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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

Kinda Like It When You Lie

Pairing: Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Summary: You discover the reason why Chris has been lying to you about his whereabouts.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: le smut, le angst, le toxicity but a sorta happy ending I guess???

A/N: I tagged everyone in my Everything Bucky tag list because why not lmfao okay but no, I’m not sure how often I will be writing fics for Seb’s other characters so I won’t be having a separate tag list for that yet. If this isn’t something you’re not interested in, feel free to ignore skskks

I am dedicating this piece to @lookiamtrying who got so pissed off that her mans Chris got a lower vote count than Mickey (prior to the release of Monday) when I did my character fic survey lmfao ilysm, Mina!!! This was also inspired by FLETCHER’s If You’re Gonna Lie

MAIN MASTERLIST

Chris kissed you as if it was his last day on earth. It made your insides twist in a blissful way, the kind of kiss that literally took your breath away and made your head spin. You could feel your lungs burning up from the lack of oxygen and yet you didn’t want to pull away.

All you could focus on was how his lips moved against yours, how his tongue danced around your mouth as if he owned you. And in that moment, he really did.

You got lost in Chris— his taste, his rough palms against the smooth expanse of your skin, his weight on top of you as he pressed you down against the cheap motel bed.

It wasn’t until you tried to touch Chris that you realized he had restrained your wrists with something cold and hard. Pulling away from his fervent kiss, you glanced up and saw that he had both of your wrists handcuffed against the headboard.

Tugging at your wrists, you let out a chuckle. “What’re ya, a cop?” you asked.

Chris breathed out through his nose, “Kinda.” he rasped out before taking your bottom lip in between his teeth, tugging at it before sliding his tongue back into your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss and opened up your legs to fully accommodate Chris’ huge build, his pelvis thrusting against your clothed core making you whine against his lips.

“You gonna arrest me or somethin’?” you asked playfully, tilting your neck to the side as you allowed Chris to nip at your skin, his thick beard scratching you much to your delight.

He pulled back to look at your eyes, “Only for stealin’ my heart, darling.”

What you thought was a one-night stand turned into something more. Not that you were complaining, in fact, you’d quickly fallen head over heels for Chris. How could you not when he was the most honest man you’d met in your entire life?

After that first night, Chris told you everything about him and his job. An FBI agent who needed to go undercover as a drug dealer in order to infiltrate a huge drug syndicate. He had been undercover for a while now and it was consuming, he said. That’s how you found him drinking alone at the bar you worked at.

“You planning to consume our entire stock of beers or what?”

Chris let out a breathy chuckle as you placed two more bottles of beer on his table. The man had been in the bar for hours now, drowning his miseries away since his arrival. You noticed him as soon as he sauntered into the bar— all beard and tattooed muscles on display with the denim vest he wore.

“I’m sorry.” he huffed out and you were surprised at how soft spoken he was despite his tough exterior. “Work’s been stressing me out, is all.” He explained with a firm smile.

You couldn’t help but return the gesture, “Thought you were stressin’ over your girl.” You smirked.

Chris narrowed his eyes at you, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. “Got no girl to come home to.” He said, voice an octave lower and a little bit rougher.

You bit your lip and shrugged, “Man like you can easily find a solution to that.” You said and winked before heading back behind the bar, swaying your hips a little more than the usual.

By the time you reached the bar, you looked back at Chris and caught him staring with a certain look in his eyes.

The same look he would give you whenever you get mad at him for coming home late. The look that always won you over no matter what.

“You said you’d be home by eight, Chris. That was four hours ago.”

Chris rubbed his face and dropped his keys on the tray by the front door. You watched him with suspecting eyes as he trudged towards you, eyes tired yet apologetic.

“‘m sorry, sweetheart. Went out with the guys, you know how it is.” he said and tried to reach out to you but you were quick to step back.

“Could’ve texted me, y’know? I made dinner, your favorite. Got cold and decided to throw it in the bin when you didn’t show up.” you said, shaking your head in disappointment and turned around to retreat back into the bedroom.

Chris caught you and gripped your waist in his strong hands, preventing you from further walking away. He pulled your back against his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck as he whispered apologies into your ear.

“I’m sorry, babe. Let me make it up to you, huh?” he murmured roughly into your ear. “Wanna make you feel good, make you forget my sins.” he teased, earning a soft chuckle from you.

He sucked the skin beneath your earlobe, making your knees weak and your core throb. Chris gently turned you around to face him until your eyes met his-- dark and still apologetic, you wondered why because you’d already forgiven him the moment his hands touched your skin.

Your question was immediately forgotten when Chris kissed you, tongue quickly finding its way into your mouth. His kisses were always so urgent, so hungry and feral.

He always kissed you as if it was the last time.

Clothes strewn everywhere, raspy grunts and high pitched moans, sweaty bodies moving against each other. Every single time you and Chris argued, it always ended the same way, with you giving in to his sweet words and hot touches.

A hand on your nape kept your cheek pressed down onto the mattress as Chris pounded you from behind. Laying flat on your stomach, you could feel every ridge and every vein of his cock as it dragged against your walls. Gripping the sheets tightly, your knuckles turned white as you slightly lifted your ass up earning a harsh spank from Chris.

“You fuckin’ like it when I fuck you rough?” he growled, spanking your ass again before squeezing it into his large hand.

You whimpered at the cold sensation of the rings on Chris’ fingers, wanting it to mark your skin as soon as he was done with you. You moaned when Chris pulled back until only the tip of his hard cock remained in your tight pussy. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes when he pushed your nape further into the mattress at the same time he slammed back in with such force that made you elicit a sound akin to a wail.

“Right there, Chris!” you wantonly pleaded, your drool soaking the sheets beneath you.

“I got you, baby. Gonna fuck you so good you’d forget what you were mad about.”

And forget you did, not just once, not twice. Not even thrice. Every single time Chris came home to you smelling like someone else’s perfume when he claimed to be out with his friends, you always ended up willingly forgetting about it. Chris had you wrapped around his finger and you knew it.

You knew he was lying about his whereabouts and the thing was, you chose to believe in it.

Because with each lie that slipped past his lips, came the sweetest apology followed by a promise to make you feel good and Chris always delivered.

You’d rather hear Chris’ lies than to hear his goodbye just so you can have him in your bed again and again and again.

The last lie you tolerated was when he forgot about your anniversary and came home the next day, all moody and grumpy. He went straight to the bathroom, mumbling about how he was tired from work and you didn’t know whether he was lying again or not.

You’d believed too many of his lies by now that you couldn’t even determine which ones were the truth and which ones weren’t.

“Happy anniversary to us, Chris. In case you forgot.” you said as soon as he got out of the shower.

Chris’ face fell, eyes refusing to meet yours from shame. He should be ashamed and so should you, because you’ve tolerated his lies for a year now and no matter how much you wanted to confront him, you always ended up forgiving him.

“Fuck.” he cursed. “I’m sorry, it’s just that...the buy bust operation was last night and it slipped my mind.” he said.

And there it was again, the look in his eyes that turned you into a moaning mess beneath him as soon as his lips found yours. Whenever Chris would lie, it always seemed to be so fucking worth it. Because he always fucked you senseless until you were stupid for him, enough to let him get away with his pathetic excuses.

But not tonight, because as Chris bent you in half with his cock slipping in and out of your wet cunt, you promised that this will be the last time you’d enjoy the aftermath of his lies.

“Come on, baby. Give me one more. Want this pussy to milk my cock dry, c’mon pretty girl.” he urged, slipping a hand in between your sweaty bodies, his thumb swiping at your clit until stars exploded behind your eyes.

His name was chanted out like a prayer, your lips red and swollen from being kissed and bitten. A few more hard thrusts and you felt Chris spill his seed into you, warm ropes of his cum painting your walls. He carefully slipped your legs off from his shoulders before laying down on top of you, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your chest as the both of you caught on your breaths.

“Where were you last night?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris turned his head to you, trying to read your face but you kept your gaze on the ceiling. Tears escaped your eyes as you laid on the bed, blinking them away when they wouldn’t stop spilling.

“I want the truth, Chris.” you added, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

The bed moved when Chris sat up, reaching for your face and turning it to wards him. Your lips were trembling, fighting back your sob. Chris closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” he said.

“I don’t want your apology, Chris. I want the truth, please.” you begged.

“I can’t stay with you anymore.” he said.

You frowned and sat up, bringing the sheets up to cover your naked body. “Who’s she?” you asked. “I know you’ve been seein’ someone behind my back, I want to know. Who is she? ‘nother FBI agent? Or someone you met while you were undercover?” you were more of mad than hurt now, all your suppressed emotions finally resurfacing and begging to be released.

Chris swallowed and refused to meet your gaze, “It’s...it’s not like that.” he said.

“The fuck you mean, Chris?” you asked.

There was silence for a brief moment, as if Chris was gathering up all the courage he had left in him. And then he looked at you with the same guilty, apologetic eyes again. But it was different now because you knew that there wouldn’t be anymore lies which meant no more sweet talk and no more Chris in your bed until the next morning.

“I never cheated on you.” he huffed out. “I’ve always been...with Erin.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You were a part of my undercover. The leader of the drug syndicate I was trying to infiltrate frequented the bar you worked at. Needed to get as much as information as I can and I easily got that when we started—”

Your hand trembled after landing a solid slap on Chris’ face. Your heart ached, your vision spun and suddenly, nothing made any sense to you anymore. All this time, you thought that was Chris was being unfaithful to you when in truth, he was cheating…with you.

Now you finally understood why he always kissed you as if it was the last time, why he looked at you with those apologetic eyes whenever he came home late, whenever he lied.

Chris told you the entire truth, that he was at the bar during an operation and not after. He manipulated you into believing that everything he told you were real, that he was a good and an honest man, that Erin was nothing but a partner at work.

“When you said you love me, was that a lie too?” you asked, voice breaking because this was too much. Everything was too much.

Chris held your face in between his hands, rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks, “No. No, that wasn’t a lie. I do, I love you. As soon as the operation was done, I couldn’t say goodbye. I always said I’d tell you the truth but I couldn’t. I wish I hadn’t met you like this.” he reassured.

You pushed him away and covered your face with your hands, unable to believe that for an entire year, you’d dedicated your life and your love to someone who had been using you.

“Does she know about me?” you asked.

Chris nodded, “She does.”

You scoffed, “She fuckin’ pities me, doesn’t she? Probably told you to take your time, ‘cause the truth will fuckin’ ruin me.” you said and chuckled bitterly.

“You used me, Chris. Fuckin’ used me and made me a goddamn fool. Is Chris even your real name? Who the fuck are you?” you asked.

“I lied about everything except for two things. My name and when I said I love you.”

You shook your head, wiping away your tears. You’ve finally woken up, brought yourself back to consciousness and decided to accept that Chris was never honest and that not once did he become yours.

“Liar.”

Picking up the pieces of your broken trust was very much like working with the shards of a broken mirror. At times you came out unscathed but for the most part, you were left wounded and bleeding and in pain.

Putting all the broken pieces back together was definitely not easy and it took you years to do so. No matter how careful you were though, the mirror was never completed. There were ugly cracks and everywhere that you couldn’t hide and there was a missing piece. But that’s alright, because you tried to put yourself back together and you weren’t perfect but at least you did your best.

The bar you started working for was quite new, which explained how busy it was even on a slow Wednesday. It wasn’t as big as the old bar you used to work at, but this was newer and catered to a more classy crowd.

No rough bikers, no FBI agents going undercover, no funny businesses.

“Two bottles of beer for table seven.” your manager called out, “Thought it’d be slow today, boy was I wrong.” she commented to which you chuckled.

Taking out two ice-cold bottles from the fridge, you weaved through the crowd and tables until you reached your destination. Placing the bottles on top of the table, you asked the customer if he wanted to order something to go with his drinks.

Taking out your notepad, you finally looked up and was met with a pair of familiar blue eyes. You almost didn’t recognize Chris if it weren’t for those eyes. He was no longer sporting a buzz cut and had longer locks, his beard had grown out but was well-trimmed. His tattooed arms weren’t in full display and instead of the usual denim outfits he wore, he was merely clad in a plaid, maroon button down shirt.

“Hi.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, “Let me guess, you’re undercover and your target is a frequent customer here.” you said.

Chris laughed mirthlessly and shook his head, “I quit from that job years ago.” he said, much to your surprise.

“You stressin’ over your girl?” you asked.

“Got no girl to come home to...anymore.” Chris replied, those damn apologetic eyes making your knees weak once again.

You rolled your eyes at him and placed your notepad back in your apron, “If you’ve nothin’ else to order, then enjoy your beer. I guess.” you said and turned around but was quickly tugged back when Chris grabbed at your wrist.

Scowling at him, you eyed his hand and then back up at his eyes. They didn’t look apologetic though, you realized, he was giving you the same look but something was different.

You just didn’t know what changed.

“I did love you.” he said. “And I still do and I want to come home to you again.” he quickly added, tightening his grip around your wrist as if he was afraid to let you go.

Surprisingly, there was not an ounce of anger left in your heart. It had been a complete three years since the incident. He left you feeling used and broken but you managed to fix yourself. Not completely, but enough to find it in your heart to forgive Chris for what he did.

“I want to believe you, I really do. But it’s hard for me to do that now.” you explained.

Chris nodded in understanding, “I know but I want to start over again. Make things right, if you’d let me. No lies this time, just me and my truth.” he said, his thumb rubbing soft circles against the inside of your wrist.

Honesty. Pure and genuine honesty— that’s what changed in the way Chris looked at you. There wasn’t any guilt in there anymore, no hidden agendas and whatnot.

Just the truth and the missing piece you never knew you needed to complete your mirror.

Everything Bucky Tag List:

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#bbb writes #oneshots: destroyer!chris #destroyer!chris #destroyer!chris x reader #destroyer!chris x you #destroyer!chris angst #destroyer!chris smut #sebastian stan

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #critical role #mighty nein

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1kook · 4 years

Text

EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed.

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple.

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this.

This type of mission has never been his.

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers.

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen.

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it.

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians.

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were.

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see.

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is.

And then he’s off.

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about.

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam.

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet.

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying.

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles.

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on.

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents.

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes.

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor.

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature.

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own.

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes.

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane.

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe.

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle.

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches.

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off.

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you.

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence.

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding.

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general.

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days.

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar.

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together.

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride.

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you.

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one.

You loved it.

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home.

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through.

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels.

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge.

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home.

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car.

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think.

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was.

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur.

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at.

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature.

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night.

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts.

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself.

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list.

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance.

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer.

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?”

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain.

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?”

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.”

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you.

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand.

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that.

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand.

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say.

He is not sure if he believes you.

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay.

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him.

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later.

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes.

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back.

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age.

Or so he says.

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit.

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time.

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion.

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees.

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass.

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory.

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you.

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside.

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once.

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that.

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.”

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world.

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh.

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade.

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. “You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it.

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks.

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.”

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance.

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer.

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question.

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband.

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep.

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state.

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber.

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance.

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen.

And then he’s thinking.

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room.

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7.

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself.

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did.

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities.

Until now.

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know.

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off.

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe.

He was in trouble.

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week.

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times.

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you.

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind.

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other.

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity.

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official?

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there.

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign.

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart.

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features.

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well.

For now.

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings.

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too.

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off.

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears.

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa.

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment.

He wants to be like you.

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day.

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you.

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden.

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

He wants to remain beside you.

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon.

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away.

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved.

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of.

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once.

So he spills it all out to you.

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it.

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean.

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe.

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort.

Instead he sits in silence.

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits.

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that?

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears.

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out.

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously.

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?”

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head.

The day drags on.

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log.

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him.

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out.

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more.

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage.

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?”

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today.

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?”

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?”

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails.

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask.

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you.

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?”

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?”

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.”

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away.

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden.

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d.

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile.

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?”

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?”

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar.

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills.

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state.

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over.

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough.

In the end, both of you are drenched.

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today.

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen.

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses.

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you.

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.”

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up.

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms.

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by.

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point.

There was a lot of weight behind that.

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine.

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart.

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully.

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed.

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe.

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap.

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.”

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there.

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional?

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him.

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently.

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.”

Your face burns.

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside.

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing.

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it.

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you.

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.”

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye.

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body.

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so.

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again.

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his.

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck.

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time.

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way.

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper.

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time.

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours.

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan.

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him.

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you.

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features.

Sheer and utter adoration.

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you.

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you.

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch.

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with.

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds.

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine.

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is.

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes.

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again.

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes.

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear.

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop.

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow.

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight.

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close.

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth.

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively.

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again.

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline.

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest.

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours.

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere.

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly.

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look.

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal.

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed.

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze.

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?”

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver.

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge.

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges.

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you.

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push.

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy.

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot.

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob.

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time.

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with.

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups.

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed.

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down.

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart.

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet.

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers.

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out.

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in.

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets.

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react.

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area.

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you.

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies.

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet.

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #alternative ending by rumu omits the last paragraph and we all pretend to live happily #but im evil so we suffer together #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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isolemnlyswear · 3 years

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Hi! I have a James Potter request where the reader and James are partners in potions class and they’re brewing amortentia and they smell each other, but the reader doesn’t do well with feelings, so she kind of ignores him the next day and idk what happens after that but I’d like a fluffy ending please 😗💕

never felt like this before

young!James Potter x fem!reader

a/n : well. this fic was a trip. it deleted twice, after i’d written almost all of it, and it took me long enough to write already. so, i present to you, my stress-bringer. please don’t let this flop i sound so pitiful but seriously-

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @blacksbooksx @punkrific @truly-insatiable @cedricsbrowncurls @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya

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"Hope we do something interesting today, m’bored," James huffs, arm around your shoulder, and at first, you pay no mind to the gesture. You'd always been affectionate with him, as he’s one of your closest friends, but lately, there’s this burning in the pit of your stomach - this aching, both when you are with and without him, like your soul was screaming for more. More of what, you don’t know; rather, you don’t want to admit to yourself.

And then, suddenly, something snaps. You’re now acutely aware of the way his hands - God, those hands - are draped so delicately around you, and you want so desperately to... No, you told yourself. You can't possibly want more, you have a wonderful best friend who doesn't want anything more from you, so why should you?

“You in there, Y/N?” he teases, arm dropping to poke your side lightly, effectively breaking you from your trance.

“Hmm? Oh! Sorry, what did y’say?” you say with a shake of your head, receiving a chuckle from the brunette.

“You're in another world today, huh?” he says, tilting his head, and a blush spreads across the apples of your cheeks. He sighs contentedly, expression indicating a change in subject. “Said that I wanted something interesting to happen today, s’boring.”

“Well, maybe Slughorn will have some excitement in store for us today,” you reply with a cheeky smile, one that James returns, the glint in his cerulean irises shining with the warm light emitting from the corridor torches.

“If not, you might just have to entertain me,” the brunette replies with a grin, and although the connotation of the comment was not an inherently flirty one - you assume - your cheeks are rouging at the remark, requiring you to clear your throat - and mind - as you step over the threshold and into the classroom, inhaling sharply.

But when the oxygen fills your lungs, there’s a heavy aroma along with it; your eyes are narrowing at how familiar it is, and you turn to James.

“What’s that smell?” you inquire, and he shrugs in response, taking in a thick breath of his own, sighing contentedly once the air hits his lungs.

“It smells... good,” he remarks, and you nod in affirmation, parting your lips to ask exactly what the boy smells, but you’re interrupted by Slughorn.

“Students, students! Settle down, would you? Alright, today is a rather... fun one, I think.” he says, wiping his forehead.

“What will we be brewing, sir?” a curious Hufflepuff asks, and he laughs.

“You won’t technically be brewing anything,” he starts, and miscellaneous sighs - some of relief, some of discontent - air from your classmates. You simply look to James, who raises a brow. “Can anyone tell me what this is?” No response. “Alright then. Does amortentia ring a bell? Anyone do their reading?”

“It’s-” you start, for you know the answer, but your lips clamp shut when you realize the significance of what you’re about to say.

“Its scent mirrors what you most desire, sir.” You sigh in relief at the Ravenclaw who answers instead of you, and Slughorn nods in confirmation.

“Ah, yes. Now, come on now, take a whiff, and you’ll write down your specific smell. No wrong answers, here.”

The rest of your peers scramble to smell the bubbling potion, but you’re frozen in place, heart beating erratically and breathing ragged until James taps you lightly on the shoulder.

“You alright?” he asks, and you nod firmly in response, shaking your head before stepping up to the cauldron.

You hover over it for but a moment, and then you breathe. Your lungs swell with the eupnea that bleeds into you, and layers of the aroma unfold the more you inhale, for you’ve found that the scent is intoxicating, and you can’t bring yourself to stop. You breathe until you can pinpoint the exact scent, and-

A spice-filled shampoo, warm with cinnamon and musk. Broom polish, and something metallic - like the scent of something gold, something shiny. And licorice, a bit of pastry. The aroma overwhelms you, and you stumble back, running into the desk behind you.

“Whoa there, watch it,” James says, laughing slightly as his hand presses against the nape of your back to keep you from falling any more, and you recoil from his touch, shaking your head.

“I-I have to go,” you say, stepping over to Slughorn. “I, um-” your mind scrambles as you think of an excuse, “-I feel kind of unwell, mind if I-I go see Madam Pomfrey?” you lie - well, technically, you do feel unwell, but the cause of it isn’t something the hospital wing could fix - and Slughorn sighs, but nods, and you stumble out of the classroom and out to the bathroom, taking in gulps of non-amortentia related air; you can no longer smell the potion, but it lingers in your nose, and you want nothing more than to smell no more of the delightful scent.

Because that’s the problem - it’s utterly divine, and you know just why.

Because you’re in love with James Potter.

And the feeling that was burning in your gut before, it’s roaring like a fire now, and you crumple over as tears fall from your eyes.

You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s just too much. You don’t want to depend on someone that probably doesn’t want you back. Merlin, James was so calm in that classroom that he probably just smelled a broomstick, or something harmless enough. Not his best friend.

That’s just what he was. Your best friend. Not someone you could pine after, no, because it would ruin everything.

So you made the executive decision to avoid the brunette for as long as possible.

Which wasn’t long - twenty-six hours later, when you were tucked in the corner of the library, and hadn’t spoken to James for a whole day, James suddenly stood over you, eyebrows knit in what seemed like confusion.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I-” he starts, and you feel tears welling in your e/c eyes.

“Stop.” you cut him off with one word, lip trembling. And Merlin, you thought you’d be able to put up a front, but it’s impossible with how much you’ve missed him in a mere day.

“What- oh, Y/N, what’s wrong?” The irritation that was there before is gone, and it’s replaced with pure affection as he sits down next to you, arm tracing delicate circles into your shoulder. And you try to pull away, but it’s not his arm that’s anchoring you to his body - you just can’t bring yourself to stop as you let your head fall weakly into his chest, inhaling his scent.

The exact scent you’d smelled a few days prior. You’re flooded with emotions, and you can’t help the sobs that escape from your lips.

“J-james, can I just-” you say through strained breaths “-ask you something.”

“F’course, anything,” he replies, and you smile a watery smile.

“What did you smell in-in the amortentia?”

And it’s his turn to blush, while his free hand adjusts his glasses.

“Well, it’s - it’s why I wanted to find you so bad. I smelled you, and-” he’s cut off as you hug him almost bone-crushingly, arms tight around his ribs now.

“I smelled you, James. And I don’t know- I don’t know how to deal with it, the way I feel for you is- it’s-” you try to find the right words, and James beats you to it.

“All-consuming. If it’s the same as what I feel, I hope.” You nod in response, and a moment passes before you speak.

“What does that mean for us, then?”

“It means that I love you. And if it’s, well, returned, then... I’d ask you to be my girlfriend, if you’ll have me.” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and you smile, nodding eagerly.

“It’s returned tenfold, James.”

“Well, that’s just impossible, my love.”

“It’s very possible. I love you a lot, James Potter.”

“I love you more, my sweet girl.”

#james potter fic #james potter x reader #James Potter #james potter blurb #marauders

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mxvladdy · 4 years

Text

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!)

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing.

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this." Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back? He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

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katieraven · 3 years

Text

sleep is so tough

Summary: your attempt at dealing with losing Bucky is unsuccessful and results in a sleepless night - for several reasons.

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/female reader

Warnings: angst!!, happy ending (because I can't write sad endings for the life of me), a lot of metaphors, thoughts about death, loss and grieving, a tiny description of a panic attack

Word count: 3227

Notes: @babycap you wonderful human! 600 followers is huge and i am very happy about this fic. the prompt was: "I wanna be in your touch / Sleep is so tough" - James Bay, Chew On My Heart and I wrote a lil something that i'm kinda happy with. do enjoy!

love,

katie

It’s the same nightmare. You recognise it from the last three weeks, you’ve been here before. Doesn’t make it easier to shake out of it. You watch him convulse, face torn and twisted somewhere between pain and the desperate attempt to keep his free will. The fight against the venomous words the HYDRA agent hurls at him. They’re like daggers, needles stuck into his brain, rewiring him. And all you can do is watch. You are frozen in place in the torture your subconsciousness puts you through. Again. And again. And again.

You can’t will your eyes to tear away from him. He snarls like a cornered animal at the agents around him. Then the final words. “грузовой вагон“. Freight car. You don’t know Russian, but those ten phrases have been burned into your brain. You could recite them in your sleep.

Bucky stills. He slowly stands up from his crouched position, cold stare fixed onto the speaking agent. “Я готов отвечить“.

You startle awake, the nightmare finally loosening its grasp on your consciousness. Immediately, your hands fly to the other side of the bed. It is cold and empty and your stomach drops when realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

This is not a nightmare. At least not entirely, no. It is a memory. Because you saw the footage. You saw Bucky convulse and bend and snap and straighten. And you saw Steve, heard his scream as Sam pulled him away, forcing him to leave his best friend in the hands of his torturers. Steve knows it was the right thing to do. You do, too. The thought of Bucky being all alone behind enemy lines still makes your breath hitch in your throat, though.

They didn’t want you to see the footage, it wasn’t supposed to be something you get confronted with. But you slipped into the room, originally meaning to talk to Natasha about some software to try out in the next mission. They didn’t notice you entering, eyes trained on a screen, FRIDAY running facial recognition in the background. They kept playing the footage over, and over, and over, and again, looking for any kind of clue as to where they could find him, until your knees gave out under you and you fell with a whimper leaving your throat. Natasha was the first to understand the situation. Steve let out a string of colourful curses you would have never stopped teasing him about, hadn’t you been trying to wrap your mind around what you just saw.

If you had known they were back already, you would have noticed him missing and asked. But you didn’t even know they were back. And then he was gone.

You finally open your eyes. The New York night tints the white ceiling a blueish sort of grey and you feel like someone painted the inside of your heart onto the concrete. A perfect replica. Grey inside. Empty. Broken and alone, left to try and fail to put yourself back together.

Your fingers curl into a fist around the cold and empty bedsheets. They have been empty for three weeks now, and your body has no tears left to give. So you lie there, silent sobs violently breaking free from the void that is your chest. Sometimes you don’t know if your heart is beating, still, and your hands can’t find it in them to check. It wouldn’t be so bad to die, you think. There’s not much keeping you here.

Steve visits every few days. He carries the same hollow look in his eyes, like someone snuffed out the light behind them and carelessly forgot to turn it back on. With the sole difference that he is better at hiding it. It is only when he thinks nobody is watching that the sticky navy blue ink that is grief seeps into his face and turns his eyes empty and his face pale. You don’t mention it.

You know it’s supposed to help, sharing grief. Which is why you open the door when he visits, and don’t turn him away. He needs it, too, you suppose. So you sit on your sofa in front of the tv and watch something stupid and mindless that none of you pay attention to and both of you pretend to find acutely intriguing whenever the other is looking.

It’s all a giant game of pretend. SHIELD is feigning confidence in finding him. Everyone else oozes positivity whenever they talk about the mission. But it’s false, and hollow, and the truth of it sneers at you through translucent optimism.

You turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4:36 a.m. That means you slept an astonishing three hours. That’s two more than yesterday. You’re not afraid of the nightmares anymore. You know they will come. The terror shaking you night after night has become a companion, just as the grief following closely in everything you do. It looms over you at night, hides in the shadows behind the furniture in your living room, joined by Steve’s whenever he’s there.

You were afraid to fall asleep, yes. Pulled two all-nighters in the first days after. By now you have learned to read the signs your body so openly presents you with and you know you will not fall asleep again tonight. So you lie there, hand splayed over the empty right side of the bed, eyes staring through the ceiling.

Fuck, you miss him. It rolls over you unexpectedly and your body seizes, curling up into a fetal position as your obviously alive and beating heart pumps sharp agony through your veins. He is gone. You know, of course, you understood before and this feeling is familiar, but for the first time, it truly settles inside you. Bucky is gone.

The man you imagined a future with, who handed you his broken and bruised heart and trusted you to fix it, is gone. The charming wooden home near the sea you always talked about when his nightmares were too much and too real slowly turns to dust between your grasping fingers. You feel it slip. The bell-like high pitched laughter of a young child evaporating in your mind.

You feel your heart break. There has been a dull ache in your chest for weeks. You’ve gotten used to it, embraced it into your menagerie of demons and ghosts, grief and loss. But it betrays you, right now, as you feel your heart pound against the cage of your ribs, and it burns. You still lie curled into yourself, blanket tangled between your legs. You will explode. You feel it with a new certainty, this will kill you. You breathe in and out, you know you do, but none of the air arrives in your lungs. It leaves you desperately gasping for oxygen.

Until you realise none of it is real. Because your heart is not here in your room with you, your heart lies in the mismatched hands of a broken soldier somewhere between here and the sea. It can’t kill you here, because there is an organ-sized hole in your chest and the coldness of the world tears at your exposed ribcage with icy shrapnel-sharp claws. Does it bleed? If so, you can’t feel the warmth. Blood is warm, right? Bucky always said it is.

You exhale slowly. Will your seizing muscles to relax, to let you go. To your surprise they do, and you inhale again, cold night air. It doesn’t yet escape through the wound in your chest. The hole hasn’t reached your lungs yet. But you know it will consume you, leave no part of you untouched, unbroken, will rip you apart for all your demons to finally feast on what is left of you.

Maybe he will find you first, you muse. Maybe HYDRA will find the last bit of mercy in them and send him after you, to cut his strings. You know you will not fight when he does. It would be a sweet oblivion with his eyes the last thing you see. Grey irises like molten silver when the sunlight hits just right.

Your arms fold against your chest. The skin is whole, not a scratch, no bleeding wound. You know it can’t be true. It is simply your minds way of processing this pain. Your imagination fixed the hole but you know it’s still there, still gaping. You can feel the edges burning where the hole ends and the marred skin starts. But you live. Still this broken body carries you on, one day after another.

You sit up in your sheets, hair plastered against your forehead by the thin film of sweat covering your body. As your back straightens, the metallic clinking of dog tags root you into this reality and you pull them out from under one of Bucky’s black shirts you’re wearing.

“Keep these,” he murmurs and presses something hard into your open palm. You look down and see the two thin pieces of metal piled on top of each other, embossed letters spelling his name, his full name. Your stunned eyes flicker back up into his and you open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you with a finger.

“It’s not like I need them. If I die, this thing” – he gestures to his arm – “will tell everyone who I am. But I want you to have these.”

Your thumb smoothes over the plates, shoving them against each other. “I mean … I won’t complain, but why do you …?”

He shrugs, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “I don’t know, I guess it feels like a part of me stays with you, y’know? A physical part. So that you have something real to hold onto until I’m back.”

It hits you, then, that he’s leaving. He picks the tags up and puts them around your neck and you reach for his hands, fingers closing around his forearms. “Don’t leave me, Bucky. Please, I can’t lose you –“

He puts his hands on either side of your face and kisses your nose, before looking directly at you. “You won’t lose me, you hear? I’ll always be with you. Always.”

But now he’s gone, and you close your fist around the metal tags until they push into your palms, and harder until they cut the delicate skin. You want to be angry at him but you can’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he couldn’t keep his promise.

You steady your breathing. Eyes wander to the red numbers on your alarm. 5:23. No use trying to sleep anymore, you decide, and sit up. Might as well make coffee. Maybe you can get something done today. Clean the laundry up at least, so Steve doesn’t have this awfully concerned look on his face next time he visits.

It takes you a couple of minutes to actually, physically, move. In your mind you’re already in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker with water and watching the coffee slowly dribble into the pot below. It has something therapeutic, one drop at a time. Almost meditative.

But, well, you do have to walk over into the kitchen to reach this point of short-lived meditative oblivion. So you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and your eyes fall onto the covered mirror in the corner. It’s floor-length, and you used to love being able to admire your whole outfit in there without having to stand on your tiptoes.

Like that one time before one of Tony’s extravagant galas, when you tried to get a good look at yourself and the glamourous dress that, as Natasha had pointed out, would look amazing on your figure. She had been right – naturally. But the tiny mirror in your bathroom hadn’t shown the whole thing and so you were leaning over the sink to try and look. Which was exactly the moment Bucky chose to walk into the room, only to promptly wear an affectionately amused smirk on his face, assuring you of your otherworldly beauty (“Oh come on, Buck, don’t mock me – “ “I’m not, you are otherworldly, doll, dazzling even!”) and pointing out that you were in desperate need of a floor-length mirror.

In the first few days of Bucky’s absence, you hung a bedsheet over it because you couldn’t bear the memory. In fact, you can’t recall the last time you actually looked at yourself. With utmost certainty, though, you can say that your skin must be grey and sunken and the darkened circles under your eyes a deeper shade of purple than when you were knee-deep in college finals. God, that time seems ages away. If you hadn’t gone to college then maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation – you would have certainly never ended up at SHIELD. For a second you wish you hadn’t. This pain would not be part of your reality, then.

But then again, you wouldn’t have met him at all. And as much as this, right now, hurts, you wouldn’t trade it with any reality in the universe if it meant not knowing him. Not loving him. Not knowing his deepest, darkest secrets that he only opened up about after one particularly bad nightmare, with his head in your lap, not daring to meet your eyes.

No, if this pain is the price for his love then you will take it. You will let it eat at you until there is nothing left except your hollowed shell of a body because it will have been worth it.

You walk past the covered mirror and open the door, bare feet against the cold kitchen floor. You go to reach for the coffee maker when something registers with you. Something out of place, a slight inconsistency in your regulated, never-changing surroundings. You barely see it in your periphery.

Your movements still and your head slowly turns toward what is undoubtedly someone sitting in your living room. The moonlight glints on his left shoulder and you realise, within the smallest fractions of a second, who it is.

The hollow excuse for a heart that sits in your chest sputters and stills, before springing back into action twice as fast. He came back.

A steady stillness settles over you as you understand the situation. They sent him. Loose ends and all. Yet you’re not afraid, this death will be quick and quiet. It gives you an odd sensation of peace, to know that his will be the last face you see – even if it is the Winter Soldier’s face. But they’re still Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s okay”, you whisper.

His intent gaze never leaves you as you slowly, deliberately walk towards him, step by step. You know that Bucky is in there, too, and you need him to understand that you accept this. That it is not his fault. That you are ready to die if it is at his hands.

There is an unusual uncertainty in the Soldier’s eyes. You have seen footage of him, cold expression, a sort of stone-hearted efficiency about his movements, never a step too much. He has not moved yet. You feel every bit of skin on your feet connecting to the wooden floor as you move towards him, slowly, but steadily. If this is how you are meant to go, then you will.

You’re only three feet away from him as you stop. His eyes followed you all the way there. Now they start to flicker over your face, your body, confusion slowly but definitely showing in the crinkles on his forehead. He opens his mouth and you hold your breath.

“I –“, it comes out croaky, like he hasn’t used his voice in forever, so he clears his throat and starts again.

“I know you.”

Your lungs deflate, shakily. He hasn’t killed you yet. If he hasn’t killed you yet, why is he here? The Winter Soldier doesn’t hesitate. The uncertainty in his face sparks something deep, deep inside of you that you thought dead by now. Hope.

His eyes find their way back to your face and he is searching it now, not the stoic, cold mask of the Winter Soldier. You don’t dare speak. The fingers of his left hand flex with an electric whirr.

“I know you, but …” he trails off.

His right fist opens, fingers seemingly involuntarily reaching out. You step closer and lower yourself down, bare knees on the wood flooring, eyes not leaving his.

“I remember you.”

His voice is steadier now, more confident that he does, in fact, know you. That there is something inside his brain, something more than just the Soldier. More than just the missions. Just the trigger.

His hand, the real one, reaches towards your face and you close your eyes upon contact, a shaky breath leaving your lips. His index and middle finger trail across your cheekbone. Follow the curve of your lips. Trace your eyebrows. Your eyes flicker open and your breath gets caught in your throat because there he is, there he is, his eyes his own.

“Bucky –“

His name leaves your lips, a choked sob partially escaping. He blinks. Still, his eyes are his own. His lips part and then he whispers your name and you are certain this is a dream. A change of pace from the violent nightmares of late, but still a dream, because this can’t be true. How could it be.

But the hardwood floor is rough against your knees and his hand is warm against your cheek and he is there. He slides off the chair onto the ground before you and you feel hot tears spill from your open, disbelieving eyes. His other hand reaches for your face and then he’s holding you there, so unbelievably gentle, his eyes tortured and lined in purple but undeniably his own.

“You came back”, is the first real thing you say to him.

His thumb smoothes over the dark bruise under your eye, proof of sleepless nights and tired days.

“I’m so sorry”, is the first thing he says to you in his own voice.

You close your eyes, lids pushing tears over the edge and you let them drip down onto your bare thighs as you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips.

“There is nothing you need to be sorry about. None of this was your fault.”

“I – you’re hurt”, he states, matter-of-factly, and your eyes open again.

You try and put everything into your eyes, everything you feel, the hope, the relief, the love. Most of all the love.

“But you’re back. That’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

His grey irises swim with regret and pain and fear and yet you see love in them. You gently touch your forehead to his and he sighs, eyelids fluttering closed.

“I love you, and you’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

The cold seeps into your body from the floor, your knees scraping against the hardwood. Neither of you dares to move, the calm of the situation too delicate, neither sure if this is real or just a particularly cruel dream. But it is too beautiful to disturb and so both of you remain where you are, hands gently touching the other. Thankful for this moment of peace.

Forgot my taglist consisting of one wonderful person: @mannien

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thedarklingxalina · 3 years

Text

A Darklina fic I'm playing about with but not committing to yet. This would be the first chapter. I need to finish Dark Guardian first but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Eclipse

Summary: Alina is an investigative journalist, investigating the death of her childhood friend, Mal.

Alina is reunited with her other childhood friend, Aleksander - known to the world as Kirigan, a famous actor and grisha rights activist. All too quickly though, Alina begins to discover Aleksander is hiding a dark secret.

Modern Grisha AU. Everyone has their powers. Mentions of suicide. Mild torture.

Saints, give me strength.

Alina stared at the rusty mesh gates through the rain speckled windscreen. A barrage of warning signs prohibiting entrance were pinned across the fencing. Keep out. Danger. Risk to life. On one fence was a display of withered flowers entwined around the metal, with hand-made laminated pleads to stay away, to remember that someone out there loves you.

It was a somber sight. Careful reminders of the danger that lurked behind that run-down gate, past the abandoned warehouses, looming at the end of decrepit wooden bridges. Even from here Alina could see the mass of swirling shadows, an endless stretch of darkness that tore Ravka in two.

And here she was armed with wire cutters, ready to break in. Foolish, reckless, stupid. Exactly what she had been told not to do.

This is for Mal, she reminded herself.

Alina took in a deep breath and left the warmth and safety of her car. She put on her medical face mask, slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and tucked her camera inside her satchel.

She didn't plan on staying here long, but seeing as research into the side effects of prolonged exposure to the Fold was ongoing, she decided to err on the side of caution.

Gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the fence, making her way to a part hidden by the treeline. There she cut a reasonable size hole for herself to squeeze through.

So far, getting into the site was easy. Too easy really, considering the dangers of this place.

Abandoned heavy equipment littered the rubble ridden grounds. Metallic, battle-worn Skiffs (centuries ago once manned by Squallers before new technological advancements replaced them) laid in ruins around the site; rust-encrusted, dented and torn up. The warehouses were dilapidated, weathered down and overgrown with weeds.

And that wasn't even mentioning the bridges that crossed the ten foot moat, giving unhindered access to the Unsea and the monsters within.

This place was a death trap.

"Why in the Saints name did you come back here, Mal?" Alina asked.

He had loathed this place. Everyone in Os Atla had. There had been vocal opposition from the public for decades, demanding the site be shut down. The residents of the city uncomfortable with an access point to the Fold being right on their doorstep.

This skiffyard's infamous reputation for being the most dangerous, certainly hadn't endeared it to people, no matter the flow of trade it provided. It had the highest fatality and injury rate of an skiffyard. Budget cuts producing poorly made Skiffs that broke down frequently and were east pickings for Volcra. Breaching person capacity on each trip to increase profit. Bribing of safety inspectors. Understaffed. Overworking their employees to exhaustion.

The place had been a nightmare. The stories Mal had told Alina about it over the years still made her recoil.

The final nail in the coffin for Skiffyard 13 had been when three urban explorers had snuck into the docks, using it to bypass the the forest and ten foot moat separating the Fold from the city - deterrents erected over a century prior, to keep the public safe. The three individuals, the youngest only fourteen years old, had never came out again.

The dock had been shut down. Workers like Mal had been relocated to other docks outside the city.

Yet despite this, the site had never been dismantled. It was too expensive, was the frequent excuse. The go to excuse for all failures in protecting the general public from the dangers of the Unsea.

Now, it was the easiest access point to the Fold. No workers to sneak past, no checkpoints, and no maintenance to the gates and various deterrents. There wasn't even video surveillance or electrical fencing, as electronics were unreliable this close the Fold. And much to the people of Os Atla's grief, no armed patrols or guards dogs to keep trespassers like her out.

Oh, the mayor promised they would upgrade the security on access points to the Fold regularly. But those promises seemed to be forgotten after the elections had passed. Funny that.

As Alina scanned the deserted skiffyard, the Fold a short walk away, she realized the bitter irony of it all.

It didn't take long for Alina to find the place she was looking. Dock Six. The last place Mal had last been seen alive.

Alina took a shuddering breath, her grip on her satchel tightening. she closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes.

Another life lost to the Fold, the news reporter had said. A tragic suicide, the police had decided, he left a farewell note on the dock.

A farewell note that doesn't mention me? His childhood best friend. That doesn't mention his girlfriend Lucy who he had planned to propose to on her birthday?

But Alina's protests had fallen on deaf ears. She was nothing but a grieving girl in denial to them. Even Lucy had tried to discourage her, wanting her to accept-

No. Alina wouldn't hear it. Mal didn't take his own life. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Alina had spoken to him days before. There had been something he had wanted to tell her, something he hadn't felt safe discussing over phone or email. A story, he had said, that people need to know. Then that phone call the night he vanished. That desperate, breathless voice pleading with her through a breaking line.

Alina... don't... Atla... away-

Mal? Mal, is that you? I can't hear you, the line is terrible. Where are you?

Distant shouting, five loud bangs, more static.

Mal? Mal!

Stay away... sorry... sorry...

Something had happened to Mal that night. Something awful that the police were refusing to look into. Alina was sure of it. And come hell or high water, she was going to find out what. She owed it to Mal, to Lucy, to herself.

Alina scouted the area, alighting her hand with a soft glow to light her way.

It took a while, but the Saints finally took pity on her and Alina found something. Something that she suspected to be the source of the bangs in that final phone call. Gouged into a floorboard of the dock, into a post, and a concrete wall.

Bullet holes.

They weren't old. The moss overgrowing the post and floorboards having been blasted off with the impact, yet to have grown back.

Alina snapped some photos.

After an hour prowling around each bullet hole site, sometimes on hands and knees, getting caked in dust and mud, Alina was ready to give up when an idea sprung to mind. She summoned her light, shining it across the ground until something silver glinted back.

A bullet, hidden among the overgrown weeds. Alina took more photos before putting the bullet in a labeled ziplock bag.

Suicide in deed, Alina mused bitterly. Had the police even bothered to check the scene?

"I'll find out what happened to you, Mal. I swear it."

Alina rose to her feet, dusting her trousers.

Mal had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, someone had killed him for it. But what could be here that was worth killing over?

There was only one warehouse stable enough to enter. Warehouse three. Alina didn't bother to pick the lock, just melted it off its hinges then crept in.

The warehouse was massive and surprisingly well maintained. Everything was clean. There was no debris. Creates and boxes were stacked high and neatly.

Alina frowned, extinguishing her light in favor of using a battery powered torch.

If there were people here, she didn't need them knowing she was Grisha. That element of surprise could be the difference that mattered. Besides, there were too many out there that despised her kind; having people know you were Grisha was like walking around with a bullseye on your back.

Alina crept behind a row of shelves, occasionally taking photos. She stopped at an easy to reach pile of boxes and pulled back the lids.

Oxygen canisters, boxes of personal protective equipment, bullets (but not the same as the one that she found outside; these were longer and bigger, meant for something... larger.)

This is all essential items for crossings, Alina realised. And it's all new.

Someone had to making illegal crossings across the Fold, using these docks as their access point.

Alina closed the lid, a dreadful unease settling over her.

What are they taking across the Fold that requires all the secrecy?

Maybe the answer was in another crate. Alina moved to open another-

A sharp tug on her heart stilled her, making her choke for air. Alina fell to her knees, the energy in her body bleeding from her.

As darkness consumed her, one though flickered through her mind.

Saints above, she hated Heartrenders.

☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑

Alina was no stranger to danger. Her investigative journalism had gotten her into many a difficult situation. But nothing ever quite this bad.

When Alina had awoken, it was to find herself tied to a chair, her hands separated and bound to a steel bar (rendering her powers useless). She was blind folded; inconvenient and certainly unnerving, but it gave her some hope. Whoever had assaulted her, cared if she saw their faces. If they were going to kill her a blindfold wasn't necessary.

"Who are you?" A man asked. Middle aged by the deep roughness. Ravkan by the accent. A grumpy git, by the tone.

Not the person you're looking for, Alina wants to snark, but thinks better of it. They might not be fans of Star Wars references and honestly, she is too exhausted to try and be smart. Besides, snarky quips and teasing here would only charm her way into a pair of cement boots and a dip in the river. Or the Unsea.

Alina tried not to shiver.

"I said who are you?" Grumpy demands.

"Alina Starkov. Investigative Journalist for the Ketterdam Express News."

There's no point lying. They probably already know who she is with a quick internet search. Lying will only make them mad.

"What's a small-time news journalist doing in Os Atla?"

Alina twitches at his comment.

This time the man who speaks is younger. He has a scratchy voice and bratty attitude that made Alina want to kick him in the shin.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nothing more. He went missing three months ago and was last spotted working at the docks you snatched me from."

Wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? Put a bullet through his head perhaps?

"Name?" Grumpy asks.

"Mal Oretsev."

"Never heard of him. Seems you've wasted your time, Nancy Drew," Bratty said.

I doubt that, Alina mused bitterly. She had clearly stumbled onto something if they were willing to kidnap and interrogate her.

"That's a shame," Alina said with exaggerated glumness. "Well, if you could just untie me I can head off. Wouldn't want to keep you guys later than need be."

Grumpy snorted. Bratty let out a nasty chuckle (Alina would wager a week on gossip column duty, that Bratty had a very punchable face).

"We can't have snoopy reporters buzzing around here," Bratty says.

Don't panic, Alina tells herself. Don't-

Alina hears the rustle of fabric, then the dreaded sound of a gun's safety clicking off.

-starting to panic.

"And you think a dead one will prevent that?" Alina swallowed down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, but there was still a frantic edge to her voice. "There are people who know where I am and know to call the police if I don't make it back soon. Within an hour this place will be swarming!"

"She's bluffing."

"You think I'm stupid enough not to have a back up plan in case something like this happened?"

If she said it strongly enough, maybe even she would believe it. Because really, a smart journalist would have done that.

"You were stupid enough to get caught."

Prick.

"You have a heartrender, that's cheat-"

Someone slapped her, Bratty she would bet. Alina cries out as pain flares hot on her cheek.

That'll leave a bruise, Alina muses bitterly.

"That's enough," Grumpy snapped, his footsteps loud as he got closer. "Tell us, what information do you have on Project Likhoradka?"

Alina frowned. The name rung a bell, but it was too distant to make out. Likhoradka... why would they think she had any information on it? Was it because she had mentioned Mal? Did it have something to do with the illegal Fold crossings?

"I don't know anything about-"

Someone slapped her again, worse than before. Where his hand had connected, her skin burned and ached.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Alina thinks, gritting her teeth.

"I don't know anything! One of you is a heartrender, you know I'm telling the truth!" Alina snarled.

Alina strained against the bonds on her wrist, tied behind her back. If only she could melt through them. She could distract them with a flash of blinding light, turn invisible, then flee into the night. Had they known she was Grisha and that was why they bound her this way? Or was it just a precaution?

A phone buzzed, cutting the interrogation short. A moment later, Grumpy spoke again. "The boss is here."

Alina heard the whirling grate of the warehouses large doors lifting. A brief wind tickled her face. Then a new set of footsteps, slow and precise, made their way closer.

Damn it. How many of them where their now? Three inside, but could more be waiting outside? More heartrenders or maybe other Grisha? Infernis, Squallers, more heartrenders?

Alina swallowed hard, sniffing back the tears welling behind her eyes. Hope of making it out of this alive was dimming like a setting sun.

"And what is this?" A voice asked. He had a pleasing voice; gentle, smooth, young, yet firm. The boss, she'd guess. Boss of what though?

"Nosey reporter from Kansas-"

"Ketterdam, I'm not Dorothy," Alina muttered. But Bratty would certainly make a perfect Scarescrow; no brains and all.

Bratty smacked her again; this time across the head, more chiding than malicious. Speak when spoken to, the message was clear.

"Does she know anything?" The leader asked.

"Don't know yet. But she said she's friends with Oretsev." So much for not knowing him. "We figure she has to know something about-"

Bratty stops talking. Footsteps come closer and Alina holds her breath as someone takes a delicate hold of her chin. She gets the impression they are studying her features intently. Long fingers brush aside the hair from her face, lightly tracing the scar on her forehead.

A scar she had gotten when she was a child, when a group of bullies found out she was different from them. Witch, demon, freak... stones flying through the air... frightened shrieks and tears... and a little boy with onyx eyes, arms out stretched, shielding her from it all...

The man inhales sharply.

The heartrender knocked her out again.

#darklina #the darkling x alina #aleksander x alina #im still debating whether or not to expand it as ive never done a mystery fic before

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texanstarslove · 4 years

Text

gotten

A/N: Ah, yes. The first ever fic I posted on this site has received a bit of a face lift. I found myself reading this and thinking I could add more to it so...viola! I hope y’all enjoy this version as much as the first go round!

Song Inspo: “Gotten”- Slash ft. Adam Levine

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst, language, feelings of self doubt, mentions of anxiety, smut

Tagging: @kmblue, @laurenairay, @jacquelinechajton (Y’all are so sweet and I love all of you)

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Evelyn’s words hung in the air for a moment. It was like time stood still.

They had just returned to his house after a night out with the team. It had been a fun night, or so Tyler thought, so those eight words each like a punch in the gut, catching him off guard. He turned to look at her, watching as she hunched over, her hands against the kitchen island facing away from him. Her head was hung low, her shoulders sagged. He knew that posture.

“What are you talking about, Ev?” He inquired, moving closer to her.

Her eyes were still downcast, a hand coming up and waving between the two of them. “This. Us. I can’t....”

Tyler placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face him. He tried to look her in the eyes, tried to figure out what could possibly be going through her brain.

“What do you mean you can’t do this, Evelyn?”

Evelyn turned out of his embrace, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. As she walked away, she knew Tyler would follow. He always did. He was always so quick to know that she was in her head, so quick to try and get to the bottom of whatever it was that was triggering her anxiety. This time though, she couldn’t even look at him. He didn’t even do anything wrong but Evelyn just couldn’t bear to look at him. Feeling so low and so down on herself, she just wanted to run away, escape the feelings of inadequacy.

It had been a fun night. Evelyn was having a great time with Tyler and their friends. It wasn’t until she had excused herself to use the restroom that her mood had completely shifted. She was freshening up at the sink, checking her makeup in the mirror, running her fingers through her hair to fix any stray flyaways, when she heard them. Two women talking to each other from their respective stalls. Evelyn knew instantly what they were talking about, or rather who they were talking about instantly. The alcohol flowing through them no doubt made their thoughts flow more freely.

“I can’t believe almost the entire team is here!” One of the women squealed.

“God, I know,” The other replied, “Lucky for me, number 91 is here and the boy is looking good tonight.”

Evelyn stiffened at her words. She wasn’t one to get jealous by any means. She got insecure, nervous that these women were much more beautiful than she could ever be.

“Didn’t he show up with his girlfriend?” The first woman asked.

“Has that stopped me before?”

Both women cackled wildly as both toilets flushed. When they emerged from their stalls, Evelyn’s thoughts were confirmed. They were both stunning, tall, blonde, thin, their makeup and outfits flawless. She made brief eye contact with who she assumed was the girl who had her sights on Tyler. The woman smirked proudly, obviously knowing who Evelyn was, and Evelyn shrunk under her gaze.

“Excuse me,” Evelyn whispered, hurried in her escape back to the table.

That’s how she ended up in her head the rest of the night. That’s how the thoughts of never being enough for Tyler flooded her mind. He was such a fun, lively person. Truly the epitome of living life to the fullest, balls to the wall, unapologetically himself in every way yet he was tied down with someone like her? Evelyn had always thought she wasn’t enough for him but he reassured her at every turn, insisting she was more than enough for him. But hearing and seeing those women in that bar restroom really did a number on her self esteem. She was plain, stick straight brown hair, brown eyes and full figured. Nothing like the supermodel types most of the guys went for, including Tyler in the past.

That’s how they ended up in this current situation, Evelyn standing before Tyler in his kitchen breaking both his and her heart into a million pieces.

“I think it’d be best if we just end things now,” Evelyn whispered, still not making eye contact with him, “You can do so much better than me, Ty.”

“No, I can’t, Evelyn!” Tyler cried, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration, “You are what I want. I don’t want anyone else!”

Evelyn didn’t respond. She turned on her heel and tried to leave but Tyler was quick to grab her arm and turn her to face him. It was then that Evelyn looked him directly in the eyes for the first time since they got back to his house, and she instantly regretted it. Tyler looked at her with desperation, pleading with her wordlessly to stay. Her vision blurred, tears stinging her eyes as she looked away.

“Please,” She whispered, “Please, just let me go.”

Tyler shook his head and brought his hands up to cup Evelyn’s face. “I can’t, Ev. I love you too much to just let you go.”

A choked sob fell from Evelyn’s lips as she spoke. “Don’t make this any harder for us, Tyler. Just...please.”

He knew there wasn’t any way he could change her mind in that moment. He knew once she had her mind made up about something, once she spoke it into existence, that was it. All he could do was silently plead with her, staring into her eyes to find any sign of her changing her mind. He decided to try one last thing, one last attempt to salvage any piece of broken heart he could. With his hands still gently holding her face, he leaned down to press his lips firmly to hers. He kissed her with everything he had, everything he wanted. They kissed until their lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, both of them pulling away with a gasp.

“Is this really what you want?” Tyler breathed, his forehead resting on hers.

Evelyn looked up at him once more. Her eyes were telling him no, absolutely not, but her mouth said “Yes.”

Tyler dropped his hands from her face, stepping back from her with a sigh. “Okay.”

It had been almost four months since Evelyn last saw Tyler in person. But there was no escaping him.

He consumed her every thought.

She kept up with how the season was going, mostly due to the fact that a majority of her circle of friends were a part of his, but even still managed to keep her distance from him. The anxiety of dating someone with such notoriety had proven to be too much for her to handle. The thought of the countless amount of beautiful women practically throwing themselves at him was overwhelming. She missed him so much it made her heart ache, but she couldn’t bring herself to face him after their last encounter.

The look of absolute devastation on his face haunted her every day. The way his eyes pleaded with her to stay, to let him make her feel loved and wanted consumed her. She was convinced that she wasn’t worthy of his love and thought leaving him to let him find someone better than she ever could be was the right thing to do. In her warped mind, she believed that with her entire being. She could never be good enough for him so why make him suffer through the ordinary when he could find extraordinary?

She sat in her living room on a Thursday night, watching his team play, and eventually win, on her television. She smiled, knowing all the guys would be so excited going into their extended weekend with a win. Those were the days she lived for. Going out as a big group, celebrating even the regular season wins. Or just the two of them, celebrating in a more intimate, personal way.

Even when she thought she was done thinking about it, she found those same thoughts creeping back into her brain. No matter how hard she tried, that same face and those same memories invaded her mind without fail. There truly was no escaping him.

After turning off her television for the night, she made her way to her bedroom and curled into her bed with a book, one of her favorite ways to wind down her mind. She had just started to doze off when she heard a soft but firm knock on her front door.

Getting up confused, she quietly made her way through her apartment before taking a look through the peephole on her door. Her heart rate spiked and her stomach dropped when she saw who was there. Her hands moved quicker than her head and before she knew what was happening, she had the door unlocked and opened, words failing her as she stood face to face with the man she thought would never be back.

“Tyler…” she breathed. It was all she could manage to say.

“Hey, Evelyn.” He looked shocked that she had even opened her door. “I had this whole thing planned with what I was going to say but…I mean…” He stops, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, trying to collect his thoughts. “Could I come in for a minute? I won’t stay long, I know it’s late…”

“Of course,” Evelyn replies instantly, opening the door further and stepping out of the way. He smiled softly at her as he walked inside, admiring the small apartment that had once been his second home. Evelyn shut the door and turned back to Tyler. “Come sit with me.”

He just nodded, sitting beside her on the couch. They just sat there for a moment, Evelyn sitting cross-legged, picking at her nails while Tyler nervously fiddled with his fingers in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Ev, I just-”

“Look, Tyler I-”

They spoke at the same time, both of them chuckling at the awkwardness of the moment. Evelyn motioned her hand toward Tyler, “You first.”

“Okay,” He turned to face her, his arm coming up to the back of the couch, resting his head on his hand. He had waited four long months to finally see this woman face to face and he was at a loss. Everything he had planned to say to her flew out the window the second she opened that door. All he could muster up was “I miss you.”

“Tyler, I’m-”

“I’m serious, Ev,” His nickname for her coming out in a firm voice. “I’m serious about all of this. Me and you,” He gestures between the two of them, “I miss us. I miss seeing you behind the glass during the games here, or talking to you on the phone for hours after my games on the road.” He runs a hand through his disheveled curls. “Fuck, I just miss hearing your voice some nights. Seeing your face in the mornings.”

Evelyn’s vision was starting to get blurry from tears she was trying to hold back. She had never seen Tyler this way before, trying to contain his emotions the way he was. She could tell that he was hurting and she knew she was the reason why.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, wiping away tears that had managed to fall. “I thought it would be better for the both of us if I left.”

“Why would you think that, Evelyn?” Tyler asked, his voice pleading for any kind of answer, “Why?”

Evelyn scoffed, not at his question but at her own thoughts of herself. “Because you could have any girl you want, Ty.” She wiped her tear soaked hand on her pajama shorts. “Why would you settle for someone like me?”

Tyler moved closer to Evelyn on the couch, bringing his hand to her cheek and gently wiping away more tears with his thumb. “Because you’re it for me, Ev. You just get me. I don’t want anyone else. Only you. You put up with all my bullshit with no judgement, you laugh at all my stupid jokes. You are everything I could ever want, Evelyn. I will spend every day of my life showing you just how much I want you and how much I need you.”

Evelyn brought her hand to the one he had on her cheek and held it there, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch, listening to him speak. When she opened her eyes again, she could tell from the way he was looking at her with his beautiful brown eyes that he meant every single word. His voice lowered to a soft whisper as he spoke once more. “I haven’t stopped loving you. I don’t think I ever will.”

She smiled then, moving to straddle his legs and place her hands on his strong chest. “I’ve never stopped loving you, either.”

Tyler leaned his head back onto the couch, beaming up at the woman in his lap and rubbing her sides with his large hands. Evelyn moved her hands from his chest to cup his face in her hands, her thumbs rubbing gently on his cheekbones. Tyler moved his head up, capturing her lips with his, beginning a kiss that sparked a million butterflies in her stomach. Tyler’s hands moved slowly from her waist to her hips, squeezing gently, causing her to gasp into the kiss, allowing his tongue to quickly take over hers. After a few moments, Evelyn pulled away, leaning her forehead onto his.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, “For everything.”

Tyler kissed the tip of her nose before returning his lips to hers. “Don’t be,” He mumbled against her lips, “Ever.” They continued kissing for a few more moments before Tyler’s hands moved from her hips to her butt, squeezing it before standing up with her in his arms, walking down the hall to her bedroom. He pressed her against the wall beside the door, looking directly into her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt. “You’re okay with this?”

Evelyn nodded immediately. “Yes.” She reached down behind her for the doorknob, opening the door. “Take me to bed.”

He kicked open the door, carrying her through the threshold before nudging it shut once they were inside. Together they tumbled down to the bed, kissing deeply again. Clothes were tugged and pulled at until they lay naked, and pressed together. Tyler broke away from the kiss, looking over her body, moaning softly in appreciation. “You’re gorgeous, Evelyn.” He gently took one of her breasts in his hand, kneading it and gently pinching her nipple. “Fucking perfection.”

“Ty…” She murmured, then licked her lips and said it again, this time as a throaty purr causing Tyler to thrust up between her legs. He trailed his tongue up her throat until he found her mouth and slid past her sweet lips to taste her tongue.

Evelyn kissed him deeply, stroking her fingers through his dark hair. She could feel his length pressed up against her wet folds and rocked her hips slightly, trying to somehow maneuver him inside of her. He seemed too distracted by kissing her and touching her breasts, so she rolled him onto his back and sat up, looking down at him.

“Do we need..?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I’m still on the pill,” She replied. “And there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

“Fuck,” He groaned, the thought making him shudder, “Same, baby. No one since you.”

“Seriously?” Evelyn was genuinely shocked. She hadn’t expected that at all from him.

He tweaked her nipple at her reaction causing her to squeal. “I’m not some whore, you know.”

“I know,” Evelyn giggled, “I’m just surprised is all. I wouldn’t have judged you if you’d slept with someone since me.”

“Like I said, only you.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. He had an amazing smile. She leaned down to kiss him again while she slipped her hand down and wrapped it around the base of his cock, leading it to her heat. Biting down on her lip she moaned as she felt him fill her up. No one else compared to him.

Moaning his name quietly she started to rock her hips against his, slowly slipping up and down his length, while his hands held her hips, guiding her. The movements started slowly and deep, taking their time to explore one another’s body. Her back arched, moaning loudly as he hit her sweet spot deep inside her. The urgency of the moment grew. Evelyn’s body rocked over his, her fingers gripping his shoulders, her head still arched back, loud moans pouring from her mouth.

“Baby,” She whined, feeling her orgasm approaching like a freight train, “Shit, I’m so fucking close.”

“I got you, baby.” Tyler slid his hand between them and found her clit instantly. His fingers tweaked it gently, rubbing quick circles out of sync with the thrusts of their hips causing Evelyn to scream out his name and buck her hips violently as she came. Her nails dug harder into his shoulders and he hissed, thrusting up as he spilled inside of her, growling out her name.

Her body collapsed on top of his, harsh fast breaths came out against his neck and her body shuddered occasionally as she tried to steady her breathing. His fingers danced along her spine, laying with her until she was breathing normally before gently rolling her to the bed on her side, gently kissing her head. She moaned softly at the loss of his touch when he left to retrieve a warm rag from her bathroom. When he returned, he gently cleaned her up and wrapped her in his arms pulling her to his side. She hummed her approval as she listened to his heartbeat and felt his fingertips on her arm.

She was almost asleep when she heard him speak. “Please don’t leave me again.”

She rolled her head so her chin was resting on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.” She kissed the muscle she had been resting her head on.

“I mean it you know,” He pulled her even closer to his side. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried.”

Evelyn looked up at him again, studying his face. Tyler looked deep in thought and when his eyes met hers once more, she could see the wheels turning in his brain. She raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking him what he was thinking. In an instant she found herself on her back, Tyler hovering above her with a look she had never seen in his eyes before.

“And I meant what I said earlier,” He said, his voice soft but firm as he gazed down at her, “About wanting to show you every day for the rest of my life.”

“Tyler, I don’t doubt how much you love me at all, I-”

“Marry me.”

Evelyn’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Are you...Tyler, are you serious?”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss her lips. “I don’t have a ring or anything yet, this is kind of off the cuff here but yes. I want you for the rest of my life. You’re it for me, Evelyn.”

She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was wrap her arms up and around his neck, pulling his body fully onto hers and crashing her lips to his in another frenzied kiss. When Tyler broke the kiss, he smiled at her still bewildered expression. “Is that a yes?”

Evelyn giggled, her fingers carding through his dark curls. “As long as you eventually get me a ring,” She teased, “That’s a yes.”

A small cheer of victory fell from Tyler’s lips, gaining a full blown laugh from Evelyn at his goofy expression.

Her insecurities were always going to be there, it was something she would have to work on for the rest of her life. But if she had Tyler with her, encouraging her and helping her along the way, that job would be so much easier with him by her side.

#tyler seguin #tyler seguin x reader #tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin blurb #tyler seguin imagine #smut #angst #hockey fic #nhl fic #fanfiction #my writing

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jobrookekarev · 3 years

Text

My Sweet Joy, Always Remember Me

Chapter one of one

Words: 8715

Summary: In the midst of quarantine, Levi convinces Jo to download Tik Tok, and she quickly becomes addicted. So when a certain trend comes around, Jo couldn't pass up the opportunity to poke fun at the man who left her. Back in Kansas, one of Alex's teenage patients shows him the video of Jo and Luna, and he instantly goes back to Seattle to meet the girl he assumes is his daughter, only to find that Jo has another surprise in store for him.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson.

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Levi Schmitt, Luna Ashton, Izzie Stevens (Mentioned), Eli Stevens (Mentioned), and Alexis Stevens (Mentioned).

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences.

Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff, Babies, Pregnancy, Tik Tok, The Intimacy of napping together, Rated T for swearing.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

AN: Did I write a fic about a Tik Tok? Yes. Do I regret it? Absolutely not! Link to the Tik Tok this is based on: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMebyxQeQ/

A big thank you to the jolex group chat for once again distracting me from what I should be writing with ideas of what I could be writing. They supplied some of the lines and ideas for this story, and I am thankful for all of their help and support.

……………………………………………………………………

It was a slow June day on the Pediatric Ward at the Children's Hospital where Alex worked in Kansas City. Ever since the pandemic, things had slowed down, although he still had his regular surgical patients.

“Hey Marco,” Alex said, coming into the room of the teenage patient. He had assisted in a leg amputation due to cancer on the kid a few days ago and was eager to see how he was progressing.

“Hey, Dr. Alex, do you have Tik Tok?” Marco asked as he still looked at his phone but even bothered to glance at Alex as those little clips of music played.

“Nope,” Alex said as he checked over the kid’s vitals and pulled the bandage back to look at the incision. “Everything looks good. Are you having any pain?”

“Not really, you guys got me on the good stuff,” Marco replied, giving him a nod as his mask hid his smile, and Alex could tell that he was a little bit out of it. “Okay, but you have got to see this one. I think it's you?”

Alex's eyebrows came together. He didn't know anybody in his life that would make a Tik Tok of him. Except maybe Zola, but according to Meredith, she mostly just made dance videos. Nonetheless, he went over to Marco’s bedside and waited for him to pull up the video expecting to see Zola. Alex was, however, surprised when a video of him and Jo popped up.

“I'll never forget you,” the artist sang over the video. “They said we'd never make it.”

The video was of the two of them on their wedding day as they kissed and then turned to the crowd, all smiles, and the little caption read. “To the man who left me in a letter, thanks for the gift.”

The video changed and suddenly, it was a video of Jo sitting in a rocker in the loft holding a baby. She smiled at the camera before tilting it down to the baby in her arms, who looked up at the camera with newborn colored big blue eyes from where she was swaddled in a pink blanket.

“My sweet joy, always remember me.”

“Sorry, man,” Marco said, having read the expression on Alex's face. “The videos are funny but, it's a sucky way to find out you got a kid.”

Alex just stood there in shock as the video replayed again before he grabbed the phone. He waited for the video of her and the baby to play again before he paused it. He couldn't believe it. Jo had their daughter. She must have been pregnant when he left. Jo had gone through a pregnancy, and high-risk preterm labor, and now she was taking care of a medically fragile preemie, their preemie baby girl, all alone. All because he had made the dumbass decision to move to Kansas without even talking to her. Because he had left, Jo and their daughter were alone.

Their preemie daughter. The baby girl didn't look very big, she was definitely a preemie, and she was still on supplemental oxygen with oxygen cannula tubes in her nose. His mind filled with the possibilities of any health complications their daughter could’ve had, from brain bleeds, lung issues, hip dysplasia, or congestive heart failure, and so on.

Why didn’t Meredith tell him? Although, they hadn’t spoken since he left. Of all the people he thought would tell him if he had a daughter, Meredith was at the top of his list. He understood why Jo didn't want to tell him, although the fact that she didn't still hurt. The fact that Meredith, his best friend in the world, didn't tell him that he had a daughter, hurt even more. A sense of karma came over him as he wondered if this was how Jo felt when she found out about the twins.

He let the video reply again and stopped it on Jo and the baby. Jo was dressed in a tie-dye T-shirt with her hair thrown up in a bun. She looked tired but happy as she showed off the baby in her arms. Alex thought she was absolutely beautiful, as beautiful as she looked the day he said goodbye to her.

He remembered what she looked like when he turned back to look at her, one last time, after he made it through security. Her dark hair was flowing over her shoulders in beautiful waves, and she had a gorgeous smile on her face. She excitedly waved to him and blew him a kiss before the crowd surrounded him, and she disappeared from his view. The image of her smile as she blew him a kiss had replayed in his mind over and over again the past six months.

He just stared at the photo of her for a couple of minutes as the ache in his heart consumed him. He had a heartache, a longing for her since he left, and he had carried it around every day. He missed her more than he had ever missed anyone. He missed her more than words could describe. He missed her more than anything else in this world and every day, he fought the urge to go back to her.

Now he had a reason to go back because she had had their daughter. Their beautiful, wonderful little girl. She already looked a little bit like Alexis with her little tuffs of blond hair. Alex couldn't stop staring at them in the video. He tried to quickly do the math, he had left six months ago so, but she must have been pregnant before then, although the baby looked small, about 5 lb or so. It was June now, so Jo had to have gotten pregnant in November or October. Maybe she knew before he left, maybe she didn’t. They were so focused on arranging the witnesses for Meredith’s trial, and he was so busy working at Pac North before he left. Some days he barely saw her except for when he crawled into bed.

That was the thing that he regretted most, that he didn't spend enough time with her, which was why, the week after Meredith’s trial, before he left, he spent as much time with Jo as he could. He visited her on her lunch breaks, he was there when she got home, he made dinner with her, and watched TV with her on the couch, and he made love to her every night. At the time, he had lied and said it was so he could spend as much time with her before he went to visit his mom, but he wanted one last perfect week with her before he broke both of their hearts. The memories of that week, of Jo’s beautiful smile, were something he thought fondly of as he slept alone in his one-bedroom apartment.

“Can I have my phone back now? I can send you the video if you want?” Marco said as his words brought Alex out of his head.

“Umm yeah,” Alex said as he handed the phone back to Marco, still in shock at the fact that he and Jo had a daughter. “Please send that to me.”

He was absolutely floored at the fact that Jo had had their baby, as Marco sent him the video. Alex quickly clicked on it and downloaded the app as his feet carried him out of the room. As he waited for the app to download, he wondered if Jo had posted any other videos. As he found a quiet spot in the halls, the app loaded, and he clicked the link and followed the icon to Jo's page. There he was greeted with a handful of videos. Some of them were of Jo dancing with Levi or by herself, but there were one or two videos of their daughter.

One was of their daughter, which was a series of photos to the song, you're my sunshine. The photos started off when the baby was in the incubator, looking no bigger than his hand, and Alex guessed that she was about 26 weeks old. Alex looked over every photo, every video of the little girl. He was so distracted by the photos and the videos of the baby that he almost ran into a nurse. Alex quickly apologized before he came out of his daze.

He had to go back to Seattle. He had to see Jo and their daughter. He had to be there for them. He had missed so much of her life already, including Jo’s pregnancy and her first breath, her first days of life, and he was filled with guilt and regret. Alex ran over to the lounge to get his things, cleaning out his locker while he quickly called the chief of surgery and quit on the spot. Alex hated this job anyway, he loved the kids, and he wanted to make sure that his patients, including Marco, were okay, but he needed to go home.

Alex rushed over to the apartment he had in Kansas City. He had been staying there since the start of the pandemic. He and Izzie had agreed that since he was still working in direct contact with patients at the hospital, he would move out and get a separate apartment as they didn't want to risk transmitting this to the kids. Izzie had stayed home with the twins as with her job in oncology, she could do mostly remote consults, with only having to go on to the clinic on an as-needed basis with covid negative patients. Alex had been video chatting with them every single night and had distance visits with them at the park every Saturday and Sunday. Although, he had been considering getting his own place since before the pandemic started. He thought that he could make it work with Izzie, but the two of them were never in love.

It only made his homesickness all that much harder, and the urge to go back to Seattle all that much larger. The one thing Alex had realized during this pandemic was that he didn't have to be in Kansas to be a good dad to his kids. He could see them part-time and visit them on the weekend, and he could do that from Seattle. Lord knows he was rich enough to fly out every weekend. He had made up his mind as he packed up his car with everything he would need to move back to Seattle. Alex got in his car, setting his GPS for the address of the loft in Seattle. As he drove past the endless crop fields, he smiled in anticipation of soon seeing their daughter and his wife, it never did feel right to call her his ex-wife.

……………………………………………………………………

Going back to Seattle was like coming home. Everything was so familiar in Seattle, whereas everything had been so foreign in Kansas, even though he had been there for months. The drive over to the Loft was just muscle memory as he allowed himself to enjoy his surroundings. The thought of seeing Jo and his daughter filled him with excitement, despite how he knew that Jo may not be happy to see him. He hoped that she would at least let him meet his daughter, and then maybe they could work out a schedule where he could see her.

As he pulled up to the Loft, he couldn't help but sigh in relief. He was home. For the first time since he left, he was home. He had stopped back at the hospital and had tested negative before he left for Seattle as he knew with a medically fragile child, he would have to be extra careful. Still, he grabbed a mask and hoped that he would at least get to hold her.

He ran into the apartment complex and took the stairs two at a time up to the metal gate that led to the laundry room. It was locked, as usual, so he used his key but stopped in front of the familiar red door. He paused and knocked because although it had once been his home, it wasn't anymore, and Jo earned as much privacy as she wanted. Alex heard wrestling and footsteps with muffled voices until the door slid open, but instead of Jo on the other side, he was greeted with Schmitt in a grey mask.

“Oh boy,” Levi said, before he turned around, and Alex followed his gaze until his eyes landed on Jo holding their baby.

For a second, he froze as he stared at her. There she was, standing before him, no longer a memory but real. She looked better than the photos and videos he had seen, even as she looked tired with her hair up in a messy bun. She was wearing his grey Iowa Hawkeyes t-shirt, which definitely had spit up on it despite the burp cloth thrown over her shoulder.

The little girl was dressed in a blue onesie with pink flowers and green leaves, and she had a matching bow on her head. She also had the oxygen cannula tubs taped to her cheeks and had the heart and oxygen saturation monitor wires trailing down to the floor. Jo’s lips were parted as she stared at him. Alex wanted to take a step forward, to go to her, to see their baby in her arms with his own eyes, but he kept his feet planted in the entryway as he just stared at them. The girl that was possibly his daughter and his wife.

As he thought about it more and more throughout the long drive from Kansas to Seattle, he questioned whether this baby was truly his. However, the video was pretty damning evidence. Then again, Jo had always had such a soft spot for the little orphan NICU babies, and sometimes he joked about her adopting one, so maybe she finally did. Somewhere in Montana, he thought about turning around and going back or just calling Meredith and demanding an answer, but he couldn't bear the thought of going back to Kansas. He knew he belonged in Seattle, regardless of whether she had Jo or a daughter.

“Is she, is she mine?” Alex asked, finally finding his voice.

“No,” Jo said with a shake of her head as she looked over at Levi. He went back over to her and she quickly transferred the baby into his arms. Alex was confused at first until Jo pulled up the T-shirt to reveal her rounded pregnant stomach. “But this one is.”

……………………………………………………………………

From the moment Jo laid eyes on Alex, all she could do was stare at him. She felt relief that he was finally home. He was finally going to meet the child growing inside of her. He would be there for her and for their child. Alex was finally home. Yet, the relief and excitement faded as reality set in. She felt so betrayed because he had left without a single thought to her, nor the child growing inside her.

He seemed to stare at her as she handed Luna off to Levi. She put a hand on her belly as she felt her baby kick again. From the moment she laid eyes on Alex, the baby had done flip flops inside of her as if they could sense that their father was near.

Alex still seemed to be in shock, but so was she. Jo didn't even know why he would assume that Luna was his. Nor why he didn't already know she was pregnant, especially after she had left so many calls, voicemails, and text that had gone unanswered. He was back, but only for their child, not for her. Yet, seeing as they were one in the same for now, Jo knew that she owed it to her child to allow their father into their life.

“We should talk,” Jo said as she finally let her shirt drop before she walked towards Alex.

Alex just nodded as he continued to stare at her. His eyes flashed between her face and her belly, looking at her and their unborn child. He finally seemed to come back to reality and looked around the room, his eyes glancing at Levi and Luna.

“Is this a good place to talk? I tested negative before I left, and I drove straight here from Kansas. I haven't seen anyone since I left two days ago,” Alex seemed so unsure and so worried as he looked at her. It was so strange to see it on the man she knew was always so confident even while groveling with her.

“I can take Luna for a drive, it might help her fall asleep anyway?” Levi offered, already moving around. He gathered Luna’s things to transfer her oxygen to the portable tank they kept in a backpack by the door and placed her in the car seat.

Jo knew the loft had changed so much since he had left. It looked so different yet still the same where his weights used to be there was now a twin bed set up with a dresser and a few other things as Levi had moved in. Where the dining room was, there was now a crib, a dresser with a changing station, and a rocking chair where his lounger used to be. Next to a rocket-shaped shelf, a rocketship carpet completed the space themed Nursery that Jo had set up for Luna and their baby.

Alex seemed to watch her every move as Jo helped Levi get Luna in the car seat and send her off with a kiss and a wave. Levi gave her one last look, but Jo just gave him a nod before he closed the door behind him. She had been so thankful to have him around. Even in the midst of covid with everything else they all had going on in their lives. Between being pregnant and adopting Luna, he, Meredith, and Link had all been there for her. Jo had still felt so lonely because the one person that was supposed to be there wasn't.

She put a hand on her stomach as she felt the baby do flip flops inside of her, so she rubbed up and down. It always seemed to calm the anxious baby inside of her. Alex took a step forward, and his hand moved as if he wanted to reach out and touch her, but then his hand quickly dropped, and he just looked down at the floor. She wanted him to feel their baby, but she could tell that he was hesitant to touch her again.

Jo went over to the couch, their couch. The one that she bought for him, that they had spent countless nights on together. She fell in love with him on this couch, she made love to him on this couch, hell she was pretty sure they made the baby on this couch. She sat down on one end and moved away the pile of Luna’s laundry and the extra pillows and blankets to create a space for both of them. She wasn’t sure she was ready to have him so close, but it was just instinct and habit and the love she would always have for him. Jo patted the spot she made for him next to her as he slowly made his way over to her.

He still seemed to be a little weary, and she could tell that he was nervous as he sat down next to her, and looked at her bump. “How far along are you?”

Jo knew he was asking just to be sure, but she guessed that he had already done the math in his head. “24 weeks as of yesterday.”

“Are you, are they, are you both healthy?” Alex asked as he rubbed his hands up and down his pant legs as he tried to find something to do with his restless hands.

“Yeah, we're both fine, she’s measuring big, but Carina says we've got the dates right. She looked perfect at the 20-week anatomy scan and at the ultrasound I had a few days ago,” Jo said with a nod as she continued to rub her belly up and down.

“She, it's a girl?” Alex asked, catching her words as he looked up at her with a little bit of a smile.

“Yeah,” Jo said, watching his smile as his eyes seemed to light up. “It's a girl.”

Alex looked so happy and his eyes were bright as he laughed. It was the expression she imagined he would have when she told him she was pregnant. She was happy to see how excited he was for their daughter. He reached out again and put his hand on her belly. She remembered the way that he pulled her in for their first kiss and the shock of electricity between them. It had been pulling them together ever since. She felt that shock now and she knew Alex felt it too as he looked up and briefly caught her eye before he looked down at his hands again. His hands on her body for the first time in six months were an instant comfort. She immediately relaxed as she moved his hand to where the baby was kicking. As his hand settled, his thumb absentmindedly rubbed her belly and Jo relaxed further back into the couch.

“Hi baby girl, it's your Daddy. I'm so excited to meet you,” Alex said, letting out a little laugh as she kicked his hand and he leaned down to kiss her belly without even a second thought.

This was how it was meant to be, the two of them, together for this pregnancy. For a moment, Jo pretended that he had never left.

“She's strong like you,” Alex said, looking up at her as the baby continued to kick his hand. “And like Alexis too. She'll climb anything and she runs all over the farm.”

At the mention of his children, Jo immediately froze up. She didn't resent them, but they were the reason why he left. They were a constant reminder that she was in this alone. Alex felt the tension in her body as his thumb stopped moving and he looked up at her.

“Jo, I know I left, and I'm sorry…”

“No,” Jo said, instantly getting up and putting some space between them. “You don't get to do that. You don't get to try and walk it all back with I'm sorry. You left me, Alex.”

The tears instantly spring into her eyes as she began to cry, and her breath hitched as she tried to inhale. She just felt so broken, so hurt by everything that he did. Alex just looked up at her with his big puppy dog eyes. He gave her the same eyes in the front yard of Amelia and Owen's house all those years ago after he assaulted Deluca. She knows that he had grown up again since then, but after what he did, she doesn't know how things could ever go back to how they were before.

“After everything we've been through, after you promised me again and again, every day that we were together, that you would never leave and then you left!” Jo said, her voice rising as she yelled at him. “You left me pregnant, and alone, and scared. I called your mom and I knew that you weren't in Iowa. You didn't return any of my calls or my texts. You didn't even text Meredith back. I thought you were dead or that worse, that you were cheating on me, and then to find out that you were cheating, it broke me, Alex! But I couldn't let it break me because I was pregnant, and I had to keep it together for our child, and I did. You left and I, I carried on. I went to work, I went to my doctor's appointment, I built a nursery, and I got support from our friends, but not from you. I did everything without you. I am so furious at you for leaving. I am so hurt that you cheated on me. I am so broken because you left. You ignored me and you ignored our daughter. I am more hurt for them than I am for myself because they didn't ask for any of this. I get you leaving to be with your kids, but you had a kid here with me, and you ignored her. I sent you texts and photos and calls and emails, I sent you a freaking letter Alex, and you just ignored all of it!”

“What? Wait, Jo, hold up,” Alex said, standing up and shaking his head as he closed his eyes. “What phone calls, what letters, what texts, I haven't heard from you in months. The last text I got from you was a week after I left asking me if I was okay and how my mom was doing?”

Jo paused, gently wiping away her tears as she just stared at him as confused as he was. There was no way he was lying to her. He looked so genuine and Jo knew that regardless, Alex would never lie to her. She knew him almost as well as she knew herself. Alex Karev was many things, but he wasn't a liar. He dropped everything to be there for his and Izzy's kids and she knew he would never ignore his daughter with her.

“When you stopped returning my calls, I got worried. As soon as I found out that I was pregnant, I called you, and when you didn't pick up, I sent you a photo of the pregnancy test and then later of the ultrasound photo. I left you voicemail after voicemail, and I kept texting you, right up until I got your letter and the divorce papers, back in early February. I sent them back to you with a letter telling you that I was pregnant. When you didn't reply, I thought, I don't know.”

“Jo, I swear to you I never got any of your phone calls or your texts, or the letter, look, check my phone if you don't believe me,” Alex said, as he looked at her holding his phone out to her and she knew without having to see it, he was telling the truth.

Regardless, Jo took the phone and opened it up. The lock screen was a picture of Alexis and Eli. She paused as she stared at them. She had never seen a photo of them before, but the second she did, she knew they were Alex’s kids. Eli was the spitting image of his father and Alexis had his eyes and his smile. They were so beautiful, and she knew that he had instantly fallen in love with them the moment he had seen them because she fell a little bit in love with them too. The two little mini Karevs staring up at her were absolutely adorable and innocent in all this.

Jo put in the password that was still the same and quickly scrolled through his text until she found her name. Sure enough, there was the text that she had sent months ago, asking about Helen, and then nothing. She clicked on the little sidebar and quickly discovered the reason why.

“You blocked me,” Jo said, crossing her arms as she handed the phone back to him.

“What? Alex asked, his eyebrow shot up in surprise as he looked at the phone. “I swear I didn't.”

“If not you, then who? Your other ex-wife or your current wife or girlfriend or whatever the hell she is to you,” Jo couldn't help the malice in her voice and the hatred she had for the woman who had torn them apart with her actions. She was so angry at them both, but especially Alex as he was her husband, and he had made the choice to cheat on her.

“Izzie, fuck,” Alex said as he turned away from her and let out a cry of frustration. “I knew it was weird when I hadn't heard from you. She said it was for the best, but I knew, I knew you wouldn't just stop texting me, but then I thought that maybe you figured it out already, and I don't know.”

He clenched his jaw and looked like he wanted to throw or kick something. Jo grabbed one of Luna’s stuffed animals from the couch and held it out to him. He looked back at her with soft eyes as they both remembered when they used to throw things at the wall together. That memory seemed like a lifetime ago. Alex grabbed the toy and threw it against the wall. It made a satisfying clunk as it hit the metal doors of the cabinet. Alex let out a heavy sigh, having gotten all his frustration out before he sat back down on the couch.

“I tried to teach that technique to Eli and Alexis, but Izzie blew up on me for it. She said it would teach them to be violent and throw things, but honestly, it's the only thing that ever calmed me down. You were the only one who understood my anger,” Alex said as he looked over at her before shaking his head and looking away. “This whole situation it's so messed up. It was all a mistake.”

Jo looked down at the situation in her belly as her baby kicked her hand again. This whole thing was a mess. She didn't want to put Alex in the same position that Izzie had, having to choose between the life that he loved and his responsibilities to his child.

“Look, Alex, we’re fine. We're both doing fine without you. When you left, I stepped up and I figured out how to do this on my own. I've done everything alone, and you know what, I'm pretty damn good at it. So good that when I fell in love with Luna, I didn't even think twice about applying to adopt her and becoming her foster mom. I'm good on my own. I can raise our daughter without you.”

“But you don't have to, Jo. I want to be there for you and for our daughter, for all of it, I want to be on the phone with you for all your appointments, and I want you to hold my hand while you're in labor and screaming at me for knocking you up. I want to be there for our daughter's first breath and when she starts walking and talking. From her first day of school to when she graduates and goes off to college and every sleepless night in between. I want to be there for you and for her,” Alex said as he pleaded with her, all but begging on his knees for her. “I am so sorry, Jo. I swear to God, I didn't know that you were pregnant. The other day this kid showed me this Tik Tok of you and Luna with a photo of me saying that I was her father. That's why I thought she was mine.”

Jo couldn't help the smile as she let out a little laugh and shook her head. “ I downloaded Tik Tok during the pandemic and kind of got hooked. I thought it would just be a funny video for our friends and I don't know. I guess a part of me did think that you would find it, or at least I hoped that you would.”

“If I had known and if I had seen your messages, I would have never....” Alex trailed off as he shook his head, looking down, still ashamed.

“Would you have left?” Jo asked, her voice just a whisper. She knew the answer, but she needed him to say it.

“Leaving Seattle was the worst mistake I've ever made,” Alex said, looking up with her voice and his eyes full of such hurt. “I love my kids, I do, but Kansas isn't my home. Izzie and I, we. I didn’t sleep with her while we were married, I want you to know that. However, once we were divorced, I did try to start a relationship with her, but we were so different she didn't get it. She didn’t get me, not like you do.”

As Alex talked just looked up at her, his eyes full of longing as he got up and came over to her. They were so close that Jo could smell the familiar scent of his cologne and she could see the sparks of gold in his eyes. Her body involuntarily relaxed as he got closer. She longed for him too. All she wanted was to be in his arms again, to wrap her own arms around his neck, to hold him and have him hold her. However, the distance they created between them kept them apart.

“And now, with the pandemic, I barely see them.” Alex continued with a shrug. “I live in a crappy one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City and it sucks. Izzie stays home with them and I only see them through video calls. They meet me at the park on the weekends, even then we stay six apart and they miss me, but they're okay without me. I'm not okay without you and I know you're not okay without me either.”

It's a bold statement, but they both know it’s the truth. Jo felt the tears collect in her eyes again as Alex mirrored her expression, looking about two seconds away from falling apart as well. Just the acknowledgment that she needs him, that he needs her, and that they need each other, was overwhelming.

“I never wanted to do this without you. Every time we talked about kids, I was so terrified, but I knew that I could do it if I had you by my side. When you left, I realized that I could do this regardless, but I don't want to do it alone. I don't want to do any of this without you.”

Jo dissolved into a mess of tears as they streamed down her face. Alex took a quick step forward and he wrapped his arms around her as she truly fell apart. She fell apart in Alex's arms and buried her head in his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body and feeling his lips against her head. His arms instantly wrapped around her waist and it was everything she had wanted for the past six months. It was in that moment she realized that Alex was truly back. She cried even harder, especially as she felt his chest shake under her as his body was wracked with sobs of his own.

Alex pulled her over to the couch and she sat on his lap as he wrapped his arms around her. They just sat together and cried. Eventually, they cried themselves out and just sat together in silence. Jo curled her fingers into his shirts and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Alex ran his fingers through her hair like he always used to do as his other hand rested on her belly, feeling their baby move under his hand. She inhaled the sweet scent of his cologne and felt completely surrounded by him. For the first time and six months, Jo felt like she could breathe again.

Everything was how it was always supposed to be. Even if it was just for a moment, it was like a spell had been cast upon them, freezing them in time and allowing them to have just this moment together. Between being pregnant and having a newborn, Jo was exhausted, and she knew Alex hadn't slept since he left Kansas. They both fell asleep in each other's arms on their couch, truly resting for the first time in six months.

They must have slept for a few hours as by the time they woke up, the sun was low on the horizon, streaming golden beams in through the windows. For a moment, Jo pushed away the harsh memories as she woke up in Alex's arms. She pressed her nose into his neck and he seemed to forget it too as he laid a kiss on her forehead. They heard the door squeak open and finally got up. Jo could feel Levi’s eyes on them, but he didn't say anything about it.

“So we went for a little car ride, but she took a nap. Then after she woke up, I took her to the park, and we just watched the birds and sat on the grass and hung out,” Levi said as he lifted Luna out of her car seat and Jo greeted her girl. “I had some ice cream, and Luna had her bottle. She ate about 3 oz and then proceeded to spit up all over me.”

“Oh did you have fun with Uncle Levi at the park,” Jo cooed at Luna as she held her close and pressed a kiss to her little head before inhaling her sweet baby scent.

Levi moved to transfer Lunas oxygen tubes back to her machine. They kept Luna’s oxygen machine next to the couch on the side of her nursery as the 25 ft. oxygen tubes allow them to move around her nursery, the living room, and even into the kitchen.

“Let me help,” Alex said as he stepped forward and quietly helped Levi set up the machine.

After they started a machine and sure that it was working, Levi escaped to the bathroom. He gave them one more look before he disappeared and turned on the fan as if to give them added privacy.

Luna seemed content as Jo smiled down at her oldest girl. Of all the hurt she’d had in the past six months, Luna had been a wonderful bright spot. Jo couldn't help but fall in love with her, especially after Val died. Jo felt the need to step up and take care of her. Besides, she couldn't imagine sending her into the foster care system, so she had started the process of adopting her. The baby in her belly made her a mother, but Luna made her a mom. She made Jo realize that she could do this, but as she looked over at Alex, she knew she didn't have to do this alone.

Alex leaned against the couch as he watched them with curiosity. As Jo turned around to look at him, he smiled at the little girl in her arms. She walked over to him as he tentatively stepped closer before Jo transferred Luna into his arms.

“Alex, this is Luna, my little liver baby,” Jo said, smiling down at Luna with such affection as she rubbed her thumb over Luna’s cheek. “She grew on the liver of a patient that came into the ER. I operated on her mom, Val, and Carina delivered her. When Val didn't make it, I decided to adopt her. It was kind of impulsive, but I just looked at her, and I knew that she was mine. She came home with me a few weeks ago. She loves the little star mobile that I hung above her crib, and she only falls asleep to the Twinkle Twinkle Little Star song. She hates bath time and loves snuggles, so I babywear her all the time. I talked to her, and she just stares at me, but I know that she’s listening. I love her so much and she's just, she’s perfect.”

Alex just stared at her, taking in her words with a large smile before he looked down at Luna. She waved her arms up at him, reaching out for him as he reached down to grab her finger and shook her little hand. “It's nice to meet you, Miss. Luna. I'm Alex, I'm your Sissy's dad, but I look forward to getting to know you as well.”

“Autumn, I was thinking of calling her Autumn, Attie for short, since I'm due in October,” Jo said, putting a hand on her belly and feeling her baby kick again.

“Autumn, that sounds perfect, and I guess I owe you full naming rights,” Alex said as he smiled back at her before looking down at Luna again and sticking his tongue out at her as she cooed.

There was something about seeing Alex with her daughter that was just so perfect, and After everything that had happened today, Jo found herself falling back in love with him again. It was one of the reasons why she fell in love with him in the first place because he was so good with the kids, and he was kind to her after he found out about her past. He was gentle, and kind, and understanding throughout this whole thing. He never once blamed her or tried the force his way back into her life. He just wanted to be there for her and his daughter. He was the Alex that she had fallen in love with. Although she knew, he was still the Alex that had left her.

Luna fussed and began to cry as Jo stepped forward to take her back. She waved her arms around and reached up and pulled out her oxygen cannulas as Jo cursed.

“How well does she do off oxygen?” Alex said, quickly moving to put the tubes back in her nose as he looked over at her oxygenation monitor. He swayed back and forth as Luna continued to fuss and throw her arms around.

“Okay, for about 20 minutes or so. She had a branchial cyst, so they had to resect part of her lung. Hayes thinks she’ll have to be on oxygen for a few more months or so,” Jo said as she went over to Luna’s dresser where she kept all of her medical equipment and grabbed the extra tape and things so they could redo the tape.

Alex set her down on the bed as Jo came back over. They worked together as Alex used the wipe to remove the stickiness for the existing tape while Jo held Luna’s arms to keep her from pulling it out again. Alex put the nose part in Luna’s nostrils before he gently taped down both sides of the tubes on her cheeks, and Jo adjusted the tubes positions. It wasn’t the first time they had redone an oxygen cannula together, and they worked as a team so effortlessly. It was the same way that they used to work together at the hospital.

As they finished, Jo picked up Luna and bounced her as she calmed down. With Luna now calm and content, Jo set her in the bassinet at the end of her bed. She just looked at him and felt a pull to him as she took a step towards him. Alex’s lips parted as she pressed up against him, as close as she could with her baby bump in between them. She reached out to put her hand on his cheek as he closed his eyes and tilted his head into her hand. She knew that he missed her touch as much as she missed him. Jo couldn’t help but wrap her arms around him as she leaned in for a kiss. They deepened the kiss as he wrapped his arm around her, and Jo moaned into his lips. Alex eagerly pressed his lips against her, and it was like coming home. Nothing about the Loft, or the hospital, or anything in Seattle had felt like home since Alex left, but his lips, they felt like home.

They didn't break apart until they heard the squeaky door to the bathroom open again as Levi appeared. Jo turned around and pressed her fingers to her lips as if it would keep the kiss on her skin. She glanced over at Levi as he looked between them and instantly read their body language. For someone who could never figure out if a guy liked him back, Levi sure as hell read Alex and Jo like a book.

“So I'm guessing you're back,” Levi asked, raising his eyebrows and looking between the two of them. “Does that mean you're staying here? Do I have to move out? Like I know I could move in with Taryn if I needed to, but we're in the middle of a pandemic and her roommate is really mean!”

Jo wasn't sure as she looked over at Alex, who just shrugged. “It's up to you, whatever you're comfortable with. I can get a hotel room or maybe stay with Meredith?”

“Well, I guess you can stay. Besides, I need someone to send out at 2:00 in the morning when I get a craving for burgers or when Luna runs out of diapers, but maybe you should sleep on the couch for now,” Jo said as she bit her lip as she looked over at him, but Alex just nodded.

Alex moved around the apartments as if he had never left as he began to make dinner for them. Jo picked up Luna again and sat down in the rocking chair in her nursery space as Levi started to help Alex relearn where everything was after he had organized the fridge. An easy banter started up between the three of them and Jo put a hand on her belly as Autumn started to do flip-flops again while Luna was the opposite as her eyes fluttered close. Jo held one of her daughters in her arms as she put her hand on her belly where her other daughter was. She looked up at her ex-husband and baby daddy as he made dinner with her gay best friend and little brother. It was the weirdest family dynamics she had ever had, but she was content.

……………………………………………………………………

Later that night, Jo stared up at the skylights. She had just gotten Luna back down after a bottle, and now she was trying to return to sleep herself. Yet, sleep evaded her and part of that was due to Autumn doing flips in her belly. She was currently swimming around like a little fish and keeping Jo up as they pressed against her organs. Jo took a deep breath, which quickly turned into a yawn before she realized she had to use the restroom. Her quick trip to the toilet only made Autumn more active. Jo sighed as she laid back down and she rubbed her belly up and down. This usually helped to calm Attie down, but tonight she must have felt particularly acrobatic as she moved around. Jo wasn't sure what she did, but suddenly, she felt a twinge of pain in her stomach as Autumn kicked her, hard.

“Aw fuck,” Jo swore as she rubbed her hand against her lower abdomen.

“Jo, you alright?”

She jumped and sat up as she looked over to see Alex sitting up on the couch. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. It's just the baby moving around and she kicked a little too hard. I'm not used to having to be quiet as Levi usually puts earplugs in at night, and Luna will sleep through anything.”

To her surprise, Alex just chuckled as he got up and came over to her, sitting next to her on the bed and putting his hands on her belly. “Hey, Attie, you be nice to your mom, yeah?”

Instantly the kicks in her belly became softer as Attie quieted down. Jo raised her eyebrows in surprise as she looked up at him. Throughout her pregnancy, no one had been able to get her to calm down so quickly.

“Wow, I can't believe that worked,” Jo said as Alex smiled, he pulled his hand away, but Attie’s kicking started up again, and she got Jo good in her kidneys as she cringed and held her side. “Or not.”

“Lay back,” Alex instructed as she complied and laid back down as he adopted that adorable grumpy look that she loved so much. He put his hands back on her belly and leaned forward to whisper to Autumn. “Hey you, I thought we agreed that you were going to be nice to your mom? It's been a long day, and she agreed to let my sorry ass stay with her. I think the least that you and I can do is let her get some rest.”

Instantly Attie calmed down to the sound of her father's voice and Alex looked up at her. He seemed so proud that he had gotten his daughter to calm down and looked up at her with a smile.

“Thank you,” Jo whispered, letting out a breath of relief.

“No problem, besides, it's the least I can do as I’m part of the reason why she's kicking you,” Alex said, as a soft look appeared on his face and he just seemed to stare at her for a moment.

She could tell that he was head over heels in love with her. She used to catch him with that look when she was on his service as an intern, and it was that same look he gave her when she met him at the end of the day when he worked at Pac North. It was the look he had given her all throughout their relationship and even on the day he left. After he walked through security, he turned around and gave her that look before he paused and waved at her before he disappeared into the crowd. Jo remembered that day like it was yesterday, just as she remembered the hurt of the letter that was still fresh in her heart.

After a moment, Alex got up again, but the second his hands left her belly, Autumn started up again, and Jo scrunched up her face, and she beckoned for him to come back. He instantly came back and put his hands on her belly. Once again, Autumn calmed back down as her hard kicks and flips became light flutters in her belly.

Jo let out a sigh as she reached out to grab his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Could you stay?”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked as he tilted his head just a little bit.

Jo just nodded because the truth was that she wasn't sure that she should let Alex back into her bed, but he seemed to be the only thing that calmed down their daughter. He crawled in bed behind her like he had done when they were together. As he moved back to his spot in the bed and laid behind her before he wrapped his arms around her to rest on her bump. She had missed being held by him like this. They were never one for cuddling, but she liked knowing that he was right there next to her. She missed the way that he used to roll over in the middle of the night and hold her close just for a moment.

Attie seemed to have calmed down for the night and Jo closed her eyes. Jo didn't know where they would go from there, but she trusted that he wasn’t going anywhere. She knew she shouldn't trust Alex again, but somehow she did. She always knew that he would be a good father and that it would be one of his best traits. He left her to be with his children, but a part of her knew that he wouldn't leave her child and, by extension, her. Jo would always allow Alex to love their daughter.

Alex seemed a little hesitant, but eventually, she felt him relax against her as he pressed a kissed her cheek just like he used to. Jo both loved it and hated it, as she felt a mixture of hurt and love for him right now. It wasn't something that she was unfamiliar with when she was with him. She knew there was still hurt and the need for healing, but the love was always there, and she wanted that love for her daughter. So she let him stay and fell asleep in his arms.

……………………………………………………………………

AN: This is absolutely just a one-shot, so don’t ask for a sequel.

#jo wilson #alex karev #grey's anatomy #jolex #otp: home and heart #grey's anatomy fanfic #levi schmitt #luna ashton #izzie stevens #alexis stevens #eli stevens #my work #my writing #my fanfiction #luna wilson

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