours, he drives himself down, accepting the full length of your strap in one fluid movement, letting out a sharp hiss at the way it thrills and aches in equal measure.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding," you murmur, hands settling at his waist. Your thumbs stroke soothingly over the points of his hips bones, holding him lightly in place, encouraging him to adjust despite your faint praise. Shigaraki only manages to tolerate that stillness for a moment before grinding impatiently against you, and then you finally start to rock your hips with soft, shallow movements. "Should've done this sooner," you breathe, still staring raptly up at him. "Feel good?"

Good is an understatement. Even your small movements are enough to have him whimpering, his straining cock twitching with every small stroke against his insides. It's not enough—is barely brushing against that sensitive spot within, and Shigaraki works himself a little faster against you, finally nodding in response to your question. "Yeah, fuck. More."

As if on cue, a hand fists roughly in Shigaraki's hair, jerking at the roots of his crown so roughly that his head snaps back, bolts of white heat stinging across his scalp. He feels his clone shifting from where it's been waiting behind him, one of its arms wrapping around to grope between his legs. A rough hand cups at his balls, and from the corner of his eye, Shigaraki sees his double smirking at you. Then it's using its grip to lift Shigaraki abruptly off your strap.

"You don't have to be so gentle with me," it tells you as it aligns itself with Shigaraki's achingly empty hole. "I can take it." It punctuates that statement with the snap of its hips, burying itself deep in one rough thrust.

It's forceful enough to draw a choked noise from Shigaraki, the girth of his own cock more substantial than the strap you'd had nestled deep only a moment ago; it knocks the breath from his lungs as he's split open in a way he'd never thought would appeal before this uncanny debauchery with the double had all started.

Some faint embarrassment rises at that thought, and at the unblinking stare you've fixed him with as you watch his double take him. He's being louder now—can't help it, not when his other self is so relentless. It doesn't ease into anything, only starts pounding away roughly the moment it's sheathed inside him, movements so harsh that all Shigaraki can do is fist tightly at the sheets and listen to the sounds of his own ragged gasps echoing in stereo, the pitch of those noises rising every time his double angles to hit just the right spot inside.

Shigaraki finds himself empty again a moment later, his walls clenching around nothing with humiliating need, but it doesn't go unfulfilled for long. His double guides him immediately back to your waiting strap, and you waste no time lifting your hips to fill that void. Your strokes keep to that gentle, steady rhythm, teasing him with what must be an intentional contrast to his double's rough treatment.

Again it's not enough, and Shigaraki lifts a hand to wrap around his cock, only to find himself denied; calloused fingers wrap tight around his wrist and twist, pinning his arm roughly behind his back.

Shigaraki sees your eyes widen when his double restrains him, and feels the heat in his face worsening under your enraptured stare. It's undignified, he knows—the way he's squirming atop you with obvious need, his cock flushed and leaking as he strives for a release that's nowhere near close enough. You don't give him what he needs, either, offering nothing but another few slow strokes against his insides before the double tightens its grip, torquing Shigarkai's arm harder as it once again maneuvers him off your strap, the feel of smooth silicone replaced by warm skin and harsh movements.

You prop yourself up, just enough for your lips to find the flushed skin of SHigaraki's chest, your tongue dragging over the sheen of sweat starting to form before you sink your teeth into his pec. That spark of hurt only worsens the near-unbearable ache in his neglected cock.

"Quit teasing and—ngh—and make me come already," he grits through clenched teeth.

"Be patient," you murmur, a teasing edge to your voice before your teeth find the hollow of his throat.

His double, though, comes closer to indulging that request. It once again withdraws, guiding Shigaraki to settle back on your strap, and then it releases its grip on Shigaraki's arm. A second later there's the faint click of a cap and the squelch of lube, and its fingers drop to probe at Shigaraki's stretched out hole even as you start to fuck up into him.

Shigaraki can't help the guttural sound he makes when the first finger slips its way inside, working in and out in tandem with your strap, searching until it brushes against his prostate. It's quickly joined by a second digit, then a third, the combined stretch more than Shigaraki has experienced before. Even warmed up as he is it borders on painful, has his body tensing at the invasion even as the throbbing in his cock worsens.

One of your hands reaches up to stroke at his hair, fingers combing soothingly through it. "Good?"

"I can take it," Shigaraki pants, echoing his clone's words from earlier. To prove it, he starts to push his hips back to meet your combined movements, leaning into that heady mixture of hurt and delicious fullness. His cock bounces with each thrust, pre dripping from his tip onto the exposed expanse of your stomach, sticky threads of it delicately connecting your flushed bodies.

That leaking arousal only worsens when the double plants one hand firmly between Shigaraki's shoulder blades and shoves, forcing him down until his chest is flush against yours and lifting his hips until only the tip of your strap is still nestled inside him.

Every muscle in Shigaraki's body goes taut in anticipation, no doubt in his mind about what's coming next, and an undignified whine slips past his lips as his other self settles into position, the firm head of its cock nudging at Shigaraki's asshole still stretched around your silicone length.

Shigaraki can feel his rim giving way with each press, stretching wider until all he can do is squirm in response, his teeth finding the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. Four fingers dig roughly into your waist and his other hand fists tightly at the sheets above your head as he braces himself.

And then his clone is surging forward, finally breaching Shigaraki's hole with one last insistent thrust, and Shigaraki's teeth are biting more firmly into the skin of your neck, a choked groan clawing up from his throat as he's stretched impossibly wide. He can feel his cock twitching between your bodies, hard as it's ever been, that substantial invasion enough to have his balls tightening, hovering on the edge of release even before you or the clone really start to move.

A moment later you do start to move, both of you, and whatever faint composure Shigaraki had maintained evaporates entirely, lost to the motion of you and the double rocking your hips in sync, working deep to hit that sensitive spot inside with unprecedented thoroughness. Each thrust sends Shigaraki's cock rutting sharply against the soft skin of your stomach, already slick with sweat and precum, and that added friction along with the agonizing fullness is all that it takes; the knot that's been clinched in Shigaraki's gut for ages finally snaps and then he's coming, finally coming as a string of half-incoherent swears spills past his lips.

"A-ah—fuck, fuck—ngh—FUCK." His skin goes hot, his whole body shuddering as he's wracked with that release.

The two of you aren't even halfway inside him, but neither of you relent as he quivers and comes—you only seem encouraged by his poorly stifled moans the way he's arching into the impossible thickness of your assailment. The two of you only push forward, another long groan rising from Shigaraki's throat when the two of you finally bottom out, staying buried there just long enough for Shigaraki's double to reach one hand down to toy with your cunt beneath the base of the strap.

Your hips buck in response to that touch, Shigaraki shuddering again, hyperaware of each tiny movement of your strap snug inside him. When another choked grunt slips out, the double laughs a little, rolling its hips.

"You're both greedy," it taunts, fingers working roughly in and out of you, its hips matching those movements. "I haven't even come once."

Shigaraki feels you writhing under him, your thrusts sloppy as you clearly try to focus on him and your own pleasure at the same time, even as your eyes flick to the double behind him. "Whose—hng—whose fault is that?"

The double gives an amused snort in response, and picks up its pace. You match that rhythm, both working harder and faster than before as you pound away in tandem. Your hand slips beneath Shigaraki, slipping between your bodies to wrap around his cum-slick cock, pumping at that length as you lick and suck at his neck, those sloppy, whimper-punctuated attentions only adding to his mounting overstimulation.

Shigaraki grunts. Tips his head to permit you better access to the sensitive skin of his throat, and almost regrets it when he catches sight of your reflections in the dark glassy screen of the television nearby, granting him what must be some approximation of your own view from beneath him: he can see his reddened face and wrecked expression, his eyes heavy-lidded and his jaw gone slack, the only response he can manage to being so thoroughly fucked. Behind him is the other version of himself, similarly flushed but wearing an entirely different look—strands of pale hair hanging in its face, crimson eyes bright and intent, scarred upper lip curling in satisfaction every time it buries itself to the hilt.

His double is close to coming, too; Shigaraki can tell from the sounds it's making, stuttering grunts and growls accompanied by ragged exhales whenever it drives itself especially deep. It's paired with your own throaty moans, and the occasional faltering of your hips, that slight discordance between dual movements only making him all the more of aware of the stretch of his walls around your lengths, and of the tight grip of your hand around his own cock, sensitive and swollen and already dangerously close to spilling over again.

Shigaraki rocks himself back against those motions. Manages to lift one hand to grope at your chest again, pinching and twisting at one stiff nipple in his own small effort to help you along—all he can manage when he can barely move, can barely think. He's hardly aware of anything except the heat of your body pressed against him and the constant, near-painful stretch of his abused hole, all of it too much and not nearly enough.

"Fuck, Tomura," you whine, your hand tangling more tightly in his hair. Your mouth finds his in a heated, messy kiss, your teeth tugging at his tongue and your grip tightening around his cock. He ruts erratically into your fist only to be countered by his clone jerking roughly at his hips, pulling Shigaraki back against its thrusts.

"Hold—hng—hold still," it rasps. Its voice has gone pitched and breathy, a clear indication of what Shigaraki already knows, though the double says it anyway, "Gonna—fuck—gonna come."

Its fingers fuck harder into your cunt, clearly trying to get you there too, and its efforts are rewarded. Your body goes tense beneath Shigaraki, your cries growing louder against his lips, and then you're mimicking those urgent movements, each stroke of your wrist and thrust of your hips growing more feverish.

Those coordinated efforts work, somehow. You press yourself more tightly against Shigaraki, body shuddering as you come, and at the same time Shigaraki feels his double forcing its way as deep as it can, that final stroke and the grip of your hand around his length enough to have him seeing white as his cock jerks and pulses, each twitch matched by warm spurts of cum spilling from the cock still buried inside him.

Shigaraki slumps against you, wincing slightly as his clone does the same, pulling out and sending leaking wetness running down his thighs as it collapses beside you. Shigaraki watches it reach one hand up to tip your chin, just enough to kiss you for a long moment. Then its eyes are flicking from you to Shigaraki and back again.

"So," it asks dryly, mouth curving up into a haughty smirk, "think you got a good enough show?"

Taglist: @kiwiimochi @simultaneously-sick-and-calm @nonobadcat @httptamaki @toughbook @xxjesshuxx @lawfulrhi @doomsthotstash @arozaur @sukiirei @evilmortytrapremix @sunasb3tch @tomurastrashpanda @decaydaddy @handvillain @nao-cchi @pestlaege

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki fanfic #bnha smut #bnha reader insert #tw: pegging #tw: selfcest

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byeol-ssi · 2 years

Text

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐈 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝!

SYNOPSIS. Getting transported into a fictional universe was definitely not part of your schedule.

✦ kamisato ayato x gn!reader | genshin impact x loosely inspired by the manhwas "i have become the hero's rival" or "your ultimate love rival" and "i raised a black dragon"

✦ tags: isekai!reader, historical manhwa au, royalty au, enemies to reluctant allies to lovers, slow burn, cursing, lovers in denial, (to be updated as we go)

SEASON ONE.

WARNINGS. chapter titles will be cringe — please don't be deterred. 🙏

I Woke Up and Almost Died

to be updated.

FULL SUMMARY. Playing video games, reading the holy trinity of illustrated content (i.e., manhwas, mangas, manhuas), and scrolling through an endless barrage of video edits about said media were fairly common ways for you to pass the time.

But getting transported into a fictional universe was definitely not part of your schedule. It's going to be a long journey back home for three reasons:

One, you have no idea where to start. Two, you've never even read the entire story of the plot you were now a part of. And three, the person you'll be relying on the most, likewise seems the most intent on sending you back.

AUTHOR'S NOTES. in celebration of 1k, i'm beyond ecstatic to finally announce what i've been quietly working on for the past few months!

you don't necessarily need to read the manhwas to understand the story (unless you'd like to, then i'd say, go for it!) as the series will be following its own plot.

this project is something that means dearly to me since i spent a lot of effort conceptualizing, drafting, writing, and editing this, so any feedback and love would greatly be appreciated! ♡

TAGLIST. (tags in bold couldn't be added) -> @tellerluna-stories @littlemintsister @ayuhk017 @ukitninam @tanspostsblog @huffandclaw @elentari-celestaire @chaosinanutshell @x-zho @dimayeon @thenyxsky @elegantlykpop @ramens-posts @roselleviennesstuff

✦ simply send me an ask/reply to this post to be added!

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you #ayato x you #ayato x reader #ayato x y/n #✦ archon quest.#genshin x manhwa

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funnylittlelad · 2 years

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A Touch of Humanity - Din Djarin x gn!reader

re-edited (Feb. 2023)

Read on AO3 - Masterlist

Part III: Naboo

Part I | Part II

summary: A sobering abruption, a few weighty decisions, and a wandering scamp who thinks with his stomach. What lengths will Din have to go to in order to secure a future for his family?

word count: 8.8k

tags/warnings: fluff, angst, canon typical violence, Din is the Father the holy trinity is talking about, co-parenting, Grogu is so good at playing a damsel in distress, gift giving is Din's love language, the helmet comes OFF (actually), I used canonical places and history until there was no more to go off of and then made up my own to flesh it out

“Sola,” you breathe.

The grip you have on Din’s wrist would leave a bruise if it weren’t for the protective layers. Din tenses up. He steps forward, half in front of you. It’s a moment where the beskar stops being just Din’s and becomes yours as well. A wall of beskar between you and the sign screaming DANGER. Grogu sinks lower into the pouch when he sees Din’s stance. The movement places him out of view.

“Y’know, I really never thought I’d see you off Naboo,” she teases and starts clapping, “Good on you.”

Your nostrils flare as humiliation tears through you. If you weren’t frozen, you’d run. Frankly, you aren’t sure if Din will take the opportunity to collect another bounty. You aren’t sure if you’d want to stop him.

“I see you’ve been busy too,” her eyes travel up the length of Din in a way that makes your blood feel like acid.

“What do you want, Sola?” you question, your voice finding footing so it comes out firm.

“Geez, not even a hello, how are you? I guess I should lead by example as the older sibling,” she sighs dramatically, “How are you, Polliwog?”

The old nickname sears your skin. Your grip on Din’s wrist tightens further.

“I’m fine,” you answer through grit teeth.

“Good, that’s good to hear,” she says pleasantly.

Sola waits expectantly, still swinging her legs casually. When you don’t return the question she rolls her eyes.

“How are you, Sola?” She does a bad impression of you, “I’m doing great, Polliwog. Thank you for asking.”

“What do you want?” You repeat more forcefully.

“Word around the galaxy is I have a nephew. I wanted to meet the little bugger.”

“Who told you that?” you ask.

Sola waves a dismissive hand at you.

“It’s a small galaxy. Not a lot of Mandalorians are walking around with a Grizmallti and a baby. So, where is the little womprat?”

“You’re not getting near him,” you snap before Din has the chance to.

“C’mon, Polliwog. I know some people who are very keen to meet him and they’d make us rich for the honor,” she says it like she’s dangling a carrot in front of you.

“You should go,” Din states firmly.

“Oh, nice, the shiny one does talk. Here’s the thing, Shiny, this doesn’t involve you. This is a family matter,” Sola tells him condescendingly like she’s speaking to a youngling.

“This is my family.”

Sola’s eyes widen and she sits up straighter. She takes a second to look between the two of you, a smirk crawling onto her face.

“Well, now, isn’t that interesting? Of all the things to crack beskar, I never thought it would be you, Polliwog. Not with how soft you’ve always been,” she muses.

“Stop calling me that,” you tell her, anger seeping into your voice.

The name makes you feel so small, so helpless. It makes you feel like a polliwog caught in the current of the Dee’ja Peak river, not strong enough to resist being swept away. You suppose that’s why she uses it. Sola has always been big on making you feel small. She frowns, pushing out her bottom lip.

“You’re not even a little happy to see me?”

You exhale sharply through your nose.

“It’s nice to see you aren’t dead, but no, I’m not happy to see you.”

Sola sucks her teeth, clearly growing bored of the conversation. She pushes herself off the crates and lands easily on her feet. Din towers over her, but she isn’t phased in the slightest. Sola knows better than anyone that size doesn’t matter in a fight, just how hard you hit.

Her hair is pulled back into two braided buns on the back of her head, her clothes are tactical, and there’s a scar you didn’t notice when she was up on the crates. The scar is a few shades darker than the rest of her face but was clearly once a deep wound. It travels along the right side of her jaw, curving up around the corner of her mouth, and across her nose before tapering off under her left eye.

“Mind movin’ for me, Shiny?” she asks with a sweet smile, but her cold eyes stay on you.

“Yes, I do,” Din answers, voice ice under the twin Tatooine suns.

Sola’s eyes shift to Din, but only her eyes move. She arches an eyebrow and gives him another look up and down. Din knows she’s sizing him up, trying to decide if a fight with him is worth it. He flexes his hand on his blaster in a warning. The corner of Sola’s mouth quirks up. Din moves his head sideways to look over his shoulder.

“Go back to the Crest,” he tells you.

“What? I’m not let-”

“There are more important things to worry about than pride right now. Please, just go back to the Crest.”

You feel Grogu shift on your back and your stomach drops. You know what Din is asking of you. Go to the Crest, close the door, and protect the kid. As much as you didn’t want to leave him, he’s right. You need to worry about keeping Grogu safe. You need to trust Din to handle it like he always does. It’s Sola you don’t trust.

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Sola sighs loudly.

“You know I can’t let you do that, Polliwog. We’ve been through this before, haven’t we? Just like when we were kids, give me what I want. You know I’ll take it anyway,” she looks at her nails bored as she speaks.

You start seeing red. Rage trembles through your bones. Not only is she calling Grogu it, but she’s also comparing taking him to sell to taking your toys as children.

“He’s not an object, Sola,” you seeth, “he’s a kid.”

“He’s worth a shit ton of money.”

Din has had enough. He whips his blaster out of its holster and aims at Sola’s chest.

“So are you. Looks like we’re at an impasse,” he says cooly.

Sola makes a round pop with her tongue on the roof of her mouth and takes a step back. There’s still a smirk on her face. It’s infuriating how when she doesn’t look bored she looks amused.

“Alright, this just got interesting. What are they offering you for me?” She jerks her chin up at Din as she asks.

“More than you’re worth.”

“Awe, he thinks he can hurt me. Cute. I’ll double it to forget you saw me.”

“You could triple it and I would bring you in for free,” Din angles his head down menacingly.

“Gotta say, I like this one, Polliwog. I figured you’d end up with someone more… cutesy, more your speed. A little hypocritical when you think of the talks you’ve given me, but I’m willing to let that go,” Sola smiles mischievously.

She’s trying to get in your head. You know that, but it’s still working. The rage cools into embarrassment. Heat floods your cheeks.

“You’re talking to me now,” Din asserts.

“Please, you’re not going to do anything to me for two reasons. One, I came unarmed. Sure, you’re a bounty hunter, but are you really a murderer? Two, Polliwog wouldn’t be able to look at you after watching that. Something tells me that would bother you,” Sola is patronizing but absolutely correct.

“How do you know I won’t kill you and collect the bounty now that I know you’re unarmed?” Din challenges.

“You Mandalorians tend to be pretty rigid on honor codes,” she shrugs with a smirk, “and I like to gamble.”

“So, what? You just came by to see if you could talk me into giving you a child to sell?” you demand incredulously.

Sola shrugs again carelessly.

“More or less. Believe it or not, I don’t actually want to hurt you. I figured I’d give you a fair warning.”

“A fair warning?” you furrow your brows.

“Yeah, if you don’t want to cooperate now when I’m asking nicely… Well, when I come to collect later I won’t be as nice,” Sola sounds like she’s deriving some sick pleasure from this.

“If you come back later, neither will I,” Din warns.

“Cute. You two are cute,” she seems to decide out loud.

With a smile, she stalks off into Mos Eisley. It takes Din’s firm grasp on your upper arms to make you realize you’re shaking. His gloved thumbs rub against your arms soothingly.

“I won’t let her touch you,” he promises.

You manage a weak smile. Din hates seeing the light of your face so dim. Like the flame responsible is close to flickering out.

“We should check on Peli,” you whisper.

Din nods, but he refuses to stop touching you. He takes hold of your hand and the two of you go find Peli snoring on a tattered couch.

***

“Din,” your voice is soft in the silence of the cockpit.

“Yes?”

“I… I think I want to go home.”

Din swears the floor of the Crest gives out beneath him. He swears he’s hurdling aimlessly through space with no hope of being found.

“Can I ask why?” He’s quiet. The words are only audible due to the sheer will to be heard.

“Sola found us because of me,” you say a half-truth.

You don’t want to tell him that you fear she’s right. That you’re too soft for Din. That you’re better off with someone more your speed. What if he realizes that you aren’t enough, that he needs someone more like Sola to keep up with him? Maybe not exactly like Sola, but similar enough.

“She would have found us either way,” he tells you.

“Din… let’s be honest with ourselves. I’m not made for all this. The one thing Sola was right about is that I don’t fit this. I don’t…,” you trail off.

I don’t fit you sits on the tip of your tongue. Din clicks on the autopilot. He crouches in front of you in the already cramped space. Grogu is asleep in his hammock, safe for another day.

“Nothing Sola said was right,” he insists.

You stare into the not-so-empty black of his visor and wish you were seeing brown. You wish you knew what kind of brown.

“I can’t keep up with you, with this lifestyle. I’ll only slow you down,” you poke another hole in his attempt to comfort you.

Seeing Sola always makes you spiral. Seeing her with Din and having her comment on your relationship with him is a special kind of spiral. The kind that feels too true. Din’s gloved hands cradle your face. It’s not quite the same as his bare hands, but it’s still undoubtedly him.

“Then I’ll slow down. I’ll come to a complete stop if I have to. Whatever you need from me I’m prepared to give you,” the words come out half pleading and soft.

You blink away tears. It takes extreme effort not to fall apart in his hands. When has anyone ever offered you so much? How could you accept so much? How could you not?

“Would you stay in Dee’ja Peak with me?”

“I would stay anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

With a quivering lip, you throw your arms around Din. The beskar is a strangely comforting feeling. The cold nip grounds you, and anchors you to him. His arms are sure this time. They wrap around your back and hold you against him firmly. You pull back to be able to look at his face. The face of his helmet which you know by sight, but also the face you know by touch that resides underneath.

“What will we do about Sola?” you ask.

“I’m not interested in the bounty on her head anymore. I understand the complexities of the situation, but if it comes down to her or Grogu-”

“Pick Grogu,” you say without missing a beat.

Din pauses in surprise. He expected you to be on the same page, but that he would still have to coax it out of you a bit. He nods in agreement.

“You’ll still be able to look at me if it comes to that?”

You place a hand on his beskar cheek. The smile that crawls onto your lips is proof the flame is gaining new life. It warms him inside out.

“I’ll always be able to look at you. You’re not the only one who understands the complexities of the situation. I just want Grogu safe. I don’t care what the cost is,” you tell him with all the tenderness you can muster.

The emotion that floods Din’s entire being is new and intense, but familiar and good. It feels like taking his helmet off after a long day and enjoying the air on his face. A rush of adrenaline mingled in with the high of joy. Something so similar to what he feels for Grogu, but yet worlds apart. That thought slides it all into place and Din knows. He knows he’s fallen completely in love with you. It overwhelms him until he can’t take it anymore, until he has only a single shred of self-restraint left that threatens to snap.

“Close your eyes, keep them shut until I say,” he gives the orders gently.

You do as he says. The hiss of his helmet being released is sharp in the quiet of the cockpit. You don’t feel his hands, so you assume the helmet is still in them. Din presses a deep, affectionate kiss to your lips. A thrill shoots down your spine and explodes into a million butterflies in your stomach. Too soon, he’s gone and you hear the click of his helmet fastening.

“You can open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open. The beskar is there like it was never gone. The ache for him still on your lips tells you otherwise.

“I really like doing that,” you chuckle lightly.

“Me too.”

***

Returning home after traversing the galaxy with Din makes everything look different. Dee’ja Peak feels like a completely different place. It occurs to you as you walk through the town to get to your house that, perhaps, it’s you that’s changed. You left here a lone traveler hitching a ride with the fearsome Mandalorian. You’re returning as someone who is loved, as a parent, and as a family.

Once someone spots you and calls out your name, you get swarmed by fellow Grizmallti. Hugs, kisses on the cheeks, and happy cheers get passed around. Din watches fondly with Grogu in the pouch on his front. Gus sees Din off to the side and approaches him. He sticks his hand out gruffly. Din stares for a moment before taking it in a firm handshake.

“I wasn’t sure of you when you started showing up and leaving the kid. I heard you were after Sola… wasn’t sure what you were getting at. You kept’em safe, though. Brought’em home. You have the respect of Dee’ja Peak for that,” Gus nods curtly.

“This was never about Sola,” Din tells him evenly.

Gus seems to size him up before deciding to believe him. Another curt nod to confirm it to himself.

“Good. That’s good. Thank you. I’ve been looking after’em since those two were younglings. Sola… I don’t know what happened. It was like something just went bad in her. It only got worse after their parents passed,” Gus sighs, “What I’m trying to get at is- I’m happy to know there’s someone else looking after’em too.”

Din nods, pride swelling his chest. He likes that it’s known that he protects you. That he watches out and keeps you safe. He likes that someone could look at the two of you and know you’re with him.

“I’m happy to.”

A hint of a smile appears on Gus’s face. He slaps a hand down on Din’s pauldron in a gesture of camaraderie, of acceptance into something larger than himself that won’t take so much from him. Then Gus is stepping away to rejoin the crowd welcoming you home.

You eventually make your way through everyone. Your house looms over you and anxiety strikes your heart. Din may think he’s okay staying, but what if that changes once he does? What if your house never feels like home again? What if Dee’ja Peak or Nabu never feels like home again?

“You’re worrying again,” Din comments from behind you after a beat of standing in silence.

You breathe out a laugh and turn around.

“I haven’t even said anything,” you point out.

“You don’t have to.”

It’s a humbling sentence. You don’t always have to speak. Sometimes your body does that for you. When your words fail, Din can still read you enough to know something is up. Feeling so deeply known is a luxury you have never had the privilege of experiencing before. Now that you have, you never want to go back.

“Are you sure this will be enough for you?”

Din can hear the unspoken question. Are you sure I will be enough for you?

“I know it will be because it already is.”

A trembling smile makes its way across your face. His words give you the strength you need to unlock the door and enter. Everything is exactly as you left it. Just a little dustier, but otherwise the same. Grogu coos happily as Din puts him down and takes off to cause a ruckus. It feels right coming home with them. It feels like it’s how it always should have been.

“I’m gonna throw my stuff in my room, maybe get changed,” you tell Din.

He nods and watches you disappear beyond your door. It’s a split-second decision that took weeks upon weeks of agonizing over. His heart is pounding so hard he’s surprised there isn’t a metallic sound from it hitting the beskar of his chest plate. He sits on one of the comfy cushy seats he’s secretly missed. Grogu comes around the seat with a cookie. Din chuckles and shakes his head.

“I don’t want to know where you got that from.”

He takes a steadying breath. Then the hiss of his helmet release and Grogu’s excited gurgling fill the room. Din places his helmet carefully on the ground beside him. Grogu reaches up for him and Din takes him into his lap. A little three-fingered hand meets his cheek gently, ears perking up. Din smiles softly at him.

“Oh, do you-” your voice stops abruptly.

Din freezes for a moment, a hot spike of self-doubt driving through his gut. He hears your shaky breath and can’t take it anymore. Din turns to you, eyes wide and nervous. You stand just outside your bedroom door in a new set of clothes. Your fingers barely cover your mouth as you process the shock of what you’re seeing.

It’s an agonizing five seconds of nothing. Of you taking each other in. Then you move forward slowly. You’re completely captivated by every feature. His eyes are the kind of brown that makes you think of soil and the life that springs from it. They send you feelings of hope for the future. As you thought, his facial hair is short, more of a stubble. His nose slopes downward in the most endearing way. Then there are his lips. His lips that you’ve felt on yours, but have never seen. Now you can appreciate the gentle bow of them, the way they part slightly as he watches you.

“Din?” you ask breathlessly, stopping halfway between him and your bedroom.

It’s a stupid question. Of course, it’s Din. Yet, you couldn’t get anything else out of your mouth. He nods at you, eyes still holding all his anxiousness. His face shows you everything he’s feeling. The hope, the nerves, the adoration, and the determination. You stand in limbo, wanting so badly to touch him, but not wanting to move too fast. Din watches, starving for your touch.

“Your helmet is off,” you state slowly.

“Yes, it is,” he answers with a little quirk of his lips.

Seeing his mouth move and hearing his voice come out of it doesn’t feel real. It feels like peering through the looking glass into your dreams.

“Why? You didn’t have to- Maker, did you feel like you had to becau-”

“I didn’t feel like I had to do anything. I did what I wanted to. What I’ve been wanting to do,” he assures you.

That voice washes over you, easing every tense muscle. You finally finish closing the space between you. He angles his head to look up at you and it hits you. This man, this face, this beautiful example of a human has been the one caring for you, buying you gifts, and kissing you like you’re his last chance for air before suffocating.

You reach out an uncertain hand toward his face. When your fingers brush across his stubble, his eyes fall shut. Din just sits there and allows himself to revel not only in your touch but the fact that it’s accompanied by your eyes on his face.

You’re exploding on a molecular level. Every square inch of you is becoming something entirely new. It almost hurts how happy you are. Not because you’re looking at Din’s face precisely, but because he’s offering you every ounce of trust he has. He’s telling you through the simple act of looking you in the eye that he is wholly and completely comfortable with you. You’re his family. You’ve never doubted it since he said it, but it feels so much more official now.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

Din’s face flushes, bringing a reddened tone to his tan stubbled cheeks. You smile at the sight.

“So are you,” he whispers back, matching your smile.

Grogu coos happily on Din’s lap. Both of you turn your smiles to him. He gazes up at you two with wide joyful eyes and ears perked up. You place a small kiss on the top of his head, causing him to close his eyes briefly when your lips meet his skin.

Before you get too far, Grogu places his hand on your cheek lightly. Then he looks to Din expectantly. Din lowers his face closer so Grogu can place his other hand on Din’s cheek. It’s a tender little moment of being connected to each other, of accepting each other. It’s Grogu’s way of telling you that he loves you both.

Once he’s satisfied that he got his message across, Grogu crawls down. That’s when you see the half a cookie in his hand that he has previously put down.

“Wait, where did he get that?” you ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Din, you let him eat a cookie that’s probably been sitting here for weeks?” you try to be stern, but you end up laughing.

“I’ve seen him eat much worse,” he shrugs.

This is the first time you see the expression he makes when he shrugs. His eyebrows go up a little and he gets a hint of a pout. Every expression he offers is a gift, but this one is especially endearing.

You ponder his words.

“Y’know, I have too,” you sigh.

You and Din watch Grogu. You watch him climb up the empty seat with the cookie in his mouth. Once he’s up there he settles in and continues munching. Crumbs are getting everywhere, but that’s something you can deal with later. You turn your head to talk to Din only to find his eyes already intently on you.

Din’s mouth captures yours in a soft kiss. He tugs on your arm to get you to come around the seat. Then he pulls you into his lap. The beskar is cold even through your clothes, but his mouth is so warm. You cradle his face as his arms circle around you. Breathing becomes a priority faster than you care to admit, causing you to pull back. Just like every other second you since stepping out of your room, you look into his eyes. Those unreal eyes are ready to nurture you, to care for you, and to remind you of that every day.

“I don’t know why I was ever worried that I’m too soft for you when you treat me so gently,” you mumble.

Din’s eyebrows furrow. It amazes you how expressive the face beneath that helmet has been this entire time. How many smiles has he returned? How many has he initiated?

“It’s why I love you,” he says it like it’s the one known fact of life.

Your breathing stops. Everything feels so hot. Sure, it’s not like you couldn’t guess, but it’s different hearing it. It’s different hearing it like it’s not even a question worth entertaining. The answer is etched in the bedrock of the oldest river on the oldest planet and has been since the beginning of time.

“You love me because I’m soft?” you keep your voice hushed as if being too loud will wake you up from this dream.

“I love you because you’re brave enough to be kind and caring in a galaxy that often isn’t. That often punishes those who are.”

Your eyes search his and find only honesty. A smile crawls upon your face. Again, he matches your smile with his own.

“I love you too, Din. Except I love you because you’re brave enough to be kind and caring after being raised in a culture that teaches you not to be.”

“You love me because I’m soft?” his smile grows amused.

“Yes, I do. You’re my soft,” you place a kiss on his forehead, “kind,” another on his nose, “caring,” and finally one on his lips, “beautiful man.”

Din looks at you like you handcrafted the universe. He’s never been described as any of those things. To hear them all coming from you is more than he ever let himself wish for.

“What were you asking when you came out here?” he asks, suddenly recalling how this started.

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to rotate beds until we figured something out, but… sleeping next to you sounds a lot nicer,” you say, a smirk curling on your lips.

“Yes, it does.”

***

Waking up in Din’s arms is something you’re sure will get you giddy every time. Especially when his eyes are already studying when you wake up. Your eyes flutter open and a loving smile grows on Din’s lips. How did you go this long without that smile?

The two of you spend the day cleaning to get rid of the dust and any old food. Din does so in only his flight suit, armor safe and sound in your now shared bedroom. It’s a slice of domesticity that provides you with a peak at what’s to come.

What’s to come is you and Din working in effortless tandem as if reading each other’s minds, stealing stares and little kisses in the process. Grogu wakes up somewhere during mid-morning. Din had secured his little hammock across your still-empty closet. It’s perfect for his current size, but you’re sure it’ll have to be upgraded as he grows.

After feeding him a breakfast of warm oats, you set Grogu up at the coffee table with paper and crayons. He’s able to make shapes now thanks to your expert training. The crayons fill his tiny fists so much that finer detail is impossible, but you can see your little budding artist coming out. It’s the most pleasant morning you can recall having.

There’s a rare moment when neither of you has eyes on Grogu. You’re on your knees cleaning out the last kitchen cabinet. When you take one of your regular glances at Din he’s doing the dishes from Grogu’s breakfast. Which means both of your backs have been to Grogu. The silence you register outside of the running water becomes head-pounding. No little noises, no paper crinkling, and no sound of crayons against a hard surface.

“Din, where’s Grogu?” you ask as you stand up and look into the empty living room.

Din looks over his shoulder at where you’re staring. The spot Grogu is supposed to be in is empty. You do your best to tamp down the panic that’s threatening to rip you apart. It’s no use, Din can see it on you right away.

“Has he gone back to sleep?” he asks calmly.

His anxiety shows in how he turns off the water, immediately turning around to scan the room. You go to the bedroom expecting to find him curled up on your unmade bed. Except, the bedroom is empty too. The look on your face when you come back out makes Din’s stomach drop to his feet.

“Din?” you whisper anxiously, looking at him with wide eyes for guidance.

Din kicks into full Mandalorian mode in a blink. His face is stern, shoulders squared, and posture stiff. Nothing like the loose relaxed man that was just doing dishes quietly beside you. This is a man on a mission.

“Check the bathroom,” he doesn’t really order you, but you do it as such.

“Din,” you call out, panic fully breaking through the thin barrier you built.

He’s there, over your shoulder before you can even finish his name. The mirror that extends from the wall is flush against it. The window above the sink is open and there are crumbs trailing over the windowsill. The toilet seat is down, which gives Grogu the perfect landing to climb onto. All of that is bad on its own, but the worst of it is on the glass pane of the window. Neat black letters are written across from the outside in marker. Nothing personal, Polliwog. You might be sick.

“Stay here,” Din does order you this time.

You follow him to the bedroom where he starts fastening all his armor to his body. Tears are quickly welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him firmly.

He gives you desperately pleading eyes. He’s begging you not to make this harder, never once stopping armoring up.

“I need you to stay here,” he says, softer this time.

“And do what? Just wait, not knowing if you’re going to come back?” you demand, voice growing louder the more you grow anxious.

Once everything, but his helmet is on he walks up to you. Both heavy gloved hands find your upper arms.

“Mesh’la, I can’t be worried about you out there. Please, stay where I know you’re safe. We will be back.”

“Where are you even going? We don’t know where they went.”

“I’m going to follow the crumbs.”

You stare stubbornly into his eyes. The mixed emotions of fear, anger, desperation, and love you find there cause you to sigh.

“Okay, fine, but if you aren’t back in a few hours I’m coming after you,” you cross your arms as you compromise.

Din gives your arms a little squeeze. He leans in and presses a brief kiss to your lips before securing his helmet. You stare into his visor, now knowing the expressions that lie behind it.

“Please, come back, Din,” you plead softly, “I need you both to come back.”

“We will, I swear.”

You walk him to the front door. It feels eerily like all the times you said goodbye. A moment where nothing has changed. Nothing except for everything.

“I love you,” he says to you.

“I love you too.”

After a beat of taking each other in, he’s gone. You drop into the seat where Din sat last night and bury your face in your hands. An ugly sob breaks through. Although you know this is no one’s fault but Sola’s, guilt begins to creep in. Guilt, shame, and knee-buckling fear. The guilt of not watching Grogu better. The shame of Sola being your sister and therefore bringing them closer to her. Knee-buckling fear that you’ll never see one or both of them again.

You drag your hands down your face, wiping away fat tears. That’s when you catch sight of the colors on the last page Grogu had been coloring on. Gray, blue, and green. It would be an incomprehensible image to anyone else, but to you, it’s clear as day. A gray rounded smudge of color represents Din. A blue rounded smudge of color represents you and the Corellian silk he must intrinsically associate with you at this point. A smaller green smudge of color represents Grogu himself.

Although fear is still very much present, an overwhelming wave of emotion forces you up. There’s just no way you can sit here for hours. There’s no way you can sit here for another second without doing something. What can you do, though? You’re just a soft little Grizmallti from Dee’ja Peak armed with nothing but the need to protect your family. That self-deprecating thought gives you a light bulb above the head moment.

Pulling on your shoes as you go, you run outside. You sprint over to Gus’s and barrel in. He looks startled by the rough entrance but relaxes when he registers it’s you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he gets a good look at your face.

“She took my kid. Sola took my kid.”

***

The crumbs lead to the woods, which doesn’t really come as a surprise. Sola must have been seen going into these woods at some point for the rumor of her running off in there to have spread. The woods means Sola has the upper hand. She knows the terrain, the territory, and what lurks in the shadows. Din is at a substantial disadvantage, but it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t hesitate following the crumbs into the sea of trees.

The crumbs die off pretty quickly once under the canopy of foliage. Luckily, Din can still make out Sola-sized footprints in the soft mossy ground. He finds some broken branches from where she’s stepped or passed through. Clearly, she’s confident enough to not bother even attempting to cover her tracks. Din keeps his blaster at the ready. This time, he won’t think twice about shooting whether she’s armed or not. A line has been crossed that can’t be uncrossed.

“Oh, I was hoping it would be you to follow me,” Sola’s perky voice echoes through the trees around him.

He stops walking to glance around. Visibility is low thanks to the sky being blotted out by leaves.

“Why is that?” he calls back, constantly looking in every direction, listening for any sign of where she is.

“Well, I should have the talk with you, right? About your intentions and all that good stuff,” her voice carries a teasing edge.

“My only intention right now is finally collecting that bounty,” he answers sharply.

“You’re a lively one, aren't’cha, Shiny?” she chuckles, voice sounding just a little further away.

She’s baiting him, trying to draw him deeper into the forest. It wouldn’t work normally, but Grogu is with her. Din can’t not follow. What he can do is try to piss her off enough to show herself.

“I will be compared to you when this is over,” he bites in response.

Sola’s laughter echoes around him.

“Oh, you’re funny. I like that in a man. Polliwog better be careful, I just might take you too,” she teases, “I know for a fact I’m more exciting.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” she’s a little deeper in the woods now.

Din is getting an uneasy feeling in his gut. The sensation of eyes on the back of his neck sends a chill down his spine.

“So, do it then. Unless you’re scared,” Din challenges.

Sola lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Mm, that was a decent try, but I think I’ll wait for my friend to do the job for me,” she sneers.

“Your frien-” Din can’t finish the two-word question.

Something hard and heavy slams into his side, sending him flying into a tree. The tree lets out a CRACK as the bark splits where he impacts it. Din grunts and lifts his head to find a large set of teeth in front of him, sharp and dripping with saliva. The teeth belong to a creature Din has never seen before. It has two large hind legs, two shorter arms with razor-sharp claws, a nose like a bat, black eyes like a deep sea creature, and thin wiry fur sparsely covering splotchy skin.

Din uses the tree to help himself up as the creature breathes heavily at him, blinking vertical eyelids. He has one arm holding his torso, pretty sure there are at least a couple of broken ribs to take care of later. Hopefully. No, you promised. There will be a later, Din silently scolds himself. His other hand points his blaster at the creature.

“Sola, you’re taller than I remember,” Din grunts sarcastically at the thing.

“You haven’t even scratched the surface of what this forest has to offer,” Sola chuckles, sounding closer this time.

“I’d like to keep it that way,” he mutters to himself.

The creature lunges for Din again, but this time he’s able to throw himself out of the way. It slams its head into the tree, earning another CRACK. There’s a moment of silence, the creature stunned by the head blow. Then the tree lets out a groan.

Din takes the second he has to pull the trigger. The blaster hits the creature square in the back, but its hide is thicker than it looks. It just makes the thing roar angrily. The tree continues to groan. Din can hear Sola curse and pinpoints her in the tree that’s about to fall. He sees her moving fluidly through the branches like she’s done it a million times before. Right when she’s about to leap from the falling tree to the next, Din shoots her. The shot hits home on her thigh, causing her to fumble her landing.

She slips as her leg buckles from the pain, hissing. Then she’s hanging by her armpits fifteen feet off the ground. There’s a cloth bag hanging off her back that’s squirming. Din aims his blaster up at her head.

“Let him go,” he orders cooly.

“How much you offering for him?” she asks tauntingly, struggling to get herself up since she can’t swing her bad leg without crying out in pain.

Din must have hit bone. Good.

“Your life,” he spits.

“Not enough, gonna need more,” she grunts, attempting to use her full upper body strength on the branch that’s beginning to look precarious.

She must have only meant to hop onto and right off that branch because no way will it hold her weight long-term. Din opens his mouth to respond, but a low guttural growl stops him. He sighs and turns his attention back to the creature that’s recovered from its pained stupor. It readies itself to charge at him, but the tree is so close to falling. If Din can stall it, maybe he can trap it beneath the tree.

As it starts charging, Din begins firing his blaster at it. Each hit causes the creature’s footsteps to falter backward from the force. He’s too busy biding his time to hear the thud of Sola landing mostly on her uninjured leg. He doesn’t until the tree’s groaning finally becomes splintering as the tree falls forward, horizontal from Din’s current perspective. He’s waiting to let off one more blast, trying to time it to get most of the creature beneath the trunk. Right when he’s about to pull the trigger, white-hot pain shoots through his thigh.

His gaze snaps down as he grunts in pain. Sola has a knife buried to its hilt in the side of his thigh. She herself is on her stomach on the ground. Her leg is worse off from allowing herself to drop from the tree.

“Now we match,” she smirks, despite being in pain.

“Dank farrik,” Din hisses, pointing his blaster down at Sola.

The tree comes crashing down, missing the creature without Din’s final blaster shot. Its ferocious roar gains Din’s attention. He’s sure it’s over for all three of them. He’s sure Sola’s total disregard for her own life just doomed Grogu’s and his own. It’s a strange weightless feeling he’s experienced before, the certainty that he’s about to die. For once, it’s a feeling that wrenches his heart. It’s a feeling that leaves him distraught instead of numb acceptance.

The creature pounces, Sola is cackling from the forest floor behind him, and his last thought is the image of his little family together on that cushy seat at home.

Din’s eyes widen as the creature is knocked sideways when it’s only inches away. His gaze follows its limp body slide a few feet. What looks like a small harpoon is through its neck. In complete and utter confusion, he looks in the direction it came from, nearly dropping his blaster at what he finds.

A breath of relief rattles out when your eyes meet Din’s visor. You watch his shoulders drop in relief, his grip on his blaster going loose, and a tilt of his head that makes you think he’s on the verge of tears.

Gus is breathing heavily beside you, his giant crossbow lowered. Melda is at your flank with another harpoon in her hands, Luka at hers with a quiver of them. A family that usually only deals in credits and sharp words has come together to help fight for yours. Sola curses angrily when she sees the group. Din lets out a breath that sounds a lot like your name. Grogu can be heard gurgling as he struggles against the bag on Sola’s back.

Sola heaves herself up onto her heels, her hand flies up, and hits the knife sticking out of Din’s thigh. He drops to his knee with a pained groan, giving her the opportunity to take his blaster. Melda is quickly reloading Gus’s crossbow that he already has aimed at Sola. Sola has Din’s blaster aimed between your eyes but doesn’t pull the trigger. She sees Gus’s weapon pointed at her fully loaded.

“Let’s put an end to this, Sola,” you plead.

Din looks helplessly between the three of you. If Gus lets that harpoon go it’ll impale Grogu with Sola.

“Maker, why do you care so much about this thing?” she groans in irritation.

“That thing is a child- my child,” you snap back.

Din is soothed by your voice and awed by your words.

“Please, it’s just some little beast you picked up off the street,” Sola snaps back.

Your nostrils flare, fists clench, and you’re ready to take over Gus’s crossbow.

“Let. Him. Go,” you demand, voice lethal.

“You’ll have to kill me,” she taunts with a smile.

“Sola, don’t do this. Just let the youngling go and no one has to get any more hurt,” Gus calls to her.

She sends him a nasty glare.

“You got the credits to convince me, shopkeep,” she spits.

“I got the harpoon to,” he gives his weapon a little shake for emphasis.

“Funny, you think I care about a little thing like livin’,” she snickers.

You shake your head in horror. Whoever this is in front of you isn’t your sister. No, she stopped being your sister long ago. You just didn’t know how low she had sunk.

“How did you get like this, Sola?” you ask, heartbroken.

“I’ve always been like this, Polliwog. You were just too soft to see it.”

So much happens at once. There’s the sound of the blaster, a shout, a scuffle, and the blaster again. When you blink you’re looking up at the trees. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. As you start to sit up a whole bunch of people rush to your side forcing you back down. Everything feels slow and muted. You try to sit up again, a little annoyed, but gentle hands push you back down.

“What-”

“You need to stay down. Please, you need to stay down,” Din’s modulated voice tells you.

His voice makes everything snap into focus. The pain finally registers. You look down at your torso. Your side is bleeding where it’s searing in pain. It’s not a clean hit. It’s a nasty graze, but it’s bleeding profusely. Din is applying pressure with his gloved hands. You cry out as the pain takes over.

“I know, I know. The pain is temporary, I promise,” he assures you.

“Grogu,” you grunt out, trying to get up again.

“Stay down. He’s okay, he’s fine. We got him,” he tells you.

You stop trying to get up, allowing yourself to fully lay back.

“Sola?” you ask, but you have a feeling you know the answer.

“She’s… she’s gone.”

You just nod, numb to the grief. Luka helps to carry your weight once a tourniquet is tied around your torso. Gus has Din’s arm over his shoulder and Melda is holding Grogu. You reach your hand out to him when you see him. There’s a moment when he’s able to hold your finger and you smile at him.

“We’re gonna have a talk about leaving the house alone when we get home, young man,” you tell him tearfully.

You’re so relieved he’s okay. Din watches you take your hand back. He watches Grogu coo worriedly after you. He’s truly so relieved he could pass out. That could also be the blood loss.

“Don’t worry. Doc’s got bacta that’ll have you both healed up in a matter of hours,” Gus assures him.

Din nods, not having it in him to talk. The way out of the forest feels so much longer than it took to get in. Din understands why these woods are so dangerous, he hadn’t even known he’d gone this far. He’s just glad he’s on his way out with you and Grogu.

***

It’s been a week and it still hurts. You wish it didn’t. You feel guilty that it does. Sola kidnapped Grogu to sell him. She tried to kill Din. She tried to kill you. Yet, knowing she’s gone hurts.

When you fall quiet and gaze out the window, thinking a little too hard Din starts to worry. He worries you blame him for being behind the trigger. He worries you won’t be able to take being in the same space as him anymore. You assure him it’s the opposite on both fronts. Especially when he did it for no other reason than to protect you and Grogu. He never even collected the bounty on her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when you’re tangled up together at night.

“Don’t ever be sorry for saving us,” you whisper back earnestly.

Your hand caresses his cheek in the way you know he likes. Scratching his facial hair just enough for him to close his eyes in contentment. Once he eases enough you press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you tell him as you pull away.

“I love you too, mesh’la.”

***

Naboo is humid this time of year. It’s muggy, damp, moist, all the worst things to be when it’s so damn hot. It’s the type of boiling humidity that Din can feel creep across his skin under his armor. Yet, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You’re set up at your usual spot by the river. Except now, over a year later, you know what lies beyond it. Grogu basks happily in the sun on a little blanket beside you. You’re painting an army of frogs that are on the riverbank, some in mud and some in the sun.

Din watches from a distance for a minute. He’s coming back from Theed, the planet’s capital. It isn’t too often, but now and then he’ll take up work there. Nothing too bad. Mostly he finds people subverting the Naboo government, but it pays well. He’s always bringing you things, which you can’t complain about. If he’s gone overnight it’s never for long, never more than a few days. Then when he’s back, he stays attached to you. Some part of his skin is always touching yours.

“Good afternoon, mesh’la,” he says when he’s close enough.

You look over your shoulder with a large smile. Grogu perks up at Din’s voice as well.

“Din, I thought you’d be gone another day,” you get up to hug him.

He’s only been gone a day, but any time apart feels like forever. Without a thought, Din takes off his helmet. His smile is dazzling. He kisses your forehead, then your lips, before putting his helmet back on. It’s been like this for a few months now. He won’t keep it off for long, but he’s more comfortable taking off the helmet briefly in public. Whenever home, the helmet is retired to the bedroom. Din has found a happy middle ground between the Mandalorian he was and the Mandalorian he hopes to be.

“Got lucky with a lead and it led me home early,” he explains as he scoops Grogu up.

“Let me pack up and we can head home.”

“Have you had lunch?” he asks knowingly.

“Grogu has,” you smile innocently.

“I’ll make you those noodles you like.”

Your smile turns warm and gooey. He helps you carry your things with Grogu on his hip. You tell him what the two of you have been up to, how Gus brought dinner the night before just to have a reason to check in. Din goes to the bedroom to remove his armor. You give Grogu his crayons and the little sketchbook you bought him. Once he’s set up at the coffee table, Din reappears in only his flight suit.

“What’s that?” you ask when you notice him holding something in his closed fist.

“I found someone in Theed who knows how to work with beskar,” he tells you.

You study his nervous features and nod for him to continue. He holds out his empty right hand. You place your left one in his open palm curiously. The cold beskar bites your finger for a moment before your skin acclimates. When his hand is gone there’s a shiny beskar band around your fourth finger, a perfect fit. Your wide eyes shoot up to Din’s face.

“This way each of us carries beskar. Even when we’re apart it’s a way for us to always be together,” he says softly.

Tears well up as you stare at him. You cradle his face and smile at him adoringly.

“I love you so much,” you say with a breath.

“I love you so much,” Din echoes your words and your smile.

Your lips meet in a frenzy. Both of you are desperate to be as close to one another as possible. The feel of his skin, of his lips, will never get old. Every time it feels new, sending shocks and butterflies throughout your body. This time is no exception.

Grogu cooing at your feet causes you to pull apart. He peers up at the two of you and brandishes the paper in his little hand. You pick him up, accepting the paper. He still works in scribbles, but they’re more intelligible now. A messy gray circle for Din’s head, and another for his body. Then a smaller green circle for Grogu’s head and a brown one for his body. Finally, there’s you with a blue head and brown body. Beneath the three of you is green grass. Between you are more scribbles to connect the three of you.

“A beautiful family portrait,” you compliment lovingly.

“It’s very accurate. That looks just like us,” Din agrees with a soft smile.

“I think this one should go on the wall,” you decide.

Din nods in agreement. Grogu gurgles joyfully. You use tape to stick the drawing to the wall amongst a collection of others Grogu has made.

“We’re going to need a bigger wall soon,” Din notes.

“It’s not my fault all he makes are masterpieces,” you whine.

Din chuckles.

“No, it’s not, but maybe we should consider finding something with more space,” he suggests.

You give him a surprised smile.

“Like a bigger house?”

“Yes, like a bigger house,” he nods.

It’s a heart-racing idea. You’ve already been living together for more than a year really, when you account for the time on the Crest. This is another level of commitment, though. Din really wants to put down deep roots with you. He wants to secure his life here and it fills you to the brim with joy.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree.

Din takes you and Grogu into his arms. The three of you remain like that for a good while, a nesting doll of love. Din encases you encasing Grogu in a warm embrace. It feels like everything in the galaxy has come together just for this perfect moment to happen. This perfect moment for this perfect little family nestled in the Gallo Mountains of Nabu.

taglist: @a-rose-of-amber, @itzagoodthing

#din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x gn!reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #grogu #down the din hole i go

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smalls-words · 2 years

Text

Motorcycles Are Dumb

Summary: Oliver Queen is a shit driver who shouldn’t be in charge of your girlfriend’s life.

Pairings: Sara Lance x GN!Healer!Reader, Sister!Felicity Smoak x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort (holy trinity 🙏)

Warnings: Shrapnel wounds, healing wounds by converting them onto your body, sexual suggestion at the end.

Requested: yes/NO

Words: 2,044

A/N - You know the drill; 'you got hurt and didn't tell me' trope, but with two trained League assassins in a relationship. Sara is also canonically bisexual, so that’s the main reason I swapped from Fem to GN.

*not my gif*

You sat behind your sister as the both of you typed away on two sets of computers, analysing the route for your partners to escape without injury.

"Ollie, take your second left." You murmured into the comms.

"Got it." He reported back.

Felicity turned to you in her wheelchair, your posture straight since the League and you could feel her gaze burning a hole into the back of your head whilst your eyes flickered around the desktops.

"What, Feli?" You grumbled.

"You need to get back out in the field. You're no good stuck behind a desk." She spoke her mind.

"The same can be said for you." You retorted, ignoring the fact that she was in a wheelchair.

"Puh-lease. You were trained by the League, by Sara's side. All I'm saying is that you're Angel - you shouldn't be wasting your training." Felicity turned back to the desktops and you quickly shot out of your chair.

"Ollie, there's a bird coming at you on your right!"

You heard multiple grunts and metallic squeals that you didn't have the heart to silence, listening as it made your spine shiver before you grabbed your keys on your desk.

"We're... we're okay. It missed us, but I trashed the bike."

"I'm coming to pick you up." You murmured before you slammed a fist onto the keyboard of your desk and marched into the elevator, furiously pressing the button to the garage before the doors closed.

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You kept glancing back as Sara sat asleep in the back, your mind slightly worried for the cut on her eyebrow but nothing else concerned you.

"I'm sorry." You murmured as you calmly turned the corner.

"For what?" Oliver looked at you with perplexity. "You saved our asses. If you hadn't called it out, that missile would have-"

"Don't, Ollie. I don't want to think about it." You interjected, the simple thought of Sara being dealt with the missile making your stomach drop.

"Alright." Oliver muttered before he winced at the cut by his eye.

"Give." You held out your hand as you turned another corner with your other hand, the archer taking your hand before he pressed a finger of yours to the cut.

You could feel the same area under your eye threaten to split as you healed him, but you redirected the pain towards your back. As you reached the red traffic light, you closed your eyes and lined it up against the others in case it scarred.

"You shouldn't be healing such a simple cut, Y/N." Oliver scolded you and you flipped him off.

"Be glad I picked you up." You barked quietly.

"You would have done it anyway." He grumbled.

"You may be my brother-in-law, but I would have gladly left you behind and put Sara in the front." You quickly turned to him and he saw the look in your eyes to be genuine until you looked back to the road.

"I know." He muttered before you finally turned into the garage and Oliver helped Sara out since she had woken up.

"Let me-"

"I'm fine, Y/N." Sara pushed you away and leaned on Oliver as he helped her walk towards the medical suite of the bunker.

"So, we are slightly closer to finding those drug runners and their trafficking ring, thanks to Oliver putting a tracker on one of them." Felicity welcomed you all back in but saw the scowl you had on your face.

"And I'll just order some Big Belly Burger." She muttered to herself.

"Good idea, sis." You threw your keys onto your desk, littered with many scrunched up papers since you hadn't bothered to empty your overflowing bin and you huffed as you sat down.

"What do you want? Cheeseburger? Basic… beef… burger?" Felicity trailed as she saw the small cut bleeding on your side.

"Y/N."

"What?" You hissed bitterly before you took a deep breath and apologised.

"I'm getting two of mine and you're going to deal with it. Now go help Sara." Felicity grumbled as she tapped away on her keyboard.

You stood and moved towards the medical wing to see Sara lock eyes with you, instantly letting you know she was hiding something. The way she leaned to one side, her head cocked the other way, and the fact that her eyes tried to avoid you gave you all the proof you needed.

You marched up to her, ignoring her protests whilst expertly slapping her hands away until you ripped the side of her shirt with your bare hands.

"You..." You seethed, moving away before you slammed your hand through the metal table next to the bed.

"Y/N, I'm fine."

"You have a piece of shrapnel in your abdomen, Sara!" You yelled and saw how your volume affected her, looking away from her as you shut up.

"Y/N, look at me." She murmured, yet you didn't meet her eyes.

"Y/N Smoak." She growled and that got your attention.

"Don't you dare say you are fine." You pointed at the piece of shrapnel in her abdomen and felt your hands start to shake.

You tucked them underneath your arms as you breathed out shakily, turning away from Sara before you grabbed the medical kit sitting near the bed and threw it lightly onto the bed.

"Y/N-"

"Sara." You interrupted quickly, your tone indicating you were struggling to keep your composure.

She grabbed your chin with one hand and whilst it was gentle, the kiss she planted on your lips was filled with emotion that made you almost forget about her injury.

Almost.

"Thank you." You muttered softly.

Sara knew every trick in the book when it came to you - she had trained with you, after all. Her touch was enough to calm your anger, a kiss enough to decimate it.

"Lie down, please." You asked her and she nodded.

You were never polite with others, not even with Felicity. Granted, you could be, but only if that meant you would get something in return.

"Brace." You muttered and you held out your hand to Sara's, her fingers lacing between yours before you carefully began to dig the shrapnel out and her grip tightened around your hand.

"Don't go breaking my hand, Lance."

"Just get it out, Smoak." Sara seethed through the pain before you finally pulled the shrapnel out and placed your gloves in the bin.

As you sat back down and moved to place your hand over her wound, Sara snatched your hand and quickly grabbed the other when it tried to move as well.

"You are not healing this." She ordered.

"And who are you to stop me?" You curled an eyebrow up before you moved your hands too quickly for her concussed mind to register, pinning her hands above her head with only one of yours.

"Y/N, if you heal this-"

"What, no sex for a week? I can last that long. It's you who can't." You teased as you placed your hand over her wound.

Once again, you felt your lower stomach tingle before you focused on your back and felt your skin split open to match the severity of Sara's motorcycle incident.

"God, you're infuriating." Sara growled as she lifted your shirt and spun you around, grabbing the sticky gauze pad from the medical kit and slapping it harshly on your back.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You turned around and spoke softly as you lowered your t-shirt back on.

"Because I knew you were going to do this. I can handle a motorcycle crash, Y/N. I'm not superpowered like you but I can handle Ollie's shitty driving." She cupped your face in her hands before she brushed a loose strand of hair out of your eyes.

"I don't like seeing you in pain, love." You murmured.

"Neither do I. We went through enough of that in the League." She chuckled as she pulled you closer to her.

"You know how I feel about you healing me. And I'm also annoyed that you healed Ollie before me."

"If you were in the front seat, darling, I would have done much more than heal you." You smirked as you kissed her softly.

"I thought you said no sex for a week?" Sara quipped.

“You don’t want sex?” You questioned.

"I don't want sex right now. I just want you." Sara spoke as she pulled away after a few seconds.

"Feli! I'm going home!" You yelled, an incoherent mumble coming from the disabled techie before she waved her hand at you to leave.

⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽⦽

You grinned as Sara waltzed over to you on the couch, moving your butt over so that she could fall into the hole you made between the couch arm and yourself.

"Mmm. This is what I wanted." She hummed as she lay on your front, your arms falling on her back to grab her ass before she flicked your ear and you readjusted.

Even if it was only to the bend of her back.

"Sorry - you know I'm a person of habit." You smirked as she sat up and gave you a half-hearted stare.

"Mhmm. That's why you always throw your keys."

"It gives me a mental reminder of where I put them!" You argued.

"Sure it does." Sara grinned before she kissed you softly and then turned her head to watch the stars twinkle outside.

"Y/N..." She yawned.

You chuckled. "I guess being in a motorcycle incident can tire you out."

"You know I'd prefer it if you tired me out." She smirked before she stifled another yawn.

"You are way too tired for sex. You'd pass out before it'd be my turn." You lightly kissed her temple before you gripped underneath her thighs and picked her up.

"It's past your bedtime, Miss Lance." You stated.

"Shut it, you." She lightly slapped your back but you could feel her body freeze as you climbed the stairs towards your bed.

"It's okay, Sara." You cooed as you placed her on the bed before walking over to the wardrobe and grabbed a set of pyjamas.

"Can I please check?" She murmured as she snaked her arms around your hips, lightly brushing her forearm over the gauze pad and you nodded.

As she peeled it back, you heard her sigh in relief before the rest of it came off in a swift rip.

"Ow." You grumbled in complaint.

"Oh, shut it." She mumbled before she kissed the irritated area and you slipped your oversized shirt on.

"Come on. Bedtime." You snickered again whilst she rolled her eyes.

As she walked away from you, you tackled her into the bed and grinned when you put her in a soft headlock.

"You win, you win!" She tapped against your arm that wasn't even threatening her airways and you moved it to wrap over her shoulder and your fingers lightly swirled along the skin of her back.

"I always win. Whether it'd be in sex or in life." You smirked before you kissed her softly.

You flicked the covers over the both of you with your feet and grinned at Sara's chuckle, letting her tuck her head into your neck before you covered the both of you.

"I love you." Sara murmured in your ear as she kissed your neck.

"I love you too." You kissed her in the exact same spot on her neck before you heard her chuckle.

"What's so funny, Canary?"

"Nothing, Angel. Just that people would be surprised to learn that you're a bottom." She nipped your ear before licking away the pain.

"You are such a tease, Miss Lance." You smirked before you wrapped both arms over her back, humming at her body against yours before you felt her hands sneak up underneath the back of your shirt.

"Okay. Only a few rounds though - I don't want you passing out whilst I'm midway." You murmured.

"Yes." You heard her whisper as it cheered in victory before she sat up and straddled your waist.

"I told you that you wouldn't be able to last a week." You smirked.

She rolled her eyes at your quip before she placed a hand on your chest and lowered down until your lips tingled from her breath.

"Shut up and kiss me."

A/N - Sara Lance is just 🥵

#saralance #sara lance #sara lance x reader #smalls-words #sara lance fluff #sara lance angst #sara lance hurt/comfort

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definitelynotafurinasimp · 2 years

Note

First off, congrats on the 800 milestone! You deserve every follower and then some!

As for your event, might I request prompt 14 with Ayaka?

“May I have this dance?”

Characters: Ayaka x gn!reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

This post is part of my 800 Follower event, if you'd like to read more fics belonging to it, you can find them on my blog under the tag #JustASimp'sSimpingEvent

a/n: I love Ayaka, the memories of pulling for her may be enough to trigger my ptsd, but she's a member of the holy trinity of cute cryo ladies, so I don't regret it.

This fic might be shorter than others (or maybe it's not, idk), but it's 3 am where I live and I wanted to finish it before falling asleep, so I decided to make it a shorter one.

Anyway, thanks for the congratulations and I hope you enjoy!

Ayaka

Watching Ayaka dance without being in awe was as impossible as breathing under the water for you. She was far too beautiful while doing so for you not to, and while her dance wasn’t the most eventful or spectacular thing in the world, it still filled you with a desire to dance with her. There was only one problem stopping you from fulfilling that desire: You couldn’t dance.

But just because your family had missed the opportunity to hire a dance instructor to teach you like some other, wealthier families might have done, didn’t mean you’d gave up on your dream, choosing to instead try and learn how to dance as an adult. And while you were still far from being able to be considered good, you had made a lot of progress, resulting in you probably being good enough to maybe fool someone into thinking you were decent, as long as they didn’t look at your feet, that was.

The moment you spotted Ayaka approaching you, a large smile crept onto your face, only to be immediately followed by you waving towards her, causing her to return the gesture with a much smaller one that was more suitable for a princess than whatever you had been doing.

“I hope me asking you to meet here wasn’t too sudden. We can still go back to the estate if you’d like, I just thought meeting you at our usual spot would be more in line with our previous meetings”, you greeted her, not missing her smile during your little speech.

“Don’t worry, Chinju Forest is beautiful in this time of the year, so visiting it is never a bad experience”, Ayaka quickly responded before the two of you began strolling along your usual route through the forest. “If it’s okay for me to ask, is there a reason you wanted to meet me or did you simply wish to see me?”, her curiosity eventually got the better of her. And while she knew that you probably had your reason for asking her to meet at your usual spot out of nowhere, you admitting that you just wanted to see her would probably have been enough to fill her with happiness for the rest of the week.

“Would you believe me if I said I was too scared to walk through Chinju Forest alone?”, you jokingly asked, only for her to shake her head with her lips curled into a small smile, only for you to suddenly grow serious. “To be honest, there is a reason I asked to meet you today. I know I promised that I’d attend the dance next week with you, but there have been a lot of orders lately, so I’m pretty sure that I won’t be able to actually find the time to do so”, you admitted, only for Ayaka’s smile to also vanish.

“Oh”, she eventually managed for a sound to escape her mouth, only to grow silent immediately afterwards, seemingly loosing herself in thought.

“It’s probably for the better. I may have gotten better at dancing, but I’m still far from decent. I probably would have only embarrassed the both of us”, you tried to make the situation sound better, only for Ayaka to remain unresponsive for a few more moments before eventually turning to you and reaching out her hand.

“If that’s the case, may I have this dance?”, she asked, her lips once again in a smile. But while she had come up with the idea spontaneously, she hadn’t exactly considered how it would seem to you, so when she saw you stare at her with a slightly confused look, she started to search for ways to backpaddle. “I thought that since we wouldn’t be able to dance next week, we might as well do so now. You don’t have to if you don’t want to-”, she began to explain, only to shut up when you suddenly grabbed her hand, causing her to finally look up from the floor and find you smiling at her.

“Sure, but just remember that I wasn’t lying when I said I’m still far from being considered decent. So, I’m sorry if I accidentally step on your foot one, two or maybe a dozen times.”

#JustASimp'sSimpingEvent #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #ayaka x you #ayaka x y/n #ayaka x reader

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corn-fanfiction · 5 months

Text

Oh My Love (Damien Karras x GN Reader Pt. 1)

(Pt. 2)

Summary: Reader (non-gendered) is completing their master's capstone at none other than Holy Trinity church. And guess who is starting to have a crisis of faith?

Rating: M

Tags: religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, priest kink, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, gn reader, queer characters, realistic depictions of anxiety attacks, s*icide, foul language, eventual sm*t

November is cold in Georgetown.

Four years of your Master’s studies has taken you from Penn State to Rome, to the hills and valleys of the East, and back to Georgetown now, to take up a scribe’s position with Holy Trinity Church.

You’ve never been a scribe, at least not for money. But you can’t pass up this opportunity. Georgetown is only an hour and a half from where you grew up, and it is a pleasant enough little town.

It’s your first day so you’ve dressed in your smartest sweater and slacks. Your coat is a hair too big. You bought it for five dollars at a second-hand store in town with the aim to grow into it, though you’re fully grown.

A worn cassette player is nestled delicately in your pocket. What money you’d saved on the coat you spent on a nice pair of Vanco headphones so you can listen to your music in peace. Today, it’s John Lennon.

It’s a little after nine when you reach the church- earlier than you’d planned, but that was a symptom of neuroses. You had to be early to everything.

You creak open the great wooden doors to the church, clicking off the music and resting your headphones on your neck. Within it was warm and smelled sweetly of incense. The gentle wood beneath your feet gives a little with each step you take and soon you’re in the nave of the church. It’s not very crowded, only six or seven people, but at the altar, beginning mass is a priest in a green chasuble. He’s impossible to miss. He’s intense yet carries a softness in his voice as he reads aloud passages. His black hair falls into his eyes and you feel the sudden desire to swipe it away.

You promptly push the thought away and linger in the back as the pipe organ strikes up and the small crowd begins singing.

You must lose yourself in the ceremony of it all because soon things are wrapping up. You blink away the haze of just watching it all and straighten.

“Pardon me, y/l/n?”

You turn to find a priest standing beside you. He has a wide smile and clean-cropped hair.

“Yes, that’s me. Are you Father Dyer?”

He nods and extends a hand for you to shake and you do. The music begins again and the bells strike.

“I am. Thank you so much for coming. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“I was, but I showed up early. I always do- can’t help it. It was nice,” you nod to the altar but the other priest is gone and the parishioners are dispersing.

“It’s nice to hear. How does it feel to be back in Georgetown? I saw on your resume that you got your undergrad here.”

“It’s familiar so it’s comfortable.”

You keep it at that. No reason to dredge up why you constantly reassure yourself about living here. It’s a nice town. It’s close to home.

You falter for a moment when the other priest approaches the two of you. He’s dressed down to the typical long-sleeved button-up and slacks. And he wears them well.

“Ah, Damien! This is y/n. Y/n, this is Father Damien Karras. He serves as priest and psychiatrist here at Holy Trinity.”

You shake hands and note how well they fit together. “Double duty? How'd that happen?”

“Holy Trinity made me an offer I couldn't refuse,” he says with an earnest smile. “What brings me here, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Work, hopefully,” you reply, catching Dyer's eye. He smiles and nods.

“Y/n is completing their Master's capstone in transcribing religious texts. Georgetown sent them here to study our collection.”

This seems to pique Damien's interest.

“And what are you looking for in our collection?”

You unsuccessfully attempt to hide a blush as the truth of the matter comes to light.

“Truthfully, I'm analyzing for mistranslations. Not that I think I'll find something no one else has before, but maybe I'll write it down in a new and interesting way.”

Both men nod, and if either of them are uncomfortable they hide it exceptionally well. This reassures you a little.

“Well, welcome to Holy Trinity. If you need anything, I have an office on the second floor.”

“Do you have office hours for spiritual counseling?”

Damien cracks a smile and even gives you a chuckle for that one.

“No, the spiritual door is always open. It was nice meeting you. Joseph,” he addresses Father Dyer then exits from a side corridor. You watch as he goes, for some reason wholly fascinated with the way he spoke to you and the rich contrast of it against his preaching. You often forget that priests are people too.

Just…usually not people that you find attractive.

“So,” Dyer begins, clapping his hands together in a way that shakes you from your thoughts. “Have they got you set up with a place to live?”

You nod. “An apartment on Prospect Street by those tall stairs. It's nice enough. So, when can I start?”

“As soon as you'd like. We can get you situated in one of the studies in the back corridor so you won't be disturbed. It has easy access to the library.”

The reality of it begins to set in. Your own study and unlimited access to ancient texts? It was every grad student’s dream.

“That sounds wonderful, Father Dyer. Thank you. Is it alright if I return tomorrow to get started? I have some supplies I need to get before settling in.”

“Of course. I’ll let Father Merrin know you’re here. He’s about to leave for an archaeological dig, but I’m sure he could spare a moment to talk to you about translating Latin. It’s one of his favorite pastimes.”

That you didn’t expect. Father Merrin is something of a legend around Georgetown. Prolific, with a deep voice that people found both calming and demanding. He often left Holy Trinity for things like digs, or pilgrimages. You never thought you’d get the chance to meet the man.

“I- that would be spectacular. I’ve always wanted to meet him.”

“Alright, I’ll get it set up for tomorrow if I can. Have a good day, y/n.”

With that Father Dyer leaves. With butterflies in your tummy, you depart as well, welcoming the cool air of Georgetown as you take the first steps into what is shaping up to be a wonderful adventure.

#damien karras x reader #damien karras #the exorcist #the exorcist 1973 #exorcist fanfiction

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rosesoflilac · 2 years

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Birthday Wishes

Pairing: Satan x gn!reader

Warnings: light angst, happy ending, slightly proofread

Description: you spot the perfect birthday present for Satan. Will he accept it? Or will his trust in you forever be broken?

A/N: hi! I wanted to say thank you for all the love I received on my Lucifer fanfic which can be found here ! This is not (officially) part of that same universe but I’m not totally against it either. The books talked about here were actual books I found in the store !!! I was immediately inspired and wrote this as soon as I came home. Expect a part two for your birthday gift from satan! (Also inspired by this trip to the store)!

Your eyes were staring at three puzzle books, all cat themed, all aligned on the top shelf, like to some holy trinity of sorts. The first book to the left was a Find the Kitten workbook with three different kittens on the page. There were apparently sixty puzzles, sixty times Satan would smile.

The middle book was Halloween-themed, with a grey kitten with piercing green eyes in a witch costume. Satan would scream at the way the witch hat had holes for the little kitten’s ears. The kitten even had a little wicker broom in its paws. This book had word searches, crosswords, and cat facts- apparently more cats in spooky costumes too! You might have to buy a copy for yourself…

In the third and final book, you were sure to be Satan’s favorite of the three. See, this book was called Purrlock Holmes. A mystery-themed cat puzzle book where you solve puzzles to help Purrlock Holmes and Dr. Catson to catch the Meowriatry. God, Satan would love you forever.

Giddiness overwhelmed you as you picked up a copy of each puzzle book. You knew Satan would love these, he couldn’t say no kittens, especially a kitten mystery book.

Your relationship with Satan is rocky. For some reason, he just didn’t like you at the beginning of the exchanges program. You refused to let that discourage you from earning his respect. You felt as if Satan never saw the real you. That he made up his own version of what you would be like and when you didn’t fit that mold, he couldn’t handle not being right. Satan was a stubborn demon.

After helping mend Satan and Lucifer’s relationship and making a pact with the fourth eldest, he began to talk to you more. He’d text you more often, he’d take the initiative to ask you questions about yourself.. You and he learned that your favorite animals were cats, were both exceptionally intelligent, had some family issues, and always seemed to have messy rooms.

Almost everything was right in the world.

Then the Belphie incident occurred, and his trust in you was broken.

You did your best to apologize to him, but nothing ever seemed to work. Texting, nor call, nor knocking on his door never seemed to work. Satan would ignore you at meals, and during class. It hurt, but he had every right to be upset with you. You are the one who entered his heart against his will, gained his trust, then shattered it on the ground. You were the first person to make him feel anything but wrath. So yeah, he was upset when he learned all of that was just for a pact.

Your attempts to tell him that is how things started out, it’s not how it continued, nor would it be how your relationship with him ended.

You’d be damned if you didn’t meow your way into his heart.

With a new resolve, you put the books into your cart and continued to walk through the store. You already decided on making a homemade card, one with a drawing of you and Satan inside, petting a cat. Inside the card would be a long apology letter and explanation. If he truly didn’t want to be friends with you again.. you would just have to respect his wishes.

Maybe there would be cat stickers somewhere in the store?

--------

Your room had become quite the mess since you came home from the store. You had set all the wrapping paper, scissors, decorations, and gifts on your bed. You had some clothes on the floor, so you put them away. You swept up too. Though this was for Satan, the stress of the whole situation granted you some distressing craft time. Creating with your hands always relaxed you.

You gently laid a blanket on your now spotless floor and organized all of your supplies. You grabbed your D.D.D. and opened your pirated human music app that Levi helped you install and put on your favorite album.

Time to get to work.

---------

Your newly cleaned room was now a mess again. There were wrappers, slices of paper, and a bit of glue on the floor. Lucifer would be angry but.. it would all be worth it. A proper birthday/apology gift was prepared. You decided to gift Satan his present a day early so he didn’t feel pressured to accept it in front of his brothers.

You picked up the stack of books which you had wrapped in a light green paper and had wrapped twine around them. You thought Satan would appreciate the simple elegance, but thoughtful, presentation of the presents. There was a smaller bag filled with little trinkets you thought he may enjoy. The card you made for Satan was attached to one of the books. Your heart hoped this would be the start of fixing everything.

You opened your door and instead of being met with the familiar color of the hallway wall, you were met with blonde hair and green eyes. Your eyes went wide- “Satan, what are you-“ You blushed as embarrassment ran through you, the surprise was ruined.

Satan looked curious at the presents in your hands, surely they weren’t for him? Satan saw the papers laying on your floor. Did you go through all of this trouble for him? He had to push down the sudden warmth that spread through him at the thought.

“Lucifer asked me to tell you dinner is going to be ready soon.” Satan’s voice was soft as he looked at you. In his heart, he knew he could never hate you. It was simply a matter of rebuilding trust and you put yourself out there, uncertain or whether or not he'd reject you. It was the first time such an act was done for him.

“Oh, yeah..” You didn’t know what to say to him. This was the first time he’d spoken to you in weeks. “So.. I guess the cat’s out of the bag now,” You let out a small chuckle, hoping he wouldn’t shut the door in your face and walk away. “I was on my way to see you. Your birthday is coming up soon, yeah? I wanted to give you your presents early.” You awkwardly held out the gift bag and collection of books.

“I know we are not on the best of terms so I guess this sort of an apology gift too? I don’t know. But please take them, or I might actually pass out and die of embarrassment,” a nervous laugh bubbled out of you. Looking at Satan made you second guess your actions. Was this too much?

Satan took the presents from you, “Thank you, MC.” He was just as, if not more, nervous than you right now. You did care about Satan, just for Satan and no one else. There was no ulterior motive for these gifts. He could read it on your expression.

So, Satan smiled. A nice, pure, handsome smile. “Sit next to me at dinner. I have a lot to tell you. I’ll see you there, MC.” Satan thanked you one last time before leaving your room.

There were moments in Satan’s life when he had no choice but to be wrathful. The feeling consumed him. He thought he could be nothing else. If he wanted to feel something other than wrath, he’d have to make a conscious effort.

It was the first time in his life when genuine happiness came over him. All because of you.

---------

Later that night, after opening the gifts and reading your letter, he immediately began thinking about what he would get you. First, he'd have to speak to you. Perhaps he'd write you back.

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verxsyon · 3 years

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·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞

@fadedjae imagine if you go perfume making with kaeya.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. kaeya x gn!reader

✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. drabble ; 0.5k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. comedy ; fluff

This week happens to be one of Kaeya’s super rare vacations. The first thing he wants to do is to make perfume with you at Liyue Harbor.

The shop assistant of Scent of Spring at Liyue Harbor, Ying’er, is... strange, for the lack of a better term. You cannot help but to pinpoint how similar she is to Lisa: sultry and flirts with you whenever they have a chance. Archons, even Kaeya is similar to the liyue resident in terms of personalities. No wonder why they get along so well.

When Ying’er instructs the two of you to gather silk flowers, you are cautiously clinging onto Kaeya the entire time. Perhaps you have been overthinking, that she or a citizen who is disguised as one may unleash an attack any moment now. Sensing Kaeya’s chuckle vibrating from his arm, you let yourself loose and set your mind into picking those flowers.

After picking the flowers from their bushes, your stomach rumbles at an embarrassing level. Ah, that’s right: you haven’t eaten a proper meal as of last night. The fact that you are standing in the middle of the holy trinity — the food stall that sells Zhongyuan Chop Suey and Mora Meat, Wanmin Restaurant, and Third-Round Knockout — drives your hunger insane. Kaeya can read the signs, so he already has his wallet out for you to use.

“One hundred mora. spend them wisely,” he says with a smile, taking your flowers away from your arms. “And don’t worry, I’ll hold these for you.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be you who should buy the food for me?” you point out, raising an eyebrow. that realization has indeed struck him, and so Kaeya shoves the bouquet to your chest and proceeds to buy food from Wanmin Restaurant.

“That reminds me, the Traveler met someone from there before. the cute girl who served our food, Xiangling?” you say while taking a bite of your chicken-mushroom skewer. “She’s so nice! She even gave us a bag for our flowers. I can’t wait to make perfume out of these—”

“Hello, tourists!” From the sky above, there is a girl diving towards the both of you head first like a meteor. “Interested in learning our services of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor? For first-time customers, it’s buy one get one coffin free!”

Kaeya impulsively freezes her entire body sans her head with his sword before she could land on her feet, having her drop herself onto the ground on her side. After scolding him for his actions, you apologize to the girl on his behalf as you melt her free.

“That girl, Hu Tao, is desperate in making her business thrive, huh,” you sigh, regrettting a little bit about being blunt in declining the young director’s offer. “The thing is that she’s still young, so she has more time to grow.”

“Now that the matter is settled,” Kaeya starts, “Ready to finally make perfume?”

“Archons, yes,” you exasperate from all the trouble the two of you have gone through today. Finally arriving at Scent of Spring, you wave at Ying’er to signal that you have finished the errand. “I hope we gathered enough silk flowers for— oh no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, Kaeya!” you cry out. “You froze the silk flowers!”

You have never been this disappointed in your Calvary Captain ever in your life.

#✦ .fics #genshin impact #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya drabbles #kaeya fanfic #kaeya imagines #kaeya scenarios #kaeya fluff

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soraviie · 1 year

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being soulmates.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: fluff, angst, crack (tiny smut) - the holy trinity/quartet? ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: soulmates are my favourite trope cause of low self-esteem, I hope it is yours as well. The trope, not the issues.

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: As it stands to reason, Namjoon knew it was an overcapitalized natural phenomenon with an actual success rate of only 52%. Having just a little over half meant that a whole 47% with a margin error of 1% of the entire world neither had, nor wanted any dealings with soulmates. But even so, he couldn't entirely stop the blush of whimsical fancy whenever thinking of them.

He was, for now at least, documented as an "awaiting registry" in the K-SSA (Korean Soulmate System Association) and all that was needed - time. Often, he daydreamed of his perfect partner with their perfect life much like numerous others, not really festering any bloom of hope and yet-

Yet he couldn't feel like he was profoundly dunked on by the universe itself as 24 seconds ago writing appeared on his forearm when none had touched it. In a thin, illegible font it said one word and one word only.

"cock"

He looked away, wiped at it absent-mindedly but as it was not ink, it did not stain. Right. Okay.

Deciding to squash all thoughts and sensations related to his soulmate he moved on with his life telling no one of this discovery. But the dam once unleashed did not cease and never, ever did it wield any sign of intelligence. On top of that, his soulmate seemed to be a perpetual cheat - math, language, history. In a terrible shorthand, Namjoon suddenly found himself abhorrently acquainted with someone's educational curriculum. However, the proverbial chariot finally broke when jet-lagged and sleep-deprived Namjoon could only helplessly watch as word by word, with painstaking accuracy, the dreaded sprawl appeared.

"According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway."

Having had quite enough of this strange dumbass, he grabbed a sharpie and crossed out the stupid words with one bold, black stroke. A profound moment of silence followed suit and inadvertently Namjoon wondered whether they were sitting still, in some corner of the world seized by an unseen fright of the truly terrifying reality that one is not truly alone anymore. But no such thing happened as a cool and collected reply soon followed.

"oh cool! :D"

Possessing no desire to waste any more time, Namjoon leapt straight to the point.

"You're annoying."

"Yes, so I've been told :)"

Floundering at what to say further, he sat frozen for a good while his soulmate seized the opportunity in which to continue.

"yeast infected cockroach"

And even faster as if in a hurried panic, they added.

"that's not to you. I'm learning ;)"

"Learning curse words?"

If he had a single atom of a gracious painter in his body, he'd draw a heavily disapproving grimace.

"wouldn't you say that's vital knowledge?"

Alright. In what was almost deja vu, Namjoon turned off the light and went to sleep. This was a lot to endure.

The scribbling didn't stop and Namjoon ignored the odd question directed at him, though with a peculiarly heavy heart. Sometimes he had only half the presence of mind and attempted to write something back but always caught his own hand mid-stroke. Life with him would not be easy. And also you were still strangers. Despite the riveting romance stories of the airport stalls, it was not that easy to breach the gap. In fact, it was even more difficult. If two people met in ordinary ways in ordinary circumstances, they could head in any direction they wanted, without the knowledge of "what if". But the only thing Namjoon knew for certain was the "what if". What if he never meets you? What if he screws it up? That would fill him with bitter regret for the rest of his life. But it wasn't until a more sombre message to which he woke up, that he couldn't stay away anymore.

"I'm graduating. Today. Didn't think I could but I'm proud of myself."

Then after a while.

"Not that you care."

And despite Namjoon being in the middle of the interview, he dished out the pen from his pocket which he may or may have not been carrying this whole time and hastily traced back.

"I care. I'm proud of you as well."

Pause.

"Soulmate ;)"

YOONGI: His pulse was drumming against the skin of his neck, choking down the next breath. No matter how many times he skimmed through the small space no sudden stranger or even a ghost appeared. Nevertheless, it didn't change the fact that he was hearing voices.

Yoongi slapped a hand over his own ear as though that was the problem. The conversation persisted.

"No, I don't know, Maeve," the disembodied voice continued in a sigh. "If they wanted to ask, they would have long ago, right?"

Licking his lips, Yoongi croaked a feeble -

"Hello?"

The mysterious stranger fell deathly mute and with eardrums straining to the point of pain, he could vaguely gather they were afraid as Yoongi himself was shocked into a similar stupor not a moment ago. They must think he was the ghost. And though Yoongi didn't know for certain, he supposes that he just might have found his soulmate.

He had spent his whole life counting himself into the 47%. Having neither proclivity for, nor signs of a formed bond, he simply ran with the statistics. 47% of the world was a great number of people and Yoongi was quite content with what or whom he had. So in a manner which thousands must have asked along with him today, he thought "shit, what now?"

Days later, clutching the twin "pending" forms of the K-SSA and I-SSA, he decided to speak. Maybe his soulmate won't like him anyway.

"Hello?" he utters into the empty space of his apartment feeling a tad foolish but bulldozing his way through it "Are you there?"

With a bated breath, he waits then at last -

"Yes, hello."

Yoongi coughs and with an orchestrated indifference states the obvious.

"We must be soulmates."

"Yeah," comes a similarly dispassionate reply. "Though I did think you were a demon."

He snorts in a muted amusement.

"What's your name?"

"______________. Yours?"

His brain errors. Even if a soulmate, he couldn't just freely divulge his persona willy-nilly, so to speak. Being a soulmate didn't prohibit anyone from inflicting harm. The morning news was plenty of affirmation.

"Oh...um...August."

In the five-second span in which no response followed, he could feel just how much you didn't believe him.

"August?" dryly, you echo.

"Yeah, my parents were hippies."

He goes to sit down on the sofa, sinking into it whilst awkwardly clapping his hands.

"Are you a seal?"

He glances down at his hands.

"You can hear that?"

"Yes. Weird, isn't it."

Another pregnant pause followed suit.

"So soulmates," he drawled in deep thought. "You're uh...interested in that?"

If he focused enough he could hear a pen clacking against a thick notebook. You must be studying or in an office space. Or simply sitting and tapping away the pen to alleviate nerves.

"I...I'm not quite sure," you answer truthfully. "I haven't agonized over it and I've been busy and..."

You exhale shakily.

"And to be completely frank...I got into a relationship. Yesterday."

Well, that's just on brand, Yoongi thought sourly.

"I'm sorry, August."

He chuckled. You actually sounded sincere. And something in the apologetic lilt of your tone made his heart soften. At entirely the wrong time.

"Don't worry about it. Not your fault."

"Are...are you in a relationship?"

He licks his dry lips and pushes the forms further away and across the coffee table.

"Yeah," he lies. "So it's all fine."

He once again thinks you're a ghost, blinking blearily at your soft voice shaking the still air of the night. Years have passed and he realized that he sort of has missed the sound of your voice.

"August?" you asked timidly in the middle of the night. "Are you still there?"

He rubs his eyes.

"Yes. Hello."

"Hi."

An awkward tension wavers.

"What are you up to?"

"Can't sleep," he mumbles, rubbing now repeatedly his tired eyes. "Insomnia."

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

"Do you always apologize for everything?" he crosses his arms, resting on the pillow like a normal person would whilst talking next to someone in the bed.

"A little bit," you laugh demurely. "You know, I submitted my form and the I-SSA replied back."

He sobered up at that, the faint migraine from the lack of rest pounding a little harder as his breath caught in his throat.

"Don't worry, they were very strict and revealed to me nothing."

"Sorry about that," he couldn't help but sigh however you didn't seem to mind.

"Do you always apologize for everything?" you laughed and he did too.

"Just about this," now slightly soothed he settled deeper into the covers. "What about your...partner?"

"Oh," immediately your voice became angry. "Dumped them. Cheated on me."

"What a fucking prick," Yoongi scoffed.

"Enough about them. Try to sleep, okay?"

You were nothing but a stranger. A stranger talking into his head which not so long ago would have guaranteed him four walls and complete isolation. Yet still, he listened. Found the request, not an order but a nagging sweet sentiment of taking better care. He didn't mind it, and neither did he mind you talking. In fact, the migraine was peculiarly retreating,

"What are you watching?" he asked curiously. Through the winded gaps in your voice and the rustle of the Seoul traffic outside, he could piece together some fragments of what resembled 90's tv show music. "Sounds like old porn."

Abruptly, you burst into a fit of loud laughter and then just as abruptly fell quiet.

"Sorry...no one has joked with me for a very long time," you quietly admitted and something in his chest began to sting.

"You have a nice laugh," with a faint blush, he praised shyly. "Don't you have friends to joke around with? Maeve?"

If you found it odd, he knew the name of your friend, still remembering it from that faint first bond years ago now, you didn't remark on it and he was better for it. Yoongi really didn't need to feel any more of a creep than he had, always chiding himself for being this obsessive over those few minutes of conversation. It seemed that he was not so indifferent about the soulmate thing after realizing they were real for him.

"Not anymore. Who do you think that garbage cheated on me with?"

Yoongi cringed.

"I'm sorry," he bid earnestly, a wrinkle of a frown etching on his forehead.

"Addition to the list?" you teased and he smiled to himself, persistently shy, despite knowing you could not see it.

"Suppose. Though you never answered."

"What exactly?" you hummed and he heard sheets rustling. You must be sleeping as well. Or perhaps simply sitting on the bed.

"What are you watching?"

"X-Files. Felt in the mood for something spooky."

He thought about it for a second before rushing into action.

"Which episode? What minute?"

You were almost taken aback by the brazen curiosity as it hadn't been previously ever heard.

"Season 1, episode 8. Minute 04:47."

As Yoongi grabbed his laptop, he heard the faint dialogue stop. You stopped it.

"Do you...want to watch with me?"

He frantically searched for the episode, fighting for his life to get the ads off the screen.

"Hey, I know that noise," you remarked. "That's the blacklist notice! Say, August, you wouldn't be streaming illegally, would you?"

"You're going to arrest me?" he smirked, winding to the fourth minute. "Kinky."

He couldn't naturally vouch for it but he thinks you reddened. And he found it cute.

"No. Just concerned that you'll find Anna, 32, much more appealing. She's only 1 kilometre away."

It was his time to laugh.

"Don't worry about her. Not my type. I'm hot for ghostly voices whispering in my ear."

You splutter and, laughing quietly to himself, he interrupts your indignance.

"I'm at the fourth minute. Are you continuing to watch or not?"

"Yeah," you replied huffily. "I'm continuing."

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep that night. Or the next. Or the next. And after a year, his doctor declared his insomnia successfully treated.

"You're not watching at all," you whined into his ear and Yoongi pulled the blanket over his body.

"No, I am," he lied. "I'm watching it through your mind, silly."

You scoffed.

"What a bunch of nonsense. We share glamorized auditory hallucinations, not a mind link."

After a pause, all you hear are the familiar sounds of him already quietly snoring away.

"Good night...August."

JIN: He exhaled once, twice, thrice. It took him about three seconds to fully grasp what he was seeing and then with all the might of his tired legs Jin threw himself into the shower curtain and promptly knocked himself out against the tiled bathroom wall.

"Sir, please, calm down!" the nurse urged him frantically as Jin twitched on the bed.

"No, you don't understand! It was a ghost. A ghost! A ghost is haunting my bathroom!"

"Sir, please, there's no ghost!"

He glimpsed to the left and in the metal railing of the bed, he saw a reflection not of himself but of an entirely different face looking right back at him with the same concern.

Jin politely and very masculine screeched at the top of his lungs and graciously passed out amidst the mass of frightened hospital staff.

So...in the end, as it turns out, he was not haunted. The affirmation came in the form of two stocky SSA workers, coming to stop by his room with a thick wad of papers.

Sign here. Sign here. Sign here.

It appears that three years ago someone had registered in the I-SSA and while there were many different systems out there, all with their variations and complications, it was just Jin's luck, his beam of sunshine amidst the raging storm, to be in a system with the smallest amount of sharers. The abnormal diff-diffusion? He doesn't quite recall as he'd sat there head pounding away and sounds distant, staring at his own name and next to it the person, who according to the science of it all, was his soulmate.

But knowing was different from believing. Or at least, not shitting himself every time they stared at him in his own reflection.

"You got to cool it, man," Namjoon drawled in that pure sarcastic deadpan, patting away the soup that Jin had spilt as he lunged himself away from the spoon reflection in which a different eye was reflected through.

"At least, you can see them," Taehyung muttered bitterly, wiping the table clean and all fell silent.

Jin kept the mirrors covered anyhow. It was simply too freaky to witness an entirely different face in the stead of his, soulmate or not. Life proceeded as normal and while Jin kept himself busy and unthinking of possibilities, the lack or rather denial of his soulmate meant little to him. Until the very eve of winter. The first fresh snow had fallen over Seoul and stayed that way. The air was chill and crisp and the world was ready to slumber. At least this part of it. And on this night, no matter how long Jin stared at the fallen snow, he couldn't sleep. His heart was beating out of his chest and his mind raced.

He...felt it. Or rather you felt it and he sensed the echoes of it. Growing agitated over this sensation, he stomped towards the mirror, ready to...well, he was not quite sure what he was going to do but after yanking the towel onto the floor he forgot all about it. For the first time, you were not googling back at him, either in wonder or aggrievance but you were crying, gripping the sink with crushing strength. Crying like your entire soul was just split apart.

"What's wrong?" Jin aske timidly but you did not react. Visual must not also mean auditory. With shaking fingers he tapped the glass and this time you jumped in a way that was eerily familiar to his own. Landing on your ass, you cursed. Or he thinks you did from the way your lips curled.

He thought about it for a second and rushed away to fetch a lip balm before writing on the surface of the mirror.

"Hi."

You leaned your head to the side before, shivering, rising to stand. He watched intently as you dipped your hand underneath the water current and wrote back.

"Hi."

Jin exhaled, battling the urge to not pass out.

"Why cry?"

You gestured all around yourself and he recognized the sterile, removed environment of the hospital bathroom.

"Sick?" he wrote, feeling a heavy thud in his gut, something akin to missing a step in the dark.

"Yes. Tomorrow is the surgery."

He swallowed.

"Dangerous?"

You swallowed shakily and immediately Jin felt bad for asking.

"Moderate. I can live, I can die. All up to the doctors."

He too reaches to grip the sink and though he can't hear it, he can see you chuckling tearily. He frowns and you write.

"We even look the same. In a way."

Jin can offer only a shaky smile and even more guilt for shoving you away.

He was a horrible soulmate to have.

All day and next night he waits by the mirror and then finally when it's dark again, the snow falls in droves underneath the streetlamps and wind rushes through the alleys down below and finally, just before midnight, you appear in the mirror, shuffling in. You looked tired and worn but at least you're alive. Jin springs up.

You're the first one to write, having brought with you a lip balm as well.

"I lived. Clearly."

"Thank Heavens," Jin writes back feeling a rush of emotions dampen his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Gracious, you throw a hand at his words.

"I didn't want a soulmate before this. Thought I was...above it. Stupid really."

He smiles abashed and nods.

"You okay? Will be?"

"Yes, I will be okay," for a second, you lower your hands, gathering strength and then reach out. "You...do you want to talk more after this?"

"Hey, Jin, we're waiting for you!" Namjoon calls out, sticking a head through the door and he turns around.

"I'll be with you in five minutes."

Namjoon glimpsed at the defaced mirror.

"Hangman, really?"

Jin shrugged.

"We both like it. Scram now."

As he turned round he wrote "y".

j__n_y, stood on the surface and Jin sat deep in thought, then he guessed.

"Journey."

You sighed in defeat and confirmed his answer. Jin read the word again, committing it to memory.

"Text me when your plane lifts off," he wrote and you mimicked his soft smile.

"I will. See you in 16 hours."

Jin kissed his palm and pressed it against the mirror where your forehead stood.

"16 hours," he muttered back.

HOSEOK: "What do you think?" Jimin asked. "This one or this one?"

Hoseok merely arched an eyebrow.

"How would I be able to tell?"

Jimin lowered the hangers, with a guilty frown.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think."

Instantaneously, the despondent eyes made him feel guilty.

"Nevermind. I like the...uh left one."

Jimin twiddled guilty with the coloured fabric. A colour which Hoseok couldn't see.

"You want me to help you pick the outfit?"

Not to make him feel any sadder, Hoseok obliged.

Contrary to popular belief, being in the monochrome system sucked ass. He had nearly two million matches in the K-SSA registry, 32 million in the I-SSA and counting the 1% of margin error that amounted roughly to a 340 000 that could be his soulmate but wouldn't act that way due to genetic mutation. The more he thought of those numbers, the more alone he felt. Yoongi at least could hear his soulmate, Jin had seen them and was by now already moved in with them. Being in the more rare section of the soulmate systems they could at least have their soulmates traced via reading brain waves and other gibberish Hoseok never much understood. But no data could come from the monochrome system as the numbers were simply too overwhelming. False positives and false negatives were too great for a sensible person to take that chance. Which left only one option - the good old-fashioned meet and greet.

But with a planet of 8 billion people that chance was small. Growing ever so smaller with each passing day despite the technological advances. Even so, the airport was of late the favourite place of Hoseok's to be at. No place such as an airport to find someones all over the globe, grumpily and quite often with a foul odour, converging their different ways together. He tried to stay optimistic. As Taehyung bumped into him, sleep-ridden and tired, he indeed felt that there was a need to be optimistic. As much as he bitched, it didn't amount to the pain his friend was in at all times.

"Hey, just a little bit," he brushed Tae's fringe back to reveal two swollen eyes. He must have been crying either just now, or the entire night. Either way, it was an upsetting idea to have. Subtly, Hoseok pushed Taehyung into Jimin's direction who eagerly took care of his friend. But they all trodded along no matter how they felt.

"How was that episode good?" Yoongi asked and Hoseok frowned.

"What episode?" he questioned and Yoongi waved a hand, almost like one would when talking over a phone and someone interrupted.

"Oh, you're talking to...never mind," Hoseok grumbled, pushing his head further down.

The sky above the Atlantic Ocean was grey and uninspiring whilst the flight itself was excruciating. Though everything to him was grey. 14 hours in a box in the sky was not what Hoseok particularly enjoyed. Bored, he prodded at the desert. It was of a lighter hue, meaning a brighter colour. Yellow perhaps. Mango.

He took a spoon to his mouth. Strawberry. After all this time, one would think he'd be better at differentiating things. At least, he could remember colours, he thought wistfully, once again thinking of the positives. Some people were born with their bonds permanently established meaning they never knew colour. But Hoseok could at least remember - the colour of the sky, the sun, the green grass around his school. But it was in a way worse. If he could never have it again, it would ruin him. Strange. Such a simple thing really but he missed it dearly. What a weird way to bond people, by depriving them of the basics of life. Was it even love in the end? Or desperation driving them into some form of sick co-dependence?

Trying to be positive, didn't necessarily mean he was one as Hoseok had found out.

New York was a whirlpool. They had to rush fast to their cars through the halls of the airport, barely breathing and at this very moment, in one singular turn, Hoseok saw the beige of Taehyung's jumper.

The red of Jimin's scarf and the brown of Jungkook's eyes as he stared at him in wonder.

They couldn't stop. The insistent push of the bodyguards affirmed it so but if Hoseok suddenly saw the one thing that only his soulmate could grant then that meant his soulmate was not just near. Their eyes had met.

And he held no recognition.

He whipped to look around, the twin sensations of the flashing camera lights and the sheer amount of colours, of their shades and hues, had his head swimming but he saw no one. No one was looking with the echo of the realization, no one seemed to be interested in him any more than the rest. Interested in him as j-hope, the star, not Hoseok, the soulmate.

"We need to keep going," his bodyguard whispered, trying to professionally haul him away.

"No, I...I just met my soulmate. I need to stay!"

But the man did not listen. The crowd swarmed closer and closer and without much more say in the situation, he found himself sitting numbly in the backseat of the car. The neon signs blinded his eyes and for the first time in his adult and teenage life, Hoseok saw the rainbow cascading off the singular snowflake clinging to the window of the black car.

JIMIN: He pushed back the hair from your sweaty forehead.

"Feels so good," he moaned onto your lips. "You feel so good."

When the familiar knot unwound it felt like a truck, or a high-speed train running him down and into a cliff. But somehow pleasantly. Jimin swears he could see the true meaning of the universe, the very makeup of what created the entire life in moments like these. But even so his favourite, to his heart, was the second after, for the crudeness of it all, bust a nut within you, when he laid, holding your body close and panting together in the warm room. He felt brave tonight for once and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. It was all sweaty and damp but he did not mind. It was the only kind of closeness he could have with you.

Five blissful minutes passed and you roused, pushing him away. Gently but still you did. After rushing to the bathroom, you came back to get dressed. Jimin reached to trace a finger on your back as you dragged a shirt over your head.

"Can't you stay?" he hums. There was a scar right above the curve of your hip and he ghosted over it. You didn't like him focusing on your scars.

"I like my own place," you reply casually. "Paid a lot for it."

That was, of course, only an excuse. Jimin may or may have not met another ex-hookup of yours and you had stayed with them. They made you breakfast.

And Jimin wanted to make you breakfast more than anything else.

"Right," he sinks into himself, wanting to stop but not being capable to do so. "Can you...kiss me...before you go?"

Pathetic. To beg like this. But he wanted you to madness.

Perhaps, you looked slightly unsettled but indulged him nonetheless. The way you kissed was like feeling a new breath in his lungs. He didn't understand what about you was so intoxicating but he wanted you around all the time. Your presence was like a wet cloth on the fevered head, a gulp of fresh air after spending hours in a stuffed room.

It was no exaggeration that he was growing obsessed.

And you thought of him as a hookup.

"See you later," you said, stroking his cheek once and the next was the door falling shut. Jimin sighed, rapidly crashing from the height of happiness to the pit of misery. But if anything could distract him it was the horrible pain suddenly flaring through his shin.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he cursed, cradling the limb.

He honestly thought his soulmate should be nothing but a mangled piece of flesh by now. Ever since 14 years old, he felt nothing but pain from them. And despite it being the main takeaway from sharing the sensations type of bond, he should also be in technicality receiving happy emotions but no. There was none. Just anxiety and regular pain.

Though, in fairness, Jimin assumed he gave off much of the same. Remembering the long practices, and the muscle cramps, he could only recoil. When the ache finally ceased he lays on top of the sheets again brushing the empty space next to him. Soulmate perhaps, but all he wanted was you. If you'd be next to him, he'd look for no one else ever again. Which was stupid, who falls into love with their fuck..fuck-something.

"Literally every protagonist in a romance story," Jungkook muttered before making a loud gagging noise. Jimin almost had half the intention of lodging a spoon in his throat before he hurriedly explained.

"It's not to you! It's just that dumbass is eating sugar. Pure sugar!" he heaved, face getting read. "Oh, I hope their teeth have so many holes they need to eat nothing but carrots!"

"You want to taste nothing but carrots for the rest of your life?" Jimin snarked and Jungkook paused.

"Guess not."

Suddenly Jimin's elbow flared up.

"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed, wincing and rubbing the spot. "How many times a day can this person be hurt?!"

"Hey, guys, why are there so many people outside?" Taehyung asked in confusion, hooking his headphones off. Sirens soon blared and as they looked on, through the crowd, they could see someone laying in the middle of the street. Unmoving.

"Oh shit, is that blood?" Jungkook gasped.

The police coordinated off the area pushing the mass away and to Jimin's surprise, you stepped out of one of the cars with a camera attached to your neck. To even more of a shock, you began to take pictures and Jimin questioned how was it that he didn't know you were a CSI or whatever they were called when suddenly you tripped and fell down, slamming your chin against the unforgiving ground.

"Oh, that must hurt," Taehyung and Jungkook drawled together but Jimin stayed quiet. His chin was killing him.

And what were the chances of that?

"Sensation-coded systems tend to be of more emotional intensity as they echo the same level of chemical fluctuation between persons on top of their own."

As Jimin had learned it at school, he still had it scrabbled somewhere in the high school notebook, touch equated to chemical changes in the body. Dopamine and serotonin increase and in a sensation-coded system, person A could not only feel their own increase but also person B's and vice versa. This is why perhaps he felt like he was breathing new breath when he kissed you. Because he just might.

He can't stop shaking as he texts you to come over, despite doing it hundred times before. But this was different wasn't it? If he was right, he could lose you, if he was wrong, he could also lose you. Either way, he lost. But he had to know. Otherwise, he would be bitter his entire life.

You hug him the second you step over the threshold but for the first time, Jimin steps away. Immediately you frown.

"Something wrong?" you ask and he swallows hard.

"I...I made dinner," actually he ordered it, not wanting it to be bad. "You want to eat?"

He knows you know it was phrased as a question out of politeness. During dinner which is not at all strained into near incapacitating silence, Jimin may or may not drink. A lot. To cope.

"Please, just tell me what it is," you finally break. "Or I'll combust spontaneously."

"I didn't know you were a CSI," he trailed off and you froze.

"Yeah, well, it's not a pretty job and also CSI," you gestured at yourself then at him. "An idol? Doesn't make much sense."

"Maybe it does," he says, shaking again and at last gathering all the courage left in his bones to pinch his arm, so hard it hurt. You flinch as well.

Another blanket of silence descends over the room.

"I think we need to talk."

TAEHYUNG: All he remembers clearly is the pause of uncertainty, the step taken between childish innocence and the brutal adult reality. The reality of death which in this case was a red string cut short and fraying at the end of his pinky when it should have been stretching across the seas and dreams, across despair and misery. And it's on this hot summer afternoon, sunny and perfect, that Taehyung learns that love does not conquer all.

The office of the IBSSCI, the International Bureau of Soulmate System Crime Investigation respectively, is by far more shabby than he ever pictured. When Taehyung is brought into this two-story building it doesn't look like anything more than some chic-obsessed, eco-brutalism wannabe cafe he could honestly trip upon in certain streets of Seoul. The office in whose uncomfortable chairs he's been sat in is the size of the closet and looks like one as well. This person was grody. The half-eaten sandwich and cold cup of coffee were all the proof he needed.

____________ ______________, he reads on the glass plaque, you're a pig.

Someone walks in. A mountain of folders on two legs as far as he can see.

"Sorry about the wait, Mr Kim," they huffed. "The printer jammed and you see these papers," with a heavy thud, they dropped it on the desk, falling into the chair with an exhausted sigh. "Is no joke."

He nodded mutely along feeling like it was appropriate to do so.

"Do you want any coffee or tea?" you offered, pushing the mountain away and casting him a weirdly patronizing smile. Immediately, Taehyung bristled.

"Not if it's made like that," he pointed at the dirty cup.

"Depends on what you answer," the smile on your face didn't even flinch. "You do realize why you're here."

"Being scammed is not a crime," he scoffed.

"It is not," you agreed. "But if you gave nearly half a million to one shady group whose to say you won't do it again?"

He wrenched his eyes shut. He didn't mean to. But one by one the guys kept finding their soulmates, hell, even Hoseok, the actual fucking monochrome-based bond found his love. While Taehyung was happy for his friend he was also happy to have someone to be as miserable as him as selfish as it was.

And what would be the worst, he had thought, he would just lose his money and he had plenty of it. For the chance of finding a soulmate, he would give every single thing he owned. The clothes on his body, the sheets on his bed, all of it.

But the worst of it was actually murder. The scam group promised to find Taehyung a new person claiming the statistical basis of there being another in the case of death had in the end murdered one of the doctors who threatened to take this to the police and suddenly Taehyung found himself right in the heart of a criminal case. And while the scammers ran a high-level operation it didn't change the fact that Taehyung was now fundamentally a person involved in something as heinous as murder and it was his money that had guaranteed some of them to escape to international seas.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I understand," they spoke and for once they didn't sound mocking. "But Mr Kim, you have money and that is power. You must not give that power out of desperation."

As he opened his eyes, he saw them pushing a paper across the desk, their gloved hand tapping twice at it.

"This is, as you must know, a recovery form in the case of losing a soulmate. The program consists of 18 weeks of mandatory therapy, regular check-ins for a year as well as signing an oath of not partaking in any schemes or offers of finding or rebonding with a new soulmate that if breached can and will be held in the court of law. Do you understand?"

He gazed blankly into their eyes, limbs growing stiff.

"Taehyung!" Jimin called out.

"No, you don't get to speak! You don't get to pretend you understand! You have your soulmate! You have a chance! I was robbed of one! You will never understand what that's like!"

As he blinked the memory faded away but still, he felt no one will ever understand what that was like.

"Do you have a soulmate?" he croaked, fiddling with the pen meant to sign the form.

The person blinked and their lips thinned.

"I suppose I did," they said with ease but also with a thin veil of clearly deep inner sadness. "They died when I was an infant."

Taehyung sat straighter.

"So you know what that feels like? To be robbed, cruelly robbed not choosing, not doing wrong but not having anything from the start?"

He grimaced in order not to cry.

"I do but inflicting hurt on others...trying these insane methods and schemes," you trailed off. "It will do no good. No good for you, for anyone. It is evil for the sake of evil and that's it."

You offered him a tissue and he took it gratefully. Perhaps you were not so bad. Despite being grody.

Taehyung signed the form and with weary, tired legs, trailed after you to the main exit.

"As the person assigned to this case, I will be overseeing your check-in period," you explained navigating the cement stairs seemingly spiralling in all logical and illogical directions.

"You're a social worker as well?" Taehyung ironized roughly and you offered him a crooked smile.

"Budget cuts."

As you scanned your ID the doors flashed red.

"Oh, come on," you wiped the chip on the card against your pants but no such luck. Again and again, it flashed red. Finally, with a loud growl of annoyance you yanked the black glove off your left hand to wipe the chip by hand and on it, Taehyung saw a string.

A red string.

Around your pinky.

Cut and frayed in the middle.

Exactly like his.

It unfurled on the ground and dazed Taehyung reached to grasp it. He held the thin yarn like a dying butterfly and pulled at last gently its end. Your hand moved along with it.

JUNGKOOK: He really wants to be happy. And he is. Somewhere underneath the surging wave of anger, he is really happy. And he'll show it to you one day. After he's done scolding you.

Because at the exact moment when he walks through the street, late in the evening, cold rain pouring on his umbrella, he glances through the window of a restaurant and sees a person shoving an entire sugar cube on their tongue.

He feels sugar explode in his mouth.

Pure, unrefined, choking sugar.

And the next thing he knows he's pointing a finger in your unsuspecting face.

"You piece of shit! You actual dumbass!" he yells and people around him are startled. Though none more than you. You, whose sitting in your stupid seat and whose stupid sugar-addicted mouth still chews on that sugar cube like a horse.

"Does dental hygiene means nothing to you? Diabetes?! Health overall?!" he keeps pointing at you at every single word to portray the full scope of what tasting constant sugar every day for consecutive 18 years does to a person.

"How many holes do you have in your teeth right now?! Tell me!"

You blink up at him owlishly and also part terrified. Even the music of the restaurant seems somewhat muted as the crowd looks on at this, the most bizarre of lover's quarrel.

And he shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he finds it cute.

"Three," you mutter demurely and a pout forms on your lips. Jungkook wonders if they're sweet as well. Should be considering the amount of sugar you consume.

"Just went to a dentist..."

"And you're still swallowing sugar cubes?! WHOLE ASS SUGAR CUBES?!"

"YOU EAT RAMEN AT 3 AM!" you yell back, a sudden fire gaining in your eyes. "OR DRINK SOME SHIT LIKE ICE CUBED VINE!! AND YOU'RE BLAMING ME FOR SUGAR WHEN YOU'RE OUT HERE COMMITTING GASTRONOMICAL WAR CRIMES?!"

And now this one Jungkook shouldn't, he really should not, but he finds you yelling at him hot.

And he wants to know what you taste like.

"YOU EVER WONDERED THAT THE REASON WHY I EAT SO MUCH SUGAR IS TO MASK THE HORRENDOUS ABOMINATIONS YOU PUSH DOWN YOUR THROAT?! AND DON'T EVEN THINK I HAVEN'T TASTED SOMEONE ELSE'S CU-"

In the end, they're kicked out. You stand in the rain, pouting and glaring at him in earnest and whilst doing the same he extends the umbrella over your head.

"I don't like you," you scoff and he does the same.

"Neither do I."

"You're a pig of an eater."

"You're a sugar addict."

A pause.

"I'm leaving," you huff, making no indication to leave.

"Then go," Jungkook snaps, actually taking a step closer.

He thinks he tastes anxiety on his tongue. Whether it's his own or yours he can't tell.

"You're overbearing," you mutter while slightly moving forth.

"You're insufferable," Jungkook is not far behind, neither in space nor insults. He wraps a hand around your waist and finds it perfect. The way you press against him is perfect.

"You make me nauseous," you whisper, gaze dropping to his pierced lip.

"I'm absolutely sick of you," he breathes the air you exhale and then closes the small space and learns what you taste like.

When the umbrella falls out of his hands and falls upon the rain-soaked pavement, he tastes rainwater in his mouth. And as expected that too tastes sweet.

229 notes · View notes

ray-jaykub · 4 years

Text

🌜RULES *revised*🌛

Realized my rules are kinda old and sloppy so wanted to redo them and maybe cover more ground. So, yeah please read the rules when requesting!

My Do’s:

} Fluff, smut, and angst are my holy trinity

} I will do poly requests (i.e. April x reader x Don) I don’t think I’m willing to do smut for poly relationships yet simply because it’s already hard enough to do 2 people XP but maybe in the future

} I write for the turtles mainly but maybe you got a taste for April or Casey, maybe Bebop and Rocksteady, or hell maybe even Vern. I can give it a try

}I mainly do Bayverse, it’s the only one to spark my fancy but I could try 2003 and 2012 TMNT, just know if you try requesting smut for those two I will block you and delete your ask

}I’m pretty open to asks with OCs but i prefer reader, speaking of which I can do Masc, Fem, or GN readers. I’m broadening my horizons, my writing has been 99% Fem readers and I just wanna open up to more readers of variety

My Do Not’s:

}NO TCEST PERIOD!! If you even hint at it I will block you, immediately. You won’t even get a response from me.

} If you are a minor or do not have your age in your bio and you request smut I will not do it, which also means I’m turning off anonymous requesting. Sorry

}Heavy subjects such as rape, non-con, abuse or the like will not be tolerated. If you are adamant on having it you need to privately DM me so we can maybe talk something out.

}I won’t write for master splinter unless it’s in like fluffy found family stuff, I just can’t do it LMAO

Anyway hope these rules are neater and straight to the point for requests, idk what I was thinking when I wrote them in the first place

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mataku-mataku-ne · 3 years

Text

Let's start a blog!

-What fandom I will write

-Danganronpa

What I will write

-Angst

-Fluff

-Nsfw

-Headcanon

-Scenario

-Imagine

What I will not write for

-Haiji Towa

-Warrior Of Hope

-The (Un) holy trinity

-Any x junko ships(not including x reader)

Games I will write

-Danganronpa Thh

-Danganronpa GD

-Danganronpa V3

Source

-Danganronpa

About Me

-He/him

-I will write a gn! Reader, if the gender is not detailed

-Give me some tips

-No need to be shy to ask anything

Ooohhhh, maybe some promo ÙWÙ

@danganronpamess @kinmiko @ultimate-editors @ultimate-yakuza-editing @overlord-of-ice @danganronpa @ndrv3imagines

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smalls-words · 2 years

Text

Just Be With Me

Summary: It’s your heart versus your head - aka, your family versus Natasha.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x GN!Kryptonian!Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort (holy trinity is my fav)

Warnings: Morning after sex in the beginning, light sexual suggestion in the middle - also, fighting, lil bit of toxic behaviour, family troubles, poisoning, Natasha being injured.

Requested: yes/NO

Words: 6,260

A/N: I really like pairing Natasha with a Kryptonian!Reader. That’s it. :)

*not my gifs*

The sunlight along Natasha’s back warmed her enough to wake her up, her groggy mind taking in the strewn clothes around the room. She smiled softly as she turned over in the bed, the sun making her quickly close her eyes.

“Good morning-” She reached for your spot but found it empty, albeit warm from the sun.

“Y/N?” She called out, hoping you would answer since it was your apartment.

She sat up and held the sheets close to her chest, relishing in the comfortable warmth you had given her in the night’s… activities.

“Oh, was it that bad?” She muttered to herself before another thought travelled through.

“Was it that… good?”

She stood and got dressed in some clothes she’d brought over, buttoning up her shirt as the news reported on you and your sister’s actions. She had to admit, learning that one of your sisters was a DEO agent was enough, but the other being an alien from a dead planet?

And you being her younger sibling? Whoo, she was sold the moment her eyes fell onto you.

A gust of cold wind pushed over her, her torso unfortunately not covered except for the bra, and arms snaked around her hips to reveal familiar blue and green fabric.

“Good morning.” You murmured as you kissed the skin behind her ear.

“I heard you but I thought I’d come and say it back.”

Natasha shivered slightly as she turned around, hooking her arms around your neck whilst you held her back-leaning body. “Oh yeah? How about last night?”

“Oh, last night was amazing.” You snickered, making Natasha grin before she noticed what you had placed on the counter behind.

“And what are these?” She asked, nodding to the items as she zipped up her SHIELD top.

“These are for you.”

She let her fingers glide through the petals of roses and daisies as they sat next to two warm cups of coffee, taking the one that had her initial whilst you took yours.

“Just wait one sec.” You walked back into your room and speedily threw some clothes over your suit.

You came back to her in the form of hands on her shoulders, squeezing them lightly before you kissed the middle of her back.

“I would like to make a note on the future love-making in this relationship.” Natasha whipped around in your arms, holding your waist as your eyebrows furrowed and your arms looped around her neck.

“Oh, okay.” You muttered, confused.

“I would like to wake up… next to you.” She admitted after kissing you softly.

“Oh, okay.” You muttered again, but this time with a smile between your kisses as a thought hovered into your mind.

“Rao, it’s nice to do that without breaking a person’s nose.” You unintentionally whispered.

“How many times did that happen?” Natasha chuckled as she pulled away slightly, her hands subconsciously tickling against your hips.

“Um…” You awkwardly covered your face. “Less than… five?”

“So four. Exactly four times.” She smirked, watching you blush before she kissed you again.

“I could just… stay here with you… all day if I wasn’t rostered on.”

“Come on then.” You chirped, picking her up easily as you walked towards the open window.

‘Y/N! I’m not ready!” She squealed, making you smirk as you put her down.

“Be ready in five minutes or I’m not flying you to work!” You barked as she went into the bathroom.

“You wouldn’t leave even if I begged you to.” She remarked behind the closed door.

“You’re not wrong.” You muttered to yourself.

After four minutes, you caught her by her hips as she practically threw herself onto you and smirked whilst you both fell out of the window and shot off to the DEO. You landed on the balcony, making sure she was steady before you let go of her hip.

“Oh and you’re going to have to attend a mandatory sexual harassment seminar.”

Those words made your head cock to the side as they left Alex’s mouth, making you glance at Mon-El and Kara as you walked up to them.

“Did you tell J’onn that you were together?” You asked your second older sister.

“No - this idiot blurted it out ten seconds into getting here.” Kara grumbled as she smacked Mon-El across the head, sending him to warm up whilst you kissed Natasha softly.

“I’ll see you soon.” You murmured as she moved away.

“Have fun at your seminar, Kara.” Natasha smirked whilst going to the elevator before alarms rang out in the room.

“Holy CADMUS cream egg!” Winn exclaimed.

Natasha immediately appeared at your side, holding your waist tightly at the mention of that evil place akin to her version of hell. “What is it?”

“Tasha, baby, go to your level.” You chuckled, but noticed the crinkle of her eyebrows.

“Not with them around.” She growled protectively, moving both arms around you instead of just the one.

“Natasha, I won’t faint this time-”

“Y/N.” She warned you as you squirmed in her arms, eventually giving up as you nodded to your sister.

“Go with J’onn. I’ll deal with Meanie-Pants.”

“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be a DEO agent, Y/N.” Kara chuckled.

“Why not? I’m a better fighter than you! I was trained before we came to Earth!” You attempted to shout at her but she was long gone.

“Oh, yes, my big scary baby knows how to fight.” Natasha teased in a gruff voice as she led you down the hallway to her lab.

“Yeah, exactly. Tell her, Tasha.” You muttered, curling into her side more.

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As soon as you heard the alert, you flew out of Natasha’s lab window and soared up to the DEO balcony, speeding in only for tears to well in your eyes.

“Dad.” You smiled tearily, tackling the man in a hug.

“Hello, Y/N.” Jeremiah smiled, patting your back whilst you stood next to Kara.

“H-How are you alive? We all thought you were dead.” You stammered.

“CADMUS saved me so I could save Henshaw. They forced me to keep him alive, to… enhance him. Physically turn him into the monster he was beneath.” He sighed.

“What happened after that? You were gone for such a long time.” Kara smiled weakly, holding your upper arm within her crossed ones.

“I guess I did too good a job enhancing Henshaw ‘cause CADMUS wanted me to stick around, help them with other projects. In the beginning, I tried to escape, again and again, but… let’s just say they didn’t appreciate that very much.” Jeremiah joked.

“Dad…” Alex sniffled.

“It’s okay. By working with them I was helping to keep you and your siblings safe.”

A door hissed open behind you and you immediately wiped away your tears, only to stop as Natasha walked up to you with Mon-El going to Kara.

“Hey, hey, malen’kiy (little one), it’s okay.” She calmed you, kissing away your tears as she held your cheeks.

“And who’s this, Y/N?” Jeremiah smirked as you turned around.

“Dad, meet Natasha Romanoff, my girlfriend. Tasha, this is my adoptive dad, Jeremiah Danvers.” You introduced them.

“It’s an honour to meet the woman who caught Y/N’s heart.” He shook Natasha’s hand.

“As it is to meet you, sir.” She smiled shortly, her hand falling to the centre of your back.

“Oh, don’t bother with formalities - Jeremiah is fine.”

She nodded as she took it into consideration before Alex piped up. “Dad, the uh… the damage to your hand is… it’s extensive.”

“It’s punishment for helping Mon-El and Kara escape. But I would do it again in a heartbeat. I’m so… lucky you found me, I’m so lucky to be back with you three.” He took all three of your hands and you smiled at each other.

“It’s more than luck.” Mon-El blurted out.

“What do you mean?” J’onn asked as he stood.

“We got an alert that CADMUS was moving a weapon and we don’t get alerts unless they’re releasing a video or we catch them red-handed.” The Daxamite explained.

“But- Well, we did catch them red-handed.” Kara chuckled, not quite sure of what her boyfriend was saying.

“Though… No, they were waving their red hands around in the air literally like they just didn’t care.”

You felt Natasha’s hand snake around your waist further, and whilst you didn’t mind it, it was pulling you further away from Jeremiah. “Tasha, baby, I’m fine. There’s no Kryptonite around, there’s no threats. Relaxat, amica mea (Relax, my love).” You muttered in Latin.

She murmured an apology and removed her hand from your waist, but you took it back and intertwined your fingers as Jeremiah continued to talk. “Mon-El’s right. You need to keep your guard up. Because CADMUS does have a weapon.”

“What is it?” J’onn questioned.

“A nuclear fusion bomb. They’re gonna destroy National City and blame it on hostile aliens.”

“How did CADMUS get their hands on it?” Kara looked confused in her question.

He turned to your blonde sister. “They didn’t steal it, they built it. Using the radiation they mined from your heat vision when you were in their custody.”

“Well that’s not good.” You huffed.

“Baby, can I talk to you in the hall?” Natasha murmured, taking you by your hand as you nodded.

She led you to a quiet section of the DEO level before turning around silently, not speaking for a few seconds.

“Tasha, please don’t analyse me.” You asked, not liking the feeling of her interrogating eyes on you.

“I know you’re happy he’s back, lyubov-”

“And you’re not? He saved me countless times when I was little.” You barked.

Natasha gave you a warning look for your interruption. “I know, love, you tell me all about your adventures with Kara when you were discovering your powers. But…” She sighed.

“Hey.” You took her hands in yours, your cape swishing below you to tickle her leg, and you played with her thin Russian fingers.

“I’m sorry I’m being grumpy. Please tell me why you’re feeling this way.”

She smiled at your apology and kissed your forehead before continuing. “I always trust my instincts. They led me to SHIELD, to the Avengers, to you. But now they are telling me that I have to get away from Jeremiah, and if I do that, I’m bringing you with me.”

You took a moment not to yell at her for following her instincts and exhaled slowly. “Why should I get away from Jeremiah?”

“Because he’s bad news. Y/N, my sweet little alien, he’s lived with CADMUS for years. They forced him to keep Jeremiah alive, so what if they’re forcing him to do something now? I just…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Baby, I’m bulletproof. That’s about as safe as you can get.” You chuckled, but you saw the look in Natasha’s eyes change, especially when she pushed you up against the wall.

“Y/N Danvers, listen to me and listen to me well. You are mine, and when I think that you should be cautious, you should be cautious. CADMUS has Kryptonite, we know that for a fact. Jeremiah was with CADMUS for over a decade - I will not have you in harm’s way. Do you understand me?”

You felt small as you stood between Natasha and the wall, nodding silently before her hand took your chin and stroked your genetically-perfect skin. “Words, baby-cake.”

“Y-Yes, Tasha. I understand.” You answered.

She kissed you softly. “Good. Now, you Danvers’ love to celebrate, so am I correct in saying that there will be a dinner at Kara’s?”

“No… maybe.” You murmured, both hating and loving that she knew you so well.

“Just come over and get to know him. Spend time with him and you will see that there's nothing to be afraid of. Maybe your little spider instincts are wrong this time.” You teased, pushing back against her.

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you that the name is because Black Widows are deadly? Not that I have actual spider genes?” She smirked.

“I think I need a reminder, Agent Romanoff.” You played with the zipper of her suit and she took your hand away from it.

“Another night.” She promised, kissing you shortly before returning to her level of duty.

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You sat nervously on the end of the couch whilst your sisters’ partners arrived in the forms of Maggie and Mon-El, both being greeted lovingly by your parents. You looked at your phone and saw no notifications, but a knock at the door had you instantly speed towards it.

Natasha grinned as you opened the door, blush dotting your cheeks as she kissed you. “Hi, my love.”

“Hi, Tasha.” You answered, noticing the flowers and wine in her hands.

“These are for you both. Y/N told me how your admiration for gardening brought you together, so I thought I’d give you a gardening flower.” She smirked to your parents as she helped put the petunias into a vase.

“Margarita?” Eliza offered and Natasha’s eyes widened.

“Can’t say no to a delicious drink, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll say! You and I should go round for round.” Mon-El quipped.

Natasha winked at him. “Challenge accepted, Daxamite.”

“You’re on, Rasputin.” He winked back just as the door opened again.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Oh don’t be silly, J’onn!” Eliza beamed at him.

“Oh hey, I forgot to do something earlier.” Jeremiah spoke before hugging J’onn tightly, making you cringe.

“Dad, that was so bad.”

Your sisters chuckled along with you as Natasha Eskimo-kissed your cheek.

“A toast. To coming home.” Kara announced, all of your drinks clinking in the air.

“Now, obviously, this is going to be a time of adjustment, but I hope you'll all be patient with me. I've seen and done things that I wish I hadn't.” Jeremiah started.

“Dad, don’t.” You and Alex chimed in, a glance between you before going back to him.

“If I'm going to move forward, I can't ignore my past. CADMUS... changed me, they tried to break me. But in the process, they made me dangerous. I know their weaknesses, and I'm here to work with all of you to make our planet safer.”

He turned to J’onn. “So, if you'll have me, Director, I'd like to return to the DEO. Formally.”

“J’onn? Can he?” Kara asked quietly.

“Pending a full psych evaluation and a field readiness exam... We'll give you the tour tomorrow.” The Martian smiled warmly.

You grinned along with your siblings until you felt Natasha’s whisper tickle your ear. “Y/N… my instincts are telling me to grab you and throw us both out of the window.”

You turned to her and narrowed your eyes. “Natasha, say something nice to him, now.”

“I just wish you were coming back at a time of peace, sir.” She gave her signature fake-smile, something you hadn’t been able to detect yet.

“What a lucky thing that you have returned when you did.” Mon-El added, looking between Natasha, you and Kara before he sipped on his margarita.

“You mean when he was rescued, right, Mon-El?” Alex tilted her head slightly and you were instantly terrified.

“Um… I think he means that it is very fortunate that Dr. Danvers has returned just as a fusion bomb has become a threat.” Natasha chimed in.

“A fusion bomb that only he's mentioned and no one else has seen.”

“I mean, what a gift.” Mon-El added to Natasha’s wording, noticing the look on you and your siblings’ faces.

“What did you just say to my father?” You growled, but a hand of Natasha’s on your chest stopped you from going anywhere.

“Y/N/N, sweetheart, politely listen to Mon-El’s words.” She growled back, making your blood boil.

The Daxamite continued. “And now he's just gonna go right back to the DEO. With full access, I'm guessing, right, J'onn? No background checks for your old soldier buddy?”

“You two need to back up.” Alex pointed sharply at the Widow and Natasha met her gaze, only for you to pull her towards the door.

“Go home, Natalia. And not to mine.” You spat, slamming the door in her face whilst Kara took Mon-El away.

You turned around and felt hands take your shaking ones, looking up to see Maggie smiling sadly at you. “Come here, baby Danvers.” She cooed, taking you into a hug whilst Jeremiah walked over to Kara and Mon-El’s discussion.

You felt your stomach drop as your actions caught up with your mind, appetite now gone as you stepped out of Maggie’s arms. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I-I’m not hungry anymore.” You spoke to Eliza.

“You need to eat something, Y/N.” She stated.

“I’ll grab something on my way home, I promise.” You nodded, hugging her softly.

“Ehroshmbem, je! (Goodbye, sister!)” You called out in Kryptonese as you walked to the window.

“Ehroshmbem, ao-eh (sibling)!” She called back, which just caught onto your ears as you fell out of the apartment and into the sky.

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When you woke up to an empty bed, you huffed and made your way to the DEO. You knew Natasha’s schedule by heart since you both used to sneak around it, and today was supposed to be her day off.

But when you landed in the DEO, she was there, chatting to Mon-El and Winn before turning to see you. You gave her a short, obviously fake smile before looking at Winn's computer scanner, flying off when you saw a fire was going on downtown.

“Are they really going to ignore you until you apologise?” Mon-El scoffed.

“Y/N is… very loyal.” Natasha murmured, walking with the trio to trap Kara.

Natasha and Mon-El hid in the shadows as Winn drew Kara into the room before looking at the duo as Mon-El closed the door.

“If this is what I think it is-”

“Nope, nope, uh-uh-uh. Turn around, 180. Back to there.” Mon-El spun Kara around and led her to the middle of the room, to which she folded her arms and glared at the trio.

“Listen, Winn found something and we think you should know about it.”

Kara sighed, annoyedly. “Okay.”

“So, earlier today, J'onn was giving Jeremiah a tour of the facility. So, when J'onn stepped away, I... I saw Jeremiah trying to break into the DEO mainframe.” Winn explained.

“Wait, wait. Stop for a second. Were you spying on Jeremiah?” She interrupted.

“Kara-”

“Did you put him up to this?” She stopped Mon-El but Natasha interfered.

“You are not listening, Kara! Winn found something.”

“A ‘big’ something.” The technician emphasised.

“What?” Kara grumbled.

“He actually broke into the DEO system!”

“Too loud.” Mon-El whispered.

“I'm sorry. But it sure as hell looks like Jeremiah is spying on us.” Winn sighed before Kara turned to Natasha.

“Does Y/N know what you’re doing?”

“No, and I plan to keep it that way.” Natasha answered.

Kara exhaled slowly as she weighed up her options before she walked out with the boys, only to see you and Alex talking to Jeremiah.

“Still no ping on the fusion bomb?” You asked the brunette sister.

“Uh, no. Nothing.” Alex replied.

“What if they could have developed some sort of cloaking device? Is it possible, Dad?” You turned to Jeremiah.

“No, no. They would have needed me to build it for them. Keep scanning. It'll come online eventually.” He assured you, bringing out a small smile onto your face.

Before it fell at the sight of Mon-El, Natasha, Winn and Kara.

“Hey, Jeremiah... Can we talk for a minute?” The blonde asked.

“Sure. What's up? Is everything okay?” He replied, concerned at the crinkle in Kara’s eyebrows whilst you held his good hand softly.

“Um... Earlier today, you accessed some highly classified files from the DEO mainframe.” Kara explained.

“That's true. I did.”

“Why?”

“I tried to use my old passkey to look at some case files. But the access codes have changed, so I did a workaround to get inside.” He chuckled awkwardly, noticing your eyes fall onto Natasha.

“What were you looking at?” The Widow asked.

“Case files from the last 24 months. I wanted to see what my children had been up to. The crises you faced, the people you saved, the adventures you've been on. I've been away so long... Case histories are just a way for me to feel like I was there a little. I'm sorry.” He apologised and you rubbed his arm affectionately.

“Don’t apologise, Dad.” You kissed his shoulder softly.

“Winn?” J’onn muttered from behind you.

“Uh… Your… Yeah, yeah… He's telling the truth. I mean, it looks like it's just a bunch of old case files.” Winn stammered through the guilt building inside of him.

“Oh, Dad.” Alex sighed, hugging him alongside you before she turned back to the quartet.

“You both are unbelievable.” She pointed at Winn and Mon-El.

“But you… you're something else.” She finished with Kara and you stood still as Alex led him away.

You lifted your eyes when you recognised the boots that had been in your apartment not even 24 hours ago. Natasha stared at you calmly before she noticed tears pricking your eyes.

“Happy now? Your little spider instincts eased?” You bitterly asked.

“No, not in the slightest. In fact, they’re only more uneasy.” She replied.

You scoffed as you walked away from her, but she followed you. You were tempted to speed away from her and you missed your window when she guided you into an empty laboratory.

“Sit.” She pointed at a chair and you shook your head.

You noticed the look she gave you, the one reserved for times where nobody could catch you, and you closed your eyes. “No, Natasha, I’m not going to sit. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Y/N…” She warned you and you shook your head wildly, the Widow realising her tone as she calmly put a hand on your chest.

“Open your eyes, love.”

You stepped back and opened them anyway, half-glaring at her as she spoke again. “I see your hurt and I see your fear, deliciae (darling), but I am not blinded by familial blood. Jeremiah was with CADMUS a long time, so we owe it to ourselves to look at every angle, even if it makes us uncomfortable.”

“He protected me in my darkest times, Natasha. He sacrificed so much for me and Kara. Why is it difficult for you to accept that he is just wanting to catch up?” You scoffed.

“Because if he really wanted to catch up, why isn’t he asking you?! You are right here, Y/N! Why does he have to wait until he’s alone to access the system?”

“Rao, you really don't trust him, do you?” You walked towards the door.

Natasha caught you by your wrist. “No, I don't trust CADMUS. And I will do what I have to, to protect us, to protect you.”

“Well, I guess, you've chosen your side.” You shook her hold off of you.

“This is not about sides, Y/N.” She tried to reason with you.

“No, it is. Because you’re either a supportive girlfriend or you’re a co-worker.” You growled, watching her expression change into one of shock.

“You don't mean that.”

“He's my father.”

“And I’m your girlfriend.”

“Then act like it!” You snapped, the room falling into silence.

“Alert: All DEO agents from Alpha to Delta, prepare for CADMUS forced entry. Move out in five minutes.” Alex’s voice came over the intercom, your eyes briefly darting up to the speaker before coming back to Natasha.

“Go.” You nodded to the door.

“I’m not leaving you. I’m not a DEO agent.” She remarked.

“Well I am. And I’m a DEO agent; a part of Alpha team.”

You marched out of the room and met up with Alex, taking her hand whilst you let Kara and Mon-El walk behind you.

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“Alright, we’re in position. Dad?” You asked.

“Right here, Y/N.”

“Okay, standing by for your instructions once we get inside.” Alex nodded to you.

“Be careful. Anything happens to that bomb before you disarm it, the whole city could go. Let’s stop them once and for all.”

You nodded confirmation between your sisters, Mon-El and the two teams behind you, team Charlie and Delta circling around the back. “Ready when you are, J’onn.”

“On my mark. Three… Two…”

Your eyes lit up with your heat vision and both you and Kara fired on one, melting through the garage door before the teams swarmed the building. Shouts of clear rang through different levels and you focused your hearing, not even a tick of a gun coming into your ears.

“Something’s not right.” You muttered from next to Kara.

“J'onn, please advise. There's no sign of target.” Alex reported into the comms of her ear.

“I repeat, there's no sign of target. There's nothing here.”

You stood for a few seconds before you told all of the agents to stand to the side of a wall or railing, speeding through the entire facility to find nothing.

“J’onn? Dad? Can anybody copy?” You asked into your comms.

You looked between Kara and Alex for guidance before you pulled out your phone. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“You have reached the voicemail of Natasha Romanoff. Please leave a message after the beep.” The automated voice stated and you tried again.

“You have reached- You have- You- You-”

“Argh!” You yelled, trying one last time.

“Y/N?”

You were surprised by the voice on the other line. “Winn? Where’s Natasha?”

“Y/N, she’s… you have to get back here.”

Kara caught your phone as it dropped to the floor, her keen eyes seeing the last of your cape as you shot out of the facility.

You didn’t even land on the balcony - you flew straight towards Winn and gasped at the sight of Natasha getting treated by medical, loud beeping from the ECG echoing in your ears.

“Natasha.” You murmured, speeding to her side.

“Natasha, please, stay with me. I’m sorry for what I said, I take it all back. Please, just stay with me. I-I love you so much, my love, I really truly do. Please don’t leave me!”

“Y/N, you need to let them work.” Winn placed a hand on your shoulder but you pushed him off.

“I’m not leaving her. She’s my girlfriend. She’s my goddamn girlfriend!” You whimpered.

You felt two strong arms wrap around your torso, immediately pushing against them as Kara tried to drag you out of the medical room. You fought against her, scratching rivers of blood into her arms that easily healed, ripping at her fingers but she eventually won as you tired yourself out.

“Y/N, stop!” Kara ordered and you fell into her arms, sobbing as the ECG levelled out.

You noticed J’onn was in the other room and walked over to him, a void expression on your face. “Who did this?”

“Y/N…” He grunted, facing you.

“Who hurt my Natasha?” You asked, your hands balled into fists.

“Jeremiah.” He answered.

You shook your head. “No. No, Natasha is stronger than that. She’s… She’s a Widow, for crying out loud.”

“And Jeremiah’s arm, the one we thought had nerve damage, was cybernetically enhanced. She didn’t stand a chance against that, Y/N.” He explained and your legs buckled out from underneath you.

“Y/N!” Your sisters helped you stay upright as you sobbed once more, your entire upper body shaking with emotion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect her.” J’onn looked down at you and you shook your head, standing weakly until you were flying just a few centimetres off of the ground.

“Not as sorry as CADMUS will be.”

“Don’t be mad, but I did hide a tracker on Jeremiah.” Winn told you at the door of J’onn’s medical room.

“I don’t care - I’ll find him anywhere on this planet.” You spat before you moved to Natasha’s room.

Her limp form was not a comforting sight.

*Dad did this. Jeremiah did this. How could I have been so blind?* You thought to yourself as you kissed Natasha’s forehead, tears threatening to spill as you looked down at the breathing tube in her mouth.

“I promise you, my love, that I will make him pay for hurting you.” You muttered, brushing a few hairs out of her face.

You studied her broken body, x-ray vision revealing the internal damage of broken bones, bruised organs and a previously collapsed lung. It only fuelled your rage as you walked out to see Winn, Kara and Alex waiting for you.

“We found him.” Kara murmured, more than loud enough for your ears to pick up on.

“Good.”

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You hovered behind Alex, in line with Kara, as you faced Jeremiah, Lillian and the real Hank Henshaw as your brunette sister shot her specialised gun at the car, rendering it useless.

“It’s over.” Kara barked at the trio.

“Not yet. But it will be soon.” Lillian smirked.

“Dad, you’re coming with us.” Alex ordered.

“That’s unlikely, dear.” Lillian interrupted again, making you huff under your breath.

A train horn blared from behind you and you were about to ignore it before Hank spoke evilly. “Ka-boom.”

“No!” Kara begged, but it was already done - you looked through the trees to see an explosion cut off a piece of the railroad bridge, threatening the lives of everyone on that train.

“Go.” Alex ordered Kara and she sped off, but you hesitated.

“I’m going to kill you for hurting Natasha.” You growled at your father.

“I didn’t want to. It was either her or me.” Jeremiah replied.

“Y/N, need your help here please!” Kara called and you sped off to her, leaving Alex to chase down the trio.

You saw the train coming at full speed, unable to see the broken railroad in the dark of the night, and you eyed the piece of railing at the bottom of the valley. You soared down and retrieved it, bringing it up just in time for the train to ride over it.

“Kara!” You yelled over the roar of the train and she helped you weld the metal back together, only for you to shoot back and see Alex pointing the gun at Jeremiah.

“Where’s Henshaw and Lillian?!”

“Gone!” Alex yelled back, but her sadness shook her voice.

You marched up to Jeremiah and slapped him across the face, leaving you with shocked siblings and a guilty father.

“How could you?” You asked, your eyes bright with heat that was ready to fire at any moment.

“HOW COULD YOU?!”

“Would you believe me if I said I did it for you? For Kara, for Alex?” He asked.

“You betrayed everyone at the DEO. Your hurt friends, our family, MY NATASHA!”

Kara quickly grabbed you and kept you still in her arms, even though you squirmed. “You honestly think that for one second, I’m going to believe that you did this for our family?!”

“Family’s complicated, Y/N.”

“I’m bringing you in.” Alex interrupted, clicking the safety of her gun off.

“Not alive, you’re not.” He retorted, making you squirm harder in Kara’s grip.

“Then so be it!” You broke out of your sister’s arms and tackled Jeremiah to the ground, throwing punch after punch after punch until your fist was caught by Jeremiah’s cybernetic hand.

“You… were always the best part of me.” He muttered.

“Which is why it pains me to do this to you.”

Jeremiah’s human hand reached up to your neck and injected a small vial of green liquid, your veins turning the sickly shade as you gasped for air, falling off of him.

“Y/N!” Kara yelled in fear, shooting to your side but the damage was already done.

“Please… Stay awake, Y/N. Come on, you can do it.” She cooed, keeping your attention on her as she picked you up.

“Kara… it’s so c-c-cold out here.” You shivered, looking down at your hands to see the veins of them turning green.

“A-Alex, I need a sun grenade!”

“I don’t have any! There’s some lamps at the DEO, go!” Alex ordered, the cold wind of National City’s unholiest hour as the last thing you felt before darkness surrounded you.

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You jolted up out of your medical bed with a loud gasp of air, your vision unfocused before a long waterfall of blonde hair fell into it. Two hands cupped your cheeks before a light shone brightly, making you blink quickly a few times to focus your eyes.

“She’s okay.” Alex took the torch away from your face and you looked up at them, the light of a sunset making your eyes focus one last time.

“Where’s… Did we get him?” You asked groggily.

Alex shook her head. “We’ll get him next time.”

She hugged you tightly, with Kara doing the same afterwards. “I almost lost you, ao-eh (sibling).”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” You replied, making your sisters chuckle lightly.

“Go home. Get some rest. Don’t come in tomorrow.” Alex ordered you and you nodded.

“If I see you here, I’m going to go extra hard on your ass in training.” Kara added and you nodded again.

“I get it, I get it. Rao, you’re so annoying.” You complained before they both kissed your temples and Kara flew you home.

After ordering dinner and chatting with Kara, she left you and your thoughts began to spiral. The man who had looked after you on this new planet had been the one to almost kill you, and who tried to kill your girlfriend.

You cuddled up with a blanket and a pillow, keeping yourself warm with your solar-energised cells before a knock came to your front door. “It’s unlocked.” You called out weakly, recognising the heartbeat on the other side.

Natasha poked her head through the door and saw your big blanket covering every part of you but your head. “Hey, lyubov (love). You okay?”

You didn’t answer her as she closed the door, so she moved closer to stand by the end of the couch. “No? Yeah… Yeah, today was a little… Yeah, I just- I just wanted to…”

You looked up at her and the Widow’s heart almost broke at the sight of your reddened eyes and sad expression. She sighed softly and put her duffle bag down on the ground, watching you push your head back into your pillow.

“I’m… I’m not gonna talk.” She moved and sat down by your feet.

“Why don’t you tell me what you need? Hmm? I’ll listen.” She offered softly, running her fingers up and down your blanket-covered calf.

“Just… Just be here with me. Please.” You sniffled in the quietest voice Natasha had ever heard.

“Okay.” She whispered, smiling at you when you looked at her.

“Come here.” She lifted the ends of the red blanket off of the couch and pulled it over herself, letting you adjust underneath it so that you held her tightly, an arm clutching beneath her boobs that you sighed into.

“You just want me to sit here?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair.

“Yeah, just like this.” You murmured, taking in the warmth of her body and the smell of her shampoo.

“Okay. Do you need me to do anything else, or…?”

You thought for a moment before you looked up at her. “To wake up with me.”

She nodded with a small smile, brushing away your tears with the pad of her thumb before she kissed your forehead. “I’d love to.”

You sniffled before holding her tighter, a wince coming from her that made your eyes widen. “I didn’t break anything, did I?”

“No, sweetheart, you didn’t break anything.” She chuckled softly, watching tears spill forward again as she calmly shushed you.

“It’s okay, Y/N/N. Why the tears?”

“I’m sorry for being such a terrible partner. I should have trusted your instincts and listened to you properly, not gotten angry and threatened to break up with you.” You moved to straddle her waist and pulled the blanket over the top of you both, creating a small cocoon of familiar warmth.

“Well, yes, you should have. And you know my instincts aren’t usually wrong.” She lightly teased, pinching your sniffling nose.

“But all is forgiven, my little alien. I love you more than you know and nothing, not even your family, could take you away from me.” She kissed you softly before hugging you tightly.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” You asked into her ear and she shook her head.

“J’onn told me that if I went in tomorrow that he’d put me against Alex. That’s enough for me.”

You jolted back and gave her an odd look. “You can beat Alex any day of the week.”

“That’s true. But I want my alien cuddles.” She pouted and you rolled your eyes, kissing her as you fell into her body.

“I want my Tasha cuddles too.” You murmured against her lips, loving the way her chuckle gravelled with her nighttime voice.

“Then Tasha cuddles is what you will get. But… we should go to bed.”

She picked you up and you squeaked, clinging onto her before you felt the soft mattress give beneath you. She pulled the sheets up over you and you rested against her shoulder, listening to her heartbeat as it slowed down.

“I love you, Y/N.” She murmured.

“I love you too, Tasha.” You whispered, kissing the skin of her collarbone before you fell asleep.

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