#or I can buzz every single apartment until someone opens the door

[knucklestheenchilada]

Went to double check I locked my apartment (on account of the adhd) and someone broke off a key in the building’s front door???? Give me roughly 12 hours to tell you how I’m getting back inside tonight

#I know everyone else in my building isn’t gonna do anything about it #ughhhhhhh I guess I can go through the trash room? to get in #or I can buzz every single apartment until someone opens the door #oh this sucks

[nivisdreaming]

What if eddie tied reader in rope and stuff then shut the door while watching tv, reader starts to feel overwheled but when they use their safeword eddie doesnt hear it until reader yells it

ok so!! i’m gonna take this n run with it a little because i couldnt decide what type of overwhelm to do, but brat tamer!eddie who is also soft my beloved!!! he’s a bit harsher of a dom than my last dom!eddie fic, but still just as soft afterwards <333

Summary: Fed up with your bratty attitude, Eddie decides to be extra mean with his punishment and leave you alone while a vibrator overstimulates you. When it gets to be too much, you attempt to call a safeword, only to discover he can’t hear you from where he’s stationed outside the room. It’s only after you use the last of your strength he rushes into the room, comforting you and nursing you back to that fuzzy safety of his presence.

WC: ~2k (oops i went overboard again)

Tags: Hurt/comfort, safeword use, mildly unsafe BDSM practices (don’t leave someone tied without supervision or communication!!), overstimulation, brat taming, adult toys, bondage, collaring mentioned, fem!reader, dom!eddie, sub!reader, aftercare, praise, implied syncope/pre-syncope

You knew you were in for it the second Eddie opened the toy drawer. You had been running your mouth all day, talking back to Eddie whenever given the chance, and decided to start teasing him with pictures of his favorite lingerie while he was at band practice. The second he was home, you were hauled over his shoulder and carried to the bedroom, where he dropped you on the bed and turned to rustle through the drawer.

“Strip. Nothing but your collar, or you’ll make this worse for yourself,” he barks out. The drawer slams shut and he heads for the door, shutting and locking it for the time being. When he turns around to face you, still scrambling the get the last of your clothing off, you can see what he’s selected. In one hand, he holds a wand vibrator, one of your most powerful toys with 10 different speed selections and a long plug in cord to prevent battery death. In the other, he holds a pair of your favorite fuzzy handcuffs, and a long section of bright red rope.

A shudder runs down your spine as you peel your panties off, leaving you bare under his gaze. You can see the wicked glint in his eyes, his ever-presenting smirk unfading as he speaks, “On your back, wrists together in front of you.” You move to lie on the bed, watching his movements to plug in the toy but leave it off, then coming to kneel beside you. He snaps the handcuffs to your wrists, checking the tightness before ripping your thighs apart to expose your cunt to him. “Based on the way your dripping onto the sheets already, I don’t need to worry about prepping you for this punishment. Just in case, what’s your safeword baby?” His eyes are the softest you had seen them all day, and it manages to conjure small butterflies in your stomach. He always looks so lovesick for you in these gentle little movements of reprieve.

“Yellow to slow, red to stop completely, sir,” you reply, finding your voice to already have that sickly sweet and timid tone to it. So much for the misbehaving and bratty attitude.

He gives a nod and releases your legs. You hold them open for him, curious of what is going to occur next, when he huffs and stands up from the bed. “One more thing, I think this is missing just one more thing.” He returns to the toy drawer and searches for a moment, pulling out a matching red silk scarf and returning to your side. “You won’t need to see for this. Want you focused in on feeling every single of your punishment, no need to overwhelm that pretty head of yours with anything other than pleasure.” He secures the scarf around your eyes, blocking out your sight to anything other than the fabric.

There’s a pause where all you can hear is the shuffling of his footsteps, and then a buzzing noise fills the room. You can feel the cool head of the wand pressed against your inner thigh as Eddie slowly makes his way up your body, until he’s got it pressed directly against your clit, making you squirm and try to pull away from the sudden intensity of stimulation. He chuckles lowly, “Oh honey, if you think this is bad, you are in for a hell of a night,” he ticks the setting up higher on the toy, making you cry out. His knees come to rest of either side of you, pushing your thighs together until he’s got the toy trapped between your legs and pushed right up against your core. He snickers as he bends to reach the ropes, quick to tie simple bands around the meat of your legs, even as you writhe and whine under him.

He secures the last knot and gives a light tap to your cheek to capture your attention. “There, now you can’t get away from it. Be a good girl and take everything you are given.” You whimper but mutter out an agreement in between your breathless cries. “You’re always such a vocal little thing. I’m going to go enjoy my night and probably smoke a bit, try not to wake the neighborhood with your crying and maybe I’ll let you have my cock later, ‘kay sweet-cheeks?” Satisfied with your nod, he exits the room, slotting the bedroom door shut behind him in hopes of sealing some of your noise inside. You two had begun to receive a few noise complaints, specifically about the longer sessions that tended to drag on late into the night, and Eddie planned to drag this one out as long as possible. As much as he hated being so horny from all the teasing and not being able to fuck you already, he knew it would feel so much better if you could take you while you were already so dumb-fucked and overstimulated. That, and he hoped you would be too busy babbling about how sensitive you were to continue your bratting. He sat on the couch with a sigh, turning on a horror flick he had already seen a thousand times and attempting to get comfortable for the everlasting evening he was in for.

Meanwhile, you felt your first orgasm start to rip through your body, triggering your back to arch up and a strangled moan to pull from your throat. You tried to keep it quiet and listen to Eddie’s orders, but it was really difficult with the incessant vibrating against you. There just never was a moment of break, your core kept clenching down and your hips bucked, unsure whether to chase the pleasure or run away, not that you could actually do either. Your whole body shook as you came for the second time, the overstimulation to your clit sending waves of slick gushing out of you and beginning to puddle underneath you. You heaved, whole body feeling like it was burning from the spasms, pain melding with pleasure and creating a bitter-sweet loop of never ending orgasms being clawed from you with a vengeance.

You began to lose count around number 7, brain too fuzzed out and overloaded to organize clear thoughts anymore. You found your voice too hoarse to make much noise anymore, reduced to soft whimpers and pants for air as you fought to keep your lungs full. Your tongue lulled out, mouth dry from the constant gasping. The soreness in your core was unbelievable, like fireworks stabbing you from the inside, burning hot and white and blinding, punching you in the gut repeatedly like someone was knocking the wind out of you.

It was delicious, truly, the endorphins running through you, the powerless submission being left here made you feel. Or it would be, could you just get enough air in to appreciate it. Every shot of electricity up your spine forced everything out of your lungs, a horrific forced hyperventilation that was starting to darken up the corners of your vision, the red of the fabric being transformed to a creeping black that pulsated and grew with the pounding of your heart.

Lightheadness, a little floaty and dizzy feeling, you were used to these happening during a session. But this, this felt different. A terrifying sense of impending doom accompanied them, leaving your sweaty body to feel as if your blood was suddenly ice cold. Broken, breathless, and quickly running out of energy, you tried to weakly call out to Eddie, “I-… r-red, ssir..”

You could hear no shift in what was going on behind the closed door. The movie was loud, at it’s most vicious moments, and with the muffling of the walls and the buzzing there was no way for him to hear you like this.

A sob clutched at your throat, further forcing the oxygen from you as you felt the tension increase in your stomach again. It burned so bad now, you couldn’t tell the pounding of your head from the pounding of your clit, and your limbs felt too heavy to squirm around anymore, despite the convulsions still wracking your body. The powerful toy had you right on the edge again, and the threat of coming another time was enough to punch a scream of your safeword from your chest just as there was a loud shriek from Eddie’s movie.

Eddie was off the couch and flying to the bedroom in a flash, throwing the door open and scanning over you in a guttural panic. Just the sound of you screaming out for him at felt like a stab the chest, and the sight of you twisted the knife deeper in his heart. He yanked the plug from the wall, killing the vibrations while he ripped the blindfold from your eyes. Both hands came up to cradle your head as he tried to get your blown out pupils to focus on him, though it appeared you stared right through him.

“I’m here baby, I’m right here, can you hear me? I need you to focus on my voice honey,” he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, “Fuck, you’re breathing really fast baby, you need to slow down or you’re gonna knock yourself out. Try breathe with me, best you can. Deep breath in, 1…2…3…4. Deep breath out, 1…2…3…4, just like that hun, you’re doing so well, such a good girl.” A small whine left you at his words, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sign that you were coming back to him.

“Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay, I’ve gotcha now baby, let’s get these off you so I can clean you up and get you properly snuggled with me.” He removes your cuffs and undoes the rope bindings, allowing all your shaky limbs to flop freely. He gathers you up in his arms and presses a water bottle to your lips, urging you to drink half. He then moves you to lay on the couch while quickly changes the sheets to clean ones, before taking you back to bed. He wraps one arm over your shoulder to hold you close while the other runs a damp cloth over your thighs and tummy, cleaning off the sweat and slick until he’s satisfied. When he’s finally finished, he pulls you all the way onto his chest and wraps a blanket around the both of you. He presses a sweet kiss to you forehead before leaning down to whisper into your ear.

“My sweet girl, you did so well for me tonight. I’m so sorry for leaving you like that baby, I never meant to be away for that long, got distracted daydreaming about you and forgot I had my pretty girl all to myself already. Not gonna leave like that again, okay? Never again. Staying right here, holding you close forever and ever. Keep you warm and soft and bundled up, just a baby should be.” He squeezes you a bit tighter. “I love my perfect baby so much, you know that? Love you with all of me. I’ll keep you safe, you know that right? I’m going to keep you so safe. No one can hurt you, because you’re mine. My baby.” He leaves kisses all over your head and face, coaxing a small giggle from you as you peel your tired eyes open long enough to place a kiss on his lips.

“Love you too, my teddy bear.” Your eyes fall back shut, and your asleep in seconds, both you and Eddie pressed chest to chest, clinging to each other all night.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #sub!reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut

[seungmoonandstars]

𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: 1.8k

synopsis: someone is cheating // pt 1

rating: mature/angst ꩜ (contains: aggression, confrontation)

⤜ · · ♡ · · →

3pm

SM: I won’t be back until Sunday, love, but I’ll call you tonight before you fall asleep! Hopefully I can catch you before you do

YN: it’s okay, Min. I’ll be here, and I’ll be up for a while

SM: I’ll text first just in case

YN: ♥️

12:30am

SM: sleeping?

11am

SM: I’m sorry I missed you last night, we can try again today!

2pm

SM: babe, you know I hate double triple quadruple texting you. Are you okay?

· · ♡ · ·

Saturday, 10:30pm

Seungmin struggles for a moment with his key, but manages without dropping his bags. The door swings open, and he’s greeted by a dark foyer, a dark living room, and a single faint light coming from the kitchen. And it’s too quiet—no tv left on, no music playing to fill the silence, like usual. It’s a little warm inside, and it was a warm day, but Seungmin can feel a breeze coming in from one open window.

“I’m home,” he calls out softly, and his voice carries down the hall and into the open door of the bedroom. But the apartment is empty. You’re not here.

He looks down at his phone, opens his texts, and types. His face falls slowly as he figures out another message to send to you. Seungmin has been away a lot lately, and things have felt strained, but you always answer, eventually, even if it’s hours later. You’ve never been silent for more than a day, and now it’s going on two.

sm: hi love, I’m home early

After making sure you’re not just sound asleep in bed, he starts to type one more message. But he stops himself, and instead he starts to unpack his things.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

yn: hey, I’m so sorry sweetie. I’ll be home soon. I went out with some friends and my phone died

He sighs, relieved to finally hear from you. But he doesn’t reply right away; he waits until he empties his bag, showers, get dressed, and makes himself tea.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as he reaches for his phone.

“Minnie!” You run to him and he opens his arms to hold you against him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

He fights with questioning your absence—not from the house, but from answering his texts, and decides to wait. Right now, he wants to sit down with you and relax; talk; catch up. Maybe that will reveal the answers without him having to ask—he hopes it will, because it’s slowly starting to eat at him.

· · ♡ · ·

“We traveled all day today, a lot of driving, so it was a little hectic.” He curls up on the couch and hugs his knees tights to his chest. “I missed talking to you last night.”

“I guess I was more tired than I thought”

“But I’m here now”

Seungmin’s little nod, his hesitant smile…you missed him so much, and you’re not sure you can even begin to tell him just how much. You crawl across the couch and kneel in front of him. “You’re here”

The kiss you give him is returned, but it’s as hesitant as his smile.

“What’s wrong, Min?”

He shakes his head, “nothing…I’m okay, uhm…”

“You can tell me, you know that”

Yes, he can. The two of you tell each other everything, and as far as Seungmin knows, there are no secrets between you. So why does he suddenly feel so uneasy? “Just too tired to think straight. Maybe we should go to bed.”

“Yeah, let’s go to bed. Clean sheets and everything, all ready for you.”

· · ♡ · ·

Weeks pass, and eventually, Seungmin feels better—less worried, less unsure about things. It’s not completely gone, though. Every hour that passes without a reply from you makes his heart sink a little more. But then you do reply, and everything is fine for a while. Communication between you has changed…just a little bit, but enough.

It’s turning into a vicious cycle, and it’s not good for his head right now. He feels distracted from his work.

Seungmin video calls you on his way home a few days later. You don’t answer.

-

Coming home is like deja vu. Dark, though not quite as dark this time. The tv is on, and so is the bedroom light. Seungmin can hear the shower running when he closes the door. He’s relieved he doesn’t have to worry like last time, and for some reason, even though so much is still eating at him, being home feels good, and everything feels okay. You’re home and waiting for him, and maybe you haven’t been in much of a talking mood lately.

That’s all this is. Everything is good.

He hears his phone buzz and feels for it in his back pocket, but it’s not him. Yours is sitting on the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee you were drinking not long ago. It doesn’t seem out of place of him to look at the notification on your screen, because he’s done it before—you don’t hide anything from each other. But this time he isn’t sure of what he’s seeing. It’s not a text notif, or Instagram, or twitter. It’s not KakaoTalk, which he knows you use, just not much. This one is from Line, and the sender is a name you don’t recognize: 민수

Maybe it’s a coworker, or a client. You know so many people through your work, and Seungmin knows that. But the message is right there…two of them.

민수: I hope you had a good time...I did! I’ll see you again soon

The second message is a ❤️. The same red heart you always send to him. Seungmin feels every drop of blood drain from him, and he feels like he’s falling, but he’s not. His feet are somehow still flat on the floor, and his hand trembles as he touches your screen—he wants to see it and read it one more time, just in case he read it wrong.

The shower stops, and in the time it takes you to get yourself dressed, Seungmin doesn’t move. He’s rooted to this spot, and he’s sure if he takes a single step, he’ll crumble, and he won’t be able to put himself back together again.

“Minnie?”

Your voice echoes in his head.

“Seungmin, baby, you’re home…what—“

He sees your eyes move and glance at your phone on the counter, and then they’re back on his.

“What’s wrong?”

Why can’t he speak? His mouth drops open and nothing comes out, but inside he’s screaming, picking something up and throwing it against the wall, jumping on you and shaking you until you tell him…

“Why?” Is all he manages.

“Why what? Is everything okay? Seungmin, you look so pale…”

His fist clenches behind his back. “I know I haven’t been around much lately…more than lately. But I’m trying. I try so hard to be with you…when I’m away. I thought I was…” he stops and takes a stuttering breath, and his nails dig so hard into his palm, it feels like he’s breaking skin, “…doing okay.”

“Seungmin, you do better than okay”

“Where have you been? You never answer my calls anymore. You hardly text back, and when you do…it’s hours later.”

“You’re right, I’ve been really bad at this for the last few weeks”

“Who is Minsoo?”

There's silence for far longer than either of you intend, but breaking it is impossible. Seungmin said it out loud, he had to, and now things will play out exactly as they should.

But the silence is as much of an answer as he needs. He turns to your phone and picks it up, looks at the messages again. The heart was sent an hour ago, right after you left wherever you were, got home, made coffee, got in the shower. Seungmin wonders what clothes are lying on the bathroom floor right now, and his eyes sting with tears at what his mind creates.

The metal frame of the phone gives a little under his grip, and it gives in completely when it meets the wall between you. The sound is intense—the crunch of glass, the crumble of drywall. Seungmin is strong when he’s not angry, and right now he’s more than that. He’s pissed, and he’s confused.

“Why?” His hand runs through his hair and stays there as he stares at the remnants of your phone; one half of the lifeline between you when he’s gone. “Answer me.”

You jump again, despite the eerie softness of his voice. You have no answer for him, and even if you did, it wouldn’t change a thing right now. “Minnie, I love you.”

“You love me?”

He takes a few steps toward you, and you move back just as many. Seungmin has never given you any reason to fear him, and he’s never argued or fought. You don’t know anyone nearly as level-headed and calm as him, but you’ve also never done anything this stupid before.

“I do, more than anything.”

This time you stay put when he closes the gap, because something has to happen, and there’s nowhere else to go. It’s you, it’s Seungmin, and it’s the wall behind you.

His hands come up, close around your cheeks, and his thumbs run over them so sweetly, “you love me…but, you fucked someone else?”

“I didn’t. Seungmin, I didn’t. Please.”

“You've been ignoring me for another man. Pouring yourself out to him? Telling him things, telling him how you feel being all alone in bed all the time because your boyfriend is never here for you.”

“No. No, Seungmin.”

His touch on you tightens, just for a moment, as he matches the intensity of your gaze. And then he relaxes and lets go. You stay quiet as he grabs his bag and disappears into the bedroom, and you brace yourself for a slam that doesn’t come. There may be no coming back after this, and you know that. It didn’t cross your mind what might happen if a night like this came, because you weren’t sure if what you were doing, at least initially, was that wrong. But things spiraled, and you spiraled with them, and you let your isolation get the better of you.

You should have stopped when the messages got more frequent; when you felt guilty texting Seungmin at the same time as him; ignoring a phone call when you were with him.

Seungmin flies by you and heads for the door.

“Please don’t leave, Minnie, I need you”

“You need me?” He pulls his shoes on and takes his time re-lacing them. “I needed you, too. Every time I text you goodnight, or facetime you, I do it for a reason.”

“I know. I fucked up.”

“Because it’s lonely being away, even when I’m surrounded by people. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No”

“That much is my fault then, but I didn’t think I had to tell you.” He picks up both of his bags and opens the door.

“Where are you going?”

“My dorm,” he looks back once more with his hand on the doorknob, but says nothing.

“I love you…I love you, Min”

“Goodnight”

#kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin #seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin angst #seungmin angst #skz seungmin x reader #skz seungmin #skz x reader #skz angst #skz fanfic #stray kids seungmin #stray kids angst

[greazyfloz]

That Nico angst was amazing, could we possibly be getting a part 2?

Part 1

I Heard What You Said Pt. 2

I know Nico definitely was not having as much fun as he intended to tonight since he had been blowing up my phone all night. It took every inch of me not to answer his calls or texts, but I managed. Around 2:30 in the morning as I lay in bed listening to my phone buzz beside me I finally decided I had enough, and turn off my phone completely.

After throwing my phone on my nightside table I turned my back and tried falling asleep but as I lay in bed I feel uncomfortable and embarrassed by what my boyfriend had shared with his teammates about me. I'm more embarrassed about my lacking ability to please him.

The next thing I know the morning light was shining into my eyes as I wake up from the sound of someone knocking on my apartment door. I groan as I push myself up and out of the bed before making my way out of my bedroom and across the apartment to the front door.

When I reached the door, I checked the peak hole first and saw exactly who I thought. I look into the mirror beside the door and brush the messy hair away with my fingers before opening the door and facing Nico. I don't greet him through I just stare at him waiting for him to start.

"I- uh- Can I come in?" Nico asks shyly as he stands in the hallway outside of my apartment. He looks down the hall at my neighbours down the hall walking down towards the elevators.

Instead of answering I just move to the side and let him make his way inside. I shut the door behind him then turn and make my way past him as I walk to the living room. I sit on on of my couches and Nico sits on the other so he is sat facing me.

"I'm sorry" Nico says and I just nod my head slightly waiting for him to continue but he doesn't.

"That's it?" I ask him curiously. He looks as if he wants to say more. and I can tell he is embarrassed but I don't know if it is about his actions or if he got caught.

"No" he says as he shifts a little in his seat. He reaches for my hand but I deny him as I begin rubbing my hand up and down my thigh instead and Nico brings his hand back to him awkwardly. "I don't know why I said that, I really don't. I made it sound-" he starts but stops thinking about a word to say, "worse than it is"

I nod my head expecting him to stay more but we awkwardly sit in silence a little longer, until I finally stand. "Wha- where are you going?" Nico asks as I stood to make my way to the bedroom.

"I was going to go get ready. I don't have time to sit here in silence with you all day" I say looking down at him as he still sits on the couch.

"No, wait. Please. I really don't have an explanation for anything I said other than I really shouldn't have said it, and really it wasn't even true. You satisfy me in every single way, I don't know why I was compelled to say that" he says standing up to face me

"Obviously it was true, that isn't something you make up" I say and Nico shakes his head no as he brings his arms up again to rub my arm. "I don't care if you don't think I'm good, but I'd appreciate if you didn't tell everyone of your team. And-" I start but stop as I start to feel slightly embarrassed from the whole situation.

"And?" Nico says looking down at me with sad eyes that match mine.

"I don't believe that I satisfy you at all now"

Nico brings me into his chest and I wrap my arms around his waist as his wrap around my body. I feel him press a kiss in my hair before resting his chin on top of my head, "I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot. Please believe me when I tell you that I love you."

I take a deep breath then push away from his chest and look at him, I can't stay mad at him because I do love him and I believe he loves me, "You are an idiot" I say as I start to form a smile on my face.

"Please forgive me" he says as a smile starts to form on his face, "I can't live without this beautiful smile in my life" he tells me. I stand on my tippy toes and place a kiss on his lips and he kisses me back. The kiss was short, Nico tried to deepen it I pushed away.

"Fine" I say followed by a giggle.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #nhl fic #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nico hischier fic #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier

[hyunsvngs]

I might be out of pocket for this one, but I have a feeling you don’t mind.

Imagine you in line for the concert, and suddenly the kids come out because they want some more special time with Stay. Chan‘s wearing a black (self-made) tank top and grey sweats, he looks absolutely delectable. When he gets close to your area, the hem of his shirt accidentally gets tucked into his pants and all you can do is watch as if hypnotized as he moves his hand down and with two skilled fingers brings it back out again.

„Channie, finger me!!“

It takes you two seconds to realize that that shout actually came from your mouth, but Chan clocks you instantly. His eyes land on yours and under his burning gaze you don’t know if you should curse every decision you ever made in your life to get you here or thank every deity out there to bless you with this moment.

He slowly draws closer to you and your eyes only leave his as he begs one of the security men towards him with this damn motion again! He smirks at you one last time, and then leaves without another word.

„Ma‘am, follow me please“ the security says and you take a second to come back to your senses and process everything. „It’s the new protocol, ma‘am, please follow me.“ Right, the new protocol. It’s been announced everywhere. With the „fans“ acting more out and everything becoming more and more dangerous for the kids, JYPE announced that they may remove anyone and everyone if a member if the band, staff or crew see so fit.

So that’s it then, you think. No concert for you tonight, maybe no concert ever, just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut. All those thoughts run through your mind as you follow the security inside the venue, possibly to check your identity and block you from every future event. You thought that they would do this right at the entrance, keep it short and simple, but instead you’re lead further and further into the building, until you reach a door that reads „Staff only“

Pushing through it you‘re met with a stark contrast to the empty and silent halls outside. In here everyone is buzzing, people shouting and running everywhere. It seems so chaotic but you can’t help and think that it sort of looks like a choreographed dance, everyone knowing exactly where to place their hands and feet to still move forward without blocking anyone else. You’re not left time to awe at this, however, as the security keeps on moving at a fast pace, weaving their way through this supposed chaos.

You only come to a halt once you’re stood in front of a door that reads „Dresser G“, where the security man knocks twice, two loud but short noises, and then leaves with the single command „Stay here until someone comes to get you.“

And so you wait, wondering for how long you‘ll have to stand here. Maybe the whole concert? That would be torture. But maybe then they‘ll let you see another show, when they see that you can be good, so you decide to be patient and simply what you deserve for fucking up earlier.

You’re patience isn’t put to a test, however, as the door opens after only a few seconds and before you can process anything else, you feel yourself being pulled inside by your wrist and then find yourself pushed against the now closed again door. You distinctly hear the lock being turned and it is only then that you also get to see what’s going on. And that’s when your breath stops.

There right in front of you, mere centimeters apart, stands the man you‘ve been longing for since forever now. What’s he doing here if he wants you removed? You almost want to open your mouth again, but before any sound can leave your throat, he already cut you off.

„So, you want me to finger you, huh?“ The slight smirk from earlier can be seen again and you feel your knees weaken at the sight only. You gulp nervously, desperately trying to speak, but not a sound moves past your lips.

„What, cat got your tongue now that you have to live up to your words? Can’t remember telling the security to lead you by Minho first. Plus he wouldn’t have left anything for me anyways. So, what is it, babygirl?“

His tone is slightly condescending, something you‘ve never heard of him before, not even when he was supposedly ill-speaking. But you can tell that beneath all of this, he’s still the sweet and caring man you know, you can see it in his eyes. They give you comfort, they tell you that you can back out any second if you so choose. They’re the only thing grounding you in this moment, these pools if chocolate keep you from floating all up into delulu space. And so, anchoring yourself in his eyes, you finally find the courage to speak up: „I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I promise I‘ll be good and keep my mouth shut, just please don’t ban me from your events, I‘ll do anything-“

Your clueless rambling harshly comes to a halt once a large hand keeps your mouth shut. Your eyes widen in shock and your breath hitches in your throat, and although you don’t want to admit it, you also feel some familiar warmth and wetness starting to pool between your thighs.

„I didn’t ask for an apology, babygirl. I asked if you wanted me to finger you. So, will you be a good girl now, deliver on your words, and answer my question honestly when I remove my hand?“ A timid nod is all you manage as an answer, but it seems to suffice, since your mouth is freed instantly. Drawing one last breath to gather all your courage, you say: „Of course I want you to finger me. You’re Bang Christopher Chan after all, who wouldn’t want that?“

„Have you touched yourself before, imagining your fingers were mine?“ You can’t believe your ears when this is his reaction. You expected him to throw you out, to scream at you, maybe hit you even, but never had you expected this follow-up question. Nonetheless, his inquisitive stare tells you that you’re not hallucinating. He actually asked you that, and now he’s definitely waiting for an answer. „Y- yes, I have“ you admit shyly, your gaze dropping to avoid the burning sensation his stare provokes all over your body.

„Why?“ „I’m sorry?“ He gently hooks one finger under your chin and lifts your head so that your eyes meet again, and he looks softer again. „Why do you want me to finger you? Why do you imagine Channie‘s fingers, and not Jinnie‘s or Hannie‘s?“

Trick question, you actually had. You fantasized about all the members, actually, but none had you acting out like Chan had, and when you think about that, the reasoning comes to you easily. „Because you feel like home.“

When he says nothing in return, you see this as an invitation to move on with your explanation. „Because you’re always so kind and wonderful and sweet. You make me feel safe. And at the same time, I believe, or want to believe at least, that there’s this dark side you don’t want to set free, the one that inspired Red Lights and all those Daddy comments and possibly more that I don’t even know of. And I like the imagination of me being the one you let that side out with, the one you finally tie up and the one who screams Daddy for you the way you like it“

He nods slowly, looks you up and down one more time, and then his eyes darken. You think that you‘ve fucked up indefinitely, that you‘ve crossed a line and are now not only getting thrown out, but locked up also.

„I propose to you a deal. You can accept it, or you can deny it and leave as if none of this ever happened, okay? Is that alright with you, babygirl?“ That’s a strange way to tell you to fuck off, you think, but you nod anyway.

„Alright, so, here‘s the deal: I give you what you want, right now. I finger you just like you imagined. But I won’t let you come. And then you get a spot in the audience where I can see you at all times. You’re not allowed to touch yourself. You must have the time of your life at this concert. I want to see you sing, dance, the whole ordeal. And if I think that you‘ve done well, I‘ll have the security bring you backstage again and if you’re still as wet as you are right now, I’ll give you the rest. I‘ll tie you up, fuck you good, and you‘ll scream Daddy for me. But only if I think you‘ve been good during the show. Is that alright with you? As a reminder, you can also just leave and we’ll never talk about this again“

You’re brain short circuits, there’s no way he just said what you think he just said, is there? This is too good to be true. You read this sort of stuff in tumblr fanfiction, it doesn’t happen in real life. There is just no way. Or is there? What if there is? What if you give into your delusions just this once? What’s the worst that could happen? After all, you‘ve already embarrassed yourself beyond repair anyways. So there’s no harm in trying, right? „Alright“

„What was that, babygirl? I’m afraid I can’t hear you if you don’t speak up“

„I said alright! I agree to your deal, I‘ve read and agree with the terms and conditions“

„Good girl. Now be nice and quiet for me, you don’t want anyone hearing how desperate you are for me, do you?“

I might make a part 2 with what happens afterwards, but now I have to attend dance lessons. Cya :)

~🤍

WHAT THE FUCK I WANT MORE?!?!? IVE SAID IT ONCE ILL SAY IT AGAIN: MY FOLLOWERS ARE AUTHORS

♡ juno

#juno’s asks ♡ #🤍 anon 💌 #asks: channie

[writeshite]

Hey I love your writing could you do one where Homelander finds out that Male Supe!Reader has kids because he's always late to meetings. And maybe fluffy ending where Supe!Reader stands up to Homelander saying he would rather give up his powers if it means he can still have his kids and Homelander being impressed that he asked him out?

Unplanned Attraction

Summary:

“You’re late,” Homelander points out, his tone a mixture of disappointed and possibly irritated. “Really? I couldn’t tell,” you snark at him. You rub at your temples - no coffee, not enough sleep, not enough patience - he goes to say something, face appalled at your attitude, but is cut off as the meeting progresses.

Pairings:

Homelander x Male!Reader

Tags:

Supe!Reader (Reader Has Darkness Manipulation) | Single Father!Reader | Trash Treated Like Fanfic |

Words: 2285

Author's Note:

Glad you enjoy the writing 😊

It’s hard to believe a single word that comes out of the twins’ mouths, much less when Oliver looks seconds from punching another kid in the face, but you take it - already an hour late to work. Oswin clings to you, and you have to gently coax him into following his brother inside; another few minutes are stolen, but you manage to leave without too many tears this time. You’re on patrol until the twins adjust to their new surroundings, which is going about as well as you can expect; Oliver loathes the apartment Vought provided, still clinging onto the hope you might move back to the UK, Oswin refuses to let you out of his sight for more than a minute - that’s not even touching on the oh so wondrous divorce proceedings that just got settled. Your new colleagues are alright, but you don’t make it a habit of putting yourself out there.

Unfortunately, today’s mission requires the attention of all high-ranking supes, and you find yourself knee-deep in the snow beside the Seven because, of course, the targets have a hideout in Antarctica. You trudge through the sludge, grumbling to yourself, “Shh,” you hear from above; your partner for the mission, Homelander, flies low; lucky bastard gets to fly this time. You roll your eyes, lowering your grumbling slightly, “Shh.” He repeats as you come up to the hideout. It’s nothing too grand, dug into the snow, some - Homelander, Stormfront, Maeve - surround it as the rest - you, Starlight, the Deep, A-Train, and Black Noir - creep in under cover of your shadow. The inside is much larger, it seems, with the facility akin to a bunker; it descends a bit into the ground, it’s not too difficult to navigate, and you manage to catch the enemy off guard.

The success doesn’t last long, as they catch on to your intrusion, setting off the alarms and charging at you by the dozens. You cover the halls in darkness, leading the way with Starlight providing the others some form of light as they take care of the company. Explosions sound from the outside, lightly shaking the structure, your comm buzzes, and Ashley’s voice carries through, “There’s been an incident….the twins….a fight….” It’s static at best; every second or third word that comes through is a garbled mess, and you promise to call her back on it before concentrating on the fight at hand. You wave your arm; the slumped bodies get shoved forward by a wave of shadow, piling onto the still-breathing targets - who all scream and retreat further into the bunker. 

“Obsidian,” Homelander’s voice comes through the comms, inquiring about the situation at hand, just as the sound of something being sealed echoes around you. You let the shadows fall, a door closed tight, with the remaining people behind it. You try to open it and receive a warning from someone on the other side - open it, and it goes up in flames - lovely.

You back away, turning to the others with a questioning look, “They could be bluffing,” the Deep says.

“Yeah, or they could be telling the truth,” Starlight remarks.

“Get Homelander down here; he can deal with this,” you tell them. Homelander looks displeased when he arrives; obviously, he’d been having too much fun up top.

“Couldn’t you have dealt with this?” he asks.

“And get roasted alive? No thanks,” you respond, “Quit whining, and get your invulnerable ass in there.”

They were not, in fact, bluffing, the flames weren’t as big, but the explosion was enough to have the heat flick close to your person. You drag the survivors out, tying them back to back and dusting off your costume. It’s a merry trip back to Vought - well, for the others anyway - you manage to get a hold of Ashley again and are gone before pickup arrives. 

There’s been an incident, and the twins got caught in a fight.

It was much less of a fight, and more of a disagreement, as the headmaster tells you, “The boys had been talking about you, and a few of the other children found it hard to believe that they were actually related to a superhero, much less one as prominent and powerful as yourself. Nothing to fret over.”

“I’m so sorry about this,” you assure him. Oswin’s up in your arms while Oliver remains stood by you, hand gripping yours tightly, as he glares daggers at the other students waiting outside for their reprimands. “It won’t happen again,” you say, but the man waves you off, reassuring you it’s all well. 

You tug Oliver away as the next child enters the office, “Told you so!” Oliver hisses at the other kid, who glances at you - still decked in your costume and covered in grime from the mission -  and looks absolutely petrified. You sigh, smiling apologetically to the other parent, before leaving. 

“Sorry,” Oswin mumbles, the first word he’s spoken all day.

“It’s alright, love; like the headmaster said, nothing to worry about.” 

Your new apartment is among the other supes and has far more insulation - keeping the noises both inside and out to a minimum - with three bedrooms instead of one - the third acting as more of a playroom for the twins, as they share a room. You set Oswin down, glad not to have run into anyone on your way up; you doubt Oliver would be able to handle the loving adoration children garner from strangers today. You send them off to change and trifle through the fridge - today’s dinner, courtesy of the Vought kitchens, consisted of spaghetti bolognese with an apple crumble for dessert.

Dinner was always a lot more lively, with the twins being more open and chatty around you, “Don’t forget to breathe before you speak,” you tease them, earning yourself a huff in response. Once they’ve bathed their faces in spaghetti, they go about decorating the table with apple crumble as they excitedly tell you about the petting zoo trip next month. After, they have a bath and watch a bit of television - heading off to bed at 9 - leaving you to flop in bed right after. Evenings are far easier than mornings; despite an earlier start to the next day, you are very late to the morning meeting. You’d had to make Oliver promise he wouldn’t try anything with the other kids - his vindictiveness always rearing its ugly head - while Oswin did anything but get ready, hiding and running off when you tried to catch him - at least the walk to their school was nice.

“You’re late,” Homelander points out, his tone a mixture of disappointed and possibly irritated.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” you snark at him. You rub at your temples - no coffee, not enough sleep, not enough patience - he goes to say something, face appalled at your attitude, but is cut off as the meeting progresses. Mission reports from yesterday are looked over, then popularity polls - you’ve risen to third place since last time - no missions today, and finally, you’re released - no merchandise or advertisement offers today. You place your head on the table as the others trickle out, contemplating whether or not it would make a good resting place, but you decide against it and find Homelander still in the room. You don’t say anything else to him before leaving for patrol.

If it weren’t for the constant traffic in and out of Vought and the slight renovations being down to the empty apartment, John would never have known a new supe was joining them. He didn’t even see you until the third meeting after you’d moved in - the first two, you’d missed - you’d walked in half an hour late and sat down like it was nothing. Aside from the meetings and the occasional mission, he didn’t see much of you; despite your high status, you stuck to patrols - weird - and regarded everyone else with an air of mild hostility. Well, not hostility, exactly, more so hesitation. 

“You’re late.” It’s the first unnecessary dialogue he exchanges with you; you turn to him, looking exhausted and more irritated than ever.

“Really, I couldn’t tell,” you snark at him, slumping into your seat. You look seconds away from dozing off, body lax with exhaustion, and fingers at your temple - the meeting drones on, today being far less taxing than yesterday - once over, you place your head on the table as the others exit the room. Homelander doesn’t follow, remaining rooted in his spot. When you glance back up, he almost expects some form of apology for the snarky remark - which, considering your fatigue, he could consider forgiving - but he receives none. Instead, you leave without so much as a regard for him. He’s a little miffed at that but also, possibly, mildly curious about you - so he does what he does best. Intimidates Asks for information on you. 

He wrangles your patrol route out of someone and catches up to you downtown as your handing off two burglars to the cops. He approaches you once the officers have left, a half smile on his face, “Any particular reason you’re following me?” You ask once he’s stuck by you for more than a few blocks.

He shrugs and doesn’t offer much in the way of an explanation. Patrol was mind-numbingly boring - you stop two minor crimes - but aside from that, it’s nothing, and conversation drops off as you remain tight-lipped. By the afternoon, John is considering going back; when you stop midair, a short call on the other end, “It’s happened again,” he hears Ashley’s voice; what’s it,  and why is it happening again? You don’t give him a chance to ask, as you’re off before he can register, flying back towards Vought, though you fly past it, way past it, to another building. He pauses, squinting his eyes at the building you land by - a school?

When he lands, you turn to him, “Go away.”

“No,” he replies, “Why?”

“Because this has nothing to do with you,” you tell him.

His business is whatever he wants it to be. He doesn’t leave, stubbornly following behind you - everything about the school screams pristine, from the Vought emblem at nearly every corner to the immaculate halls and classrooms. It’s lunch now, so the students in the halls, all glimpse at you and him, parting as you pass.

“Holy shit! Is that Obsidian?”

“Never mind that; look, it’s the fucking Homelander.”

He smiles smugly at their star-struck gazes. You’ve given up deterring him, instead focusing on whatever you’re looking for - the principal’s office - six kids, sit outside the room. Two of them rush from their seats - twins, baring a resemblance to you - one blabbers, speaking fast as he points at the four other children, while the second twin cries, apologizing profusely. The other four kids look frazzled, eyes wide; they flinch with every glare the first twin sends them. The twins calm down after a bit, one asks after him, but you brush him off, “Never mind him; what happened to you?” 

“That’s what I’d like to discuss,” a voice interjects, the door’s opened, and a shorter man peeks out, face grim as he waves you over. John spies four other people in the room before the door closes; with nothing else to do and his curiosity at full peak, he sits on one of the free seats, half listening to the conversation inside. 

“Oliver and Oswin were —”

“They harmed my son!” someone shrieks, voice laced with anger, “They should be punished!”

“What do you mean hurt?” you ask, “What happened?”

The principal clears his throat, and the sound of rustling follows before he speaks again, “It seems one of the twins may have developed your power skills and used it to —”

“One of your little freaks put my kid’s head in a bubble of some kind and made him run into a wall. REPEATEDLY.”

“That’s impossible, the twins don’t have powers, and even if they did, neither of them would….”

The voices cut off as John’s attention is drawn away; the bolder twin is full-on staring at him, eyes squinted, and a displeased frown on his face. “What?”

He goes to respond, but the other one pulls at his arm, “Oliver, that’s the Homelander!” he whispers, expression fearful.

“So? I wanna know why he was with papa,” the first twin, Oliver, says, turning back to John with twice the contempt. The lights flicker ever so slightly, and yelling erupts from the office; one of the bulbs bursts as the other parents run out, their children following suit. You exit not moments later; the matter looks resolved if the other man’s terrified face is anything to go by. 

“How do you know him?” Oliver asks after John again.

You sigh, “I’ll tell you later.”

You don’t get to flop into bed at the end of your evening routine; tonight, Homelander visits your suite, snacking on your food as he waits for you. “All this, for that.”

“All what?” you inquire.

“Being late. The problems with other parents. Patrol shifts. And that’s not even going into which kid’s the real one.”

“The real —what?”

“You heard the other parent, didn’t you? One of them has powers; the other doesn’t; one’s the real one, and the other’s just human.”

“So, what?” you ask, oblivious to whatever is running through his mind.

“Human. Weak —you can’t seriously say you’d still care as much if one of them was a plain old human.”

You take a measured breath, “I would,” you begin, “I’d pick them over my own powers any day,” you state, grabbing the food he’d taken and putting it away, “Is that it?”

“Go out with me.”

“Fuck off.”

End Note:

I had to resist the immediate urge to pick magic for a superpower, cause it's my default every time 💀 Stay Hydrated.

#homelander x male reader #homelander x reader #the boys imagine #shiterequests #single father reader

[venus-haze]

All Shook Up (Austin!Elvis x Reader) Part 2

Summary: Your and Elvis’ date doesn’t go as planned, drawing the media attention you were trying to avoid. With the release of your duet following soon after the media circus, the success of the song and increasing tabloid speculation make some people see dollar signs, rather than romance in the air.

Note: The reader can still be read as gender neutral as of this part. Thank you all for the support for the first part of this series! I know I have a million others I’m working on, but this one has been a lot of fun to write. Please do not interact with my blog or posts if you’re under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: None.

Part 1

After Elvis and the Colonel had left, Ray and Jeanne were kind enough to let you rant and rave to them about the nerve he had to make insinuations about you and your personal life. Ray asked you again if you were sure about wanting to collaborate with Elvis, promising he could find you another up-and-coming artist to do the song with you, but, out of spite for the Colonel and genuinely liking Elvis, you remained firm in your choice of a duet partner. 

When Jeanne had brought you back to your apartment later that night, she let you know that your schedule for the following day would be short, with meetings in the afternoon and a promotional radio interview around 4pm. Just as you figured, you’d have the evening free to spend with Elvis.

For once, you had a morning to yourself and savored every moment of sleeping in two extra hours and actually having time to make yourself a nice breakfast. Just as you were about to bring your food out to the balcony, the buzzer for your apartment rang, and the doorman, Bill, informed you of a delivery that had arrived with the morning newspaper. You let him know to send it up, and racked your brain for what could have been sent to you. Sometimes companies would send you free merchandise, hoping for celebrity advertisement, but those usually went to the label’s office.

You opened the door to find a bright bouquet of flowers next to your paper. Bringing both items into your apartment, you set the flowers on the kitchen counter and read the card that was attached.

Dear Y/N, 

Thank you for yesterday. I hope these will do until I see you tonight.

E.P.

You couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. It was sweet, especially since all you’d done the day before was get a rough version of the song together and talked afterward. You normally didn’t think too much of it when you went on dates with other celebrities, but something about Elvis excited you the way no one else had.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you kept looking at them throughout the morning. When Jeanne stopped by around eleven to get you, she smiled when you told her who they were from. The rest of the day flew by, with your radio interview to end the day. It went well, mostly just some softball questions from a DJ who regularly played your music. When he asked about your upcoming album and hearing about last minute changes being made to it, you teased the collaboration, not explicitly mentioning Elvis, just that you’d be working with a newer artist–someone controversial. You refused to give more details, knowing the mystery would add buzz prior to the song’s announcement.

Ray had gotten the label to agree to make it the lead single for your upcoming album, meaning its success would make or break the album sales as a whole. It still wasn’t officially announced yet, and you knew Ray was spending part of his day getting contracts and scheduling worked out with the Colonel. 

The interview ended, and you made it back to your apartment by five, giving you an hour to get ready for the date. You picked an outfit you knew you looked good in. Sure, you weren’t trying to attract any media attention, but you sure as hell wanted to attract his. After checking over your appearance for what felt like the millionth time, you looked at the clock. It was already a few minutes past six. 

If he had to cancel, you would’ve at least expected him to have the decency to call. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you waited a few more minutes, and your intercom buzzed. You jumped up to answer it.

“Y/N, Mr. Presley’s here for you.”

“Thanks Bill, let him know I’ll be down in a minute!” 

You made your way downstairs to see Elvis standing near the back entrance of your apartment building, shifting from leg to leg every few seconds.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry I’m late,” Elvis apologized as soon as he saw you. “Things got held up while I was recordin’ for this TV show. I got here as quick as I could.”

“I get it, trust me,” you smiled, giving him a hug. “The flowers were lovely, by the way, thank you.”

He returned the hug, visibly more relaxed. “I’m glad you liked them.” 

“The drive to the restaurant should be quick. I figured it’d be better for us to be driven there than try to go ourselves,” you explained, leading him over to the car that was waiting outside.

Elvis nodded. “Sounds good.”

You hadn’t been lying, the drive to the restaurant was quick, though he spent most of it staring out the window as the bustling city passed by. The place was a real dive, with its exposed brick walls and dim lighting obscured by the cloud of smoke that hung in the air. Everyone seemed to speak only in whispers, the loudest noises being the occasional clinking of wine glasses or scraping of utensils on plates. Even the music was subdued, and Elvis figured this was the kind of place where people went if they wanted to go out but not be seen.

You handed the host a twenty, “The usual table, please.”

“Of course,” he nodded, slipping the bill into his coat pocket. 

Elvis leaned down, whispering to you as the host led you to a secluded table in the back of the restaurant. “You gave him twenty dollars?”

“Why not?” you said, thanking the host as you and Elvis were seated.

A waiter immediately came by with a bottle of complimentary wine, courtesy of the restaurant owner, who waved to you from the kitchen door. You lifted your empty glass in acknowledgement, but noticed Elvis shift uncomfortably as the waiter poured the wine.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, placing your hand on his forearm.

“You know so many people,” he said, mumbling an awkward ‘thanks’ to the waiter when he left to let you two look over your menus.  

“I’ve been at this for a long time.”

"So, got any advice for someone green in the music business?" he asked, a bit of laughter in his voice.

You hesitated to answer with the witty remark he was expecting. You liked Elvis a lot, more than you reasonably should for someone you only just met. You thought back to the musicians you’d befriended only for their fame to be fleeting, drinking and dancing one weekend and disappeared another. Elvis had too much talent to be a one-hit wonder, but his inexperience made him a prime target for anyone looking to make big bucks off of him.

"You have to be careful who you trust. This industry is cutthroat, and there are people who want to take advantage of you, bleed you dry," you said. "When you’re famous, you’re not a person anymore—you’re a commodity. That’s all some people will see until they can’t get anything else out of you."

He nodded slowly, before taking a swig from his glass of wine.

"I’m not saying this to scare you, but you need to look out for yourself."

"I got the Colonel lookin’ out for me. He’s done a lot to help my career already," Elvis said.

You nodded, though that wasn’t what you had said, he needed to look out for himself. As much as you trusted Ray and Jeanne, you liked to look over your contracts and finances every so often, just to be safe. You didn’t like his manager, maybe because he made all those assumptions about you upon your first meeting, but something about him seemed off.

“Speaking of, where’d you tell him you were going tonight, anyway?” you asked.

He grinned. “I didn’t.”

“Sneaking out to see me, I’m flattered,” you giggled.

The rest of the night continued like this, the two of you flirting in the privacy of the restaurant. He went as far as to kiss you while you were waiting for dessert, his lips soft, sweet and flushed from the wine you’d been drinking. 

“Can I take you out again?” he asked softly, his lips hovering just above yours. 

“Yes,” you answered, closing the gap to kiss him yet again.

As the week went on, you and Elvis worked on recording the duet and getting photos taken in preparation for promoting it. You’d spend late nights in the studio together under the guise of working or would call cars to bring you to your secluded dates in dingy bars and restaurants. You loved the thrill of it all, but you especially loved being with Elvis. 

The two of you would call each other at all hours of the day or night, having similar schedules with meetings and interviews. You tried not to think about what would happen when Elvis inevitably left New York to go back to Memphis. He’d admitted to you that the city was overwhelming, but you were the best thing about it. 

When you grabbed the paper the morning that the single was released, you felt like your eyes were going to pop out of your face. While not the headline for the day, prominent bold lettering read The Raunchy Romance of Rockers Y/N and Elvis - EXCLUSIVE on page 6. Frantically flipping to the first page of the story, you were assaulted by photos of you and Elvis on your first date, and your second one, and you bringing him up to your apartment through the back entrance after said second date. 

‘What started as a musical collaboration between the rock n’ rollers became an affair of passion as the two worked closely together. A verified anonymous source told us that Elvis and Y/N have been spending late nights in the studio together. When they’re not sneaking around restaurants and bars like a couple of teenage hoodlums–’

You couldn’t bring yourself to read anything past that. You slammed the front door shut, collapsing onto your couch. They’d been sitting on the story for at least a week and only waited until the single’s release day to publish it. Your own career was one thing, but so many people wanted to see Elvis fail, you’d feel guilty as hell if you played some role in ending it before it began.

The phone rang, and you jumped before hesitantly picking up.

“Hello?” you asked tentatively.

“I don’t know why I keep doubting you, Y/N. You know your stuff when it comes to the charts,” Ray said cheerfully. 

“What are you talking about, Ray?”

“It’s only been out for a few hours, and it’s already number 10. By the end of the week it should be top of the charts–”

“Number 8 now,” you could hear Jeanne shout in the background.

“Shit, by the end of the day even. Congrats.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the papers Ray? All that stuff about Elvis and me, you aren’t mad?” you asked.

“No, obviously this publicity worked out in your favor, but I’m most concerned about this ‘verified anonymous source’. I’m going to ask both labels to investigate,” he said. “I’m getting more security at your apartment too, since people know there’s a back entrance now.”

You sighed. “Okay, thanks, Ray.”

“Jeanne’s leaving soon to pick you up. The Colonel demanded we squeeze him and Elvis in for a meeting today, so prepare yourself, ‘cause I can imagine he’s not as happy about things as I am.”

“Alright. See you later,” you said.

A headache began throbbing in your temples, and you got aspirin from the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you considered everything. You weren’t sure how long you’d spent lost in your own mind when there was a knock at the door. Shit. Jeanne was here, and you were still in your pajamas. She looked exasperated when you answered the door.

“Y/N, you aren’t even ready to go?” Jeanne asked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where my head is today,” you said. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

“You’re worried about Elvis, aren’t you?”

“Do you think I’m stupid to like him so much?”

“If I’m being honest, I like him a lot more than anyone else you’ve dated.”

You nodded, “Thanks, Jeanne.”

Wasting no time getting ready, you were out of your bedroom and heading to the lobby in about fifteen minutes. When you’d walked outside your building, you were shocked at the people holding various newspapers and tabloid publications, asking for your autograph on the stories about you and Elvis. You’d never seen a reaction like this to any of the other relationships the media reported on. People must know it’s true this time.

You were silent on the way to the label’s office, resisting the urge to chew on your nails. You and Elvis had promotional appointments booked through most of the day but depending on how the meeting with the Colonel went, they’d either go smoothly or be the most awkward thing you’d ever experienced. 

As soon as you walked into the conference room, Ray gave you a look that made you know to prepare for the worst. Elvis had a lovesick expression in his eyes as you sat down next to him.

“So, the cat’s out of the bag,” you said, breaking the silence and maintaining a facade of unapologetic confidence.

“Y/N, I told you my boy does not go on dates, and now every media outlet in the country is claiming he’s been canoodling with you for weeks! His image is in shambles because of you!” The Colonel raged.

“Colonel, don’t take this out on Y/N. I was the one who asked ‘em out. It was my decision,” Elvis said.

“Did you not consider your career for a second, my boy?”

“Of course he did,” Ray interjected. “The single’s only been out since this morning, and record stores are already selling out of it. I’m getting calls from radio stations begging Y/N and Elvis to come on for interviews. The public loves celebrity couples.”

The Colonel narrowed his eyes at Ray. “What are you getting at?” 

"We can make this work, for both parties," Ray said. "Lucy and Desi own television. People flock to theaters to see Bacall and Bogart or Leigh and Olivier play out their real life romances on the silver screen. It appeals to the sense of voyeurism, being able to feel like they’re getting an intimate look at something off-limits. Y/N and Elvis can be that for music.”

The room was silent yet again, until the Colonel began nodding in agreement with Ray. “Yes, well, you do make a good point. However, if Elvis and Y/N were to date, whether in reality or for publicity, it would certainly no longer be reported on as ‘raunchy’. You two will be a respectable couple, no sneaking around bars or going up to apartments at 2 o’clock in the morning.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. We wouldn’t have had to sneak around if you weren’t such a pain in the–

“‘Course, Colonel,” Elvis said, taking your hand in his. 

Ray and the Colonel spent the next few minutes crafting an acceptable romantic backstory for you and Elvis, something that would be palatable for most audiences and explain away the late-night rendezvous. It took all of the excitement out of the relationship’s origins, but if it meant you and Elvis could date, you supposed you’d go along with it.

“So, how does that sound?” Ray asked.

“Time to break some hearts with these next few interviews, huh?” you said, looking at Elvis.

He grinned. “Guess so.”

Taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @spideysromanoff

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis prelsey x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis

[shesinshambles]

Hi Hi! I'm in love with your fanfics. So, I sincerely hope that you will be interested in my request about some comfort\smut Mary and the reader and thier small relationship anniversary. It can be night full of passionate romance, which is not typical for them. Love the idea that the reader is hypersensitive to hard touch and deep, long kisses, and Mary knows this very well. May be a bit of aftercare and naked talks as they cuddles, the reader strokes his hair, and Mary makes makes goofy jokes.

I am so so sorry anon for how long this took me to get to. I really hope you see this! 18+ under the cut

You were itching for the clock to turn six. Your foot tapping anxiously on the floor, nails drumming on the counter. You were probably driving your co-worker insane by the glare they kept shooting you as they sorted through the used stack of vinyl someone had donated earlier that day. To be fair you were always anxious for six. But it wasn’t just an ordinary day. No, it was your anniversary with Mary. And your practically vibrating on the spot waiting until you could get home and show him the present you’d made him. You’d both technically agreed not to get one another anything, but making something didn’t ever pop up in that discussion. And besides it was a special occasion. One year. The longest Mary had ever been in a relationship. And if you were being fair, it had been quite a while since any of your flings had lasted that long as well. One year. It warmed your heart every time you thought about it. It wasn’t easy. Mary clearly wasn’t used to committed relationships, and it had taken a lot of work on both your ends, Mary a lot of listening and you a lot of patience, but you fucking made it. And it was so worth it. Because every time you thought of your adorably feral partner, your stomach fluttered. No, the homemade gift was definitely worth it, you thought, rubbing your sore fingers, poked and calloused. You really ought to buy a thimble.  

“Hey…d’you hear me?” You blink out of your daze to find your co-worker staring at you, completely unamused.

“Hmm? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumble in apology.

“Just go home. It’s close to six and I can close the shop just fine on my own.”

“Are you sure?” You hesitate.

“Go. You’re driving me crazy with all that fidgeting.” Slinging your tote over your arm, you’re flying to the door before they even finish speaking.

“You’re the best!” You cry over your shoulder, skipping out onto the street and down to the bus stop. If it’s on time you just might make it home before Mary does; and it should give you enough time to prepare your surprise.

You make it to the bus stop just in time and score a single seat near the back door, plopping down heavily into it, tired from the day but buzzing with excitement. You might just make it back with a few minutes to spare. For now you pop your earbuds in and lean against the window, watching the cars pass by, people meandering on the streets, going about their day. All the while, an anxious pit is gnawing away in your stomach, and sensing it, your fingers flutter and tap against your bag.

The bus ride couldn’t feel any slower, and as soon your feet hit the pavement again your skipping up the street to your apartment, climbing the stairs nearly two at a time your key already in hand. The lock opens with a click! And you’re greeted with a completely silent apartment. No music from Mary’s record player, no tv. Perfect. Throwing your bag and keys down on a chair at your tiny dining table, you get to work.

Your apartment is small. A two bedroom in a crummy neighborhood; but rent is dirt cheap. And though you and Mary don’t make too much, you’ve made the place your own; having rummaged through yard sales and thrift stores for knick knacks and décor over the years. It was cozy, and so very special. And really, you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, with anyone else.

You hid it in your wardrobe. At the bottom of your sock drawer, in a sock, rolled in another sock, just in case Mary got into it after forgetting to do a round of laundry. You pulled the small box out now, and held it in your hand. It was wrapped neatly in plain black paper, and all you had to do now was add the bow. You opted for a black lace ribbon, and sitting at your desk, you tied the box with a dainty bow. Perfect. You looked at the clock. There was still some time until Mary got home, and you paced about the apartment, lighting a few candles here and there. A couple at the dining table, a few in the bedroom that you told yourself wouldn’t catch fire while you let them be. And after everything was ready, the click, squeak, and slam of the door alerted you to Mary’s arrival.

“Babe?!” Your partner called out into the flat.

“At the table!” The sound of Mary shaking their heavy boots off thumped in rhythm with your pounding heart. You fumbled with the present, before you set it down on the table again, opting to ring your hands in anxious anticipation.

And then, out from the corner of the wall opening separating the kitchen from the dining and living room, poked a mismatched bouquet of wildflowers; daisies, dandelions, and forget-me-nots all in a messy bundle. Then, Mary popped their head round the corner, a devilish grin on his face.

“Happy anniversary.” You break out into a grin, and leap over to your partner. Mary rounds the corner just in time to catch you with an oof! As you throw your arms around their neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing in deep the faint traces of Mary’s amber cologne, lingering cigarette smoke. Mary. “Take it you look the flowers?” They teased, a large hand cradling the back of your head, tangling into your hair as his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against them.

“Mhmm,” you hum into Mary’s neck. You pull back, your arms still linked around your partner’s neck. “Happy anniversary to you too.”

“Mmm.” Mary dipped his head, snatching your lips into a deep kiss, their tongue tracing over your lips. You sigh into the kiss, and Mary’s hands begin to roam down your sides, tracing over your hips, the swell of your backside. You had to give them the present now. There wouldn’t be much time later given how eager he was.

“Mary—”

“Hmm?” they moaned into your mouth, and your breath hitched as Mary’s knee nudge its way between your legs.

“Mary—Wait.” you breathed, pulling back from their chasing lips with a breathy laugh.

“What?” You could hear the slight frustration in his voice, the quiet whine slipping from their lips as you pull away. He’d just have to wait. This was important.

“I have something for you.” Mary frowned, brows quirking in confusion.

“I thought we said no gifts?” Panic creeped into his voice, and they ran a nervous hand through their hand. You smiled shyly.

“I know. But I promise I didn’t spend anything on this!” You hand Mary the small box, and a small smile forms on their face as they examine the wrapping.

The time it takes for Mary to unwrap the gift and open the box is agonizingly slow. Your legs start to jitter and he eyes you with amusement more than once. Then pulling back the tissue paper, Mary frowns, his brow pinching.

“Oh.” You chew on your lip. In the box was a single patch. Black and white. Written in jagged letters was Mary’s band Repugnant. Under it a skull, one eye piercing and wide.

“You’ve been working so hard on getting the band started I—I saw some of your sketches for a logo. I really liked that one.”

“You made me a band patch,” Mary murmurs.

“Yeah.” You shrug, wringing your hands. “Figured it could be your first merch.” Mary doesn’t say anything. Rather, he places the box on the table, and hungrily, pulls you tight against them. You breath in sharply as Mary crushes their lips to yours, all tongue and teeth, pushing you back against the table. Its edge digs sharply into your backside and wince in pain.

“Mary—” You huff, a heat bubbling in your gut as Mary grips your wrists, pinning your hands to the table as they nip at the sensitive skin of your jaw, licking and biting their way down your neck. One long leg tangles between yours, kicking your feet out from under you and Mary pushes you further up the table. Your hands skuttle reflexively to catch yourself, but he bears his weight down on you, pinning your wrists above your head. “The candles,” you squeak. And Mary huffs in amusement, leaning over you to blow them out.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” And with a bruising grip on your hips, Mary yanks you down the table until your hips are flush with theirs, and they unbutton your jeans, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear and throwing them in a heap on the floor. His hand is between your legs almost instantly, wasting no time in getting you worked up. You squirm with the suddenness of overwhelming pleasure. It punches the breath out of you and your hands fly down to pull away, give you some reprieve, but Mary doesn’t let you. With a devilish sneer, they hold you down, your hands caught in a bruising grip between a single large hand.

“Stay still,” Mary hisses as you buck your hips into his hand, whining. “So wet already, you want me to fuck you?” You find yourself nodding, practically begging, your eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted in ecstasy. There’s a cloud of pleasure blurring your vision, and you struggle to focus on Mary as their hand is relentless, working you closer and closer to the crest.

“Y-yes, Mary. Need you.”

“Yeah? Want my cock?”

“Please.” You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as your toes curl, Mary inserting two fingers into you, curling around your sweet spot. “Fuck fuck fuck.” All you hear is the zip and the clanking of metal as Mary takes off their belt and pulls their cock out. You hiss and Mary groans as he runs the head of his cock through your slit. And without warning, thrusts into you, setting a bruising pace.

“Fuck! You feel so good,” Mary groans, their fingers digging harshly into your hips. He keeps you teetering precariously on the edge, the pleasure building. Everything is tense, and your eyes prickle with tears, the frustration mounting within you. Mary ruts into you with reckless abandon, uttering a string of curses under their breath as they slam you hard into the table, your shoulder blades screaming out in pain with each thrust.

“M-ary,” you moan, your breath punching out sharply as Mary fucks you hard.

“What is it sweetheart?” They growl, a hand squeezing your jaw harshly, gripping your chin so you’re looking straight at him.

“Please.” Mary grins, their breath heavy, panting.

“Please what? Say it. C’mon baby,” he grunted, a particularly sharp thrust to your sweet spot making you cry out. “Tell me.”

“Let me come, please.”

“You wanna come? Yeah?” Their hand squeezes your jaw tighter, fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. You nod as much as you can, and your toes curl as Mary slides their free hand down to work you once more. You hurtle over the crest, crying out, your whole body shaking. Mary isn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as you pulse around him. His nails sink into the supple flesh of your hips as they come, panting into the crook of your neck.

“Hey.” Your eyes flutter open, turning your head back to look at Mary. After the two of you recovered and your legs weren’t jelly, you’d made it to the bed, Mary holding you close as you basked in the blissful peace of your comedown.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For the patch. I love it.” You snort.

“Figured you did, given your reaction.” Mary huffed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smile, letting your eyes slide shut as Mary’s arm pulls you in closer, tucking you under their chin.

“But can I get a lover’s discount or something on manufacturing.”

“Oh my god!”

“I’m thinking like 5, 10 percent off per orgasm?” You scrunch your face, frowning.

“That’s not much of a discount.” You feel them shrug.

“Adds up, babe. I’ll be paying next to nothing for bulk orders.”

“You have a lot of faith in your abilities Goore.”

“Yeah? Wanna bet?” It was getting late. You were sleepy. Perfectly cozy. But the bait was dangling right in front of your face and it would be a real pity to leave it hanging. So, with a mischievous smile on your lips, you give Mary an answer.

“Try me.”

#mary goore #mary goore x reader #mary goore fanfic

[callsignmuse]

THE MYTHIC BITCHES

Season 2, Episode 2 - Don’t Leave

Cast: Sadie “Siren” Matthews, Bailey “Muse” Thompson, Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Warning: angsty

Summary: Rooster gets unfortunate news

Bailey “Muse” Thompson:

It happened on a Tuesday. It happened to be raining all day, my favorite weather. I loved to snuggle under covers and eat snacks while it fell. Maybe have a casual movie marathon or binge watch a favorite show of mine. Rooster should’ve been here by now. I picked up my phone getting ready to call him when the door to my room opened. He walked in very slowly. The entire mood changed. Normally he was unbelievably happy to see me but instead his face had a somber expression. 

“I know that look Bradley Bradshaw.” I said through a wavering voice. My throat stung as I tried to hold back tears. He said nothing just looked at the ground. “How long?” I asked though I was afraid of the answer. 

“Six weeks.” He stated simply. He finally met my gaze and that’s what broke me. 

My lips began to quiver uncontrollably. “What am I going to do with you? You can’t leave. What- what- how do I? Where-? You can’t leave.” I couldn’t keep a single word or thought straight in my mind. I had officially shut down. 

Rooster walked over to me and held me in his arms. My sobs filled the room. 

“I leave tomorrow.” He mumbled against my hair. I never thought I’d need someone so badly before I met him. This was just a surprising for me as it was for him to see me in such a state. I sat myself back up and wiped the tears off of my face and smiled. 

“Im good. Im fine Roos. Im fine. We have tonight. You go do your thing and come home safe to me yeah?” I tried to psych myself out. I could cry when he was gone. He didn’t need me to fall apart he needed me to be held together like a pair of book ends. 

“I’m sorry Bailey.” He mumbled as he climbed into bed with me. 

“Why are you sorry? It’s our job right? We don’t really have a say in the matter.” I understood it just sucked. I didn’t want to be away from him because we were finally in an good place. I felt like I could breathe when I was with him. I fell hard. 

“Just hold me in your arms until morning.” I requested softly against his chest. It was late in the night now. He had come over far later than he said he would originally. 

“Sorry I was late, I was packing.” 

“It’s ok Roos. Can I know where you’re going?” I was hoping with all my might he could tell me. 

“The Pacific. That’s all I know.” He said through a soft tone. 

“I’ll call you every night.” I vowed through a yawn. Rooster chuckled and kissed the top of my head. 

“Go to sleep Bailey. I’ll wake you before I go.” 

That was the last thing I heard before black took over. 

In the morning I woke to an empty end. I sat up and sighed. I pat the made side and heard a crinkle. I picked up the small piece of paper. 

You looked so peaceful. I’ll call you by the time you wake up. 

He left me Siren. They gave him a choice and I wasn’t good enough. He chose work over me. 

True to his word within the two minutes I sat there reflecting on his words my phone began to buzz. 

“Good morning beautiful.” His voice sounded upbeat for the time of the morning. 

“I see you snuck out.”

He laughed on the other end. 

“Bailey, I tried to wake you.” His voice came across clear and amused. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“You we’re still snoring!” He was in a fit of laughter now. 

“That’s usually tour job. Fine I’ll believe you.” I took a breath, “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you off.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll see your beautiful face tonight when I video you.”

“Keep calling me beautiful!” I giggled. 

“Hey Bradshaw it was nice of you to volunteer!”

“Wait you volunteered for this?!” I was seeing red. 

“Yes, technically I did.” 

“And you didn’t tell me?! You had all night to fucking tell me!” My voice rose now. 

“I’m sorry Bailey, I needed to get a way for a bit.” 

“Get away?! That’s the lamest excuse ever! Go to the fucking beach if you want to get away! Don’t bother calling me tonight. You are such an asshole Bradley Bradshaw!” I hung up immediately puffing out my chest. 

“FUCK!” I screamed throwing my phone across the room. 

Seconds later a knock was at my door. 

“Sorry Siren, go back to sleep.” I apologized quickly dismissing her before she could see the mess I was in. 

“What the hell happened? Where’s Rooster?” She sat down on his side of the bed releasing the smell of his cologne from the sheets. I closed my eyes tightly living in the scent. 

“Siren, he left me. He- he actually left me. He had a choice and he didn’t choose me.” I stuttered. 

“What are you talking about Bailey?” 

“He left this morning for deployment. Six weeks. The Pacific. He chose work over me.” I bitterly spat. 

“You don’t know that.” She tried to reassure me. I just shook my head in disbelief. 

“Oh but I do. I just got off the phone with him and he told me as much.” Every one knew when I began to speak properly I was beyond angry. My English seemed to improve with rage. 

“I’m not good enough for him anymore. I’m not good enough to stay.”

I wanted to collapse and cry but I couldn’t. Instead I was numb. I knew the hurt was there because it was unbearable I had to block it out entirely. 

“Go back to Bobby Boy…I’ll be ok.” I told her thought I didn’t know if that was the truth. She could tell by the look on my face that I needed to be alone for the moment. She left hesitantly but closed the door leaving me in the darkness. 

I closed my eyes once again willing myself to sleep it all away. Everyone made fun of defense mechanisms until they actually came in handy like right now. 

An hour and a half later I was rudely awakened by someone bouncing on my bed. 

“Bailey girl! What’s going on?”

I opened my eyes and frowned. “Why are you all in here?” I practically growled. 

In front of me stood Jake Seresin, The Hangman himself. Next to him sitting on the bed was Coyote. 

“Javy, Jake get the fuck out of here.” I sighed. 

“No can do.” Coyote defiantly told me. 

“Oh yeah?” I began to raise my voice. 

“Oh yeah.” Bob said as he walked in with hot cup of coffee. I instantly melted and stood down. For some reason I could never raise my voice at that man. 

“No fair sending him in here like that.” I complained. 

“I knew it would work!” Siren said to Phoenix happily. 

I threw my hands up! 

“It’s like a fucking clown car in here! How many more people are going to crash into my bedroom? Not the one I want.” I bitterly commented. Jake grimaced once he heard my words. 

“Don’t let him make you bitter.” Coyote warned. 

“I’m trying. Look I appreciate all of you for caring but I just need Jake and Coyote for a second. They’ve known Bradley the longest.” I tried to explain or even think rationally I wasn’t sure which one I was doing. The room emptied and I finally let out my held breath. 

“What do I even do now? He left me.” I shrugged. 

“It’s going to sound crazy but it’s kind of a good thing he’s running. It’s what he always does.” Coyote began to say. 

“What?” I tried to argue. 

“Just listen, you know the damage Rooster has in his head. He runs when he gets in deep. He’s afraid to hurt you the way his mom hurt in front of him. He clearly still ended up hurting you and I’m not saying it’s right I’m saying he cares about so deeply he needed to run.” 

I fell back onto the pillows. 

“It makes no sense I know but he will come back to you. Until then you’re stuck with me.” Coyote grinned. I groaned. 

I couldn’t sleep and I knew he would be awake. I grabbed my phone and texted the one person I knew would understand. 

“Lucky me.” I moaned rolling over onto my side. My phone began to ring revealing Bradley’s name and a picture of him curled up in a blanket reading a book. I ignored it and was immediately met with a text. 

Maverick 

Give him time. 

Yeah fuck that. Sorry Daddy Mav but Muse had some steam to blow off first. 

[b-h-ann]

Breathe: An Excerpt

This version of my short story "Breathe" initially appeared in FSU's lit mag The Onyx in the Spring 2023 edition. Due to the number of submissions vs. the number of pages in the mag, I had to submit an excerpt which is roughly half the original. Because of this, the piece which appeared in the mag (this one) has had content removed. Asterisks (***) denote where content has been cut out. I do not believe this excerpt accurately depicts my original intentions with this piece, as an entire subplot has been deleted. If you wish to read the full piece, you can find that one here.

Breathe: An Excerpt

by B.H. Ann

***

Daisy despised the idea of someone in her room. She had had the same one every year since she started college. The entire point of her having a double-as-a-single was for the silence and solitude. The idea of someone else invading her space, making noise and having company over, having a completely different schedule than Daisy. The thought made her shudder.

Her phone buzzed softly in her hand. Daisy's brow furrowed as she saw the text from an unknown Instagram user. 

Hi! This is Bree! Can't wait to meet you.

Daisy felt creeped out that this Bree had sought out her private Instagram account without even meeting Daisy yet. 

***

She grabbed her backpack, placing it on her lap and fumbled with the front zippers. Inside, she shuffled through seven notebooks and matching  folders, an extended pencil pouch shaped like a cat and a half full pack of bubblegum before finding a slim wallet. The outside plastic slot displayed a white student ID card. The picture showed Daisy four years younger, face framed by frizzy bangs and long, unkempt hair. Unsmiling, dark purple bags under her eyes giving her a haunted appearance. Daisy remembered the scratchy feeling of the cotton shirt she'd forced herself into for the photo. 

As Daisy made her way back around the building she dodged chatting students on the pathway who just didn't seem able to grasp that the sidewalk was capable of allowing travel in both directions. Most were returning from their last class of the day, some were just stopping by their rooms to ditch their backpacks between class and extracurriculars, others meeting up with friends for study groups or... whatever it was people did when they gathered in groups and pairs. Daisy watched her own beaten Converse scuffing on the pavement, not meeting anyone else's eyes. At the door, she scanned her idea, mumbled something that sort of sounded like "no problem" to the person on their iPad at the desk, and meandered across the newly redone tile floor in the lobby to the stairs. She took them one at a time, counting the steps as she went, and making sure both feet were placed on the step before trying to make it to the one below.

The halls were lit with harsh overhead lights, and contrasted with the new white tiles, making the hallway washed out, the only contrast being the brown doors evenly spaced apart, each room being a double occupancy, some of which were used as doubles-as-singles. Like Daisy's used to be.

Despite being forbidden, the hall gave the heavy skunk scent of weed, and as Daisy passed room 104, she picked the faint whiff of alcohol. She rubbed at her eyes until she saw stars. This is a fucking nightmare.

All the way at the furthest end of the hall, by the fire exit, and tucked into a corner was what used to be Daisy's room. The whiteboard on the door used to remain blank, and there used to be just one atrocious neon green name card posted outside of the door. Someone, presumably her new "roomie," had drawn a cartoonish blue alien with Expo marker. Daisy's head felt like The Powers That Be were taking a hammer to her skull. Everything got all hot, and she found it hard to focus on the door. Alright, Daisy, thought, what are you trying to do? Open the door. How do you open the door, Daisy? Use the key, dipshit. She found the metal key assigned to the room. She didn't need to tell herself the rest of the steps..  Except when she went to turn the key, she found that the door was already unlocked.

Of course she would get the roommate who leaves the door unlocked. Of course.

Daisy paused on the cool, metallic handle, took a shaky breath in, and released it in the same movement she pulled down the door handle, opening the door.

***

It was completely foreign to Daisy the way in which the beds were now pushed apart on opposite sides of the room, the few feet of white tile floor a seemingly uncrossable distance. 

Daisy had meant to hastily ditch her backpack on the bed and get out. Maybe hide out in the library listening to music and waiting for the intruder to fall asleep. Or better yet, leave. But as soon as she set foot in the room, she was stopped by the minefield of baggage. A sturdy green roller suitcase lay open directly in front of the door, its contents--an assortment of brushes and glass bottles full of dark, paint-like substances--were in dire danger of being broken across the tile.

"Oh shit!" A figure exclaimed from the other side of the room "I'm so sorry, let me move that!" The exclamation was followed by a vibrant whirl of...feathers? Daisy squinted in confusion as she tried to follow the flurry of movement, but the muchness of it all made her turn away. When the motion was finished, the floor in front of her was cleared, and she found herself staring instead at collarbone? No, that wasn't quite right. She fixed her gaze upwards, until she found the face of the person in front of her. Thick, black lashes framed wide brown eyes. Daisy looked away. She sidestepped the obstruction, crossed to the left side of the room, and tossed her bag on the desk. The pens in the cup there rattled.

"Hi,” The girl said loudly. Daisy closed her eyes at the sound."I'm Bree! We're going to be roommates!"

Daisy didn't turn around. She riffled through her backpack, pulled out three of the notebooks and folders and tucked them away in their respective slots in the white file holder on the desk. Her throat felt like something was blocking it, and she felt a twist in her stomach. She knew Bree was behind her waiting for a response, but her brain kept spinning, and any answer she conjured felt like the wrong one. Daisy pretended she was looking through her backpack, but it was really just to hide her trembling fingers. When did the room get so warm?

The silence began to draw on. Daisy could hear the hum of electricity in the air, growing more prominent with each breath. She knew by now it had reached an inappropriate amount of silence, but still, the words felt like paper in her mouth. 

“Hello? It’s nice to meet you?” Bree said, an edge of annoyance coating her words now. 

Jesus fucking Christ just say something, anything. She probably thinks you're weird. It's too late now. She hates you.

Shut up shut up shut up.

"Hi," Daisy said, or tried to. She cleared her throat. Louder, but still facing away from Bree, she managed to repeat herself. She forced herself to turn around, but Daisy could not bring herself to meet her eyes.

 "It's nice to meet you, too, Bree."

***

#b.h.ann #excerpt #writing #fiction #short story #ocd #anxiety #mental health #i hate it when they make me excerpt #the onyx

[ahundredtimesover]

Inevitable (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected sex but be safe please!)

Chapter Word count: 6.9k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: Couldn’t stop thinking about how Yang Jungwon’s role model is Jungkook and they have similar features (especially as kids) and the sweetest smiles! Hence, the little angel we have here. I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Also, you can message me if you want to be part of the taglist!

Series Masterlist || Previous || Next

##

You stare at the grocery list, eyes squinting to try to read the words you’d half-mindedly written down this morning. 

Your boss convinced you to take Friday off when it slipped that Jungwon has been having separation anxiety lately, as he hasn’t spent time with his mother this whole winter break. 

You’d been doing overtime - on weekdays and weekends - and your boss, a mother herself, knows that overworking would take its toll on you and your son, especially as a single parent. It’s why you’re here now, grocery shopping with the little one, something he enjoys doing with you, too.

Still, it’s just one day and it’s not really enough to compensate for all the other days you work your ass off at the company, but the pay is good and the people are kind; those have been enough for you to stay the past two years. 

A smile forms on your face once you decipher the crooked words on the piece of paper you’re holding up. You can make out the word ‘banana’ right before ‘milk,’ ‘choc’ somewhere near ‘ice cream,’ and ‘bron’ just next to ‘cereal.’ Brown cereal? Did he mean cocoa pops?

Jungwon has improved his writing and vocabulary and you pat yourself on the back for the times you’d forced yourself awake during your Sunday rest time just so you could guide him on his workbook. You congratulate yourself for thinking of showing him flash cards while he scrubs himself in the makeshift tub during bath time. And you thank the heavens for your best friend Taehyung’s bright idea of setting up a blackboard on the wall on Jungwon’s side of the bed so he can doodle until he falls asleep. 

“Am I not the best uncle, muffin?” Taehyung had asked the little one then, who always knew what to answer. 

“You and uncle Joonie are the best,” Jungwon had said. 

Your kid is a ball of fluff, you’d almost think it’s genetic because you definitely are not one, but the other half of him is. 

You brush away that thought before your chest begins to tighten. You choose to think that Tae and your older brother Namjoon, whom Jungwon spends the most time with apart from you, are true softies and he’d definitely gotten it from them. 

You’re still smiling, insides warming enough to brave through the January cold until you realize that you’re no longer hearing your son’s buzzing sound that he does when he plays with his airplane. For all his softness, he does give you a heart attack every once in a while because of his tendency to scurry somewhere that piques his interest. It was probably the aisle that had those chocolates he wanted so you pick up your basket and rush to the one right next to where you are.

Your heart drops to the floor at the sight of your son standing in front of a man who’s crouching down, tinkering with the toy. It probably disassembled again and this does not earn you a pat on the back this time for forgetting to buy Jungwon a new one that’s more age-appropriate, and for not paying enough attention. 

You’re partly shocked and partly curious - he’s a shy kid, tends to run back to you at the sight of an unfamiliar person, wide eyes usually on full display when someone tries to get his attention.

But not right now. He’s still wide-eyed but he’s sporting a shy smile, one he tries to suppress by biting his lower lip. Wonder where he got that from. Such mannerisms aren’t genetic too, right?

The mystery man hands him the toy airplane, which Jungown clutches to his chest. He bows at the man and whispers a ‘thank you.’ If that man wanted to do something bad, he would’ve taken Jungwon already but he hasn’t. You’re glad that at least a kind man has found your son. 

“Jungwon, sweetie. Come here, please,” you call out, moving a bit to try to get the man’s attention to express your thanks but he’s sporting a hoodie that’s engulfing his face. Maybe you should’ve been more scared. 

The stranger shakily stands up and turns as Jungown runs to you with his eyes not leaving his little toy. 

Your eyes, on the other hand, can’t leave the figure standing just a few feet away from you, like a bad dream but that isn’t exactly a nightmare. 

He’s here. He’s home. And he looks just as gorgeous as you remember - expressive onyx eyes, pretty thin lips, defined jawline, muscular build...

His own eyes move from you to the kid next to you, trying to come up with explanations, mind reeling at what this could mean. You sounded so tender, so loving, so… motherly.

“Jung—”

“Your—”

You both say at the same time. His eyes are fixated on Jungwon, probably trying to figure out who the child is to you.

“I’m babysitting,” you panic. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow and just as he’s about to open his mouth to say something, Jungwon decides to not be shy in front of a supposed stranger.

“Mama, that man fixed my plane!” He excitedly says, and you hate to crush his little moment of joy. 

Jungkook’s eyes are now saucer-like, not at all minding that you were caught in a lie but that you, the woman who’d broken his heart all those years ago, have a child. A child whose eyes uncannily and painfully resemble his. 

You and Jungkook both seem to be in a daze, your own thoughts swirling in your heads at the situation that neither expected would happen. 

You stopped watching his baseball games about two years ago and had avoided whatever news about him would come up. Except recently when you’d heard about him possibly signing with a South Korean baseball team. Looks like did because he’s here, and he hasn’t been in years. 

You’d heard from your brother that Jungkook had been doing well with the LA Dodgers and you hadn’t expected that he’d up and leave what had been his home the past four or so years to, well, come home. You’re glad he is but you also aren’t prepared for this.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had tried his best to forget about you soon after you walked out on him that December evening, almost succeeding multiple times until he gave up altogether. He came home last week, earlier than what he’d told the media, since he knew they’d be hampering him about his homecoming, given his recent signing with the Doosan Bears, one of Seoul’s professional baseball teams. 

He’d spent the past few days in Busan to visit his mother and arrived from his 4-hour drive just an hour ago. He’d hoped to reach out or run into you but didn’t expect it to actually happen today. He definitely didn’t expect you’d have a son, too.

“Mama, did you get my banana milk?” Jungwon asks, breaking the bubble of confusion and shock between you and Jungkook, both unbelieving at the reality of you finally being in the same space, breathing the same air after so long. 

“Yeah, I—” you start, placing the basket down and picking up your son, suddenly feeling nauseous. 

Your mind is a puddle of thoughts and you just know that incoherent words will escape your mouth if you don’t leave right now so you make a run for it, or at least try. You walk briskly, clutching Jungwon tightly with his arms wrapped around your neck, so you don’t see him smiling at the man following both of you. 

Jungkook calls out your name, prompting Jungwon to state that the man who’d fixed his plane knows his mother. 

There are more people with their pushcarts near the exit, making it hard for your quick escape. Jungkook is catching up and upon realizing you won’t turn back to acknowledge him, he talks to Jungwon instead.

“How old are you, buddy?” Jungkook asks, legs clearly made for this. He’s panting though, you can hear it in his voice. 

You can’t make a scene so you just try to walk faster.

You feel Jungwon release an arm and you know he’s putting out the ‘four’ sign, something he likes to do. 

“When is your birthday?” Jungkook asks shortly after.

Oh god, you think. Jungwon loves this question. “July 6!” He exclaims. 

The footsteps become faint and you’re brave enough to turn back as you near the exit doors. Jungkook stands there, dots connecting, mouth agape at what this means. 

You leave the supermarket and run to your car, hurriedly placing Jungwon on the car seat and driving away, willing the tears not to fall. 

“Who was that, Mama?” He innocently asks. 

You admit that you’d thought about the day you’d see Jungkook and let him know about the little one too many times, but this isn’t how you planned it to happen - in public, when you’re incredibly tired, and when you haven’t thought about what you’d say. 

This isn’t how you planned on telling Jungwon, too, so you tell a half-truth, like what you’d done a few times before.

“He’s a friend, sweetcheeks. He’s just a friend.”

**

The tears eventually fall about 5 hours later. 

You got home from the grocery - without your groceries, watched cartoons with Jungwon, had food delivered, then prepared him for bed. 

You’re now sat on your couch, wine glass in hand, as you try to make sense of the overwhelming emotions of seeing the man that was once your world. Technically, Jungkook still is, considering that your son is half of him. 

But it’s different now. Too much has changed since you broke up with him, since he left 5 years ago to chase his dreams of playing for the Major League Baseball in the US, the dream he’d shared with his father, the dream he’d spent his whole life chasing.

Baseball had always been Jungkook’s world; a given, you always thought, since his own father was a baseball star himself, whose dream of playing for the MLB materialized during a trip to Boston as a teenager, the blinding lights and massiveness of Fenway Park and the roars of the crowd cheering for the Red Sox so alluring that he’d made it a point to watch a live game at least once a year. 

His own career as a professional player for the South Korean league had been commendable, leading his teams to championships and even playing for the 1996 Olympics. That had been the second best experience of his life, the first being Jungkook’s birth two years prior. Marrying his wife was a close third, and it was something the pair always laughed about. You know this because Jungkook raved about his parents a lot, used to talk about them like he just lived next door to his mother - whom he called everyday, like his father was still alive.

His father didn’t have the luxury of getting scouted by American teams because baseball wasn’t as big then, but his dream of playing for the MLB never faded. Just like what his own father had done, he’d taken Jungkook to a live game every year since Jungkook was six, and tried to watch in every baseball park of every major league team. 

They’d only make it to seven though. By that time, the cancer had been debilitating and he had to give up that annual date with his only child. Watching the Lotte Giants in their hometown of Busan had been enough for 13-year old Jungkook, who’d likewise been fascinated by the game, so was waking up in the wee hours of the morning to still catch MLB games on TV. 

Jungkook was 14 when his old man passed. 

He rarely talked about his father’s death. He also rarely talked about his father outside of baseball. He was a father-coach, Jungkook used to say, not the scary, stage father type who pressured him but the incredibly supportive, only slightly critical one. He’d made Jungkook fall in love with baseball, made him have a reason to wake up everyday, made him have something work hard for, fight for. 

After he passed, baseball became something Jungkook hung onto, something he used to remind him of the man that made him who he is today. It became the most sacred part of himself, not for the popularity it gained him nor the praises he received, but because it showed the best parts of him, which were also the best parts of his father - his self-confidence, his tenacity, his grit, and his resolve, his passion for his craft.

Baseball taught Jungkook the value of hard work, of commitment, of focus, while at the same time reminding him of his physical capabilities and limitations. 

It’s why he took his Sports Science course seriously, knowing that until his last breath, he would live for the sport. He’d play until he’s physically able, and do everything else when he can’t. 

Jungkook had always been a good leader - another trait he got from his father, served as the pillar of strength of every team he’d been a part of because of his vulnerability that allowed others to trust him, to believe him.

His self-confidence may border on arrogance, his forcefulness and intensity may be perceived as aggression, but behind his intimidating aura on the field - partly personality, partly physical prowess - is a tender human being who gets excited over sweets, gushes over Ironman merchandise, likes making blanket forts, squeals over baby animals, enjoys bear hugs, and who just loves to love. 

Those were what made you fall for him in the first place. They were what made your naturally cold exterior dissolve until your heart had become bare for him, until your insecurities had become insignificant, until you’d exuded almost the same joy that he had. 

Seeing him today just brought the memories back, as if nothing has changed with what you felt for him, as if the pain you felt when you told him it was over, when you walked out and he let you, was just a breath away. 

You didn’t realize just how much you missed him until you saw him again, until his proximity reminded you how his laugh used to sound, how his wide eyes and sweet smile looked like, how his sensual touches used to feel.

The tears fall again. That pain, that love - it’s like they never went away. 

**

“Uncle Tete!” Jungwon squeals as your best friend picks up your son from the floor, swinging him around in a circle, soft laughter reverberating through the walls of your cozy apartment. It only takes a few rounds before Taehyung puts him down and complains that his arms already hurt. 

“What happened to working on arm exercises?” You chuckle.

“Don’t remind me, you know I hate lifting weights. Plus, like that would make much of a difference,” he exclaims, slim arms out, being swallowed by his sweater. “I’m not an athlete, you know?”

You flinch at the comment and so does he.

“Sorry, too soon?”

“Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes and settling in the kitchen, a bit farther away from Jungwon, whose eyes are now fixated on the TV.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have known Jungkook was back if he hadn’t decided to revive our group chat yesterday after 2 years to ask everyone if they’ve seen you recently because you apparently have a kid and he believes he’s the father.”

“Pretty straightforward, huh?”

“He didn’t wanna waste time. Didn’t even care that your brother is in the same group,” Taehyung shrugs. 

“Probably knows Namjoon won’t check.”

“True. But still, how bold of your ex.”

“What did the guys say?” You ask, curious if they ever caught on. Your twice a year appearance since college graduation seemed to be enough for them.

“Yoongi cursed. Jin spammed with theories because he’s convinced you haven’t had a boyfriend in years. Hoseok sent a video message of his reaction, which was really just him freaking out. Jimin acted surprised.”

“And you?”

“I left the group chat.”

You smack his arm, earning you a scowl. “Real smooth, Kim Taehyung.”

“Well, what was I gonna say? ‘Yeah, Jungkook. Your ex-girlfriend was actually pregnant when she broke up with you and you’re totally the father?’”

“You could’ve feigned ignorance, you know, or like denied it until I figured out what to say.”

“___,” he deadpans. “One look at Jungwon and it screams Jungkook. His name isn’t actually subtle, okay? Look at your kid, he even dresses up and eats like the father he’s never met!” 

You motion for him to tone it down but Jungwon is busy watching the Avengers cartoons in his Ironman pajamas while sipping his banana milk. 

“I’m not projecting!” You say, defending yourself because you know that’s what Taehyung is gonna say. 

“It’s not my fault that my kid chose Ironman as his favorite Avenger no matter how many times I pushed Captain America to his face, okay? He didn’t even mind the shield I bought,” you pout. 

“And he won’t drink plain milk. If it’s not banana, it’s chocolate. And he loves sweets, loves to hug people, has the cutest laugh…” You sigh, still racking your brain on what parts of your son he got from you.

“Maybe the universe is the one projecting, you know? Like it just had to find a way for Jungwon to be connected to Jungkook, if not physically then by other ways.”

“Your theory is sweet but I doubt it, Tae.”

“My theory is backed by evidence. And a father’s instinct because that shit’s real. Jungkook was still around during those first two months, the bond probably developed then.”

“Jungwon was the size of a raspberry. It’s highly unlikely.”

“Can you just stop deflecting? The father of your son is here. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know! Get my shit together and figure out what to say? You know I’m not ready for this,” you exclaim.

“Funny that you knew exactly what to say when you broke up with him but now you don’t,” Taehyung cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you my best friend or are you out to get me?”

“I’m just saying. You made that decision all on your own. Didn’t even confide in me,” he pouts. “I could’ve thrown some other options that didn’t require you breaking his heart and yours too, and going through all this by yourself.”

“Except I didn’t go through all this by myself,” you pat his head. “I had you and Namjoon. You were all I needed. Still do.”

“We can never take the place of Jungwon’s father, you know that right?” 

“I know, I just… He’s not just my kid’s father, Tae. He’s my ex-boyfriend too. The man I loved.”

“You mean love. The man you still think about, and miss terribly.”

You squint at him as if in question. It’s been years since you and Taehyung had shared an apartment where he’d seen you cry almost everyday. It was something he wasn’t used to because you don’t cry, especially in front of others, not when you found out you were pregnant, not when you walked into Jungkook’s apartment only to walk out of his life. Not when Jungkook skipped graduation and left early for the US. 

Everything changed after Jungwon’s birth. It’s like all the tears you never cried decided it was time. And you had years’ worth of it.

“Your kid’s a lot more perceptive than you think. He tells me sometimes that he sees you cry when you’re in bed or when you’re watching TV with him, and why else would you be crying if it wasn’t for that man?”

Of course he does. Jungwon, again just like his father, is thoughtful and pays you a lot of attention. Seriously, what about you did this kid inherit?

“The dam breaks every once in a while, I can’t help it.”

“Now you can,” Taehyung says as he gives you a hug. “You should talk to him. And soon. You know he deserves it.”

**

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, unwilling to move from the comforts of his bed. Head throbbing from the bottles of SoJu he downed with his older cousin, Jin, last night, the events of the day before are mighty clear in his mind.

He’d really seen you, the woman who once laid residence in his mind and his heart that he could not get rid of no matter how hard he tried, because you’d broken every possible thing you could when you decided to break up all those years ago. 

He remembers that night so clearly, how he’d been excited to finally spend time with you so he could ask you to go with him to the US. You chose to break his heart instead, deciding by yourself that it wouldn’t work out. The only reason he agreed was because he’d been too hurt to even think of another way, but whether he agreed or not, he knew you would’ve walked out of his life regardless.

But there you were yesterday, dressed in your favorite-colored down jacket, hair longer than he remembers, little kid in tow calling you Mama.

Mama. 

He’d just gotten back in Seoul after a visit to his mother. He’d made sure to be sneaky, as he wanted some peace and quiet before all the interviews and events he’ll need to attend because of this “homecoming” that everybody seemed to be making a big deal out of. 

He was doing well with the LA Dodgers, even had meetings and possible offers with the Boston Red Sox, the team his father obsessed over. Jungkook was well on his way for bigger things in the largest baseball league in the world. 

He  decided to sign with the Doosan Bears instead, not even his hometown baseball team. He’ll chalk it up to missing home, maybe breaking ground so he can play in the Olympics, too, just like his father. 

He was gonna seek you out, that was definitely part of the plan. He still considers the breakup as partly one-sided and he wanted to know how you were doing. He also knew he was bound to run into you because there was no escaping your circle of friends, who apparently seemed clueless as well. 

Except for Taehyung, obviously, because he’s your best friend and he definitely would’ve known. But you’re here in Seoul, how did you dodge the rest of them? And Namjoon had really been able to keep everything a secret?

There were so many questions. Jin took it upon himself to be his confidante last night because surprisingly, Jimin, his best friend, had been mum about it. Jungkook and Jin spent the rest of last night scouring through social media for any trace of you and that kid but there had been none. 

Jungkook is desperate, not just because he wants to see you but the child… looked like him. 

The grocery was a few neighborhoods away from his,  but it was next to the bank he was in so he decided to just do his shopping then. He’d been going through the sweets aisle, ready to fill the pantry of his new apartment with his favorite snacks, then he heard a thump and a soft quivering voice. 

He turned to see a little boy looking sad over his toy airplane whose one wing had been clipped off. An adult didn’t seem to be around and he definitely trusts himself more than any other stranger so he’d approached the kid and asked if he needed help.

Curious doe-eyes met his questioning gaze, until the little kid took the airplane and its broken wing in his arms and cradled them. 

“It’s hurt,” the kid had said, and he felt his heart burst at the cuteness and softness of this child. Jungkook took the toy and easily fixed it, the sliding slot probably too hard for his little hands to maneuver. He was about to ask for the kid’s name when he heard a familiar voice call out, the kid looking up and scurrying away from him.

And then there was you. 

Everything felt hazy until the kid called you his Mama. You’d picked him up and started walking away before Jungkook could even greet you. He’d seen your abandoned grocery basket, which he could easily pass up as his own because of the same things he’d buy for himself. 

The wheels were turning in his head and it wasn’t until the kid, apparently named Jungwon, stated his age that Jungkook pieced everything together. Or at least the possibility.

Could Jungwon be his child?

At the thought of this, Jungkook froze, watched your figure disappear from his sight, the eyes of the child boring into him as you walked away again. The kid let out a small smile and Jungkook had seen enough pictures of himself as a little kid in the news the past few weeks to be reminded of how he looked like, and he looked like that. It was unmistakable. 

The scene plays in his head again and Jungkook feels the throbbing of his chest match the throbbing of his head, the need to confirm his suspicions and know the whole truth seeping through his veins. He tries to calm himself down, which is difficult, but he knows he needs a level-head if the truth is what he wants from you. 

It’s just past lunchtime and he calls Jimin for help. As he enters the passenger seat, Jimin asks his friend for the destination.

“Take me to Taehyung’s place.”

**

Jungkook is running on adrenaline. With a sober mind now and a still-aching chest, he’s willing his body to relax but he’s unable, focused only on finding the truth.

There’s concern and an air of acceptance in Taehyung’s face when he opens the door to Jungkook, the idea of him showing up here having something that Taehyung has considered. Jungkook has at least half a mind to reach out to someone else before going to you. 

Taehyung welcomes him in, knowing better not to argue or match the other man’s emotions. Jungkook doesn’t ask questions though and instead heads for the refrigerator, bites his lips at the sight of the same brand of banana milk he’d seen in your grocery basket. 

He walks around the apartment, not missing the small basket of toys by the window. He opens a room that’s actually Taehyung’s art room and sees a paint set for kids, a framed photo of him with Jungwon placed on a shelf and next to it is a painting, the words “Jeon Jungwon” written at the bottom. It’s all the confirmation that he needs.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Taehyung asks, arms on his waist now, a bit of annoyance seeping through at the disrespect being shown to him. He gets that Jungkook is upset, but Taehyung knows him, knows he’s probably coming up with his own conclusions in his mind. 

Before Jungkook could say anything, they hear the front door open, Namjoon’s deep voice calling out. 

“Tae, did you get to drop off the groceries at ___’s? Jungwon’s been asking for his milk since yesterday and—” Namjoon stops as he stands by the door, eyes wide at Jungkook standing there, no doubt trying to keep himself together.

“Are you Jungwon’s father now?” He directs the question to Taehyung, the bitterness in Jungkook’s voice not lost on all the men present, including Jimin who’d been having his own battle in his mind because pretty soon, the anger will be directed at him, too. 

Jungkook is the kid’s father, he’s sure of it now, yet the thought of another man taking that role causes an ache in his chest.

“Jungwon sleeps here? Does art with you? Does he call you—”

“He calls Tae ‘uncle,’ Jungkook. The same thing he calls me,” Jimin says, essentially coming out.

“You knew? This whole time?” Jungkook yells, fists clenched as the anger builds.

“Just a few years ago but—”

“And you said nothing to me?”

“It was just 2 years ago.”

“And you’ve visited me twice a year since then and you never thought to tell me that I have a son…” Jungkook flinches at the word, unbelieving that it’s something he’d even say. 

“Look, just calm down, okay?” Jimin tries, but he knows it won’t do much.

“Calm down? I’m fucking livid. I have a…” Jungkook stops himself, willing the tears not to fall. All this time, you had a child that you’d kept from him, without a care of how he would feel.

“Jungkook, just take a breath, yeah?” Namjoon says this time, walking towards the younger man and pulls him in for a hug. “It’s a lot, I know. But just breathe for a bit.”

Jungkook pulls away, a mix of anger and sadness in his eyes. “How could she keep this from me?”

“Only she can answer that,” Namjoon sighs. 

“I need to see her,” Jungkook states after a long pause.

“I can ask when she’s free—” Taehyung offers, ready to get his phone.

“I need to see her now.”

**

Jungkook finds himself in Jimin’s car, with Taehyung in the backseat talking to you over the phone, saying that he’ll take Jungwon for the rest of the afternoon and that they’re on their way. 

Jungkook listens to Taehyung talk to you with so much care, the way he always had all those years ago. Nothing has changed, really. 

Back in college, people tried to keep their distance from you, afraid of your resting bitch face and usually cold demeanor. Jungkook had heard about you from Jin, a good friend of your brother’s, and couldn’t quite reconcile the incredibly friendly and gentle Taehyung as your best friend. 

It was one of the things that intrigued Jungkook, and he’d find out later on, after pulling all the stops with his flirting and finally getting you to agree on a coffee date, that you really did have a bitch face and you were cold if you wanted to be. 

But you were so unapologetically you that it was refreshing. It wasn’t a defense mechanism or anything, it was just really who you were, but that wasn’t everything about you - you were also caring, protective, generous, extremely hardworking, and very confident. 

Jungkook had fallen in love faster than he could throw a baseball, and he knows he can throw past 90/mph. 

You complemented each other so beautifully that fights were easily resolved, if any, dates were always exciting, and moments together were never boring, even if it was just you quietly working on a paper and him noisily studying his games. 

Taehyung was relentless in befriending you and you caved in pretty easily. “Look at the smile,” you’d said once. “Who can resist that?” You always had a soft spot for your best friend and Jungkook never minded; he’d trusted your relationship and you when you said that he never had to worry about Taehyung.

Except now. Because Taehyung seems to be a father figure to his son, being what Jungwon had needed all these years, while Jungkook had been clueless about it. 

The night you broke up with him, you left him a weeping mess and begging behind closed doors to please don’t go. He felt he’d lost a big part of him, felt the soul-crushing feeling of losing someone again. 

The loss of you was something he couldn’t prepare for and he’d spent years trying to put the pieces again, all on his own, in a foreign country, while chasing his dream. It had been hard but after some time, he rationalized in his mind that maybe you were right, maybe it would’ve been very hard for the both of you given the distance, the time difference, the busy schedules. It wouldn’t have been fair; he’d accepted that.

But keeping his child from him like this? This is too much. This is ruthless. You made a decision again. All by yourself. And he’s angry.

**

Everyone is thankful that Jungwon is asleep, although it’s a chance for Jungkook to see the little one in slumber, looking like the most adorable boy in the world. 

Jimin and Taehyung agree to leave first, Jungkook not wanting them to wait, although he’s unsure how long this conversation with you is going to last. 

You’ve been pacing back and forth since Taehyung called, informing you of the impromptu visit and Jungkook being unrelenting in his decision to speak with you today. You would’ve wanted to wait, although you know that Tae is right - Jungkook needs to know as soon as possible; he deserves that much. 

In your more than 2 years together, you barely saw Jungkook angry - that was more of your thing because he enjoyed annoying the hell out of you every time and you always gave him shit for it. 

But you two barely fought - you understood his busy schedule and were never really the jealous type, despite the presence of his “fans” (except maybe around Sora who’d named herself as the president of Jungkook’s fan club like that shit still flies), while Jungkook always knew how to make it up to you. He rarely complained, too if you ditched him to work on your projects. 

But this Jungkook is different - his nostrils are flaring, brows are furrowed, jaws are clenched you’re afraid he’d break his teeth. 

You’re different, too. You’re nervous, more reserved, not with your usual crossed arms but with fingers fidgeting at the loss of control. 

You lead him in the living room and motion for him to sit down but he dismisses you. 

“Hi, Jung—”

“I need to hear it from you,” he breathes out. “I know, god, I fucking know but I need to hear it from you.”

You take a deep breath and you say the words you’ve practiced in your head. “Jungwon is our son.” 

You see him close his eyes, bite his lips, and tilt his head. It’s how you know he’s trying to control his emotions.

The silence is deafening but you give him time to process.

“How? I mean, you were on birth control and you said you never missed…” He stammers.

“Pills are not 100%, Jungkook. It just happened,” you explain, racking your brain for days right after you took the test over how it might’ve happened. At one point you stopped; it was no use.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

It’s the big question, the one he’s been losing his mind over. It doesn’t matter that it happened; he just doesn’t know how you could make that big of a decision all on your own when it concerned him, the other half of the child.

“You were on your way to the big leagues. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“But you thought it was alright to take away years with my son?” He seethes. “Fuck, ___. That wasn’t your decision to make.”

It wasn’t, not fully at least, you knew it. But he wouldn’t make that decision, so you had to.

“I made it anyway,” you respond, tone more stern now. 

With all the pain and struggles it brought, it’s the one thing you stand by; it’s a decision you never regretted. Watching Jungkook play in the ballparks his dad never got to take him to, seeing him blow a kiss to the sky before and after every game, and catching him mouth the words ‘I love you, dad’ after his interviews have always been enough to trump everything else.

Jungkook had been living his and his father’s dream. It had always felt worth it.

“Why? I would’ve stayed,” Jungkook yells. 

“Exactly. You would’ve,” you yell back. “I was sure that the moment you knew, you would’ve passed up a dream you worked your whole life for. I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t let you make that decision.”

“So you made it for me, by giving me none at all?” He scoffs. “Real brave, ___. And real fucked up, too.”

“It was the only way for you to go!” You exclaim. “If you had known, you wouldn’t have left, you would’ve settled, stayed behind… You would’ve given everything up.”

“Because that’s our child, ___!”

“And we didn’t plan on having him!” You shout, tears prickling on the corners of your eyes now. 

“You’ve known baseball your whole life, Jungkook. Everything you’ve ever done was so you could play in the MLB and you did. You made it happen because you had the best opportunity and you took it, worked hard, got to where you wanted to be,” you rationalize.

He’s panting as he processes your words, mind going again to that night when you walked out on him, making sense of the reasons why, those you verbalized and those you didn’t. 

“I know you, Jungkook,” you sigh, your voice taking him back to the present. “You’d take responsibility because that’s the kind of man you are. You would’ve insisted on taking care of us, on letting go of everything else for us, for your son. And I couldn’t let you give up on your dream, the one thing left of your father…”

“Don’t you fucking dare bring up my father,” he snaps at you, eyes so cold and you feel so small.

“You wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if you let that dream go for us.”

“Then you don’t really know me, ___. Because the hell would I give us up just like that. The hell would I give up time away from my son.” 

He pulls his hair out of frustration, then lets go, tears now streaming down his face. 

“I was 14 when I lost my dad, ___.”

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t know. And you aren’t sorry,” he retorts, his back facing you as he tries to get himself together. “I had to watch him wither away, had to stay by his bedside and watch him take his final breath because my mother couldn’t. I was 14 and I had to be strong for my parents. And I cried, every single night, for months,” he heaves. 

He turns to face you, wants you to know how much you’ve hurt him.

“I almost quit school because I wouldn’t get out of my bed, wouldn’t talk to anyone. I told you I suffered, that I lost my way,” he continues, weeping. 

But you didn’t know this, didn’t know he suffered like this, that he lost his way like this.

“But the dream kept you going, didn’t it?” You try. “It gave you purpose; you had something to live for, Jungkook,” you continue, reminding him of what the dream meant to him. 

He’d been young but he had so many memories with his father about baseball; it had been the core of their relationship, the thread that kept them connected years after his death. 

“In return for what?” He barks. “Fuck, I would’ve given anything to have my father again. And that includes that dream, ___.” 

You stare at him, his body now crouching down on the couch, unable to fully lift himself up. You’d never seen him like this. He was never afraid to cry but this is different.

Your own tears are relentless, as if telling you that this is all because of you and you deserve this pain. You had broken this man, and you’d done so without regret.

He looks up at you, wipes his tear-drenched face, illuminating the pain, the longing, the anger.

“You took four years of my life away from my son. You robbed me of that chance. You didn’t even give me a choice. How fucking selfish are you? You had no right, ___,” he huffs.

“I just… I know you, Jungkook. You would’ve stayed and then what?” You say, trying to stand your ground, but even you don’t believe your words, at least not anymore. 

“You’ll regret it down the road? Resent us because you had to stay? How would we feel? How would Jungwon feel, knowing that his father gave up his dream for him?”

“Really? You’re absolutely sure that’s what would happen? As if I’m not resenting you now?” Jungkook scoffs. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone be taken from you, to not have enough time with them. But yeah, you need to have the last say always, right?” He says coldly, allowing the silence to let you take in his bitter words.

“You can’t ever feel like you don’t have control so you make all the decisions by yourself. Hurting those in your wake before they hurt you. But it’s all good right because you stand by it? As long as it’s enough to rid you of the guilt even if it hurts everyone else?”

This is how he hurts you - peeling away your layers and throwing them back at you, until there’s nothing left but all the parts you didn’t want anyone to see. But Jungkook had seen them, accepted them, loved you despite them. 

But he’s standing in front of you. And there’s no love in his eyes. You don’t think you deserve it anymore. 

You give him this, the last say. And he takes it. And he leaves. 

Like countless times before, you fall to the floor and cry. You cry until your sounds are loud enough, until you can no longer hear your own heart breaking.

##

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

[ppangjae]

SOMETIMES | CHAPTER 5. ARE YOU OKAY?

SYNOPSIS. Sometimes, Jaehyun forgets that you are roommates.

— or, alternatively: it all started with a blackout in the whole building.

PAIRING. jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff | slight smut | roommates!au

word count. 1381 words

warnings. swearing

author’s note. happy reading~ sorry for the late post!

prev > masterlist > next

MONTHS AGO...

“Jaehyun, where are you going? I thought we were going to hang out today!”

Looking down at his watch, he flashes his roommate Jungwoo an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m going to have to pass. I have an appointment with the landlord.”

It’s not like Jungwoo was a horrible roommate. Jaehyun loved having Jungwoo as a roommate. It was an honor having Jungwoo as a roommate. The only problem was the location of the apartment he was living in. It took Jaehyun almost an hour and a half to get to work everyday. It was inefficient, but somehow, Jaehyun made it work. He made it work everyday until his body had finally decided it was time to find a closer place to stay.

“Oh, well then, I wouldn’t want to keep you hanging. Go and make a good impression!” Jungwoo rushes him out the door. “I’ll be getting takeout for the two of us tonight. Take care, alright?”

Jaehyun draws in a deep breath before heading out into the busy streets of the city. The apartment he’s interested in is almost an hour away from his current place. But the apartment that he’s interested in is only half an hour away from work. You see, Jaehyun worked 9-5 as a software developer. He could’ve definitely looked into buying himself a condo on his own, but he didn’t have many options in the city. It was either a condo an hour and a half away or a two-bedroom apartment half an hour away from his workplace. This brings him to his next problem, the apartment he’s interested in is a two-bedroom apartment. He finds himself thinking of every possible reason to explain why he, a single person, is looking to sign a lease for a two-bedroom apartment.

An hour and a half later, he finds himself rushing through the busy sidewalks of the city. He’s heaving, breathless, but he must make it to the apartment building on time. He must make a good impression. He stops to catch his breath, until he finds himself hearing into a stranger’s conversation.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay? Someone just stole my wallet, I am not okay!”

He shifts his gaze from the floor to two strangers. There’s a middle-aged woman who’s fallen to the floor and a woman around his age extending her hand out. He tilts his head in confusion, staring intently at the woman around his age.

Why does she… look…

“Are you okay?”

Jaehyun coughs, opening his eyes to see a woman looking down at him. He hasn’t been to football practice in a while because of his final exams, so it was inevitable to be tackled right from the get-go. This was his fault. But at the same time, this wasn’t his fault. A student’s last year of university is nothing but a pain in the ass.

He had stumbled on his two feet and at the same time, someone had tackled him from the side, sending him to the damp grass. He lies down on the grass for a bit, trying to catch his breath.

He clears his throat, nodding his head. “I think I’ll be okay.”

She extends her hand out to him. He stares at her hand before slowly looking up to meet her gaze. If he were to be quite honest, he doesn’t think he’ll be okay. Not when the world feels like it's spinning. Not when he feels kind of woozy. He giggles. What is going on with him?

“You have really long… eyelashes.”

And he blacks out.

He finally makes it to the apartment building. He rushes down the stairs to make it to the rental office. When he finally reaches the rental office, he buzzes the door. He’s still out of breath but he fixes his composure, dusting off his pants.

“Hi, do you have an appointment for an apartment viewing?”

“Yes, I do. For Jaehyun?”

Suddenly, Jaehyun can hear footsteps getting near him. He looks to his right to see… the woman around his age. She’s looking at him with confusion, eyes darting between him and the rental office.

“That’s weird.” The landlord says through the speaker. “The part-time student accidentally booked two people in for the same time.”

The woman’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Is there another appointment for Y/N at the same time perhaps?”

The door opens and the landlord comes out. He looks at the both of you with an apologetic gaze.

“My part-time student booked the two of you for the same appointment slot. Is it okay with the two of you to look at the apartment together?” The landlord asks.

Jaehyun and the woman exchange looks. He clears his throat. “I—”

“Sure. I have no problem taking a look.” She cuts him off. “With him.”

“P-Perfect,” the landlord smiles sheepishly. “Let’s head up, shall we?”

"The apartment is quite spacious for it to be an apartment. If they add one more bedroom, it would be enough to be considered a condo. The monthly rent is expensive, however, but it’s explanatory with what they’re being offered. The landlord allows them to look around each room. From the bedrooms to the washrooms, Jaehyun seems to have made up his mind. It also seems as if the woman has also made up her mind.

“Are you both looking to have roommates living with you in an apartment?” The landlord asks out of curiosity.

Jaehyun and the woman glance at each other. Jaehyun scratches the back of his head. “I’m not going to lie to you but, I’m just looking for an apartment that’s close to my workplace. This is the only apartment I’ve found so far that was decent and close to my workplace. It would just be me. But having a roommate is definitely an option too.”

“What do you do for a living?” The landlord questions him.

“I’m a software developer.” He answers.

“Ah,” he nods his head. “I’m surprised you’re looking into apartments and not condos.”

“The closest condo to my workplace is an hour and a half away,” Jaehyun purses his lips into a line. “I’m not looking to buy a house either, since it’s just me.”

“Makes sense, makes sense,” the landlord hums in reply. He nods his head at the woman. “How about you?”

The woman shoves her hands into the pockets of her jean jacket. “Well, it’s also just me. I have the same problem. I live with my parents and we are about two hours away from my workplace. I figured it would be more ideal to move out and find a closer place to stay to save two hours of commuting.”

“Are you also looking into finding a roommate?” The landlord asks.

She nods her head. “Yeah.”

“And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a graphic designer,” she answers. “Well, more specifically, a UX/UI designer.”

“Oh, what a coincidence,” the landlord grins. “You guys seem to be quite similar. You’ve got similar circumstances, similar reasons as to why you want to sign a lease with this apartment, and your jobs seem to be in the same field.”

The landlord did have a point.

“And you’re both looking for roommates.” The landlord smiles. “I guess you both know where I’m going with this, right?”

“Where are you going with this?” The woman asks, completely confused.

“Maybe you guys could talk it out, convince each other to be roommates and then come back to me to sign a lease. There seems to have been a… fateful meeting here. Think about it. Talk it out. I’ll reserve the apartment for the two of you if you both ever decide to move in together.”

The landlord excuses himself for a brief moment. Jaehyun clears his throat, scratching the back of his head. From the corner of his eye, he can see the woman rolling on the heels of her feet.

“So…” She trails off.

“Would you like to grab coffee with me?” He asks. “It’s not a date. I just—”

“Sure. I think… the landlord has a point.” She says. “My situation is quite… urgent.”

“Me too.” He mumbles softly. “I’m tired of commuting an hour and a half.”

“And I’m tired of commuting for two hours.”

“Let’s grab coffee.”

“Okay.”

"Hey, have we... met before?" He asks.

The woman stares at him.

"I... don't think so? I would've remembered you if we have."

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct-writers #jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x oc #jaehyun x reader #jeong jaehyun #jeong jaehyun scenarios #jeong jaehyun imagines #jeong jaehyun x oc #jeong jaehyun x reader #nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct x oc #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x oc #fluff #angst #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst

[whirlybirbs]

         (  chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes​​ from this lovely set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.  

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

[boom-bakugou]

‘Wedding Crashers’ - Katsuki Bakugou

A/N: Sorry for my inactivity but here’s a little sorry and thank you present for me hitting 1k! I love you all sm <3

Pairings: Pro Hero!Bakugou x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, ooc deku; but it’s more of a headcanon, semi-public sex

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Izuku Midoriya inviting you to his wedding is a definite stab in yours and Katsuki Bakugou’s backs. But you’ll show him.

Word Count: 5k

masterlist

You had considered your morning to be relatively normal, breakfast not burnt, coffee just that right amount of bitter to stir you awake. But those happy moments of peaceful bliss were soon to be fleeting as your mail arrived. Sifting through the pile to what you assumed would be bank statements and bills; your fingers landed on a cream white envelope. Your name printed neatly in a cursive font that when you followed it with your eyes for too long it almost made you want to puke. Tearing it open haphazardly, you read the perfumed content inside.

‘Dear Y/N Y/LN,

We are very proud to invite you to the blah blah blah wedding of pro hero blah blah Izuku Midoriya and blah blah blah.

RSVP blah-‘

Wait what? The taste in your mouth was pitiful. Yes, you and Izuku had dated years prior and after being childhood friends, yet it didn’t end… swimmingly. But this didn’t feel like inviting a childhood friend to your happiest day, no, this felt like a backhanded swipe at your ex-girlfriend who was well known to the media to be single. Pro-Hero gossip magazines made sure of that.

Throwing the invitation onto your countertop, your eyebrows furrowed with spite. You felt weak almost, watching your ex-best friend grow up to be this bountiful hero with merch in every store that you went to. Though you had triumphed well in the hero charts yourself, nothing ever seemed to compare to him. The golden boy. You never really got over the fact that he ended things because being a single hero was more postable than one who was tied down. Until now. Mr. Big shot getting married. It really made you question your integrity,

Recuperating your thoughts, you realised your phone was buzzing on the couch next to you. Checking to see the influx of text messages, you saw Katsuki Bakugou’s name fill up your lockscreen with notifications.

Bakugou: tell me you got the stupid fuckin invite too

Bakugou: the nerve that nerd still fuckin has

Bakugou: inviting his childhood ‘friends’ after all this time

Bakugou: tch, one big publicity stunt if you ask me

You chuckle as you scroll through the messages, gladly knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

Y/N: so what’re we going to do about it?

Bakugou: what do you mean?

Y/N: well we can’t show him up at his own wedding but we can sure stir something of our own

Bakugou: well that idiot is marrying some nobody extra

Bakugou: probably to show how ‘great’ he is

Bakugou: so how about if two top pro heroes rsvp’d together?

Y/N: you mean us?

Bakugou: no, midnight and grape juice. of course us you idiot

The idea brewed in your head for a moment. Izuku had always been nice when he was younger, and Katsuki hadn’t exactly been the nicest towards him in return. You were always the mediator in those situations. However when Deku grew and grew in the hero charts he started to lose touch with reality. Not really remembering what being a hero was about besides having his face stuck on a lunch box and raking in the dough for it. It was sad. You didn’t know who he was anymore.

Y/N: fuck it, i’m in

-

“You know, don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tux before.” You chuckle, arm linked around Bakugou’s as you stepped out of the chauffeured car together. You were here to make a scene. Paparazzi glistened everywhere like a moth to a candle flame. You couldn’t wait for the tabloids in all honesty.

“Shut up.” Bakugou grumbled, almost in embarrassment. But his smile didn’t show a hint of it. “Not looking too bad yourself.”

You had coordinated well. Your maroon dress flowed in the gentle summer breeze and matched perfectly to Bakugou’s equally coloured tux. You two were such a pair it was nigh impossible to not think that you two were together today. And the paparazzi made sure of that indefinitely.

You couldn’t lie about how the service was beautiful, because it was. However you didn’t need to hear the shutter clicks of a camera go off every few words they spoke. It was distracting, and you and Bakugou shared a glance each time it occurred. Stifling a giggle, you hoped no camera would pick that up. Even if they did, they’d probably pin it to ‘look at these other heroes wishing that they were the next to get married!’ they’d eat that shit uplike ambrosia.

“Can’t wait to see the reception.” You mumbled towards Bakugou, your plastic smiles never fading for the cameras. Izuku making a show of himself and his new bride.

Watching him was almost bittersweet. The happy memories of you three as children flashing behind your eyes. Now replaced with a fame hungry number one hero. Where had all the time gone?

“What’s got you so perplexed?” Katsuki asked, filtering your way through the crowd, making your way to the cars that would deliver you all to the reception.

“Just-“ You sigh, allowing the cover of other heroes to hide you from the all seeing eyes of the paparazzi. “I miss him, y’know? Miss how we used to be.”

“Tch.” Bakugou didn’t care about the scowl present on his face, your words ate him up like some sort of bacteria. “Thought you said that he was the most selfish guy you’d ever dated?”

“He was but like-” You watched Izuku’s back as he held his new partner’s hand. Waving to the cameras and not watching her, as lovely as she looked in her wedding gown. “As weird as it sounds, I sometimes miss high school.”

Bakugou’s eyes scanned your face, following your eyesight to Midoriya. Fucking extra. The thoughts swam around his head, polluting his mind. He knew Izuku’s break up with you had been a massive toll on your mental health and your ego. He made you think that you weren’t good enough for him, and Bakugou never got over that fact. How could he pass up on you for anything else?

Breaking apart from the conglomerative of wedding-goers, Bakugou lead you to one of the specially hired cars to take the guests to the reception. Despite Bakugou’s abrasive and rough nature, you couldn’t help but notice how delicately he held your hand. Not tugging you along or haphazardly grabbing you by your wrist, making you follow him. No, his fingers interlaced with yours and you felt the coarseness of his palms due to the explosive nature of his quirk.

“Katsu?”

“Hm?”

“You can let go of my hand now, we’re in the car.”

“Yeah- whatever.”

Catching up in the car, you both realise how little time you have to actually spend with each other. Though you and Bakugou communicate 1000 times more than you do with Midoriya, heroing keeps you both busy. No times like these to goof off and be with each other. You missed it, you missed your hot-headed idiot friend.

“Hope there’s less fuckin’ paparazzi here. Think I’m gonna go blind with those extras pointing them in my face.” Bakugou rolled down the tinted window a smidge to watch as the car drove into an old looking manor hall where guests had already begun to arrive.

Flowers decorated the ground and just as you two got your hopes up, you saw a line of paparazzi at each side of the staircase leading to the double-doored entrance.

“Well, it was worth a try.” You remark to him, patting his back as you chuckled to him.

Bakugou was the first to exit, standing beside the door so he could reach for your hand to help you out while you fixed your dress. Just as the two of you began to reach for each other's arms to walk into the reception together; there was a brusque tug to your dress. Upon further inspection, a member of the shutterbugs had stood on a long section of your dress. Allowing himself to get pictures of it stretched out and flowy.

“Hey!” Bakugou didn’t waste time on pushing him off the tail end of the dress. “Try anything funny like that again with my girl and say goodbye to that shitty camera of yours!”

The man nodded, slowly letting his camera hang loose on his neck. The rest of the cameramen easily caught the scene but you both couldn’t care less. What’s a wedding without a little drama?

“Thanks Katsuki.” You note with a soft smile.

Bakugou’s hand tenderly makes its way around the small of your back until his arm is holding you close to him as you walk inside. His hand sitting in a caring way at your hip to assure that nothing could come between you both. You could not wait for the media to plaster this fake-ness on every outlet that they could! However, you liked the thought of relishing in the attention right now.

Once the dining festivities had come and gone. It was time for their first dance. Watching as he held her under the blue lighting had your heart hurting slightly. The thought that that could’ve been you. But Bakugou was right. He’s probably marrying some quirkless nobody not only to make himself look better, but being with another hero is messy. You both had media eyes on you; but… you couldn’t help but wonder how different your life would be like if Midoriya was how he used to be.

You didn’t even notice Bakugou’s eyes on you the whole time. Not wanting to waste a second of his eyesight on the show Izuku was putting on. You were a sight of your own. How could you not see that you deserved someone better? Someone like him. You always spoke about how everyone was under a facade when supporting Deku, but you never correlated that to yourself.

After a short while, others began to join in on the large dance floor. Perfectly spacious for all the famous faces and their egos. Bakugou’s hand traced down your arm until his hand clasped with yours, gently leading you to the floor yourselves.

“What’re you doing?”

“Come on, who’s to say we can’t have some fun too huh?”

Smiling at him, you followed his lead. His hand occupying your waist before pulling you in closer to his chest. Flowing with the music, you couldn’t help the cheesy smile on your face; nor the one that spread to Bakugou’s.

“Why’s no one ever tied down Mr. Ground Zero then?” Your question takes Bakugou by surprise, showing a small blip in your combined graceful swaying to the music.

“No ones good enough.” Such a Bakugou answer.

“You’re sounding like Izuku, but he probably got that from the old you.” You jested, earning an eye roll from Bakugou. “I’m being serious! Come on you can tell me.”

It takes him a moment to figure out an answer, so much so that he doesn’t focus on dancing anymore. He just stands there holding you before locking eyes again.

“Just haven’t found the right person to deal with my bullshit I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence and your eyes search his face for answers. You didn’t even realise how close you were to him. His breath fanning your face, the smell of oak and fire and burning sweetness engulfed your senses. You also didn’t realise how the two of you sank closer and closer into one another.

“Hey Kacchan, mind if I steal her from you?”

Izuku’s voice almost sends you two flying away from each other like same sides of a magnet.

“Ask her yourself she’s not mine.” You turn from Bakugou to give a friendly smile to Midoriya, allowing your hand to rest in his. “I’ll be at the bar. Free drinks and all.”

His answers are short, curt. Yet before you can ask him if he’s alright Deku spins you and begins to dance with you in his arms at the tempo of the new music track that’s playing.

“Long time no see Y/N!” His manner has always been so chipper, despite the facade of it all. Though Bakugou and you went there to purposefully to cause discourse; you don’t think you have it in you to be mean to Izuku’s face.

“Yeah, look at you! Married man now, must be scary.” You chuckle, almost nervously. It was like speaking to a stranger.

“Well I guess I’ll find out! But come on that’s been the subject of the whole day! I wanna know about you and Kacchan.” You felt like Bakugou right now, the old nickname boiling your blood as it did his. There was no doubt Izuku took influence from Bakugou and his fiery personality; but he took it in all the wrong ways. Using confidence to become cold, uncaring.

“Oh- haha, Katsuki and I aren’t-“

“Y/N. Don’t lie to me! I can see the way he’s burning holes in my tux from over here.”

Turning you to the music so you could face where Katsuki was standing, you peaked behind Midoriya’s arm to see Bakugou with an all too familiar scowl on his face. Chasing down a beverage in a crystalline glass in one easy gulp.

“If you ask me Midoriya he’s always looked at you that way.” You laugh your statement off but you meant it with malice.

“Midoriya? Feeling formal today are we Y/N?” He had completely lost touch of who he used to be. “I used to look at you like that when I saw you with other guys, I know what that look is.”

His comment stops you dead in your tracks, not allowing for him to swing you to and fro to the music.

“Actually Midoriya I don’t even remember you looking me with jealous intent other than when I was higher than you on the hero charts.” Shaking yourself free from his towering position on you, you stormed off to the patio doors, letting yourself be eaten by the oncoming darkness of night.

Crying at your ex’s wedding. Not something you’d think you’d ever do in your lifetime but here you were. Thankfully you couldn’t see any reporters or such outside so for now, it was just you and your tears. Maybe you were too harsh on him? You used to be friends right? What happened to that kid who wanted to be a hero who you looked up to? What happened to the boyfriend you had who kissed you goodnight and ignored you when your face was on the TV more than him or snapped at you when he was announced lower than you and broke up with you because ‘heroes dating are messy!’ No. Bakugou was right. He was a self-righteous bastard now.

“Y/N?”

You half expected Midoriya to come out after you but he was probably entertaining other guests. Luckily, as you turned you saw Bakugou standing outside with you, signature hands in his pockets with a dumb, sympathetic smirk on his face.

“Hey.”

“I promise I didn’t punch that asshole at his own wedding but I can tell you he got a fuckin’ earful from me. Hope the paps got a good pic.” His tone was joking but it hadn’t cracked a smile from you yet.

“S’alright. Wouldn’t give two shits if you did.” You sniffled, collecting mascara tears on your fingers and wiping them on the decorative concrete bannisters of the balcony. “Shouldn’t’ve fucking come. This was stupid I have too much baggage for this shit.”

You turned away from him, allowing yourself to lean out on the barrier, looking into the distance on the warm night. You could hear Bakugou give a small sigh before his arms snuck around your waist, pulling your back into his chest before placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

“That fuckin’ idiot didn’t know what he lost and it’s my fault for influencin’ him.” The pain in his voice was evident. Did Bakugou blame himself for the hurt Midoriya caused you?

“Katsu-“

“No. That extra is so blinded by the shit everyone has to say that he’s forgotten what real life is. Doesn’t care about his stupid fans or his friends or the best most understanding girl in the whole fucking world. A girl I know does the best for everyone no matter what her own situation is.” You turn around to face him, not wanting to leave his embrace. “Y/N. No matter how much I’ve always wanted to fuckin’ win I’ve just wanted the best for you. And when that bastard did what he did to you- I- fuck. You look at him, like you’re waiting for him to just notice you; but every time I see you it’s like I’m seeing you set the stars in the sky every fuckin night. You just- you’re fuckin’ everything to me Y/N.”

It was completely silent on the balcony besides the low thump of the music from indoors, but it was deafening. But it all faded when his lips attached to yours. It was so clear. All that pining over Midoriya when he was just copying the one who actually saw you for who you were. He even copied Bakugou’s crush on you, most likely to make him jealous. But your mind had no time to think of that when all you could feel was Bakugou.

It was like you had never been kissed before, never felt the love and sensuality behind it. Soft and moist but breathy and warm. For once Bakugou didn’t wish to win a battle, he wanted unity and to be together with you. His hands danced over the delicate curves of you in your dress; taking in every inch of your perfect body. The gasp that fell from your mouth was perfect entrance for Bakugou’s tongue to mingle with yours. The sparks hot and electric between you both was like liquid lightning.

Just as your hands found home in his hair, you heard the all too familiar sound of today of a photo being taken. Bakugou is the first to break the kiss to find the intruder of your special moment. Your lips already feel blushed and bruised but your heart was nearly pounding out your chest.

“Fuckin’ print that in your gossip magazine you extra!” Bakugou couldn’t help but heartily laugh at the man as he shook with worry after catching the intimate moment. He wanted to show you off. He wasn’t ashamed that his lips had captured you to be his.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” He whispers into your ear and you eagerly nod, grasping his one hand with your two as the both of you manouvered your way through the wedding guests until you finally found a small closet down a hallway where no one from the party had entered.

Slamming the door shut behind you, your eyes drank in Bakugou’s frame. How had you missed that small boy you once knew had now become this beefy, beautiful man? Who was looking at you with the same awe and intent? Bakugou cornered you against the door of the supply closet, latching his lips together with yours once again as if he was scared he’d never be able to taste you again.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect.” Katsuki’s lips mashed with yours as his hands slid up your dress, the coarseness of his fingers against your soft skin sending shivers down your spine.

All those years of being a hero really showed on Bakugou, he lifted you with ease as your fingers traced scars on the back of his neck; holding on for support. His hips pin you against the door and you feel his cock hardening between the fabric of your underwear and his suit pants, you can’t help the whimper escaping your lips at the friction of him.

Bakugou’s hands slip under the straps of your dress, letting them fall delicately to your sides as his lips ensnare yours. His grunts and your whimpers enough to make any passerby know what was going on in the confined space of the closet. His fingers glide beneath the dress which allowed it to fall further as Bakugou felt the weight of your breasts in his palms.

“God you’re fucking everything princess.” His fingers slide beneath the lacy fabric to thumb your nipples, perking and tugging it with his forefinger.

Breaking the kiss, his head lowers to encapsulate the bud in his mouth. Gently suckling it before rolling it feverishly between his teeth. Your hands snaking through his hair only spurring the assault on your supple flesh. Biting your lip to stop the obvious moans that were threatening to spill out of your mouth. You swore you could see stars as his tongue flicked against the pointed nub- sending your nerves wild.

“Bet that fucking extra never treated you like this baby.” He matched your height, his gaze never leaving your own as he took both of your tits out of your bra; kneading the flesh and buds of your nipples as he spoke. “Just wanted to get himself off, I know how to fuckin’ treat you right.”

“Then do it… Kacchan.” You spoke with such gusto in your breathy state, knowing that the old nickname would make him see red. And god did it send him feral.

His body pressed you further into the door, even if it felt like he couldn’t. The aching feel of his cock rubbing against your clothed core made you mewl in want of him. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress and made little pricking motions into your inner thighs until he traced a slit over your panties.

“Shit you’re fucking wet.” The pads of his fingers kneading against where you wanted him most, a chuckle falling his lips as your hips did their best to try and get any sort of relief.

“Katsuki please- please fuck oh my god-“ Your neck craned back as you felt your body take control. The low growl in Bakugou’s throat at the sight of you barely touched and already begging for him.

Tracing his fingers along your décolletage he stopped when he met your parted lips before roughly shoving his fingers in your mouth, pressing down the body of your tongue.

“Please please please-“ Katsuki mocked. “Please what princess? Better use your fuckin’ words or else.”

An insufferable smirk played upon his lips as he felt your cunt clench around nothing at his dirty words. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he wiped the remnants of your spit across your tits; awaiting for your response.

“Fuck me Katsuki- please you’re all I want. God you’re all I need.” Although said in your aroused state. You meant it- and he knew that.

Not wasting any more of the precious time you two had before you were inevitably found out considering your blatant disregard for being quiet; Bakugou used his hand to tug off his belt. Nearly setting his suit pants on fire as his quirk crackled in anticipation for you.

Your body clung to Bakugou’s for support, his whole body easily keeping your pinned high between himself and the door. Once his lower half was sufficiently stripped, it was easy enough for him to rip the sides of your underwear off.

“Katsu-“

“Shut up.”

Not wanting to disagree; you did. Hips bucking against nothing as the cool air prickled at your hot cunt. Bakugou held his manhood in his hand, rubbing the head of it in your slick and providing stimulation to your clit. Your thighs tightening around his waist like a vice grip at the well needed attention.

“You’re fuckin’ soaking baby. So needy.” Bakugou mumbled against your neck, allowing himself and you to get off momentarily at the friction. You could only nod to his words which were making you more and more wet for him. He was such a tease.

“Come on princess. Tell me you want my cock. Tell me.” His voice growled as he repeated himself, leaving marks upon your nape that would surely bruise because of his harsh bites and sucklings.

“Katsuki I need you- only you. Only you.” Your repetition is barely a whisper but he heard it, and despite his rough nature Bakugou confines your lips in a kiss as he sheaths himself inside of you.

Taking a few slow thrusts to allow yourself to adapt to his size, it’s only a moment before Bakugou completely bottoms out inside of you. He watches your face shiver in pleasure which he mirrors. He clasps your hips so firmly his knuckles turn white; it didn’t even hurt as all you could focus on was him inside you. Your hands find their way to his biceps, gripping on for some tension relief and you could still feel his muscles flex even beneath his suede blazer and the shirt.

“What a good fuckin’ girl, taking my cock like this.” Bakugou’s voice is a low growl as he thrusts into you, the sounds of your clothes brushing against one another and the slaps of your skin interacting was like a sinful symphony.

The smell of caramel danced in your brain as Bakugou worked up a sweat absolutely pummeling himself into your sex. You grasped onto him as if your life depended on it, moaning into his neck as his cock slid in and out of you. You didn’t even know how much time was passing as he rutted himself into you relentlessly- yet as you both came to your highs, you could both barely move from the thrill of it all.

Steadying your breaths back to a regular pace; Bakugou slid you down from where he had pinned you against the door and let you fix yourself as he then did himself. You sorted your dress and pulled any tugs from your hair when he had pulled it before slapping Bakugou’s arm.

“You dick! You ripped my underwear!”

“Hot.” He chuckled, fixing his belt loops and stuffing the ripped panties into his pocket.

“Not funny! I’m not parading about with no underwear on!”

“We’re getting the fuck out of this extras stupid wedding. You can wear my clothes at my place.” Suitably sorted and not looking like you had just had the brains fucked out of you in a closet (despite the reddening bites and bruises that were now appearing on your neck), Bakugou held you close. Yet instead of taking the corridor to the exit, he was leading you back to the main dance hall.

“Where’re we going?” You hashly whispered to Bakugou, your thighs still wet from your slick and the cool air against your unclothed pussy making you heat up from embarrassment.

“Gots to do one thing before we go.” There’s a shit eating grin on his face, you couldn't help but wonder what on earth he was planning now.

Midoriya stood talking to other heroes all dressed in their formal attire and Bakugou (with no consideration of their conversation) roughly tapped his shoulder to get his immediate attention. His arm around your waist was so tight but being see with Bakugou like this made you feel almost proud.

“We’re just heading off.” Bakugou had replaced his smile for his usual scowl, something he had always looked at Izuku with.

“Going so soon? It’ll be a shame you guys!” Izuku’s voice was plastered in falsehood. He probably regretted trying to gloat over you two. Bakugou held out his hand for Midoriya to shake it, your brows furrowed on what was obviously a stepping stone to Bakugou’s plan.

“I know I might not be better at you right now in the hero charts.”

Uh oh.

“I’m glad you’ve finally come to recognise that Kaccha-“

“But I am better at you at something for sure.”

Bakugou used Midoriya’s hand in his to pull him closer, readying himself to whisper in his ear.

“Cause I just fucked the shit out of your ex-girlfriend and I know you never made her come as hard as I did.”

Your face burned with the heat of a million suns, but the glower on Izuku’s face was priceless. And you couldn’t help but see the flash of a camera capture the moment as Bakugou’s hand fell from his and slipped once again around your waist.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou fanfic #bakugou smut #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha imagine #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #bakugou headcanons #bakugou #bakugo #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons

[i-am-robie]

 Thanks to @coffeeshib​ for letting me steal the amnesia + wife prompt... I couldn’t help myself. This is not what I thought would come out (content warning for canon typical violence and injuries), mostly this is just Kara being a whole entire idiot and Alex facepalming and Lena just being glad Kara is there for her, as her fake wife while she recovers from another quarterly attempt on her life:

“Supergirl! You have to go!” Alex is yelling at her as they roll Lena into the emergency room at National City General, but Kara is rooted to the spot - she can’t look away. Lena is pale, too pale, and there’s blood all over her dress, cuts and scrapes and bruises already blooming on every piece of exposed skin. She isn’t moving, isn’t breathing on her own right now; the only air making its way into her body is through the ambu bag being operated by a nurse, as women and men in scrubs crowd around the moving gurney, shouting orders. And all of that is terrifying enough, but it isn’t the thing that’s paralyzing Kara.

The reason Kara can’t move, the reason that she is barely breathing, is that she can’t hear Lena’s heart.

“Kara.” Alex is closer now, she steps gently in front of her sister, dropping her voice so that no one else can hear her. “Kara, you have to go, they’re getting away.”

“Alex - “ Kara takes a step forward, as if to walk around her sister, to head towards the doors that Lena and the medical team are disappearing behind.

“I know, Kara, I know,” Alex says, gentle and quiet. The doors shut, and Kara’s eyes snap away from it to her sister's face. Alex looks as terrified as Kara feels; she’s wearing an expression Kara has only seen on her before when it’s Kara who’s hurt. “You can’t do anything for her right now. But you can get the guys who did this.” She reaches for Kara’s arm, squeezes - the pressure is grounding. “You need to go. You need to go right now.”

So Kara goes.

__________________

She returns seven hours later, after dropping the men who carried out the attack on Lena at the DEO and declining to help in the interrogation. She nearly killed them, doesn’t think she has the stomach to listen to them talk. She’d still been in the field when the hospital reached out to let her know that they’d been able to stabilize Lena, restarting her heart, but that she hasn’t woken up yet. Alex had relayed the message to her, but now Alex only shakes her head when Kara asks if there are any updates.

Her sister pulls her aside when Kara says that she’s going to hospital to talk to the doctors, telling Kara quietly that she needs to go home and clean off her suit. When Kara looks down, she sees that Alex is right. She’s covered in blood - some of Lena’s, some of it the men she’s apprehended, none of it hers. It makes her want to sob.

But when she gets out of the bathroom after showering, pulling on soft joggers and a hoodie, Kara finds that she can’t settle. Every time she closes her eyes, every time she blinks, she sees Lena’s lifeless body in the rubble that had been her office, can feel Lena in her arms the moment her heart stopped, and the fact that Lena is supposedly stable doesn’t help at all because she hasn’t woken up.

What if she never wakes up?

Suddenly, Kara can’t breathe. Her chest is tight, the walls of her apartment seeming to flex and close in on her. Her heart rate speeds up and she’s taking choked half-breaths, clenching her fists and blinking away tears.

She can’t lose Lena like this, not after she worked so hard to get her back. Kara looks at the clock. It’s just after midnight. This is definitely not visiting-hours at the hospital, and Lena’s not awake anyway - but Kara needs to see her. Needs to know she’s alive.

Needs to hear her heartbeat again.

It’s all of this - the panic, the desperation, the single-minded focus on getting to Lena - that Kara will blame later when she’s trying to explain what happens next in the weeks to come.

The hospital is deserted except for the staff when Kara walks in through the main entrance and goes up to the ICU where she knows Lena will be. She heads straight for the desk at the front of the unit when she arrives, and introduces herself to a nurse before asking if she can see Lena.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Danvers,” the nurse says, and she does sound sorry in the face of Kara’s distress, “visiting hours aren’t until ten a.m.”

A man in a basketball sweatshirt and jeans walks past them, he scans a small badge that says ‘VISITOR’ in capital letters on a machine at the end of the desk, and nods at the nurse before he disappears down the hallway.

“He’s visiting,’ Kara tries, her voice bordering on frantic, “he’s visiting and I need to see her, you don’t understand, I’m not going to be okay if I don’t see her. Please, just let me...”

“I’m so sorry, honey, it’s immediate family only after hours.”

“I’m her wife,” Kara blurts out. “Please. I’m her wife.”

“You’re her…that’s not in the notes…” The nurse trails off, looking down at the computer in front of her.

“I’m her emergency contact, I’m her wife, please.”

““Oh, yes,” the nurse starts nodding, “I do see that marked here, they called you when she came in. Hmmm...Someone clicked the wrong box under ‘relationship to patient.’” She moves her mouse and clicks on something, then looks back up at Kara. “I’ve fixed that for you, Mrs. Danvers. Let me print you out a visitor badge so you can just scan it in next time.

Kara can feel her panic recede a little. She’s going to see Lena. The nurse takes a blank badge and feeds it into an electronic printer. She hands the finished product to Kara, then gets up and gestures for Kara to follow.

“Now,” the nurse starts as she walks Kara down the dark hallway, the lights on half since it’s night, “she looks a little rough, but I assure you, she’s receiving the very best care there is. Normally you would have been called for consent before we initiated the hypothermia protocol, but since she had an advanced directive on file already, the team went ahead and started it.”

Kara’s barely listening to her, has started to strain her ears for the only sound she’s wanted to hear all day. She nearly collapses in relief when she finds it, below the beeping and the whirring and the buzzing of the machines, unlike any other beat in the building. Lena’s heart is steady, slower than usual, slower than Kara’s ever heard it, but it’s there, rhythmically thumping away.

The nurse brings her to a halt in front of a patient room, Lena’s name on the board outside with a bunch of notations that mean nothing to Kara. She’ll ask Alex to translate.

“She’ll be cold to your touch, that’s alright,” the nurse continues. “The key right now is to try to stop or slow any of the damage she’s suffered as a result of going into cardiac arrest. She lost a lot of blood, and her left femur is broken, along with her right ulna, but there are a lot of reasons to be hopeful. We’ll know more in the forty-eight to seventy-two hours once the protocol is complete.”

Kara refuses to think about most of this. Lena is alive. She’s alive and she’s right on the other side of this door. She clears her throat. “How long...how long can I stay?”

“As long as you like, dear. We’ll round on her in the morning and if you’re still here you can talk to the attending. Also, we’ll be in to check on her, but most of the monitoring is electronic since she’s in a medically induced coma for at least the next two days. There’s a chair that reclines by the bedside, I can grab you a blanket?”

“Please,” Kara says. She stops with her hand on the door, turns back to the nurse. “Thank you.” It comes out wobbly.

“Of course.” The nurse smiles at her. “Go on in, I’ll be right back.”

_____________________

Kara’s woken up by the medical team the next morning during rounds, just as the night shift nurse had promised. She blinks awake and rubs at her eyes, stretching and going to stand up when the team enters.

“Hi Mrs. Danvers, we saw you’d arrived,” a tall woman in a white lab coat says, walking over to Kara on the far side of the room and sticking out her hand to shake. “I’m Dr. Sheldon. We’ll do our best to bring you up to speed now, I’m so glad you were able to make it last night.” She gives Kara a warm smile. “Believe it or not, it really does make a difference when patients are supported, even when they aren’t aware of it.”

The team walks her through their care plan for Lena, how long she’ll have to remain like this before they start the re-warming process, what they’re concerned about and what they’ll be looking for. Her arm and femur have been set and immobilized, but it’s likely that the femur will need to be rebroken and repaired surgically if and when Lena does wake up. Given the invasiveness of the procedure, the delicacy of her present condition, and the unknowns about her cognition, that decision will keep.

When they leave, Kara texts Alex. If the doctors think that it will make a difference for Lena’s recovery to have her here, then she’s going to stay. She’s owed time off anyway. This is the best use of it she can think of.

Two hours later, the door opens, and Kara looks up from the bed, relieved to see Alex standing there, holding a backpack with the food and change of clothing Kara asked her to bring.

“Oh gosh, am I glad to see you,” she says, letting go of Lena’s hand and standing up. She walks around the bed to where Alex has stopped.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says, and she’s frowning at Kara. “You have some fucking explaining to do.”

“What?” Kara stops abruptly.

“What?” Alex parrots. She narrows her eyes. “Are you being serious…?” At Kara’s confused expression, Alex rolls her eyes and reaches behind her to shut the door. She walks over to Kara, pulling some take out from the bag and handing it to her, before pulling up one of the swivel chairs a doctor had been using.

Kara takes the food and goes back to her seat.

“So?” Alex prompts.

Kara looks up from the styrofoam container, already having broken apart her chopsticks. “So what?”

“What do you mean...Kara!” Kara freezes, chopsticks frozen in midair clutching a piece of kung pao chicken. There is real frustration and confusion in Alex’s voice. “Imagine my surprise when I sign in at the front desk and the nurse says that my sister-in-law is stable right now. Wanna tell me why the fuck you’re playing house to visit your best friend in the hospital?”

Kara sets the chicken down. “Alex…”

“Kara, you have ten seconds to explain why the entire staff thinks you and Lena are married and the answer had better not actually involve marriage or I swear to god I’ll…”

“They wouldn’t let me in to see her!” Kara bursts out. “I got here last night and I needed to see her, Alex, I needed to. And apparently it’s immediate family only and I panicked, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “I know Lena is important to you, but Kara, you could have waited ten hours and seen her.”

“I couldn’t.” Kara looks down at her food, not hungry anymore. “Alex, I couldn’t. I almost had a panic attack after you sent me home last night. I couldn’t wait.”

“Oh kiddo.” Kara looks up at that, all the frustration is gone from Alex’s tone. Her sister lets out a sigh. “Lena’s going to get through this and she’s going to get better. And when she does, you have got to tell her how you feel.”

“She’s my best friend.” Kara’s mouth twists. This is not a new conversation, but the stakes seem higher with Lena in the bed beside her, unconscious and battered.

“She is,” Alex agrees. “But she could be more.”

And oh, Kara wants more with every fiber of her being. But more than that, she wants Lena in her life, wants the easy love and affection they’ve finally gotten back to. And she’s been worried about rocking the boat.

“And by the way,” Alex says, pulling her back to the present, “lying to medical professionals is not a good look.” Kara grimaces and ducks her head.

“I know,” she says, glancing at Lena, the ventilator moving her chest up and down slowly. “But they said it’s good for Lena to have someone here, talking to her, holding her hand, even if she doesn’t know. And you know Lillian isn’t going to do that. And Lex is the one who put her here...just let me do this, okay?”

Alex hums. “You’re so lucky I didn’t blow your secret.”

Kara looks over at her sister. “Thank you.”

“Some of us are actually good at lying under pressure. I’m surprised you didn’t tell them she was married to Supergirl.”

“Well I wasn’t dressed as Supergirl.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

______________________

Lena doesn’t wake up for the next three days.

In the interim, all of their friends visit, but Alex has already warned them about Kara’s new relationship status and other than Nia’s constant giggles, no one comments. Kara doesn’t leave the hospital. She keeps vigil in the chair, occasionally leaving for short periods of time to go down to the cafeteria, or to stretch her legs.

On day four, Alex convinces her to at least go to the DEO to shower and check in with J’onn about  the duties he and M’gann are covering for her.

She’s just getting ready to head back to the hospital when her phone rings.

“Mrs. Danvers?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Sheldon. Your wife has woken up and she’s being evaluated now by neuro, but we wanted you to know first thing.”

Kara has to sit down in the middle of the DEO, the concrete hard and probably cold underneath her, but it’s better than the alternative, which was just going to be letting her knees give out. She closes her eyes tightly. “I’ll be right there.”

She flies back to the hospital, landing in a nearby alley and running into the building with just a touch of superspeed. She makes it onto the unit just in time to see Lena’s care team leaving her room and turning down the hall to the next patient, and as much as Kara wants to get an update from them, the urge to see Lena herself is too much. She walks through the open door and nearly runs into a nurse, who’s moving some of the equipment out, now that Lena is conscious. It’s a nurse Kara is familiar with, her name is Bernadette, she’s been on shift the last two days. Her eyes light up when she sees Kara.

“Your wife is here,” Bernadette says, over her shoulder before Kara can stop her. She smiles warmly as she turns back to Kara. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She slips past Kara and into the hallway.

“My…” Lena’s eyes go wide as she sees Kara standing helpless in front of the now closed door.  Her voice is still scratchy from the extubation. Her hair is greasy and all over the pillow, her right arm and left leg are completely immobilized, there are wires running through the top of her hospital gown, her whole body a tapestry of garish purples and greens and stitches. But she’s awake. Kara has never felt more relieved in her entire life, but it turns to ice in her veins as Lena struggles to speak, clearly confused. “My - my - oh god.” Her eyes start to fill with tears and Kara panics.

“No, Lena, no, it’s not - “ she starts saying, taking quick steps towards the bed.

“Oh god, oh god, Kara,” Lena chokes out, twisting a little in bed and flinching, “they said I only lost a week, they said my memory seemed okay, that there’s no - ”

“We’re not married!” Kara yells out trying to stop the clear spiral Lena is on. Lena’s eyes go wide, but she does stop looking like she’s about to start sobbing. “We’re not married,” Kara repeats, in a normal voice this time.

“Then why…”

Kara winces. “I might have told the hospital staff that we are. Married, that is.”

Lena looks wary, small and weak and confused in the bed, and she’s frowning a little at Kara now. It doesn’t even matter, though, because the feeling of seeing Lena awake is returning with every word she speaks, and Kara feels something in her chest open up. She has to resist walking over and climbing into bed with her and holding her, knows she needs to explain first.

In every single way Kara played out this moment all week in her head, not once is this how it went - she wants Lena to be smiling, to be okay, or at least as okay as one can be after coming out of a medically induced coma, with a number of near catastrophic injuries still to be dealt with. She certainly didn’t imagine she’d be contributing to the disorientation and isolation Lena’s projecting right now.

Lena’s eyes dart around Kara’s face. Kara takes a deep breath.

“The first night you were here, I had to see you.” She starts twisting her hands together, takes another step towards the bed. “And it was late, and even though I’m your emergency contact, they said no after hours visitors except for family and I panicked.”

“You panicked.” Lena sounds like she’s unsure how panic would lead someone to pretend to be married, and honestly, now that Kara is having to explain the decision, she’s not really sure either. The only thing she knows is that she doesn’t regret it. Would do it again, in fact.

“I knew if they thought I was your wife, they’d let me in to see you. And Lena, I had to see you. I had to. You were - “ Kara cuts herself off, can feel the tightness in her chest, closing around her heart like a vice. “Your heart stopped before I could get you to the hospital. The last time I saw you, I didn’t know if - “ A small sob works it’s way up her throat, and Kara’s eyes are burning. She feels a tear break free from her lashes. “I needed to hear your heartbeat.”

An unreadable expression crosses Lena’s face as Kara takes the seat by her bed that she’s occupied for the last week. To Kara’s great relief, Lena reaches out her left hand, lays it on the edge of the bed, palm up. Kara grabs for it with both of her own.

And Rao, the feeling of Lena’s hand, still cold, but undeniably warmer, squeezing back when Kara grips tightly - she doesn’t know how to describe this feeling. It starts a fresh wave of sobs in her, of relief this time, rather than terror.

“Hey,” Lena says, punctuating it with another flex of her fingers around the back of Kara’s hand. “Hey, I’m okay. I’m here. You saved me. I’m okay, see?”

And really, that just makes Kara cry harder.

“I’m supposed to be comforting you,” she chokes out.

“You are,” Lena says, disengaging their hands and bringing her fingers up to Kara’s face, wiping at the tears. “You are, god, I was just thrown. I thought...I thought, it doesn't matter what I thought.” She tries to laugh and ends up flinching.

“Oh no, are you okay, should I call the doctor?” Kara immediately reaches forward, lays a hand on Lena’s hip above the sheets and wipes furiously at her face with the other.

“It’s the broken ribs,” Lena grits out, jaw flexing as she drops her hand away from Kara’s face and back onto the bed. “Fuck that hurts.”

“I’m just so glad you’re awake,” Kara says, leaning forward again and brushing some of the hair out of Lena’s face, trying to tuck it behind her ear.

That’s how Bernadette finds them when she returns, Kara gently touching Lena’s forehead, and rubbing her hip, the two of them so close that Kara might as well climb in next to her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, smiling at the two of them. “The attending would like to pop in with the head of ortho to talk about surgical options for your femur. Should I tell her to come back later?”

Kara moves to stand up, she doesn’t want to delay anything about Lena’s care, but Lena reaches for her hand again, and Kara’s powerless to do anything but lace their fingers together and sit back down.

Lena takes a shallow breath, “Can my wife stay?”

My wife. Hearing it come out of Lena’s mouth does something to Kara that feels a little dangerous, makes the room spin a bit. Her heart feels as if it’s expanding and being squeezed at the same time. My wife. My wife. My wife.

“Of course, she’s more than welcome to stay,” Bernadette says. “It’s probably a good idea, actually, now that there are care decisions to make.”

_____________________

“Let me get this straight,” Alex says, her head in her hands. Kelly reaches out to rub her back. “You’re still pretending to be married, and Lena is playing along with it?”

Kara nods. They’re sitting down in the cafeteria while Lena gets a sponge bath, something that Kara is trying very hard not to think about. It’s been nearly three weeks, one major operation, and thankfully no more complications.

And Kara has been here through it all. She’s started leaving for blocks of time during the day (it turns out she didn’t have a month worth of vacation saved up and Alex had nearly had an aneurysm when Kara asked if she was allowed to use family medical leave act time), but she’s spent nearly every night in the hospital with Lena since. The medical team loves them, has started talking to them about how devoted Kara is. Maybe Kara’s playing into it a little, bringing flowers, and Lena’s favorite foods, and always, always touching her in some way when she’s in the room.

“You know they’re going to build her discharge plan around you, right?” Alex squints at her. “Have you considered that?”

Kara flushes. “Actually,” she brings a hand up to rub at the back of her neck, adjusts her glasses for good measure, “we’ve agreed that I’ll just move in with Lena for a little while. She can hire someone during the day, but I’ll be around at night and I can help with the rehab. So, um, it’s fine.”

“You’re both fucking idiots.”

_________________

“I’ve been home for an hour and I’m already regretting every choice in my life that’s lead to this point. This is humiliating.”

“Oh my gosh,” Kara laughs, “no it isn’t.”

“Kara, you’re washing my hair in the kitchen sink because I can’t even wash myself right now with this fucking cast and brace on.”

Kara grins, squirting shampoo onto her hand and setting the bottle down on the marble countertop. Lena is sitting in the wheelchair, left leg propped up on the supports. She’s leaning back with her head over the edge of the sink, rolled up towels supporting her neck and her eyes are closed. She’s frowning, but it’s the frown she wears when she’s trying too hard not to smile. It makes Kara want to kiss it right off her face. She takes a deep breath, instead.

Kara is just so grateful that she gets to see Lena like this, hair stringy from the hospital, oversize sweatshirt with one sleeve bunched up over the top of the lime green cast on her right arm. The post-surgical femoral fracture brace looks uncomfortable, but Lena hasn’t complained about it at all. So, fine, maybe this nearly debilitating urge to kiss her best friend, to ask her if the last few weeks could be real, instead of fake (not the marriage part, not now, anyway, but the relationship part sure), is getting more and more intrusive. That doesn’t mean Kara can’t continue to ignore it until Lena’s better.

She finishes washing Lena’s hair and if she takes extra time massaging in the conditioner and making sure the water temperature is absolutely perfect, well, that’s just being a good caretaker. She sets Lena up in her bedroom, then goes back to the kitchen to clean up 

“Ok, Lena,” Kara says, walking back into the bedroom. “You officially have zero edible things in your apartment. I’m going to make a list and head to the grocery store for supplies, ok? Your next meds can’t be taken on an empty stomach.”

“You’re underestimating my iron constitution.” Lena frowns unhappily in bed. “We can just order some, you don’t have to go.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, okay?” Kara smiles at Lena.

Sure, they could order groceries, but she wants to go get them, to pick them out herself, and bring them back. It makes her feel so good to be able to do things like this: wash her hair, go get groceries, make her something to eat. The best part of this whole terrible ordeal is that she’s gotten to take care of Lena, to show her, not just tell her, how important she is to Kara. It warms her up from the inside out.

“You sure I’m allowed to be by myself?” Lena teases, breaking Kara out of her thoughts. “I haven’t been left to my own devices in weeks now. Just imagine all the trouble I could get into.” She raises an eyebrow.

Kara laughs and shakes her head, drawn closer to Lena like a magnet. Lena’s tucked into bed, leg propped up on pillows to keep the brace comfortable, two books on the nightstand beside her, a glass of water within easy reach, and the next round of medications in a small porcelain bowl that Kara repurposed from the kitchen. Her hair is still wet from being washed, and although there are dark circles around her eyes, and her cheekbones are too sharp from the weight she lost in the hospital, Kara doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful than Lena right at this exact moment.

She walks over to the bed and sits down next to Lena, reaching over to move the glass of water back from the edge of the nightstand and onto a coaster. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll bet you a whole order of potstickers that you’re asleep when I get back.” She reaches across Lena, adjusts the towel covering up her pillow to keep it from getting wet.

When she pulls back slightly, she’s startled by how close Lena’s face is to hers. Lena is looking at her with such unadulterated fondness, that Kara can’t help reaching up and tucking a wet tendril of hair back behind Lena’s ear. “I’ll be back so soon you won’t even know I was gone.”

“I always know when you’re gone,” Lena says, the corners of her mouth lifting up, her eyes crinkling lightly. Kara’s hand has drifted from Lena’s ear to the back of her head, her thumb brushing gently at the soft skin just below Lena’s jaw.

When she retells the story of what happens next later, Alex will roll her eyes and mutter under hear breath, but Kara will swear this is the truth: without even thinking about it, she leans forward and kisses Lena on the lips, quick and soft, then stands and turns to go, pulling her phone out of her pocket so she can start making a grocery list.

“You can drop the act now,” Lena says, a little stiffly.

“Huh?” Kara whips around, more at Lena’s tone than at her words, and looks at her in confusion. Lena’s face is bright red.

“Kara, we’re - I’m home, there’s no hospital staff to convince anymore.” She sounds a little upset and Kara, feels her forehead crinkle as she replays the last several seconds in her head: she moved Lena’s water, adjusted the towel behind her head, smoothed Lena’s hair, and…

“Oh Rao, oh gosh.” She takes a step forward, then back abruptly, as she realizes that she’s just kissed Lena on the mouth. She puts one hand on her forehead and the other on her hip, spins in a small circle. “Lena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t - ”

“It’s fine,” Lena says, her voice sounding calm and even now that Kara is having a meltdown, but her heart is doing some sort of high speed gallop in her chest and it’s giving Kara the impression that this is not actually fine.

Oh no, oh gosh… “Lena, I’m sorry, - ”

“I get it.” Lena cuts her off, holding up a hand to stop her. “The whole act, it’s a hard habit to break.” She drops her hand to the bed and laughs lightly, picking at the blanket. “Honestly I’m surprised we made it this long without accidentally doing that.”

“Accidently. Yes.” Kara’s nodding so hard, she feels like her head might come off. “It was an accident.” That might be a convenient way of putting it, but it doesn’t change the fact that Kara’s been wanting to kiss Lena, wants it to be as un-accidental as possible. And aren’t accidents things like tripping on the carpet, or spilling a drink at dinner? She may not have been thinking when she did it, but Kara knows there’s nothing accidental about that kiss.

But Lena’s giving her an out, and Kara can’t bring herself not to take it.

“I’m just going to - ” Kara gestures over her shoulder and then she flees.

“Alex, I kissed her.” Kara’s made it outside the apartment, but her heart hasn’t slowed down. She didn’t even bother making a list after walking out of Lena’s bedroom, just went straight to the elevator, dialing Alex before she’d even hit the lobby. Her stomach is squirmy, she feels like she might throw up.

“Finally,” Alex says, letting out what might be a relieved sigh.

“What do you mean finally?” Kara feels hysterical.

“I mean finally, idiot. Watching the two of you for the past three weeks has been the most painful experience of my life, I’m glad you finally did it.”

“She thinks it was because of the act!” Kara nearly yells. A man walking by looks at her, narrowing his eyes and giving her a wide berth. “She thinks it’s because of the act, Alex!”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment.

“Kara Danvers, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“No,” Kara wails. “I didn’t even mean to do it! Or, well. I meant to do it, but I didn’t know I was doing it. I was making sure she had everything she needed and then I was leaving to go to the grocery story and somewhere in the middle I kissed her! And she got kinda upset even though she said she wasn’t and she says it’s fine because it was an accident. And it was an accident, at least in the sense that I wasn’t thinking when I did it and god I didn’t even ask if she wanted to kiss me, but I meant it, Alex, I meant it.”

Kara can picture Alex right now: that tight, unhappy expression on her face, fingers pinching her nose between her eyes.

“Okay, I swore to Kelly I wasn’t going to do this, but that was before you lost your damn mind and kissed her.” Kara can hear Alex take a deep breath. “You need to go back upstairs right now and confess, Kara.”

“What?” Kara practically screeches. She spins in a circle. “No, this isn’t the right time. I’m supposed to be helping her, I’m supposed to be taking care of her, I can’t put this on her right now. What if she doesn’t feel the same, what if this ruins everything, what if - “

Thankfully Alex cuts her off. “That argument worked before you kissed her and decided to let her believe you didn’t mean to do it. And before you argue with me, you might not have known you were doing it, but you absolutely meant to do it, Kara.”

Kara is now facing Lena’s apartment and gently knocking her forehead against it.

“Kara, I heard that crack, stop headbutting the building.” Kara stops, keeps her forehead pressed to the cool limestone. Alex pauses, and her voice is gentle when she continues. “You gotta tell her, kiddo. You’ve been down the whole lying path with her before and while I don’t think this is the kind of lie that would cause her to try removing our free-will again, I do think that you guys decided on honesty as your way forward. You either own that, or you don’t.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut. “If we can get through that, we can get through this.”

“That’s the spirit. And hey, if for some reason things don’t go well and you feel like you can’t stay with her? Kelly or I would be happy to swap out for you tonight. Just in case you need some space.”

“Thanks, Alex.”

“But Kara, I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

Kara doesn’t feel much better when she hangs up with Alex, but she knows her sister is right. She’s got to tell Lena.

And to be honest, Kara can’t imagine a world in which Lena would be upset with her for having feelings, regardless of whether they’re reciprocated. They’ll be able to work through this, even if it hurts for a while. She’s had friends fall in love with her before, and she’s always been able to keep them as friends afterwards. God, maybe Winn has some advice for me, she thinks.

So Kara takes a deep breath and goes back inside. Groceries can wait.

She’s trembling when she lets herself back into Lena’s apartment. It’s nerves, anticipation more than anything. She’s about to confess something that she can’t, won’t take back and it will change things between them, even if only for a while.

Lena looks up from her book when Kara makes her way back into the bedroom. She sets it down beside her hip on the bed and cocks her head.

“Well that was fast. Did Supergirl get my groceries?” She gives Kara a smile.

“I’m in love with you.” Well that’s one way to start this conversation. “And I didn’t kiss you accidentally.”

Lena’s smile drops, her eyes widening in surprise. Everything about her seems to freeze.

“Before you say anything, I need to get this out. I’m not telling you because I’m expecting anything. I don’t want anything to change, I mean, I do, clearly, but I don’t if that’s not what you want.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut and looks at the ceiling. She really should have thought this through. “I’ve known for a while, actually, I was just worried about what it might mean, if you didn’t feel the same way.” She drops her gaze back to Lena. “But then you almost died. And I pretended to be your wife. And I was planning on telling you once you’re totally recovered. Except then I kissed you without even thinking about it and I can’t lie about this, Lena. It isn’t good for either of us. So. Yeah. Just. Tell me what you need.”

Lena’s looking at her with an expression Kara can’t read, but she doesn’t look unhappy, or afraid, or upset...

“Kara, do you remember when that nurse told me my wife had shown up?”

“Yes,” Kara says, frowning, because she doesn't understand where Lena is going with this. “Of course I do, you were panicked that you’d experienced severe brain damage.”

Lena shakes her head, pats the space on the bed next to her.

Kara feels a weight lift from her shoulders: no matter how this goes, if Lena is asking her to come closer, then they’re going to be okay. She walks across the carpet.

“You’re right,” Lena says as Kara comes closer, “I was worried, but that wasn’t the only thing that made me panic.”

“What else was it?” Kara sits down and looks at her lap, bringing her hands together to fidget. She can feel Lena’s body heat next to her, but she doesn’t want to reach out unless Lena does it first. “Was it the idea of being married to me?” She laughs. She can laugh about this.

“No, darling,” Lena says. She reaches for Kara’s hands, smoothing her fingers across them to still them. Darling, that’s a good sign, right? “Kara, as terrified as I was that there was more damage, my first thought was that somehow I’d lost memories of us: of you falling in love with me, of dating and first kisses and someone proposing and a wedding.” Lena pauses and Kara stares at their joined hands. She hears more than sees Lena take a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve been in love with you for so long it broke my heart to think that those things had happened and I couldn’t remember them.”

Kara whips her head around to look at Lena. Her best friend is smiling, and her eyes are a little wet like maybe she’s overwhelmed and might cry and oh gosh, does Kara understand that feeling right now.

“You love me,” she says, feeling her own eyes start to fill with tears.

Lena nods.

“You’re in love with me,” Kara can’t help clarifying. This is something out of a dream.

Lena nods again.

“Can I…” Kara reaches for Lena’s face, trails her knuckles down Lena’s cheek and watches in awe as Lena leans into the touch.  “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes,” Lena breaths out, smiling, and it’s blinding. “But only if it’s not an accident.”

#this is not what I meant to be writing at all today and also it is much less funny than the tag ficlet but what're you gonna do? #robie writes #supercorp #WHAT'S PROOF READING I'VE NEVER HEARD OF IT DON'T @ME #tw canon typical violence

[elysiadjarin]

Day 10: Toy

Short, perhaps, but I think sweet and just enough! Day 10 of Kinktober, and we’re still somehow going strong. For all you Tech simps… enjoy. Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Mentions of public sex, use of toys, risk play

Tags: Tech x Reader, The Bad Batch, Star Wars

A Little Experiment

Could we try a little experiment?

Why? Why had you agreed to this? You sat in your chair, desperately trying to control your breaths. In front of you sat your boyfriend, that tiny, infuriating smirk on his face as he calmly ate his plate of food.

You struggled to eat anything, every single movement only adding to the problem. You couldn’t even drink anything, your fingers far too shaky to properly hold the glass.

“At least eat a little, cyar’ika?” Tech fussed, shaking his head at you.

“I would if you’d let me, you infuriating—“ You broke off with a whimper. Tech had turned up the dial a notch, and you were starting to be afraid that someone would hear the little whirr of the vibrator in your panties— or worse. That you’d start soaking through your underwear.

“Tech, please,” you whimpered. The vibrator had been on for at least five minutes now, starting off as a pulse until it worked up to a constant buzz that had been driving you insane. It was pressed right against your clit, impossible to move or adjust for any sort of relief.

He sighed in mock-regret, adjusting his goggles. “Very well,” he conceded. “We’ll compromise. At least so you can finish your food, hmm? Wouldn’t want you to starve,” he said, shaking his head.

The vibrator abruptly switched off. You almost slumped to the table in relief, shakily trying to pick up your utensils. Thankfully, you’d at least eaten half of your food before you’d lost all sense of functionality. You’d barely managed a few bites before the toy pulsed with vibrations. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to finish your plate, even as the sporadic, random pulses threatened to send the fork clattering from your fingers.

You finally, somehow, managed to finish your plate. Your entire body felt like one giant nerve, every movement somehow brushing against your skin with an unbearable sensitivity. Your bra rasping against your nipples almost hurt.

Tech escorted you out of the restaurant, his hand settled gently on the small of your back. Still, even the minimal contact made you almost want to scream, wanting more, wanting relief.

“Almost there,” he murmured encouragingly, his voice smooth with the promise.

The moment you made it through the door of your apartment, your knees buckled. Tech swept you up without a pause, carrying you towards the bedroom. You tucked your head against his neck with a pitiful whine, shivering as the vibrator ramped up into a soft but insistent buzz.

He gently lowered you onto the bed, that same small smile on his face. But still, he bent to press a kiss to your lips that was wholly tender. You leaned into the touch, your body almost on fire. You were almost past the point of desperation at the moment, gasping against his lips.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, beginning to unbutton your shirt. His lithe fingers quickly got your clothes off as he distracted you with his wine-soaked kiss.

By the time all your clothes were off, the sheer relief of the cool air hitting your flushed skin was enough to make you arch and moan. The sweat clung to your skin. Tech hummed as he gently smoothed his hands over your skin.

“You’ve gotten rather sensitive, haven’t you?” he observed. “I admit, I underestimated your sensitivity levels.”

You tugged at him with an incoherent whine, drool already slipping from the corners of your lips. He finally acquiesced, leaning down pressing his body against yours. The pressure felt all at once not enough and too much. When you whimpered and peeled open tear-stuck eyelashes to look pleadingly up at him, he gave in.

“Alright. You’ve been good, cyar’ika,” he said. His hands held onto your hips, just as he turned the setting on highest.

You arched, a cry spilling from your lips as it sent you careening towards the edge of your orgasm. The moment Tech leaned down and pressed the toy further onto your clit, moving it in those devastatingly tight circles, you tumbled over the cliff.

You were pretty sure you sobbed. As it was, the orgasm crashed through you with such force that you didn’t even know how long it lasted. By the time you regained some form of coherence, you noticed that Tech had removed the vibrator, instead gently kissing your neck as he swept his hands over your flushed and trembling body.

“You did so good,” he praised softly. “Thank you for your participation in my experiment,” he chuckled.

You reached up and weakly smacked his chest, rolling your eyes. “I’ll have my revenge one day,” you scoffed.

He grinned, adjusting his goggles with that gleam in his eye. “I look forward to it.”

#Star wars #elysiadjarinkinktober #elysiadjarin #kinktober2021 #kinktober #mywriting #my writing #Star Wars x reader #x reader #the bad batch #tech #tech x reader #tbb #tbb x reader #x you #fanfic #Nsft #smut #the bad batch x reader