#I think this one is my magnum opus though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 6 months

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𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he��s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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eoieopda · 1 year

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darksided (myg)

Min Yoongi adored you. He'd simply never hurt you - unless you asked.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: One-Shot - SMUT (You must be 18+ to ride this ride.) Sequel to foresight, but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 4.4K Content: established relationship au; soft bf yoongi turned mean!dom!yoongi at the request of sub!reader; p in v penetration; unprotected sex/creampie (be safe, y'all); oral sex (m receiving); brief face-fucking; v fingering; squirting; a lil degradation and spit kink, as a treat; harsh language; after-care; also cavity-inducing fluff A/N: This was nine (9) pages in Word - my longest smut ever, all because this man-bun era has got me FUCKED up. Barely proofread (sorry ily). Check out my other fics here. Listen to the playlist here. 12/11/22 A/N: The sequel, blindsided, is finally here! check it out when you're done here :)

“When I signal you, that’s when you press the button, okay?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared down at his recording equipment – a galaxy in its own right, lit up like a Christmas tree. He may as well have asked you to defuse a bomb, except you couldn’t even identify the bomb. “There are approximately three thousand buttons in front of me right now,” you whined.

He was exhausted and you knew it – you could feel it – but his patience with you was, as always, limitless. His fondness for you still shone through his eyes, overpowering the dark circles looming below, as if he hadn’t made a mistake in inviting you into his office. Then there was his laugh, surprising enough to smack you but so soft that it cradled you. “It’s the only one that says ‘record,’ jagiya.”

A quick survey of the landscape before you indicated that this was a criminal oversimplification. There was a minimum of four options fitting his description, and all of them looked both breakable and expensive. You blinked down at the sound board, then back up at him, dumbfounded. “I think you made a mistake letting me in here.”

Again, with the laugh – knocking you prone, nudging you closer to an early grave. Somehow, out of all of time and space, you got to exist in the same lifetime that he did. How lucky you were to have him, and his wind chime laugh all to yourself.

You were lovesick and it was chronic.

“Look down at your left hand – no, baby, don’t move it – that knob above your middle finger?” He was standing on tiptoe inside the booth, gesturing as if he was landing a plane. Your eyes darted up to follow the path of his fingers, then back down to the board. “Go diagonally up from that knob for two rows. Do you -”

Overcome with a sense of unearned pride, you pressed down on the button, beaming. You certainly had not been signaled, but nonetheless, your efforts were rewarded. Importantly, that reward was now recorded for prosperity. Your favorite mixtape, the soundtrack of your racing heart, a lullaby: “I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

His wide smile, like his tone, was sweet enough to cause a cavity. You were folded up like a pretzel in his chair, but somehow, your knees still seemed to wobble.

You were lovesick and it was terminal.

“Should I shut it off now until you’re ready to start?” You asked with cheeks glowing pink.

He shook his head, still grinning. “I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though – when I signal you.” He stated the last bit of his sentence slowly, shooting you a pointed look and then a wink.

You were once lovesick and now you are dead.

Finger hovering over the ‘play’ button, you watched him wide-eyed, anxious to avoid another mishap. His faith in you may have been unshakeable, but yours wasn’t – and this third mixtape was his magnum opus. You’d rather explode into a cloud of dust than mess up the tireless work he’d put into it so far.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. Without looking, he raised his hand and pointed silently to you. Within seconds, your mind was blown.

Min Yoongi contained multitudes. Despite your years together, it never ceased to amaze you how your beloved introvert – who said more with actions than anyone could communicate with words – could transform the way he did. Moments ago, his voice was a blanket, fresh out of the dryer, but now? Now, his presence electrified you. There was an unapologetic confidence – callousness, even - that you only saw when he rapped.

Even his body language changed, like he’d evolved right before your eyes. You couldn’t look away because there was nothing else worth looking at – just him, top to bottom. The way he held his head, lips nearly touching the microphone, highlighted the deadly curve of his jaw. Carved from marble, luminescent and sharp. The strain of his neck, vibration visible in the column of his throat as he growled out his bars. Then down, down, down to his hands. His rings caught the light from above him, refracting slivers of white as his fingers moved with the beat.

Oh, how you wanted them wrapped around your throat.

Seeing him like this had you spellbound – feral, if you were being honest. As you watched, bottom lip clamped hard between your teeth, a heatwave crashed over you; it burned you from the inside out. Sometimes, you dreamt about this version of him. Your Yoongi adored you. He showered you with affection, respect, and praise. He’d never dream of hurting you.

But would he, if you asked?

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him finish the take.

“Aegiya?” There was a hint of concern in his voice that told you he’d called out to you more than once already.

You swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. “Yes?”

He slid his wireless headphones down until they rested around his neck. The bright red band leaned against his cheekbone as he tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Are you alright? You looked like you were in a trance.”

He wasn’t wrong. You were hypnotized, and it was entirely his fault.

When you merely hummed in response – too distracted by his features to form a coherent sentence – he opened the door to the booth and stepped out. He pulled the headphones off completely and set them down on the counter before walking straight to you.

You were vibrating. Could he feel it?

The trembling only intensified when he reached you. Looking down at you, he ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

“Tell me.” He said, as if that brief touch informed him of the maelstrom spinning circles in your brain. “Something’s got you dizzy.”

Psychic.

Suddenly, you were shy. This man knew and loved every single aspect of you, and still you felt embarrassed. If you begged him to fuck you – not just make love to you – would he laugh at you? Even worse, would he be offended? You didn’t want him to think that what you had wasn’t already perfect because it was.

His eyes scanned your face, narrowing just slightly as he tried to read your mind. The two of you were silent for what felt like hours before you saw it – his pupils dilating, offset by the spark of silent understanding. The corner of his mouth twitched when he cracked the secret code. The hand caressing your cheek lowered slowly until it came to rest on your throat, thumb harshly directing your jaw – and your gaze - upwards.

“Is it me, baby?” He teased with a voice like velvet, cocking his head to the side with a smirk that left you stupid. “Have I got you dizzy?”

Involuntarily, you whimpered. So stunned by his stare that you were speechless. Melting into a puddle. Dripping.

He exhaled sharply through his nose – a cruel, quiet laugh - and his eyes darkened further. “I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Once again, you shifted in your seat. You were suddenly so painfully aware of every nerve in your body, each one tingling like a live wire. Even your thighs clenched, trying desperately to apply pressure where you needed it most. You craved him so badly that it ached.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me,” was your answer, though it sounded more like a question. “I - I know that you -”

His hand shifted quickly from underneath your jaw. He now had your cheeks pinned between his thumb and middle finger, squeezing hard to cut off your sentence before you could finish it. There was a microscopic pause as his eyes searched yours for permission. You blinked and nodded to the fullest extent you could within his grasp.

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

Muffled by his hand, your weak moan was barely audible, but he could feel the way your breathing quickened. The rise and fall of your eager chest. The way your nipples, yet untouched, made themselves known through the fabric of the t-shirt you’d stolen from him. Draped in him but smelling like you.

Blackcurrant, orange blossoms, vanilla.

He leaned down, mouth now hovering beside your ear. The heat of his breath on your neck was maddening, but it was the way his lips brushed against your ear that proved fatal. When he spoke, it echoed in every one of your bones. A whisper heavy enough to bruise. “Get up.”

You followed the lead of his hand over your mouth and rose to your feet. Sharply, he redirected your gaze to the seat you’d just left. It was inexplicable how something so faint could be so blatant. That nearly imperceptible spot, snitching on you; showing him how your body begged for him.

“Such a messy girl, ruining my chair like that.” He tutted. “I should punish you, shouldn’t I? Should I ruin you, baby?”

Held so still, your knees still trembled. Without his hand gripping your cheeks, you would’ve crumpled at his feet. Before you could do so yourself, he forced you downward. After all, your knees couldn’t buckle if they were digging into the hardwood.

He released his grasp and used that same hand to push his hair away from his eyes. Your heart raced as if you were sprinting, and yet you were frozen in place. You didn’t know where to begin because you wanted everything.

Your indecision prompted him to roll his eyes. “Do I have to do everything for you? Say it. What do you want?”

“T-to touch you. Please,” you begged, “I want to feel you in my throat.”

He beckoned you silently with a curl of his finger. You sat up further on your knees and reached out tentatively for the drawstring tied at the waistband of his joggers.

“Stop.” He ordered, and you did. Looking down at your wide eyes, his smirk deepened. Your hands fidgeted uselessly in your lap as he began untying the drawstring himself – his slow pace was torturous. You'd have ripped them off his body if given the chance. “Open your mouth”

Again, you did as you were told.

It took everything you had not to drool when he lowered the waistband of his joggers just enough for his cock to spring out. Already throbbing, beige tip glistening with pre-cum in the half-light. He took himself in his hand and began to pump himself as he took a step towards your waiting mouth.

"Stick out your tongue."

Now, you couldn’t help it – and when he saw the string of saliva spilling from the tip of your tongue, he growled.

“Fuck,” He breathed, sliding the fingers of his free hand into your hair and tugging. “Look at how badly you want to be used - you're begging without saying a word.”

You couldn’t speak, but your eyes were screaming at him. Please.

Teasingly, he tapped the tip of his cock against your tongue, hissing as he felt the wet heat of your mouth. But when you went to close your lips around him, he pulled your hair – and you – away.

“Spit on it – slowly. Keep your eyes on me.”

You felt a twinge between your thighs as he delivered his orders. You’d undoubtedly soaked through your little sleep shorts already, but his tone just then made a mess of you. You squirmed as you kneeled, feeling the rivulets of slick begin to trail down the innermost part of your thighs. And he hadn’t even touched you yet.

Looking up at him from under the curtain of your lashes, you saw the wicked fascination flicker in his eyes. The way his breath hitched as he watched your spit fall from the ledge of your lips until it connected with his shaft. In your peripheral vision, you could see his cock twitch at the contact.

“Now open.” Finally.

A low moan broke from the depths of his chest as he slid into your mouth, and you couldn’t recall a more beautiful sound. As you pushed yourself further onto him, you hallowed your cheeks, following the vein running along the underside of his length with your tongue.

You stared up at him through wet eyes. So full, you pleaded with yourself not to gag, to breathe steadily through your nose. Tip pushing past your soft palate, he grunted as he bottomed out. Without softening his gaze, he watched for your reaction – always so concerned, even when he was pretending not to be. To his surprise, you swallowed, allowing the tightness of your throat to squeeze him.

“You’re fucking filthy.” He muttered with his eyes screwing shut. His jaw fell open when you slid off him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock once you reached it. His eyes followed suit, blown out pupils fixated on the spit dribbling down your chin; darkening at the obscene sound of him sliding through the suction you'd so masterfully generated.

Pulling your hand from your lap, you reached out slowly for his balls. As your fingers massaged him, his grip on your hair got tighter. Almost imperceptibly, he began to roll his hips against your mouth.

His panting was interlaced with curses as he fucked himself into your warmth. “Fit so fucking perfectly in your throat,” He grunted, “Like you were made to be my toy.”

It startled you when he suddenly removed himself from you. Thoughtlessly, you whined – and then, immediately, you froze. Eyes darting back up to him, the anticipation of consequences prevented you from closing your mouth fully. You waited there on your knees, trembling, while your mascara pooled uselessly in the wells beneath your eyes.

“Somebody feels entitled,” He scoffed as he glowered down at you. “You better be careful what you wish for.”

Before you could process the speed of his movements, his arms hooked under yours and pulled you from the ground. Your legs ached, but as he loomed over you, you followed his unspoken order, backing yourself into a corner. With your shoulder blades pressed flush against the wall, he stepped forward and used his knee to push your legs apart.

For a moment, it seemed like his façade was cast aside. He raised his hand slowly to caress your cheek, swirling soft circles into your flushed skin with his thumb. Out of habit, your eyes drifted shut and you leaned further into his touch. And when he leaned in, just as slowly, your slightly parted lips waited for a kiss that never came.

“You’re just begging to be filled, aren’t you?” He asked in a whisper so sharp it stung. “Not loved but fucked.”

You nodded shyly. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, “Please.”

His lips still lingered closely enough to touch yours, to send shockwaves shooting down your spine, but he continued to withhold his affection. This was the first time – ever – that Yoongi had turned down an opportunity to kiss you. Until now, he didn't seem capable of doing so.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me. Please -” You keened as his hand began to drift from your cheek, down your neck. In the blink of an eye, every word you knew disappeared from your vocabulary. The tip of his index finger trailed down over the fabric of your stolen shirt, between the valley of your breasts, and came to rest at the hem.

He pinched the seam between his fingers and tugged. “Part of me wants to tear this off you,” He mused with his head tilting to one side. His eyes remained locked on yours; the amusement in them was clear, even in the darkness. “But most of me wants to see you fucked out and stupid - in my shirt.”

Your legs threatened to give out yet again. He was devastatingly handsome under normal circumstances, but this newly unearthed cockiness was ruinous. You bit down hard on your lip as he raised your shirt enough to access the waistband of your shorts. With his help, you shimmied them down until they dropped quietly at your feet. Quickly and clumsily, you stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Yoongi’s hand rose again to your face. His middle and ring finger were extended; the others curled down towards his palm. You didn’t need to be asked to open your mouth – it was the only response your eager mind could conjure. His fingers were cool against your tongue as you closed your mouth around them. And when he was satisfied with the lubrication you’d provided, he slid his fingers out from your hollowed cheeks with a lewd pop.

“How badly do you want to come all over my fingers?”

It’s a wonder there wasn’t a puddle beneath you, considering how those words made you gush. “I need it,” You pleaded with fluttering eyelids and bated breath, “Please touch me.”

You whimpered and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers dive into the pool between your thighs. Every nerve lit up like a switchboard as he slipped through your soft folds. He scoffed at how wet you were – so soaked that it was audible in each millimeter of his movement.

Simultaneous to his middle finger penetrating you, your head rolled back until it rested against the wall. Your mouth fell open, but you were too entranced to do much more than breathe as you acclimated to his presence inside you. He started slowly, curling his finger upwards as he pushed further inwards. Even at this pace, the otherwise dead air was filled with the sound of your sodden cunt.

“You’re dripping already?" He let the tip of his finger rest against the spongy spot behind your pubic bone; the pressure was incredible, but he stayed torturously still. “And yet you’re so - tight.” Achingly slow, the pad of his finger spiraled against your g-spot. “I’ll have to stretch you out before I can bury my cock in you.”

As his ring finger plunged inside of you, you cried out, head slumping forward against his shoulder. Sensing that you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up for much longer, Yoongi grabbed the back of your right thigh with his left hand and pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. With this new angle, his fingers ventured even deeper until they bottomed out at the knuckle. He didn’t give you much time to adjust to the new sensation.

As he fucked his fingers into you at a feverish pace, he continued his mind-numbing assault on your g-spot. Over and over, he toyed with you; thrusting, stretching, scissoring, and teasing as your arousal trickled into the palm of his hand. There was an intoxicating – unbearable – warmth burning in the pit of your abdomen. A sensation so all-consuming that your eyes rolled back in your head.

Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and begging for more as your helpless heart raced. “Oh my god,” You wailed, “Holy shit – Please, I’m - Yoongi!”

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Never in your life had you fallen apart like that – shaking and speaking in tongues. Having sensed the swell of pressure, Yoongi knew exactly where this road headed; and he could tell that you were fighting it. “Don't hold back from me,” He growled.

And then the dam broke.

A wicked grin danced across his face as the wave of pleasure crashed onto the floor below you. “Fuck. Look at this.” He pointed downward and your bleary gaze followed. Remnants of your orgasm had splashed onto his joggers as well as the hardwood. “Nobody could ever make you come like I can. Say it.”

The words bubbled out of your chest, half-way between a sob and a moan. “Nobody can make me come like you.”

You were a shivering, spilling mess; and your ears were still ringing from how intensely your every muscle had clenched. Before your knee could buckle, you were abruptly swept up into his arms. With one arm wrapped tightly around your back, his free hand slid over the surface of his desk, sending various papers and cords rocketing towards the floor.

Once the space was cleared, he set you down and laid you out onto the cool surface. You were exhausted and thankful to be horizontal; though you knew he wasn’t yet finished with you.

After all, he intended on ruining you.

Through half-lidded eyes, you gazed up at him. The hair he’d so neatly tied into a bun at the top of his head had mutinied; inky tendrils were now splayed out haphazardly in different directions. You were fuck-drunk, but you swore the overhead light behind him encircled his head like a halo. It was all so unholy - the way he stood before the altar of your exposed core, with his face angelic and his throbbing cock in hand.

The hand not pumping his cock slid over your bent knee. It took tremendous effort, but you lifted your arm to place your hand on top of his. One tiny squeeze – a brief, loving check-in – received an echo. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the fleeting moment of tenderness was gone. With each of your legs now trapped in his hold, he pulled you towards the very edge of the table.

Once he was satisfied with your closeness, his focus switched to his access. He simply wasn’t content to leave your legs bent up at either side of him; so, he rested the backs of your legs against his shoulders and leaned forward until you’d nearly folded in half.

He didn’t need to use his hand to center himself prior to entering you. His body understood the proportions of yours automatically; like you were puzzle pieces created to fit perfectly together. Though his intention may have been to penetrate you slowly, centimeter by centimeter, your slick was overwhelming. The usual ache you felt upon acclimating to his size was drastically reduced; and he bottomed out quickly, cursing.

The fullness you felt was euphoric, and it left you mewling hopelessly under the weight of his body. He was buried deep, throbbing as your walls constricted around his width. It shocked your system when he slid out almost completely only to drive himself back into you.

“Like a fucking vice grip,” Yoongi hissed as he picked up his already brutal pace. Every curve, every vein dragged maddeningly along your walls as he fucked you. “Do you hear how wet you are? Shit – your pussy is begging for me.”

The only thing louder than the squelch of your cunt was skin hitting skin; close behind was the way your name spilled from his lips in a flurry of expletives. You, on the other hand, were nearly incoherent. With every thrust, he knocked another thought loose until eventually, you had nothing left. Relentlessly, his cock grinded against your g-spot, leaving you too mesmerized to recall your own name.

There was a sheen of sweat above his knitted brows; and his bottom lip was now trapped between his gritted teeth. He was close and you knew it. The depth of his thrusts didn’t falter, but his steady pace was getting harder for him to maintain. You felt the rubber band inside you beginning to fray - on the brink of snapping and shooting you into orbit like a sling-shot.

“Baby,” The soft, shaky voice caught his attention. He opened his eyes and focused hard on you – your flushed cheeks, and trembling lips. As he surveyed you, his resolve began to evaporate; his expression softened immediately. There he was: your Yoongi. “You’re gonna make me come again.”

As your walls clenched tight around him, the edges of your vision began to blur. You watched his face as he came shortly after you, studying how delicately his eyelashes fluttered as the warmth of his release filled you. In that moment, it was the two of you, toppling in slow-motion off the edge of the universe. Irrevocably in love - heaving chests, shuddered moans, names whispered in the place of prayers.

He shifted his arms to allow your quivering legs to fall from his shoulders. When the hands on either side of your head could no longer hold up his weight, he collapsed onto you. With his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, you could feel his breathing begin to slow as his cock softened inside you.

You were nearly delirious when you felt his lips buzz against your skin. You were too far gone to understand what he was too exhausted to communicate. “Hmm?” You hummed, wordlessly asking him to repeat himself.

He groaned with the effort of pulling himself away from your embrace. He only traveled far enough to glance over at you. “I said, I think several of my past lives just flashed before my eyes,” He stated matter-of-factly. Within seconds, his eyes crinkled up at the corners and his grin grew. That soft chuckle wasn’t far behind.

“I don’t know where I am.” You admitted with a sheepish laugh. After a moment, you amended that thought, “I don’t know who I am.”

Yoongi placed a gentle kiss below your ear – the only part of you he could reach without sitting up fully. “I have no idea. How did you get in my house?” As you rolled your eyes, he bumped the tip of his nose against your jaw, too tired to tease you much more than that. “But now that we’re both completely spent, I’d like to go back to being soft with you – for now.”

He tried to wink at you, but both of his lead-lined lids closed in unison. You hummed thoughtfully as you ran lazy fingers through his hair, like the decision required serious deliberation. You paused, then giggled. “Permission granted, my love. You may proceed.”

He was quiet for several moments before he stood bolt upright. Startled, you propped yourself up on your elbow and looked to him. He turned towards the booth and then back to you.

His eyes were wide as a blush swept over his cheeks. "Aegiya, did you forget to stop the recording?"

Sequel (posted 12/11/22).

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theminecraftbee · 11 months

Text

Once again, Zedaph finds himself outside the closed gates of the Deep Frost Citadel, tapping his feet with annoyance. Honestly, by now you’d think the stupid thing would understand Zedaph always gets his way, when it comes to Tango, but no, Tango’s stupid base keeps trying to stop him.

“I told you, I’m not here to negotiate, I’m here to pick up my friend,” Zedaph says irritably. The gates of the base don’t respond, and don’t open. “I have a very important nap to be taking, I’ll have you know, and I will not be stopped by… by base chicanery!”

There’s a deep, rolling growl from somewhere in the bowls of the citadel. It sounds like ravagers.

“Oh, don’t you threaten me, you know I’ll run around and die in there all you want as soon as it’s ready. Not even afraid, am I? You’ve had your taste of the good old Zed flesh, but no sir, you aren’t getting me today. The high-voltage wires were a good trick last time I came to bother Tango, I admit, but it won’t work again!”

Another rumbling growl. Zedaph huffs. It would certainly be nice if Decked Out spoke in human to him, so he wouldn’t have to keep guessing. Even sheep would be better—Tango may have an affinity for beasts, but Zedaph only has an affinity if the beasts are also silly.

He makes an educated guess. “Yes, yes, I know you’ve ‘eaten him’ or whatever. Well I’ll have you know that Tangos have more nutritional value after watching me take a very important nap. And also dying. Its enriching. You like enriched Tango—okay, okay, that wasn’t the complaint, geez, you don’t have to shout at me. At this rate I’ll just use my pickaxe to break through the door, and then what will you do, huh? Nothing. You’ll do nothing, because you’re a big stupid building in the ground, and Tango was my friend first.”

A rumble.

“Haha, yeah, take that. We’ve been friends for years. You might be his magnum opus, but you’ve never made him sign a custom body pillow with your beautiful face on it, have you? That is the bond of men! No base can do anything about that.”

A louder rumble. Zedaph feels what he thinks is supposed to be fear and desire to wander into the depths and die or something silly like that. Zedaph isn’t certain, because it’s not as important as Zedvancements. This is one of Zedaph’s special abilities: if it’s not as important as whatever he’s doing right now, he’s very good at ignoring it until it becomes important. So, like, the Citadel is trying to lure him to his death, but that’s less important than taking a very deadly nap while Tango watches with horrified awe, so he’ll just ignore it until later.

Works every time.

“Listen, I’ll bring him back in one piece! Have I ever lied about that? I never do. He always comes right back to work, even when I do distract him, and he’s chipper again, right? I barely even disrupt things. Not that you could do anything if I did, of course, you hunk of stone and ice.”

Zedaph stares at the closed doors for a bit longer. He thinks this is about when anyone else would either die on the spot, or run away screaming, or maybe just come in and feed themselves to a ravager, but the that’s because the other hermits very frequently don’t have anything better to do than to get caught up in other people’s nonsense, in Zed’s experience.

Zedaph simply has so much nonsense of his own that he can out-stubborn even Tango’s base. Like he said: a special talent.

Slowly, as though greatly reluctant, the gates open.

“Thank you, geez! Was that so hard?”

Zedaph stomps through to the hidden access door of the Decked Out maintenance tunnels, grabbing one of the supplemental oxygen masks as he does. He sighs as he realizes that Tango, once again, has forgotten he needs to breathe. Hopefully, the fact Zedaph is currently keenly aware of needing to breathe on account of planning to not do that ten times in a row does not remind Tango.

He finds Tango taking a nap tangled in some high-voltage redstone lines. This time, Zedaph knows better than to touch them. It had been a mite embarrassing the last time. “Tango! Hey, Tango!”

“Wuh?” says Tango, eloquently. “I’m up, I’m up, level three’s almost done I swear—”

“Tango, get up, I have bedroom tricks to show you!” Zedaph says.

“I’m up! Zed? Oh hey! What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I told you. It’s urgent, Tango, urgent. I have bedroom tricks only you can assist me with.”

“Well, that’s a good time I wasn’t expecting,” Tango says.

“No, you idiot! Get your head out of the gutter, and come on! I have things to do!”

“Okay, Zedaph, geez, geez, lemme just—”

“I’ve already asked your stupid base,” Zedaph says. “It’s fine. Now, get out of those wires before I get shocked or something, and we’re going to go have fun.”

Tango slowly uncoils himself. “Right. I’ll get ready and—” Zedaph whips a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. Tango pauses before smiling brightly. “Oh, you’re the best.”

“I really am,” agrees Zed, and he grabs his best friend’s hand and leads him out of the Deep Frost Citadel to show off his latest contraption. He turns around and sticks his tongue out for good measure at the base as they go. Hah. Take that. The best. There’s no beating it.

And there’s no keeping him away from Tango. Zedaph guarantees it.

#hermitcraft #zedaph #tangotek #tango tek #I. can’t remember if I tag with the space or not I think I’ve used both. whoops #a bee fic #anyway in the continuing saga of ‘tango is a little possessed slash eaten’: zedaph #because zedaph is the exception to many things when it comes to tango #and the rule of ‘tango doesn’t leave without permission’ is one of them.#(and besides. that’s how it’s always worked when zed’s isolating himself; may as well return the favor to tango.)

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flower-yi · 23 days

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Margaret's greeting to you is sweet.

She's the assistant Veritas took in three years ago, and hasn't left since. Most people applying to the position have ulterior motives—you glumly recall a specific student, because my goodness, they have little to no shame these days—but just one meeting with her made you sure she'd be 'the one'. Her unwavering yet gentle disposition was endearing, and despite Veritas's distrustful attitude, she got in anyways.

(You think it's one of the best decisions he's made.)

"Is there anything in the mail?" You ask, shutting the door behind you.

She hums, "No, not really."

"Really?" This surprises you. Usually, it's a race to contact him on anything new he's working on. "Veritas said he's expecting letters for that weapon he's finished working on. You know, the anti-planetary one?"

"Remind me what's... that, again?"

Margaret furrows her eyebrows. Maybe Veritas forgot to tell her. "Remember that project he's been working on for a long time? The weapon got sent in for a test-firing and it was successful. So, he's waiting for any correspondence from anyone who'd like to expand on it."

(You remember peeking into his office, once, wondering why he was up so late. He promised more than four hours ago that he'll join you in bed, but there was only a coldness to his side of the bed you'll never get accustomed to.

"I will be there in a couple minutes, my love," Veritas addressed you without lifting his gaze from the blueprints he's scribbling on. From the mess on his hands, it seems he's been working on it since tucking you in. "You may go to the bedroom yourself. It is unnecessary to wait on me."

Instead of listening to him, you entered his office with the door clicking behind you. Veritas's head lifted, lips parted and about to say something, but he stopped; adjusting his glasses.

You draped over him, meeting cold skin.

"What're you working on?" You asked, instead. His warmth soothed you. "Mmh... looks like it's important."

Veritas placed a hand on yours, raised to his lips to be kissed. Aeons, your little doctor was so warm. "This weapon... will be a magnum opus. One that will eventually serve its purpose, and will be recognized for years to come."

Even in the sleep-addled brain of yours, you knew it was important.

"Yeah?"

"Indeed. It will be a weapon that will..." Veritas suddenly fell silent, alarming you. He was quick to assure you with another kiss to your hand, "Do not be so concerned, my love. Either way, this weapon will be reaching its final stages soon."

You were nearing dreamland, at this point. You recall it well.

Though the mutter under his breath was ingrained in your brain:

"An anti-planetary weapon that will, hopefully, earn Nous's blessing this time...")

The spark of recognition appears, "Oh, that one!"

"You know it," you toss her a smile. "So, what's the status? I hope the Genius Society picks up one of his inventions this time. He's been looking forward to it ever since."

You take a moment to place the paper bags on the table, setting aside your bag on one of the chairs for visitors. It's well into the afternoon, classes are finished, and by Veritas's schedule, you're sure both are famished. It's strange he's not in his office at this time. You're never late with your visits, so perhaps it's likely you're early and Veritas is late.

He's probably finishing up the last lectures of the day somewhere.

"I feel the same," Margaret knows Veritas to an extent that falls closely to yours, and it's not hard to root for him the same way you do. It warms your heart to hear how Margaret holds him in high-esteem. "Mr. Ratio's one of the best, they'd be out of the minds to not induct him into the Society—oh, are those chicken wraps?"

The chicken wraps are steaming as you tear away the aluminium foil. "Yeah, I bought it for the two of you. Want one?" Her eager nod has a laugh huff out of you, so you hand it to her. You joke, "So hungry you nearly forgot, huh?"

"Yeah... where did you buy them?"

"It's near the university. There were so many students I had to fight for it..." Thankfully, one of the vendors pitied your nearly trampled self and gave you two on the house. You make a silent note to bring Veritas there to pay your debt. "...anyways, where were we?"

Margaret pauses, "Mr. Ratio's genius?"

Well, that's not what you were saying, but it's a part of the topic. "Yes, genius. Veritas is intelligent, of course. Speaking of genius, did the Genius Society send anything?"

Margaret's reaction to your question is strange. She freezes, chicken wrap just hovering in front of her mouth. Your inquisitive gaze snaps her out of her reverie, and when getting her bearings, she's avoiding your eyes. "Nothing... yet, of course. I've been watching the mail for a week already."

A week? The Genius Society's correspondence normally would not take so long. "Is there anything else in the mail?"

"No, not really," she nods her head.

Huh? The disconnect between her body language and words makes no sense at all. However, the soft smile on Margaret's lips takes the edge of the suspicion off. Why would she lie to your face, though? Unless something's happened, then...

You decide to say something else. "I see... perhaps there's some issue with the mailing system?"

"Maybe!" Margaret agrees too easily with you. Her voice went too high-pitched, smile exaggerated, then she changes the subject, "Have you eaten on the way here? It feels impolite to be the only one eating."

The sudden mention of manners has you laugh awkwardly. It's already strange enough she's avoiding a simple question like she is right now but the poor girl looks like she's about to burst with your incessant questioning of if there's anything in the mail .

Is it really so hard to answer?

"Yes, I did," you answer. Gesturing to her chicken wrap, you say, "So, go ahead and eat. It's alright."

When you turn your gaze away from her, it's as if Margaret breathes a sigh of relief. It's obvious even in the corner of your eye. For the three years she's been here, her knowledge on Veritas's projects would be better than yours. After all, it is something work related, and she deals with his correspondence to anyone on behalf of him.

If she's lying like this, then there must be a reason. A Veritas-shaped reason, indeed, because he's got a bad habit of concealing things when it comes to something.

Letting Margaret be, you take a seat on one of the chairs meant for guests. Veritas's office is a spacious one, with a small reception area for visitors to wait on him. The door to his office is by the left, the entrance to this space on the right, and Margaret's desk in the middle of the room with the lounge chairs lined up by the wall in front of her.

With this placement, it provides you a clear view of Veritas's door... and the light escaping below it.

He's here in his office and he didn't come out to greet you.

Several emotions rise up and simmer in you. Some of them are negative. Well. Most of them are, because the way alarm and concern starts to boil within you is too much.

You take a deep breath to sort your emotions first. Your feelings are negative, and worry takes the top of the list. There are some wisps of anger but it quickly melts into the emotion up top and you slowly realise that Veritas has not messaged you even once starting... 1700 system hours ago.

With your phone now in hand, you shoot him a message.

It's something to the effect of asking where he is. The loud ding! of his own phone seeps out of his office room, out into the reception, and into Margaret and yours' ears.

Guilt colours Margaret's face vibrantly.

"I can explain," she begins as you stand up, making your way to his office. Poor girl, she's been shocked out of savouring the chicken wrap you've bought. "He's— he needs some time to himself..."

It's something other than needing time to himself, you know it, you know .

You give her a rueful smile, "Is that why you told me there's no mail?"

Margaret... falls short on an answer. The diverting of her eyes to the floor tells you everything. The successful test-firing of that anti-planetary weapon was done a few weeks ago, and everyone in the know was scrambling to cover it. It was Veritas, after all, and his name—like every genius—is known across the star systems. It'd make no sense there was no mail, no nothing , to be sent to him.

You only hold on to that tiny, little hope that you're wrong and Veritas is too caught on rejoicing to have noticed your arrival.

Only a look of understanding could be given to her. To scream, to yell, to let everything burst on Margaret is counter-productive. Maybe, if you asked, she'd say that she was merely doing what she, as an academic assistant, should do.

(If it was some other situation, you'd say—to his face—that you were right about Margaret. You'd say to him she's the best academic assistant he's ever had.)

You barely spare Margaret any glance before opening the door to his office. Thousands of thoughts trickle into your brain now, ranging from is he okay? to I hope nothing's bad happened.

Every moment of you turning the knob to open feels like in slow motion. Your heart is racing, just every inkling sending you in a worry-filled tizzy, and you feel nearly paralyzed in the spot where you are right now.

You open the door, and pity and fear and just everything drops a cold bucket over you.

Veritas sits on the chair by his desk, a crumpled letter on the wood and his headpiece discarded somewhere off to the side.

You're sure he's heard you coming in.

"Veritas?"

He absentmindedly says, "You may enter."

Veritas's voice doesn't have the usual lilt it has. It does not carry around the room, nor does it have its self-assured cadence that comes from being a genius. He stares at the scenery outside his office window, as if too entranced with the way light leaves the sky to make way for the moon. The moon that merely borrows its lumination from the sun.

The door locks behind you with a click that seems to echo in the dreadfully silent office. Now, only your footsteps make noise while approaching him. You move like you're holding your breath, not wanting to startle an animal that's already on its last legs.

But it's Veritas. He's not some lowly animal, though you know his heart to be softer than anyone else would presume.

Leaned over him, you bring his face into your hands. He lets you so readily, not once making any smart comment about handling him like porcelain.

(You received such a comment, once, when doing so the first time. Before Margaret, it was you. It was so long ago you don't recall, but Veritas had turned to you for help in handling his interactions with the "outside world", he'd call it, and this time, he was busy with a project. Some prototype he'd been originally commissioned to make, though, without any second thoughts, turned down any offer of payment and instead asked that his name be "spread across the cosmos". You originally blanched at the credits the ruler of the planet was willing to drop for Veritas's involvement in their planet-wide security, but he easily brushed your surprise off. At that moment, you were sure that, to him, it was another day of putting his gifts to use. Another day of using his intelligence to aid in the prosperity of civilizations, as if it was nothing to boast about. "Do I seem to evoke some child-like energy to hold me like this?" Veritas questioned, a quizzical brow arched. There was nothing in his tone that suggested he disliked it to the point of abhorrence. If anything, he looked— curious as to why you'd hold him like this. Instead of answering that silent question, you cooed, "Oh, yes. A little baby, indeed! You're so adorable—" "That's enough," he interrupted. You couldn't help but laugh at his disgusted face. "While I appreciate the gesture, I ask you continue sorting through the letters that came through the mail if you are wasting your time like this." "You call this wasted time? I'm suddenly not allowed to hold my handsome boy like this." Veritas's eyes narrowed. "Cease calling me a 'handsome boy', and I will consider this time to be not of the 'wasted' sort." So, he didn't hate it then. You smiled. "You like it then, Veritas?" He fell silent, you recall. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, it seemed like he'd say no. Then Veritas turned his head, kissed your palm, and murmured, "If it's you... then, yes.")

You wonder if he can outright acknowledge it's you who's holding him this way. He seems so out of it that what gnaws at you says no, but you try. You try for him. "Veritas?" You say, again, redirecting his attention to you. His eyes follow his head's movement, but it drags, and it's like it's taking everything out of him to begin looking at you.

Faint recognition appears on his face, and his voice softens too much, unlike the usual way he addresses you, "...My apologies for not greeting you when you came. I was absorbed in my readings of a letter the IPC sent me. An invitation of some sorts..."

When you see his eyes, the world falls silent.

Oh, Aeons, his eyes. Its lost its sheen and barely looks like he's there at all.

Your heart aches. So, that's it, then.

"What did they invite you to, love?" You ask, caressing his cheeks.

Veritas breathes as if it takes so much out of him to say, “The Intelligentsia Guild.”

“Ah,” You hum, willing the sadness away from your features. This moment is about Veritas, not you. “I see. You think I should reply to them, instead?”

The shake of Veritas’s head is slow. The hand he raises to envelop over yours is warm, yet you cannot find yourself to find comfort in it. “It is… better than nothing, love.”

The sight of Veritas blurs.

And, of course, out of everything, he notices you.

"You're crying," Veritas whispers softly. He reaches over and attempts to wipe away the tears streaming down, trying to soothe you. "Am I the cause of your tears? Then, I apologize. For... for being such a failure in front of you. Nous has not deemed me enough." You hadn't realized your eyes beginning to water; a single tear brought on a waterfall.

Aeons, you want to beat him ten times over. "You're not supposed to say sorry, Veritas. I'm... I'm only so worried about you."

Veritas meets eyes with you, and knows that it's not enough to cover the defeat. The disappointment surrounding his head like clouds, blurring every aspect of himself that he thought himself to be worthy of Nous' gaze.

He looks tired; an exhaustion that drills into his bones and something far beyond you. You think he's feeling the countless hours he's poured into that weapon, the surge of ambition and dedication used to fuel his drive, and the beginning of something chipping away at him and you don't know what.

(It scares you. It scares you because Veritas shoulders too many burdens he should have given to you to share.)

"You're the best scholar I’ve ever met, Veritas,“ You tell him, pushing past the tears that line your face. ”The smartest I’ve ever seen. Have you known your intelligence was the part of you that pulled me towards you? Your genius is unparalleled, my love. There is no one else I can think of if, ever, someone asks me about the most astute person I know.“

Does he think they are empty compliments? Because Veritas merely says, “Your words are better suited to a man whose Nous’ gaze fell upon him.”

You fall silent, defeated. What are you supposed to say? Are you to tell him that Nous does not matter, when his life is centered around knowledge? What is someone to do in this situation? What is comfort to a man who has been seared beyond recognition by an Aeon whom he worships?

“It is not hopeless,” Someone speaks, and you take a moment to recognize that it is you who has spoken. “Will you let an Aeon define who you are, Veritas?”

Veritas’s eyes slip close, and his forehead rests against yours. There is nothing but your soft sniffling, the steady breathing of your lover, and the persistent ticking of the clock in his office that sounds off. It is quiet and chilling, as if waiting for some bomb to tick off to end this moment once and for all.

His eyelids flutter, reddish-pink eyes peeking through—some brightness have returned, but not enough.

Veritas replies, “I… will try not to let them define me.”

To you, that is enough.

(You know than more that he will take this moment, and let it haunt him.)

#—stellaronhvnters.#veritas ratio #dr ratio #honkai star rail #veritas ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hanyi-writing #kinda my love letter to ratio?#he makes me sad in the way that i understand him? kinda?#i mean. i'm in no way smart but that character story part 3 of his #hit me in a way i was like. gods. i understand you.

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dem-obscure-imagines · 3 months

Text

You're So Timeless | Vol. 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year.

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. This is PART 2. Part 1 is linked HERE.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female

The Recovery Period

When you woke up, Steve was there sitting in the infirmary, sleeping. His head was leaning back against the wall, snores deep and quiet. It was dark. You weren’t sure how long it had been. You blinked a few times and took a breath, your chest protesting when you did.

The monitor you were hooked to started beeping loudly and Steve awoke, meeting your eyes. He called for Bruce and stood from his chair, approaching the side of your bed. You reached for his hand and he gave it to you immediately, fingers latching onto yours, as though to prove you were awake, that you were alive.

Bruce arrived and gave you the rundown, the grenade, which you remembered, the fact that you had a cracked rib and quite a bit of bruising, but that you had gotten very lucky otherwise. He prescribed you some pain meds and six weeks of rest with a brace before he’d reevaluate.

And at first, it wasn’t bad. Sam played a lot of Fortnite with you. You were pretty good at it, surprisingly. Tony had a pretty extensive collection of movies and you had every snack you could ever dream of. You got some reading done, you picked up crochet, and everyone spent a lot of time entertaining you.

Bucky introduced himself. Steve had talked about him a bit before you met him, but the man standing in front of you was a lot quieter than you’d expected, more timid. You figured he’d open up more once he was convinced none of you were scared of him. And you weren’t. The dangerous part of him was the Winter Soldier, something Wanda had been working with him to unwind from the depths of his mind.

After a few days, when your pain had toned down a bit, Natasha sat you on a stool in the kitchen and gave your hair a trim, getting rid of the singed ends. Wanda got into the undercover stash in one of the bathrooms and found a few bottles of hair bleach and some blue dye. Steve found the three of you in there with hair shears, and a bowl of mixed blue dye that Wanda was painting onto your freshly bleached ends.

He had no complaints. After all, blue was your color. It was quite a bit shorter, too, but he thought it suited you. He thought everything suited you, to be honest.

You did some online shopping in those first few weeks. Your Avengers allowance was no joke and you had barely touched any of it yet, which meant a new reading chair was well within the budget, a cool round one than you could hang from the ceiling. It was Steve that found you pushing the giant box down the hall when it arrived.

“Hey! Woah, are you supposed to be pushing that?”

You froze, turning to face him. “Maaaaybe.”

“Alright, move.” He chuckled, rolling up his sleeves and taking over, pushing it down the hall to your room. “What is this anyway?”

“New reading chair. It’s really cool, it hangs from the ceiling.”

“And you were going to do that part, too?”

“I was gonna figure it out. Maybe use my powers for that part.”

“Ah, right. Forgot about those.”

“Me too, honestly. Haven’t used them much lately.”

“For good reason.” He straightened out, the box now sitting in the middle of your room. “How are you feeling, better?”

“A lot better. Still a little sore, but my bruises are starting to clear up.” You motioned to the brace you had to wear around your middle. “Might be out of this thing before six weeks if I can help it.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see what Bruce says.”

“Of course.” You nodded, using a pair of scissors to slice the tape along the top of the box.

Steve opened it up and started taking parts out. You reached for the instructions and sat down next to him on the floor, familiarizing yourself with the process. It didn’t look too difficult and it was only a few pieces of hardware.

“I’m gonna go grab some of Tony’s tools.” He told you, walking towards Tony’s workroom. He returned a few minutes later with a drill and a screwdriver. “Alright, where are we starting?”

“Okay, so we attach the chair part to the support chains, and then those get screwed into the ceiling. Like this.” You showed him the diagram.

“I’m no handyman, but I think we can figure it out.” He grinned, scooting a little closer to you.

“Oh I’m sure we can.”

It didn’t take long. Less than an hour. The two of you talked, joked, laughed. Eventually, you used your powers to hold the thing in place so Steve could screw it into the ceiling. He got off the stepladder and sat in the chair, testing the strength of the chair himself before deciding it was good enough for you. With a smile, he got up and motioned for you to give it a try.

You put the cushions on the chair and sat down, smiling. “I’ve always wanted a chair like this.”

“Well I’m glad I could help that dream come true.” He chuckled. He handed you the book sitting on your desk. “Here, give it a real test.”

“Oh good idea.” You chuckled, positioning the book in your hands, curling your legs into your desired reading position. Yep, it worked. And it was pretty comfortable. “Now all I need is a little lamp over here.”

“Let me know when that comes in.” Steve chuckled, thumbs tucked into his pockets. “I’ll be here.”

Steve watched you with a soft smile, how happy you were. Maybe someday, he would build other things for you, in a house you shared. A nice little place in the suburbs, or on a farm somewhere, like Clint had made for his wife, Laura. He’d build you a million reading chairs. Hell, he’d build you a whole library if it’d put that smile on your face.

“You ever built Legos before?” you asked.

“I don’t even know what those are.”

“Alright, we’ll fix that. There’s a really easy fix to that, actually.” You pulled out your phone, clicked a few links, and then looked back up at him with a smile. “It’s on its way.”

“What’s that look for?”

“You will find out in two to three business days.”

***

By the time your Millennuim Falcon Lego set came in, Steve had been sent on another mission. And while he was gone, the Compound got an unexpected visitor in the form of Scott Lang, who Sam found on the roof and promptly got his ass kicked by while you were sitting at the monitors, one of the only things that you could do with your current injury.

“Don’t tell Steve.”

“Oh I won’t.” You spun out of your office chair, made a portal to the warehouse, and stepped through it, using your augmented goggles to find the guy, trapping him in a tiny forcefield. Sam came into the warehouse shortly after, looking at the bubble you’d made with interest.

“Got him. Ow!” Something nipped at your ankle and you looked down to find hundreds of ants. “Oh FUCK no.” You dropped him and kicked off the ants, making a platform of energy to stand on so they couldn’t crawl on you.

“Hey man, she’s injured!” Sam called into the room, looking around for wherever he had gone.

“Sorry!” The attacker replied.

And that was the last you saw or heard from him until Sam tracked him down, offering him membership on the team, if he so wanted it. Someone who shrunk could be a great asset on the team. Which is why when he told the rest of you about Hope, someone who did the same but with wings, obviously, she was invited, too.

The team was growing, and as it did, the Compound felt less empty, which was nice, especially when the team was split off doing their own things.

Steve came back shortly after, looking tired. It hadn’t been anything too bad, from what you’d heard, but he, Natasha, Clint, and Tony had been gone for a week. Still, the moment he was back, he popped his head into your room.

“Hey.”

“When did you guys get back?” You asked, looking up from your book, curled up in your reading chair.

“Just now. Um, I’m gonna take a shower, and then…Legos?” He asked, eyes earnest. You could tell he had been thinking about it the whole time he’d been gone.

“Oh absolutely. I’ve got ‘em ready to go.”

“Excellent. See you in twenty.” He saluted, walking down the hall to his room. You got the massive box of Legos out of your closet and brought it out to the table in the lounge, waiting patiently for Steve, who got out of the shower not that long after, dressed in sweats and a tank-top, still a bit damp from the water.

“Tadaaaa~” you said, pushing the box across the table.

His eyes lit up as soon as he realized what it was. “Where did you get this?”

“Amazon.”

“It comes with Han Solo?” Steve asked, looking at the pictures of the minifigures on the box.

“Yeah, of course it does. Comes with Leia, too.” You grinned, opening the box and dealing out instruction manuals, sorting the bags into neat little piles.

“This is great.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged. “I owe you one for building my reading chair. Now pay attention; This little orange thing is a Lego separator. It’ll help if you get them stuck together and can’t get them apart. Oh, and do not step on them. It will hurt so bad.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for the heads-up. So where do we start?”

Catch Me Now

Finally, after what felt like the longest recovery period ever, you were cleared once more for missions and training. However, you didn’t have any at the moment. Missions, that was. You were back to training with the others three times a week. Steve had you back on a workout regimen, but he was treating you different, like at any moment your rib might randomly re-crack.

Wanda and Vision got sent off on a mission with Clint, a recruitment mission. Apparently, there was another archer on his radar. A good one. It was his hope that with another archer on the team, he could take a bit of a step back, still be involved when he was needed, but hopefully, he’d be able to spend some more time with his family.

This meant, however, that you didn’t have anyone to go to the local theater’s Hunger Games marathon with. You asked Natasha first, but she was busy looking through some files, working out the details of the coming missions.

“I think Steve is here today. You could ask him if he wants to go.”

You could, you supposed. You felt a lot closer to him, lately. You had been spending a lot of time with him, between the extra training and the Legos. He had custody of the Millennium Falcon set, but he’d given you the Leia minifigure. She was sitting on your desk in your room.

So, with a shrug, you agreed, walking down the hall to Steve’s room and knocking on the door. He and Bucky were in there, talking hushedly about something, but they quieted at the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

The door opened and Bucky looked down at you, smiling when he realized who it was. “Oh, hey, (Y/N).” He welcomed you in, shooting Steve a look.

“Hey, (Y/N). What’s going on?”

“If you’re busy, I can come back later.”

“Oh, no, we’re just…catching up.” Steve said.

“Gotcha. So um…Wanda was supposed to go to a movie marathon with me at the mall today, but she forgot she had to go on that mission, so I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I already bought the tickets.”

“Oh, sure. What movies?”

“The Hunger Games.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Steve nodded. “Just let me get changed.”

“You can come too, if you want, Bucky. I’m sure they’re not sold out.”

“Oh, that is alright, (Y/N). Thank you, though. I’ve gotta work myself up to public outings.” He looked between the two of you, a weird sparkle in his eye. “You two have fun.”

“Will do.” Steve replied, chuckling as his friend left.

You left after, getting changed into the outfit you’d picked out. It was pretty simple: a bleach-dyed Hunger Games shirt, some comfy joggers for the long day ahead, and a pair of slip-on shoes. You grabbed your purse and walked back out to the living room, where Steve was waiting, dressed in his civilian disguise, a baseball cap and glasses. No one would ever recognize him in glasses.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, plucking your keys off of the hook by the door.

“Oh, I can drive.” Steve offered.

“Okay.” You agreed, putting your keys back.

He picked up his instead, from the hook next to yours. You walked out and got in Steve’s car, hopping in the passenger seat. The mall was about an hour out. Steve took the backroads, the scenic route. But you didn’t have to give him directions. He knew where he was going. After all, it was the same mall where he had met you.

You gazed out the window, watching the trees go by, looking for deer. Steve gazed over at you every so often, thinking about how someday, when you were driving places, he’d be able to reach over and take your hand, bring it to his lips. His heart ached just thinking about it. The next four and a half months couldn’t pass quickly enough.

“So what are these movies about? I keep hearing about them.” He asked, desperate to hear your voice.

“Are you familiar with the dystopian genre?”

“Yeah, kinda. Like weird, bad future kinda stuff.”

“Exactly. So this one is in a world called Panem, which is supposed to be North America hundreds of years from now. There’s twelve districts and a Capitol that rules over them all. Because of a rebellion about seventy-four years earlier, every year, two kids are chosen from each district to battle to the death in an arena.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah it’s kind of a lot. It’s really good, though. Lots of commentary on the United States government. No offense.”

He chuckled. “None taken. The America I stood for back then…I’m learning it was a different America from the one we live in now. But it’s hard to shake a name that’s been stuck with you for the better part of a century.”

“What would you choose?”

“What name?”

“Yeah, if you got to choose again, now, what codename would you choose?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Something cool. I’d need help workshopping. And you? If you got to choose again?”

“I’m good with Waypoint. For a while, at least.” You shrugged. “It’s kinda fitting, all things considered.”

“It is. Suits you.”

“Thanks.” You chuckled. “So how is everything? How is Bucky doing?”

“Good. They’re um, scheduling a day to test out his…what’re they called, his trigger words? To see if Wanda’s tinkering in his head has been working.”

“Oh wow. That sounds like a lot.”

“It is. He’s nervous, but he knows it has to be done.” Steve sighed and gave a shrug. “And whatever happens, he’s got us to catch him, figure out what comes next.”

“Absolutely.” You nodded.

Steve pulled into the mall parking lot, following the signs to find the doors closest to the theater. You handed him his ticket, which was printed on shimmery, gold paper, the Mockingjay symbol stamped on in black ink. You reached into your pocket and handed him a length of string with beads on it.

“I made it for Wanda, so it might not fit.” You warned.

He read the words, spaced between orange and black and gold beads. “District 12?”

“It’ll make more sense in a bit.” You chuckled and held out your wrist, where the matching one was. “Gotta represent.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He slipped the bracelet on, the beads spaced out and stretched around his wide wrist. “See, fits fine.”

“Uh-huh, sure does.” You laughed. “Look, it fits perfectly. You can almost read it.”

“Just about.” He grinned, reaching for the door handle.

“So, what’s our cover?”

“What?”

“Our cover. We can’t be Avengers here.”

“Right, um…” Steve thought for a moment. “You work at the library. I’m your boyfriend and you dragged me here, but I’m very supportive.”

“The most supportive.” You agreed. “Alright, I’ll play. Let’s go.”

Steve locked up the car, the horn honking as the two of you walked towards the entrance of the mall. You led him upstairs to the movie theater entrance. You checked in with your tickets and the girls at the table gave you your commemorative popcorn tins and cups. Steve went to get the popcorn filled. You stood over by the soda fountains. He returned with a huge grin and a bucket of popcorn.

“Look at this! They’re so big now.”

You laughed. “How big were they before?”

“Little paper bag.” He chuckled and turned towards the Cocacola Freestyle machine, looking at the buttons with wonder. “Alright what is this?”

“The future of beverage technology.” You told him, putting ice in your cup and tapping one of the beverage options, opening up all the extra flavors before choosing yours.

Steve poked the Coke button and read over all the options before settling on Cherry Vanilla Coke. He snapped the lid on and put a straw in it, taking a cursory sip. He smiled. “Takes me back.”

“Got that vintage taste?” You asked.

He nodded. “At the risk of sounding like a commercial, yeah, it does.”

You led Steve to the theater where you’d be spending the entire rest of the day. You walked him through the schedule. First was Hunger Games from noon until 2:22. There’d be a ten minute break, then Catching Fire from 2:32 to 4:58. There was a forty-five minute break for dinner. Then Mockingjay Parts 1 and 2 until just after ten. Every movie, they punched a hole in your ticket, and if you got all four, they were handing out little prizes, supposedly. You weren’t sure what yet, but you were excited to find out.

“Got a long day ahead of us.”

“I better not catch you nodding off.” You teased, kicking back the recliner.

“I don’t snore that loud.” He said, following your lead and pressing the same button to lift his. God, theaters had changed. He set the popcorn tin between the two of you. He couldn’t count on two hands how many pointless dates he’d gone on with Bucky before he met you for the first time, how many pretty dames he’d offered popcorn, only for them to completely blow him off. But when he’d taken you to the movies back then, you’d shared gladly. And today was no different. You scooted closer, your hand brushing his every so often.

The movie started and Steve watched, enamored. It was different than the movies he was used to, sure. Maybe Star Wars had warmed him up, or maybe it was the fact that you were sitting there beside him, but he loved every second.

Between movies, the two of you went back out to the lobby to get your tickets punched for Catching Fire, stretch your legs and get refills. Steve noticed a handout for the flashback movies that were coming up. His eyes landed on the Wizard of Oz and his gaze softened.

“They still show this?” Steve asked, pointing to the poster.

“Yeah, every handful of years. It’s a classic.” You smiled. “I think I was Dorothy for Halloween one year.”

“Would you go see it with me?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

Sure, things were different between you and Steve than he thought it would be. He knew it would be a while before you’d know. You’d told him you’d been friends for about a year before visiting him, but it felt so much longer, living through every day, scared to even take your hand without sending the wrong message.

You saved him the trouble, though, reaching out for his free hand. He took it without hesitation, giving it a squeeze. God, he’d do anything to kiss you, but he knew that would be stepping clear over that line. Holding hands was friendly enough. Hell, you held Wanda’s hand all the time and that didn’t mean anything. He was pretty sure, anyway.

“Where’d you go just now?” You asked, your hand his anchor in the moment, keeping him from drifting back off into the past again.

“Nowhere, I just…this is nice. Thanks for taking me out.”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

You went back into the theater, hand in hand, carrying your refills. This time, you’d gotten a slushee, and he had decided to do the same. You settled back into your seats, assuming your spots with the people you had been sitting near before. If anything, there were even more people in the theater for Catching Fire.

Steve took a sip of the slushee, looking over at you. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, it’s ice.” You laughed. “Do you like it?”

He scrunched his face. “Ooh, brainfreeze.”

“You’ve gotta go slow.”

“Lesson learned.”

The lights dimmed and you grinned, looking back at the screen, missing the longing look in Steve’s eyes, admiring the way your face was lit by the glow. And in those seats, once again, he was that little guy from Brooklyn, watching a movie with his soulmate.

***

Two and a half hours later, the theater lights went up and you had forty-five minutes to kill until the next one started. You wandered down to the food court to get something to eat.

“So what did he mean there’s no District 12?” Steve asked when you settled down at one of the tables. Shoppers walked all around, laden with paper bags full of goods. It was a kind of busy day, actually, but it was fine. You liked to peoplewatch.

“When the books came out, I had to wait a whole year to get the answer. I think you can handle the next forty minutes.”

“There are books?”

“I have them. You can borrow them. And they are even better than the movies, if you can believe that.”

“They must be pretty damn good, then.” He chuckled. “You want to shop around a bit? We’ve still got some time.”

“Oh absolutely. There’s a Lego store here.”

Steve grinned. “They have a whole store for those?”

The two of you finished eating, threw out your trash, and then walked down the hallway to the Lego Store. Steve browsed some of the boxes. There were a lot of cool things. Buildings he recognized, landmarks, things from movies he hadn’t gotten to watch yet. There were also flowers. Lots of flowers, and Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He could see himself building any number of them with you.

You were over by the minifigure bags, squishing them to feel which character was inside. Steve chuckled, but didn’t question your process. Instead, he wandered over to a rotating display of minifigure keychains. A few caught his eye, but more than anything, you did. That was, a keychain of you, in your suit, that eight-pointed star on your chest. Right next to it was him, shield and all. He chuckled and then grabbed one of each, heading towards the checkout.

By the time you caught up with him, he had already paid.

“What did you get?” you asked through your giggles.

“It’s a surprise.” He smiled, voice soft, eyes softer.

“Alright. Keep your secrets.” You chuckled.

Steve took your hand, walking back towards the theater. You got one last refill for the last two movies, got your cards punched, and headed back inside to finish off the saga.

***

At the end of the night, all the people who had been there for all four movies got a t-shirt, a Mockingjay pin, and a mini poster. Along with the tin and cups they’d given you, you’d say it was definitely worth the ticket price. You and Steve walked out to the car together and sat in the seats for a while before either of you spoke.

“Thanks for coming today, Steve.”

“Oh, any time, (Y/N). We should do it again sometime.”

“I’ll let you know if I catch wind of a Star Wars marathon.”

He grinned. “Oh please do. I’d love to see those on the big screen.”

He pulled out of the parking spot and drove off the lot. By the time you got back, almost everyone was asleep. Almost. Bucky was on the couch, watching something, volume on low. He looked up when the two of you came in the door.

“Fun time?” He asked.

“Oh, very.” You laughed kicking off your boots and setting them in your slot on the shoe shelf.

Steve plucked your keys off of your hook and, very efficiently, added his top secret Lego purchase to yours, the keychain of himself.

“Oh my God.” You giggled, looking at it. “This is great.”

“We match.” He said, holding up his own keys, which already had the keychain of you on them.

Your heart just about melted. “We sure do. God, you’re giving my soulmate some awfully big shoes to fill, Steve.”

“Well,” he smiled, and suddenly, he was that little guy from Brooklyn again, at your height, in awe of the woman the universe had plopped directly onto his front porch. “I’m sure he’ll grow into them.”

Mr. Perfectly Fine

You had training early, almost all hands on deck. Tony was on a business trip, Thor was on Asgard. But otherwise, everyone was accounted for. Clint’s new recruit, Kate, seemed nice. She was twenty-three, fresh out of college, and really did have quite a shot. She might shape up to be a pretty good Hawkeye after all.

Scott and Hope were there as well. Hope was extremely skilled. You could tell she’d practiced for a while, knew her suit and the Pym Particles inside and out. And Scott was also there. He was nice, there was no question about that, but you could tell he still had a lot to learn about the crazy world he’d stepped into. Still, it was nice to have them around regardless.

Tony hadn’t officially inducted them to the team, and there had been no party announcing such a thing. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting for someone. One more member, perhaps, before making it official.

You had been in…something of a mood since your little outing with Steve. It had been a blast, sure, but it had also been a reminder: Steve had a soulmate, in the past tense. There was a name on his wrist. And your bare wrist meant that it wasn’t you. You had a soulmate out there somewhere, human or super, whether you wanted them or not.

Steve was perfect for you. But you couldn’t have him.

And god, did it hurt.

You trained hard, hitting the punching bag that occupied what was usually Steve’s corner. He was there a lot, blowing off steam. Now you got it; it felt good to hit something. You spun, kicking the bag.

“You’re unbalanced.” Bucky piped up, walking over.

You looked up at him, watching his movements, but he didn’t mean any harm. Obviously he didn’t. He’d passed his mind-control test with flying colors. He was a free man now, and he was a lot lighter because of it.

“Am I?”

“You’ve gotta shift your weight a little, really plant that other leg.” He instructed, adjusting your body, hands gentle but firm. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you from across the room, but he didn’t come over. “Otherwise they’re gonna push you right over.”

“Well thanks. I appreciate it.” You said, giving the tip a try. “I haven’t done enough hand-to-hand.”

“We’ll get ya there. I’m surprised Steve hasn’t been working on it with you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Things have been weird since the Hunger Games.”

“I noticed.” Bucky chuckled. “I’ll talk to him. See what’s going on in that head of his.”

“It’s not his fault. I’ve been the weird one.”

“Oh. Need to talk about it?”

“No, I just…I need to work through some stuff.”

Working through stuff meant that after training, you went straight to your room, closed the door, and started listening to your angst playlist, spread like a starfish across your king-sized mattress. And that was how Nat found you almost an hour later.

“Knock-knock, I’m coming in.” She said, opening the door. “Hey. Why are you listening to Songs for Sad Bitches in here?”

“What? How’d you—?”

“Your playlist name is on the screen out here when you play stuff on the built-in speakers.”

“Embarrassing.”

“Happens to the best of us.” She shrugged, closing the door behind her and sitting on the bed. “So, why are we sad bitches today?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You can’t talk about it, or you can’t talk about it here?”

“The second of those options, yeah.”

She dangled your keys from her hand, the little tiny Captain America taunting you. “Thought so. Let’s get out of here. Kate hasn’t been to the mall yet and she needs to buy some more clothes.”

“Alright. I could go for some mall pretzels.”

So, for the second time in a week, you piled into a car and headed off towards the mall. This time, however, you were with your friends, Wanda, Nat, and Kate, not your unattainable work crush.

Wanda loved the mall. Seeing her that happy almost made your heartache go away. The four of you shopped around. You picked out a few new tops, some accessories, a cute bag, and it was a nice distraction until you passed the Lego Store. You got some pretzel bites and hunkered down in the food court with the others.

“Alright. Spill.” Nat urged.

Wanda offered a sad little smile and Kate looked up, waiting to see where this was heading. She was new to the team, which meant she was new to the drama, too.

“I don’t know, just…going out with Steve…”

“What, you don’t like him?” Nat asked, prodding.

“The opposite.”

“Then why are you all torn up about it?”

“Because I can’t have him.” You said, pushing a pretzel bite around in the cup of cheese. “He has a soulmate.”

“Had. In the forties.”

“Right, but…I turn twenty-five in what, like four months now? And then I get whoever and…I need to let him go before I get hurt, but I can’t.” You sighed. “Or before I hurt him, leading him on just to run off into the sunset with someone else…I just feel like shit about the whole situation.”

Natasha sat there with the perfect poker face, giving a sly little smile. “It’s gonna be fine. I promise. And if not, you’ve got us here to catch you.”

“What she said.” Kate agreed.

“It will be fine, (Y/N).” Wanda promised, patting your hand. “My birthday is first. Let me be the stressed one.” She let out an incredulous laugh. “I have a crush on an android.”

“Hey, if any robot has a soul, it’s gotta be Vision.” You said, eyes soft. “Obviously, he doesn’t have a mark, but, if your wrist has his name…”

“That would be enough for both of us.” Wanda agreed, nodding. “It’s weird. I know…I know he’s the one but I still have to wait. I wish if you figured it out early, the universe would just let you have it.”

Natasha looked to the rest of you, soaking in silence for a moment before taking off the cuff she wore around her wrist. “Alright, it’s been a secret long enough.”

“Woah, Nat…” You gave her a moment to back out, but she held up her wrist, letting the rest of you read the name on her wrist. Bucky. Her soulmate was Bucky. It…made a lot of sense, actually. The way he looked at her during training, the way she kept herself so guarded around him. “Does he know?”

“Unclear.” Natasha shrugged. “I, uh…Steve said he wasn’t sure. And Bucky’s memories are a little fuzzy. The Red Room tried to get rid of our marks. Said they made us liabilities. When I got out, they hadn’t found a way to do it yet. It showed up a few years after that.”

“Is that like…still around?” Kate asked. “The Red Room?”

“Unfortunately.”

The word sat on the table for a few long moments before you said, “What if we took it down?”

Something sparked in Natasha’s eyes and she met your gaze. “Elaborate.”

“I’m serious. The four of us,” you thought for a moment and then it clicked, “Hope.”

“Maria.” Natasha said, putting the pieces together herself. “I mean, that’s really all we’d need. Plus a location and a plan.”

“Oh my god, are we going on a mission?” Kate asked, lighting up at the prospect of her very first real mission.

Nat grinned. “Yeah, I think we are.”

I Can See You

Steve caught wind of Operation: Red Room before you’d so much as suited up. Of course he didn’t think it was a good idea. After your accident, he still saw you as fragile. You were fine. Your ribs were fine. They’d healed better than even Bruce had expected them to. Still, that look in his eyes said otherwise.

“I’m just not sure this is something you should be doing on your own.”

“We can’t bring you. We can’t bring Bucky. It’d be handing them two supersoldiers on a silver platter.”

“So you’re just gonna waltz in there instead?”

“Yep.” You replied, lighting a little forcefield around your fist and holding it up as evidence. “I can handle myself, remember?”

His eyes softened. “I know that.”

“Then why are you still fighting me on this? Do you seriously think Natasha would let anything happen to me? Do you think Wanda would?”

“What if they have something that disables your powers? Both of your powers.”

“If they did, they’d have used it already.”

He sighed, muscled arms crossed, pink lips pressed into a pout. “(Y/N)...”

“You’re not talking me out of this.” Not even with those pretty blues, you sneaky bastard. “Besides, it was my idea. I’m not leaving the girls hanging.”

His eyes widened. “It was your idea?”

“Well, it was a group effort, but I’m the one that put it into words, yeah.” You shrugged. “If you didn’t think I could handle being an Avenger, why did you recruit me?”

“I never said that.” His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “I just…I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then trust me to do this.” You told him, resting a hand on his chest. “And trust me to come back to you.”

He met your eyes, melting at your touch before relenting, “Okay. But be careful, alright? Promise me.”

“I promise. I always am. You guys should be here to hold down the fort anyway, in case they retaliate.”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright. I’ll be here.”

You walked down to the locker rooms and suited up, making sure everything was tugged tight, belt equipped with both real guns and stun guns. Natasha had told the rest of you there was brainwashing afoot with the Widows that were still in the Red Room. If you could help it, the goal was to get them out without hurting them. That was where Wanda came in. Her specialty.

You all loaded up into the jet, Maria Hill joining you as your getaway pilot. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work with her yet, so you were excited to. You rehashed the plan on the way. The Red Room was housed in a floating base, which was why it was so untraceable; it was always moving.

You, Kate, and Wanda were on Widow duty. Wanda would dispel their brainwashing, and you and Kate would deal with the physical cells and deal with any guards standing in your way. Once the brainwashing was handled, Wanda would go with Nat to kill Dreykov himself, the man in charge who had escaped countless assassination attempts. This time, she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Hope was going to shrink down and destroy the place from the inside, and once everyone was out and safe, Maria would fly you all to safety.

Ideally, anyway.

Steve saw you off, standing in the driveway as you flew off.

“Natasha wasn’t kidding. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” Maria chuckled.

“You could say that.”

At the moment, the Red Room was hovering over a suburb in Maine, nearing the Canadian border. Any closer and it would become an international incident. It had to be now. Maria cloaked the jet as it approached, hiding it from onlookers, obviously, but also, hopefully, from the Red Room itself. Though, their sensors were very advanced so there was no way of knowing until you got closer. That put you on edge.

So, instead, you turned to Kate. “First mission today. You ready?”

“Oh hell yeah. I’ve been waiting for this.” Kate nodded. She slung her quiver over her shoulder. “What was yours?”

“The local county fair.” You chuckled. “Though, I guess if you count my first encounter with a bad guy, it was at the mall, guy with a flamethrower and a dream. He is in jail now.”

“That is typically what happens when you dream of arson.” Natasha said, grinning. “Thank you all. For this. For coming.”

“We’ve got you, Nat. They did some pretty awful shit to you. Time to make them pay for it.”

“Speaking of, ready up, ladies. We are two minutes out.”

Power crackled in your fingertips. You were ready to go. Well, as ready as you could be.

Maria pulled up to the docking bay and the five of you got out. Hope lowered her helmet visor, saluted, and then shrunk, flying off into the vents. The other four set off in a linear path, up the winding hallways towards where they kept the Widows.

The hall was bathed in red light, dim. It set you on edge. Natasha led the way, motioning the rest of you on. You noticed as you approached each camera, it flicked off, the heads of them tilting down.

Oh right, Hope. Awesome.

You approached a series of rooms, doors all identical. They slid open when you approached, and sure enough, two dozen women came charging at you all at once, dressed in identical athleisure. Wanda waved her hands, red mist cascading down the hall, their eyes filling. It took a moment, but they all stopped, looking around at each other for some idea of what was going on.

“Natasha?” One of the voices in the crowd said, a blonde girl with wide eyes. “You came?”

Natasha nodded, smiling. “Of course I did.”

“You’re the Avengers.” The girl said, looking at the rest of you. “You’re really here.”

“Some of us. Come on, we’ve got a ship waiting.” You told her.

The girl looked at you and then back at Natasha.

“Go with her.” Natasha instructed. “I’ll be back in like five minutes. Tops.”

“What’s your name?” Kate asked, starting to lead the others back to the ship.

“I’m Yelena. Natasha’s sister.”

As you led them back down the hall, armored guards rounded the corner. You made forcefields at their feet, tripping them up. Kate shot arrows down the barrels of their weapons, causing a few small explosions. The Widows fought with you, taking out anyone that approached. Soon enough, you got to the docking bay, which exploded as soon as you approached.

You put up a shield between the rest of you and the explosion, blocking the girls from the flying debris. Okay, that put a wrench in things a little bit.

“What are we gonna do?” Kate asked, looking to you, the reflection of the flames shimmering against her skin.

“I’ve got an idea.” You said, approaching the opening carefully, wind whipping all around. Maria was still piloting the jet, doing her best to get close to the massive hole.

You made a platform with your power, curving it up at the edges, like a giant spoon. Slowly, you slid it across the gap to the jet. Maria got the hint, turning it around and opening the ramp. You made another platform and two of the Widows hopped in without hesitation. Slowly, you started the process of feeding them all across, two by two until everyone was in the jet. Everyone except you.

“Hey.” Hope said, landing and returning to full size, out of breath. “What did I miss?”

“Not too much.”

“Want a lift?”

“Why not?” You shrugged. Hope took your hand, flying you across the gap and into the ship. That just left Wanda and Nat unaccounted for.

You watched anxiously, waiting, waiting, waiting. Nothing.

“Hope, how long before this thing blows?”

“A few minutes.”

“Fuck.” You shook your head. You pressed a finger to your earpiece. “Nat, Wanda, do you copy?”

Radio silence.

“(Y/N), there they are.” Kate pointed. She really did have eagle eyes.

“I’ll get them.” Hope offered until an enemy ship opened fire.

“I’ve got it.” You said, channeling something deeper. Instead of making a bubble, you formed a tunnel of shimmering blue energy from the platform they were standing on to the back of the jet. “Hold her steady, Maria!”

“As steady as I can.”

A few explosions started at the back of the base, setting off a chain reaction. The two of them ran through the tunnel, its energy shielding them from the fire, the debris, and the rain of bullets. Wanda sped them along, until they were safe and sound, in the jet again.

Maria closed up the door as more explosions went off. You lowered your hands, letting the energy dispel. She flew off to a safe distance. The rest of you watched in awe as the Red Room fell, crumbling to bits, to ashes and ruin.

Yelena hugged Natasha, thanking her. Natasha apologized for not coming sooner. And the rest of the Widows were able to rest, breathing free for the first time in years.

***

The first stop on the docket was a SHIELD base in New York to drop off the majority of the Widows. SHIELD had a plan in place to get them back into society, integrated, rehabilitated, whatever they needed.

The second stop, of course, was Taco Bell, for refreshments.

The third stop was home, where Steve was waiting at the dinner table, chin resting against his folded hands, Bucky sitting across from him. He whipped around at the sound of the door opening. You, Kate, Wanda, Natasha, Hope, and Yelena were talking and laughing, laden with bags of fast food.

His eyes fell on yours first and it was like time stopped.

“How did it go?”

“Good. I got you a Baja Blast.” You said, setting the large cup of the teal drink in front of him.

He stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at you. “You…”

“I’m alright, Steve. We all are. And, uh, we have a new teammate.”

He finally spotted Yelena in the mix. “Oh?”

“Natasha has a sister.” You shrugged, sitting down and unpacking your order. “Apparently.”

Speaking of whom, Natasha walked up to Bucky, looked him in the eye, and said, “Barnes. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, following her into another room.

“Wonder what that’s about.” Steve murmured, sticking a straw into the drink he kept staring at like it was a potion you’d plucked from a fantasy realm. You supposed teal was kind of an odd color for a drink…

You smirked. “I have some idea.”

“She told you?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It makes a lot of sense. The way he looks at her…”

He nodded. “Like something out of a movie.”

“Yeah, exactly.” You sighed and then shook out of it, motioning to the drink. “Alright, let me know what you think.”

He took a first sip, holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing. The smile on his face grew. “It’s sweet.”

“Too sweet?”

“A little.” He chuckled, going in for another sip. “No, maybe…maybe I do like it.”

“Uh-huh. Think about it.” You laughed.

Yelena sat down next to you. “Is this seat taken? I’m starving.”

“Have at it.”

“Alright, well, you girls have fun. I’m headed to bed.” He held up his cup. “Thanks for the drink. Glad you’re home safe.”

“Night, Steve.”

Yelena looked at you, wonder in her eyes. As soon as he was out of earshot, she said, “Oooh, tell me everything.”

You chuckled. “Where do I even start?”

Champagne Problems

Two weeks later, you got dressed for Wanda’s twenty-fifth birthday outing. It would be just the girls, headed to a club nearby. Wanda would turn twenty-five just after midnight and she didn’t want to be in the same building with Vision if she was going to get her heart broken. It wasn’t a bad plan, all things considered.

You were wearing a black dress, knee-length, form-fitting, paired with a dark red lip, and of course, the star necklace Steve had gotten for you all those months ago. You let your fingers linger on it in your reflection before throwing on your heels and walking out to the living room to wait for the others.

Steve was on the couch, watching the Muppets Movie.

“See? I wasn’t lying about Gonzo.”

“You weren’t.” He laughed. He opened his mouth to make a quip, but it died on his tongue when he got a good look at you, eyes softening. “You got a date tonight? You’re all dolled up.”

“Huh? No.” You laughed. “It’s girls’ night.”

“Didn’t you just have girls’ night? I believe it involved several explosives.”

“Right, well, Wanda turns twenty-five just after midnight, so we’re going out again. This time hopefully with less explosions.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, ya look great.”

You blushed. “Thanks.”

“You hear about Nat and Buck?”

“It’s official.” You grinned. “I’m happy for them.”

“Me too. They’ve both been through so much. They deserve to be happy.”

“So do you, Steve.”

He tilted his head, giving you that sad smile. “I am. Promise.”

The other girls came into the living room before you had the chance to respond. Nat was hand-in-hand with Bucky, who kissed her on the cheek before releasing her and joining Steve on the couch, grinning like he’d won the lottery. In a way, he had.

“Let’s get a move on, birthday girl.” Natasha said, slinging an arm around Wanda’s shoulders. “The night is young.”

She looked back longingly where Vision was hovering in the corner of the room. “Be back soon.”

“Text me when you find out.” He said.

“I will.” She promised, eyes brimming with tears.

You took her hand in yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. She squeezed it back, meeting your eyes and offering a smile.

The five of you piled into the car. Hope wasn’t coming because she was in San Francisco for the weekend, but Yelena was. She seemed determined to experience all the life she’d missed out on thus far. You couldn’t blame her in the slightest.

The club was lively, music pulsing loudly. There were lots of birthdays being celebrated, it turned out, announced by party hats, birthday crowns and sashes, and the periodic cheers of groups of people, yelling out in excitement when their friends learned who their lives were promised to. It was kind of magical.

You ordered a drink, downing it quickly and surrendering to the fuzzy feeling at the edges of your mind. You were pretty sure the last time you’d been drunk was your induction to the team. You remembered that night with Steve, how he looked at you, how it felt. And then you ordered a second drink, dancing to the music with the girls, trying to forget your worries, even if only for the night.

A guy approached you, a look in his eye. He eyed up your bare wrist. “No soulmate?”

“Not yet. A few months too early for that.”

“Then would you mind if I swept you off your feet for the night?”

“Sorry, I…I’m here for my friend. It’s her twenty-fifth.”

He scoffed, looking you up and down before stalking off towards his next victim. “Alright. Your loss.”

“Asshole.” Yelena rolled her eyes, taking your hands and spinning you around on the dance floor. You let her, dancing along. “I do not blame you, (Y/N). If I were you, I wouldn’t settle either. Not for that.”

You laughed. “Yeah, not my thing.”

“You’ve never…?”

“Well, a little. In high school, we used to have parties where we ‘practiced’ for our soulmates. It never got any further than a little spin the bottle, though.” You confessed.

“Ah, see, I’ve had practice. But it never meant anything. Red Room, bleh.” Yelena shrugged. “I am ready for something real.”

“How long you got left?”

“Another year.”

“I’ve got three and a half months.”

“So I’ve heard. I bet you are excited, being so close to it.”

“Excited, nervous.” You laughed, shrugging. “I kinda just want to rip the Band-Aid off, get it over with.”

“I’m sure.” She motioned Kate over and she joined the two of you, dancing to the beat. “Kate Bishop, how long do you have left?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Ah, well, then you have lots of time to party.” Yelena grinned, spinning her around. “We should really do this more often.”

You chuckled. Yelena had only been part of your little family for a few weeks, but already you could tell she was going to be a handful in the best way.

Eventually, you wandered back over to Wanda, who was standing in the corner of the room, nursing a single glass of Vodka Cran.

“Hey, birthday girl. You doing okay?” You asked.

She nodded, irises ringed with red, as they often were when she was stressed. She blinked a few times, forcing them back to hazel. “Doing great.”

“Wanda, whoever they are, they’re so lucky to have someone like you.” You took her hand. “Now let’s go dance and forget about it for the next hour.”

She smiled. “Lead the way.”

***

In what seemed like no time at all, midnight came. Natasha ordered a bottle of champagne and each of you got a glass. Wanda sat on a barstool, staring at her wrist. From right next to her, you had a pretty good view, watching with a racing heart as a string of letters appeared, darkening into existence.

The Vision.

She burst into tears, hitting the call button on her phone. He picked up on the first ring.

“It’s you, Vis! I knew it was you!”

The rest of you gathered your things, eager to reunite them as soon as you could. Your thoughts were racing, though. You’d never really thought of it before, but…your soulmate could be someone you already knew. Someone you were already in love with.

Someone who was already in love with you.

Maybe there was some hope after all…

The Origin

Only weeks after your night in the club, you found yourself in yet another bar. This time, it wasn’t for fun, though. You, Sam, Nat, Bucky, and Steve were undercover in a quaint little tavern in Alaska. A quaint little tavern that happened to be a front for Hydra, as it were. But that didn’t mean that everyone there was Hydra, just definitely the bar tender and the security guards that kept eyeing you up. Probably a handful of the patrons, too.

In addition to that, so were the flannel-clad guys at the bar.

“Hey, little lady.” One wandered up to you, bumping your elbows. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m all set with this one, thanks.” You said, taking a long sip from your drink.

“Aww, come on, just one more?” The guy on your other side egged on. “Pretty girl like you deserves to have a little fun.”

The guys around them started getting riled up, trying to convince you to have another drink. Never had you been so glad to hear Steve’s voice.

“Sorry fellas, she’s taken. Come on, sweetheart.” You felt his hand on your shoulder and let him pull you away from the fray, back to his little corner. He had been growing out a bit of a beard for this. God, did it suit him. He rested his hands on your waist, face approaching your own, nose nestled beside your cheek. “You see anything?”

“Bartender has a gun under the counter. Intense code-protected lock on the door in the backroom.” You told him, masking your words with a smile, nuzzling your nose against his.

“I’ll get to work on the door.” Bucky said over the coms. “Whatever you’re doing is working. Those guys have lost all interest.”

“Perfect.” You chuckled. “Thanks for defending my honor.”

Steve smiled and it was breathtaking, the way his eyes sparkled in the warm light. “Anytime.”

You really couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol; there hadn’t even been any. It was a virgin drink. Your arm wound around his neck, pulling him in so you could kiss his cheek. His arms wrapped tight around you and he buried his face in your neck to hide his rosy cheeks, laughing.

Once again, that line between your cover and your feelings began to blur.

“Alright, I’m in.” Bucky said. “Feel free to join us whenever.”

“Coming.” Steve murmured, a hand moving the hair out of your eyes. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead, sending your heart into a frenzy before taking your hand and leading you to the backroom, where Bucky and the others were waiting.

“You were born for undercover work, (Y/N).” Natasha said, giving you a smirk and a friendly nudge.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You laughed. “It’s kind of fun, though.”

The five of you walked down the tunnel. When you finally reached the main room, it was kind of dark. You lit your fist with blue energy, using it to find a lightswitch. There were several computers that flashed to life, a wall of weapons, and also, a wall of screens. There was a little electrified cell, but it was empty. No captives, as far as you could see.

You started looking around while Natasha backed up files to a hard drive. Bucky watched the entrances. Sam looked over the weapons, taking notes of the ones that were out of the ordinary. Steve stared at the screens, mesmerized by…something.

“Um, (Y/N)?” He asked, motioning you over.

You looked up at the images. They were all of you. Pictures of you in the field, diagrams of your anatomy, hospital records, your birth certificate. There were illustrations of you, and a few fields marked as unfulfilled: blood sample, soulmate information, DNA.

Beneath it was written Planet of Origin: Illustria

“What the actual fuck.” You said, voice flat, staring at the word. You’d never heard it before. Not even with the recent discoveries about space and the wider universe. Thor, your only connection to space, had never mentioned it. Yet, for some reason, Hydra had reason to believe you were connected to it.

“Company.” Bucky announced, readying his gun as a group of Hydra agents stormed down the tunnel.

A section of the wall slid open and a scientist-looking man stepped into the space. Steve threw his shield, bouncing it off of three surfaces before it came back to him. The man made a run for it, but you lit your fists and ran after him. Steve followed after.

Once you were both through, the wall slid shut. On the other side, you could still hear the sounds of the fight. They needed you. But you needed answers. It was an impossible choice, made easier when he started talking.

“Ah, the Girl from Space and the Man Out of Time. How nice to have you both here in one place.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You said, fists clenched, eyes glazed over with raw power, glowing like Wanda’s did.

He laughed. “You didn’t know? Your commerades didn’t tell you? Surely they must have seen the suppressor in your neck when they were running all those tests.”

Your world came crashing down. “The what?”

“Your parents paid us to put it there. Paid SHIELD, at least, but, we’ve been one in the same for a long time. Didn’t know how to handle their little alien girl, especially at her full power, on a planet that wasn’t their own. They should have known you’d outgrow it eventually.” He tsked. “Of course, I could always take it out for you.”

“You touch her, you die.” Steve said, voice as smooth as steel. It sent a chill down your spine. “I’m warning you.”

It made sense. It was like a switch had been flipped when you were in college, your powers coming from seemingly nowhere. They’d been suppressed all your life, but finally, the suppressor stopped working. You hadn’t even known it was there. Maybe that was why you’d been stopped at so many airports.

“Not to worry Captain, I was on my way out of here anyway.” He raised his hands and started walking towards an exit tunnel.

You raised yours, making a cuff of energy around his wrist, holding him in place.

“No, you get to answer to SHIELD.” You told him. “And then you get to answer to me.”

Steve used his shield to knock the guy out with one quick, precise throw. The door behind the two of you slid open, Natasha pushing it open. There were downed Hydra agents all over the floor behind her.

“Having a party without us?”

“Something like that.” You mumbled, heart still racing.

“I got the files, (Y/N).” She said, playful demeanor falling immediately. “We’ll figure it out.”

Steve lugged the scientist over his shoulders, handing him off to the SHIELD agents who had come to help, one of whom happened to be one of the guys who was hitting on you at the bar. Go figure. Bucky and Sam joined the three of you. Sam put a hand on your shoulder and offered a supportive smile.

You still felt numb.

***

You got back to the safehouse and the snow outside doubled, coming down in droves, thick snowflakes and heavy winds. It was safe to say you would not be making it back to the Compound tonight.

You changed out of your bulletproof gear and into a tank top and sweats, running a hand through your hair. You met your eyes in the reflection, noticing how they flickered blue. In the other room, you could hear the video call finally go through with Tony and Bruce, who were back home.

“Oh don’t give me that look, Rogers.”

“Well, can you blame me?”

“What, like you’ve never kept a secret ever in your life, give me a break!”

“About her life, Tony!”

“I’ll get her.” You heard Natasha tell him, and then heard her footsteps approaching the bathroom door. She knocked. “Hey, they’re on. I made you some cocoa.”

You opened the door, letting out a sigh and nodding. “Thanks, Nat.”

She smiled, patting your shoulder and leading you out to the couch. Tony and Bruce were sitting in the living room on the screen. Steve had been pacing, obviously, given his stance and the fact that he was still standing.

You sat down, making eye contact with each of them, lips pressed into a flat line. Your heart raced, chest aching, stomach on fire from the adrenaline of it all. “So?”

Tony sighed. “You’re an alien.”

“Half.” Bruce amended. “On your mother’s side. She’s from a planet called Illustria.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. I got that part. How long have you known?”

Bruce looked at Tony, hoping he’d deliver that part of the news. He did. “I’ve known since you were recruited. Fury did a background check. You were already on the files.”

“What about the suppressor?”

“We didn’t know what it was. We didn’t know what taking it out would do to you.” Bruce admitted. “We thought you knew it was there.”

“I want it out.” You said with certainty. “I want it out as soon as we get home.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. I want to know who I am. That starts with knowing what I’m actually capable of.” You sighed. “And call Thor. I have questions I need answered. His alien friends might know.”

“Anything else?” Tony asked.

“Who else knew.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Just me and Fury,” he said, but you couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

“And Hydra.” You snapped. “What, are you afraid of me? Had to keep a lid on my powers because you’re so fucking obsessed with control?”

Tony scoffed. Clearly, you’d struck a nerve. “That’s not it.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how you would take it.”

“Okay well, I think I would have been okay hearing it from a friend, in a place I felt safe. I had to hear about it from Hydra. They had a fucking cell with my name on it.” You said, trembling as you remembered it, tucked away in the corner there. That was the only explanation for it, really. And then something else clicked, too. “That…that day when Steve got tranq’ed. They weren’t trying to hit him, they were trying to hit me. He jumped in the way. They’ve…been trying to take me this entire time.”

“Oh my god, Tony…” Natasha said, voice quiet.

“Get those files to me, Nat. I’ll take a look. See if they have anything on the suppressor so I can take it out when you get back.” Bruce said, eyes soft. “And I’m sorry, for the record.”

“It’s not you I’m mad at.”

“Kid, please don’t—”

You cut Tony off with a click of the remote, hanging up the call. You let out a shaking sigh, setting the remote down. Your fingers were trembling. You took a few breaths, lungs heaving. You wanted to scream. You needed to let it out.

Everyone else on the team knew why they were there. Every other person in your life knew what made them special. Wanda’s power came from the Mind Stone, Steve’s came from the Serum, Tony’s came from his massive fucking ego. They all got the privilege of their origin story.

All of them except for you.

You needed to call your parents, if you even could. They’d told you they were moving to Florida. Now you wondered if they’d moved off the planet.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asked, eyes trailing you as you paced through the room towards the door.

“Nope.” You walked out to the other den, burying your face in your arms, sobbing for a few minutes until you got it all out, or most of it anyway. Eight months. Eight fucking months he’d known you and didn’t think to tell you.

The chip in your shoulder burned.

You began to seriously wonder if anyone else had known. Bruce had run all those tests, surely he had seen something. He’d told you there were abnormalities, but he’d assumed they were from your powers, not the cause of them.

Steve crossed your mind briefly, but you shot that down pretty quick. He, of all people, would never keep a secret like that from you. You knew him well enough to know that.

Aside from that, the only real suspect you had was Vision. He had been JARVIS once, surely he still had some of that database in his mind. You’d give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“Hey.” Even before you looked up, you could tell Steve would be leaning in the doorway, that lovelorn look on his face. You were right, obviously.

Tears welled in your eyes. “Steve.”

He crossed the room, collecting you in his arms, hands rubbing comforting circles on your back. You surrendered to him, crying into the fabric of his crewneck, face tucked into the crook of his neck. One of his hands cradled your head, smoothing over your hair comfortingly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He rumbled, voice deep and soothing. “I would have told you.”

“I know you would.” You sniffled, gripping him like a lifeline, your anchor in the storm. You pulled away to meet his eyes. “I feel so stupid for crying about it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not stupid. I would, too.”

“Like it’s fine. Aliens are cool. T-Thor is cool.” You sniffled again, more tears running down your cheeks. “I’m fine with being one, I just…”

“You’re still (Y/N).” He asserted, a gentle thumb wiping your tears away. “You’ve always been able to do these amazing, beautiful things. Now we know why. And maybe there’ll be even more things you can do with that thing out of your neck.”

“Yeah…” You nodded. You took a deep breath. “I’m really glad you’re here, Steve. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t.”

He pulled you back into his arms to hide the look on his face. “I’ve got you. Always. We’ll figure it out.”

***

Hours later, you were curled up on the couch, asleep. Despite the fireplace raging with fresh-chopped wood, you were still shivering, pulling the blankets around yourself as tight as you could.

Steve watched you from the dining table, forlorn. Natasha nudged him, motioning towards you. He shook his head. He couldn’t. Right? What, take advantage of you in your vulnerable state?

Bucky seemed to agree with Nat, grinning into his mug of coffee. Of course they agreed. They were soulmates, after all. Just like you and Steve.

The mark on his wrist seemed to thrum when he thought about it.

Relenting, Steve got up off of his seat, walked towards the fireplace and adjusted the logs, adding another small one for good measure. He looked back at the others, who were silently, but aggressively, encouraging him to go over to you. Sighing, he did.

He knelt down in front of you, clearing his throat, which caused you to jolt awake.

“Is everything okay? Are we under attack?”

Steve chuckled. “No, uh, we’re all good. Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

“Kind of, yeah.” You admitted. “I’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve always been kind of cold. Must be an alien thing…”

“Do you…want some company?” He asked, unsure of how to word it. “I…run warm.”

“Do you mind?” You asked, sitting up a little and raising the blankets you were under.

His heart raced. “Here, um…” He wiggled in underneath you, letting you lead as the two of you settled.

“God, you do run warm.” You hummed, all but collapsing against him, a hand flat against his chest while you adjusted.

“I didn’t always.” He said, voice sincere. “Buck and I used to have to share a bed in the winter. It was brutal.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Yeah, he snores.” Steve joked, earning a laugh.

“Oh I know. I can hear him three doors down back home.”

“And I can hear you from the other room!” Bucky called, sending you and Steve into a fit of giggles, like kids at a sleepover. “It’s a small cabin!”

You heard him and Sam devolve into a bickering match about the truth of whether or not Bucky actually snored that loud.

You looked up at Steve, asking “is it okay if I put my arm here?” while carefully draping an arm across him.

“Yeah, of course. Get comfortable.” He nodded, leaning against the pillows and pulling the blanket up around your shoulders.

You rested your head on his firm chest, listening to the way his heart was racing. Cute.

“We could, uh, put on some music if you want.” Steve suggested. “I’ve still got that playlist on my phone.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” You asked, voice soft, curious.

“Timeless.”

“I thought it would be.” You smiled, meeting his eyes, which sparkled in the light of the fire. “You’re so timeless, Steve Rogers.”

He grinned. “You think so? You don’t think I’m a fossil like everyone else?” he said, quoting Natasha and Tony and many others who equated him to some dinosaur because of his accident.

“Not even close.” You shook your head and sighed. “This might be the wrong thing to say, but…I’m really glad you’re here. Your life could have looked a lot different, but I’m really glad you ended up in mine.”

It took every ounce of his being to hold in his tears when you said it. If he could have confessed then and there, he would have. He would have kissed you square on the lips, told you he loved you, that he always had, that you weren’t some accident, you were his destiny. Always had been.

Instead, he had to settle for, “I’m getting used to it, but I am, too. I’m really glad I found you that day, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You smiled, readjusting your cheek against his chest, letting out a long breath. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.”

His warmth lulled you to sleep after a long, emotional day. Never had you felt so safe and protected. It was easy to feel that way in the arms of a supersoldier, you supposed, thoughts meandering until there weren’t any left. You were asleep in minutes, breaths slow and long and even.

Once he was absolutely sure you were out, Steve pressed the gentlest kiss to your forehead, grateful beyond words to have you in his arms again, grateful you were safe, grateful you were his.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.

***

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the sliver of a gap in the curtains, right into your eyes. You blinked a few times, trying to figure out why the mattress was moving. And then you remembered. Steve.

The supersoldier was still asleep, breaths long and slow, those thick, gorgeous eyelashes resting against his sharp cheekbones, lips impossibly pink. His muscled arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other settled on the couch.

Your eyes wandered to the band on his wrist. It was out of place slightly, the edge almost crooked enough to read the letters etched onto his skin. Almost.

There was a part of you that was tempted to look. To nudge it aside the tiniest bit, say it was an accident, and finally know who it was that had been holding his heart in their hands for the last seventy or so years.

But you couldn’t do that to him. He trusted you enough to hold you while he slept, while he was the most vulnerable. You respected him too much to do that. So instead, you adjusted slightly, closing your eyes again.

“(Y/N).” Natasha said from the doorway of the kitchen.

“Hmm?” You replied, eyes opening again.

She eyed up the two of you, grinning. “Cute.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Got those files sent to Bruce. He doesn’t think it’ll be a problem getting that thing out of you. Won’t even have to put you under.”

“Cool.” You nodded. “Is it…like right between my neck and my shoulder? On the right side?”

“That’s where it is on the diagrams, yeah.”

“Okay. Thought so. I get pain there sometimes.”

“During training?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think it was anything serious. Thought it was like a pulled muscle or a pinched nerve or something.”

“You never said anything.” Steve murmured, blinking awake. “You were in pain that whole time?”

“No. It comes and goes. Mostly when I try out new stuff.” You said, still planted on his chest, looking up at him.

He smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Really well, actually. How did you sleep?”

“Like a fucking rock.” You grinned. “You weren’t kidding about running warm. Thanks for sharing.”

“Anytime.”

“Let’s get a move on, team.” Sam said, walking out from the bedrooms down the hall, Bucky not far behind him, looking tired.

You reluctantly left the warmth of your shared cocoon, sitting up and stretching, brushing your fingers through your tangled hair. “Alright, let’s go get this thing out of me.”

Show Yourself

“Alright, so, this might hurt a bit. Are you ready?” Bruce warned. You were laid out on a table on your stomach, a curled pillow beneath your head. It was a bit like a massage, except Bruce had made an incision at the base of your neck where your suppressor was implanted. He’d given you some numbing gel and pain meds, though, so you didn’t feel much.

On the other side of the observation window, Steve was standing with Natasha, his arms crossed, eyes focused. Tony wasn’t allowed even in there, which pissed him off. He’d tried to get on your good side when you’d gotten home and you blew him off completely, which, Steve had to admit, was amusing.

And Tony definitely deserved it.

“I’m good. Go for it.”

Carefully, Bruce used his tools to wiggle it free from your flesh, setting off a chain reaction in your body. The wave of relief you felt was almost enough to put you to sleep, a refreshing, cool sensation rushing from your head to your toes. Power crackled between your fingers, and you could feel your eyes glowing for a moment, despite the fact that you couldn’t see your reflection.

Bruce moved to stitch you up, but your body did the work for him, mending back together on its own before his very eyes. He adjusted his glasses, sure he was seeing things. But no, the wound was healed, just leaving a little dried blood on your skin, which he wiped off with a wet piece of gauze.

“Woahhh.” You murmured, coming out of the trance. You blinked a few times and it felt like waking up from a college nap, the kind you don’t set an alarm for and then come out of in a stupor.

“You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great.” You nodded. “Are you done? Did you stitch it up?”

“I…didn’t have to.” He murmured, still staring at the spot. He handed you the shirt you’d brought in and you tugged it over your head, staring at your arms, your hands. You didn’t look any different, but it was like every atom in your body was electrified.

It felt right.

Bruce opened the door and Steve and Natasha walked in, watching your every move.

“Wow.” Natasha said, grinning. “You look…”

“The same, but…more you.” Steve met your eyes, offering you his hand.

You took it, letting him help you stand. Even his touch felt different now. Better. You settled, adjusting. It felt different, like even the gravity itself had changed. It would take some getting used to.

“I need to hit the training room.” You said with an excited grin. “You two are welcome to join me.”

“Can I watch? I want to take notes.” Bruce said. “From the observation booth, of course.”

“Oh yeah, by all means.” You nodded, leading the others down the hallway. A few others tagged along, Yelena, Kate, Wanda, who were all curious to see what you were capable of now, and just how much Tony’s lies had been holding you back. Sam and Bucky were already there and smiled when they saw you coming, Steve and the others in tow.

They cleared out some room, letting you have the space you needed. You stretched and then got to work.

First, you made a few forcefields. They still had that shimmer, like sunlight in a swimming pool, but they were twice as thick as they had been before. Steve couldn’t break them with his super-strength anymore.

You had more control over your waypoints and your portals, which, the more you used them, were becoming two different things. The waypoints, your stars, were a quick zip from point A to point B. Your portals, however, were more like a window that you could open and close, and took on more of a circular shape.

You were stronger, too. Nowhere near as strong as Bucky or Steve, but twice as strong as you’d been before, faster.

And then came the other thing. If you focused hard enough, and focused on the floaty, tingly feeling in your chest, your body started to glow around the edges, and at long last, your feet rose from the floor.

“Oh my god…” You murmured, lifting yourself from the tile ground. At first, it was hard to control, but you quickly figured out how to get from point to point, and how to hover in the middle.

Steve stared up at you as you hovered, fists lit with power, hair floating in the breeze you’d created. It was like watching the birth of a star, powerful and beautiful and otherworldly.

For the first time since 1943, he knew in his soul that he had to paint you, exactly like this. He memorized the moment in his mind, every detail from the streak of sunlight on your chest to the misplaced strand of hair on your forehead, the exact hue of your glowing irises.

“A picture might last longer.” Natasha teased under her breath, watching as you touched down.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Steve replied, already picking out a color palette in his head.

“Holy shit…” You breathed, the glow dissipating as you returned to normal. “What a rush.”

“Welcome to the fly club, kid.” Sam said, patting you on the back.

“Thanks.” You grinned. “You’ll have to give me some pointers sometime.”

“Oh, anytime.” Sam walked over to Steve with you. “You see her up there? She’s like Superman.”

“I saw.” Steve agreed, arms crossed. “I think this calls for celebration, huh?”

“What did you have in mind, Cap?” You asked.

“Baja Blast?” He suggested, earning a laugh and a friendly shove.

“So you did like it?”

“It’s growin’ on me.” Steve admitted, that sly smile spreading. “Come on, my treat.”

“Oh I’m in.” You agreed. “Let me just take these monitors off.”

You turned in Bruce’s software, all of the vital-measuring instruments, cuffs and little sensors hooked to your arms and legs and chest.

“So, give it to me straight, doc. Am I stable?”

“Yeah, everything looks great. Vitals are great, heartrate is fine, if not a little elevated, but I’d assume that’s just from the adrenaline.” Bruce noted, looking at the numbers and charts on the screen in front of him. “If you feel weird, let me know and I can check things over, do some scans, but otherwise, it seems…you’re doing better than you were before, actually.”

“Alright, good to know.” You said, trying not to let his words hurt you.

It was good news, it really was, but you could have felt this way for eight months, not two hours. You were thinking faster, processing things at better speeds. Hell, it even felt like you were breathing easier. Whatever that thing was that had been inside you, it had been sapping your health for your entire life. And now, you finally knew what it was like to be at a hundred percent instead of eighty.

Fuck Tony.

***

Steve drove the two of you through the nearest Taco Bell drive-thru to get snacks for yourselves and the rest of the team.

You ordered your regular, your Baja Blast, and everything the others had requested, running it on one of the team cards Tony had given you all. On the drive back, Steve had a question you didn’t really expect.

“Where do people shop for art supplies these days?”

“Jo Ann’s or Michael’s. They have a little bit of everything. Fabric, yarn, paint, beads, basically everything you could need. Why, you got a DIY project planned?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He grinned. “I don’t do much shopping, so I didn’t know where to start.”

“We should go sometime. I was running low on yarn.” You said, taking a sip of your Baja Blast.

“Make anything cool lately?”

“I’m working on a sunflower cardigan for Wanda.”

“Oh she’ll love that.”

“Yeah, she’s the one who sent me the pattern.” You chuckled. “It’s gonna look really cute on her.”

The two of you got back a few minutes later, a drove of hungry superheroes descending upon the paper bags you were carrying almost instantly. It was a welcome sight, a full table of laughing people. Your family. You felt a little different now, but nothing had changed. Not really. They still liked you, still smiled at you, joked with you, laughed with you.

So then why had Tony felt the need to hide it for so long?

***

Days later, Steve walked down the paint aisle of the craft store, picking out some brushes, some canvas, paints. He found the perfect one for your eyes, another hue for your forcefields. The amount of time he spent looking at you made it easy.

He smiled to himself. The little guy from Brooklyn would be proud of him, getting back into art beyond the sketches he did from time to time. It reminded him, though, that he needed to swing back to that antique shop and finally pick up the painting that had been waiting for him for so long.

Surely, he could keep it hidden until your big day.

Happiest Place on Earth

Being an Avenger often brought along unexpected adventures and opportunities. Today, that adventure was a theme park. Apparently, Disneyland was putting in a whole section in homage to the Avengers and Tony wanted you all to be there.

And though the two of you weren’t on the best terms at the moment, who were you to fight a free vacation?

You and Wanda helped pick out each others’ outfits for your day off following the grand opening. But today, you were wandering the park in uniform, side by side with Captain America himself, as you walked side by side down the street in the parade.

They’d tried to teach you all to do a little dance as you walked. The only one even attempting it was Scott, who was absolutely thrilled to be there. Supposedly, his daughter Cassie would be there to see him, too. You hadn’t met her yet, but Scott loved her to the moon and back. With him as a dad, she’d have to turn out pretty cool.

“Waypoint,” Steve said, motioning you over to see a little girl dressed not as a princess, but as you, your star shining proudly on her chest.

“Hey there, superstar.” You smiled, giving her a high-five. “You look great!”

“I want to be a hero just like you someday!” She said, her voice impossibly small. Impossibly innocent. It was a cute moment, but you couldn’t help but hope she’d never have to be. That someday, you and the rest of the team would get the world to a place where superheroes weren’t needed, where there was just peace. Where people with powers could simply be like everyone else.

“You already are, hon.” You told her, posing for a picture as her mom held up her phone.

You continued along the parade route and saw a couple. The guy was wearing a Captain America hoodie, the girl was wearing a Waypoint shirt. You wondered if Steve noticed, but didn’t have to ask when you saw his eyes lingering there, his mask all but hiding the faint blush on his cheeks.

A few teenage girls stopped you and you signed their autograph books, throwing something together. Despite your time on the team, there had never really been a time you’d been stopped for them. It was an odd feeling, being famous for something like this.

Steve signed with confidence, though. Sometimes you forgot that before he actually got to go out in the field and make a difference, he’d done a stint as a celebrity, touring the country to sell war bonds.

Someday, you’d bribe him enough to show you the videos, if he hadn’t already burnt all of them first.

“Are you excited for your birthday?” One asked. “I heard your twenty-fifth is coming up.”

“Oh! Yeah! I mean, I guess I’m more anxious than anything. It’s the big one.”

“You’re going to have every twenty-four year old in the country on the edge of their seat waiting to find out if they’re the one.” Another joked.

You laughed along. “Yeah, I guess it’s coming whether I want it to or not.”

You were near the end of the route, so it wasn’t long after that you were off the hook to walk around a bit, get something to eat.

Steve turned to you, trying to sound casual when he asked, “You don’t want your birthday to come?”

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged. “I’m not entirely set on the idea of pledging myself to some stranger for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not always a stranger.” Steve said. “Maybe you already know them.”

“That’s true. That would be…I mean, it would be better, sure, but…I’m pretty sure the only person I want it to be already has someone else.” You couldn’t meet his eyes when you said it, afraid of the answer, one way or the other, whether he finally said it outright, or if those pretty blue eyes said it for him.

You couldn’t handle the heartbreak.

“Wait—”

“(Y/N), we have time to hop on Pirates of the Caribbean.” Wanda said, swooping in to save you. She was really good at that. She took your hand and the two of you ran off in the direction of the ride.

Natasha walked up behind Steve, hand in hand with Bucky, who was nibbling on a churro. Obviously, they had heard the exchange.

“Fuck.” Steve muttered, shaking his head. “Well, great.”

“What’s going on, soldier?” Natasha asked.

“She’s gonna be so pissed when she finds out it’s me.” Steve said, voice small, as he watched you walk away. He waited for you to glance back at him. You didn’t.

“What are you talking about? Steve, she’s liked you for months. She listened to Songs for Sad Bitches when she thought she couldn’t have you.” Natasha reasoned. “Feelings like that don’t just go away.”

Bucky chimed, “Are we forgetting the night at the cabin?”

“That was three months ago.” Steve said, staring at his shoes. “I…I’ve been keeping it from her this entire time, hiding it from her, letting her feel like shit and stress herself out over it. I shouldn’t have gotten so close in the first place, but…I just can’t keep myself away from her. She looks at me with those eyes and I just…crumble.”

“I hear ya, pal.” Bucky said, patting his arm. “But you remember the look in her eyes at the bar that night? You remember the things she said to you? That (Y/N) is still a month away. She still has feelings for you. She still loves you, and she’s…she’s even excited to see the little guy.”

“She loved the little guy.” Steve agreed, smiling softly, remembering the look on your face when he’d found you, laying on his porch, the tenderness with which you’d whispered his name. In a world that constantly looked down on him, figuratively and literally, you were the first person aside from Bucky that made him feel loved, like he had something waiting for him.

Steve let out a long breath, nodding. Bucky was right. Back in the forties, he’d been the level-headed voice of reason, getting Steve out of the trouble his big mouth got him into. Even in the twenty-first century, he was still doing his damage control. In a way, he had missed it.

“Alright, now I know I missed some chapters.” Sam was on Steve’s other side, holding an ice cream sandwich, eyes wide. “When exactly were you going to tell me your soulmate is on the team?”

Steve chuckled. “Surprise?”

“Welcome to the inner circle, Sam. We’ve been waiting for you.” Natasha joked, wearing a grin.

“I mean, it explains a hell of a lot. Here I was thinking she was like…the grandkid of one of your old war buddies or something.”

“That’s what I thought!” Natasha agreed. She and Bucky finally filled Sam in on everything he’d missed over the past several months.

Steve’s eyes wandered back to that couple, dressed as him and you. They were holding hands, walking down the pathway, laughing, talking. They stopped for a selfie together in front of the Avengers Campus sign, which inevitably devolved into a kiss.

And in his head, he replaced them with him and you, carefree and in love in the happiest place on earth.

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Maybe, if you lied very still, you could convince the universe no time was passing at all. You were staring at the ceiling, flat on your back, the weight of the world resting flat against your entire body. No, against your soul, weighing you down.

Tomorrow was your birthday and you were not ready. Not in the slightest.

You let out a loud groan, forcing yourself to get up, to get dressed. You chucked your pajamas in your hamper, throwing on some joggers and a t-shirt, the old Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. It was a simple one, black with stars scattered across the fabric, the yellow logo emblazoned across the front.

There was a knock on your door.

“It’s open.” You called, not turning around to see who it was. You put on your star necklace, the one Steve had given you almost an entire year before. You tucked it under the fabric of the shirt.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Steve asked, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes searching.

“Not well.” You sighed, turning to look at him.

“I didn’t either when mine was coming. I swear I didn’t get any sleep for a week.” He said, eyes soft. “I, um, got breakfast. It’s in the kitchen. Those breakfast sandwiches you like.”

Your lips curled into a tired smile. “Thanks. That’s really sweet.”

“Of course. Whatever you want today, just say the word.”

You crossed the room, walking right up to him and straight into his arms. He held you to him, read resting against yours. For a moment, he questioned if it had already happened, if he’d gotten the days mixed up.

If you already knew.

“I just need you to hold me.” You whispered, holding in tears. You should have been excited. It should have felt like Christmas Eve. You should have been absolutely buzzing with excitement for the day to come.

But you weren’t ready to let him go, for everything about your relationship to change. You needed more time.

“I can do that.” He said softly, thumbs etching circles into your shoulders. “As long as you need me to. I’ve got you. Always.”

“Okay.” You whispered, voice breaking. The tears finally slipping down your cheeks. It was all you could say to keep yourself from saying ‘I love you.’

You ate breakfast with the others. Natasha could tell you had been crying, so after, she took you, Wanda, Kate, and Yelena out of the house. It was a welcome distraction. The mall was the perfect spot. It always was.

“What about this one?” Wanda held another dress against you, imagining you in it for your birthday party the following night. Steve had taken it upon himself to be the entire planning committee, which was why he was back at the Compound with the boys, getting things in order. The only thing he wanted to have to worry about tomorrow was the party itself.

“Does it come in blue?” You asked, eyeing up the rack she’d pulled it off of.

“It does.” She smiled, putting the red one back in exchange for blue. It was sparkling, form-fitting, a little less formal than the one you’d worn to your Avengers induction, but it had the same vibe, just shorter and with a deeper neckline.

“Perfect.” You said, turning towards the dressing room. You handed Wanda your purse and slipped into it. It fit perfectly in all the right places. You did a little turn in the mirror, satisfied, and then walked out into the store again, where Natasha was nodding in approval.

“Alright, dress acquired, where to next?” Kate asked, checking the list she was keeping on her phone.

“I heard there is a Lego store here.” Yelena said absentmindedly, glancing out the door. “We should go.”

“Is that where you got Steve’s Millennium Falcon?” Natasha asked.

“Steve has a Millennium Falcon???” Yelena asked, eyes wide. “I want one.”

“I got it online. It was on sale.”

“I didn’t know Steve liked Star Wars.” Kate noted as you walked back into the dressing room to change back into your Star Wars shirt, ironically enough.

“Loves it. He’s a big nerd. Bucky, too. Buck’s more of a fantasy nerd, though. He’s super into Lord of the Rings.” You could hear the grin in Natasha’s voice when she said it.

“Steve said it was the first thing he watched out of the ice. Star Wars, that is. I don’t know if he’s seen Lord of the Rings yet.” You added. “And he’s talked about going to the Stark Expo back in the day. Vintage nerd.”

“Nice.”

Once you’d paid for the dress, you moved on to the Lego Store, where Yelena just about ran to the Millennium Falcon set to see it for herself.

“Lego typewriter.” Natasha noted, pointed at it. “Speaking of vintage nerd.”

“Oh I’m sure he’d get a kick out of that.” You laughed. Depending on how things settled after your soulmate bomb dropped, maybe you’d come back and get it for him. At the very least, you were pretty sure you’d still be friends after it all. And friends built Lego sets together.

“Hey, wait, there are Legos of us?” Kate asked, eyeing up the display where Steve had, you assumed, gotten your matching keychains. “This is news to me.”

“Let me see.” Yelena walked over and gasped, eyes falling on her Lego self.

Wanda smiled softly, head tilting as she looked at you. She rested her hand on your shoulder.

“It will be fine. To quote someone I care about very deeply: whoever they are, they are lucky to have you. Now, let’s forget about it for a bit.”

“Alright.” You agreed, letting her lead you over to the Build-a-Figure station, where you started mixing and matching the pieces. It was hard, but you let your worries melt away, at least for a little while.

***

Meanwhile, Steve was walking around the Compound with a clipboard, making sure everything was ready for the next day. Scott and the ants were helping put up the decorations. He’d sent Sam and Bucky to pick up the cake, and Tony had taken it upon himself to take care of the catering. A peace offering of sorts.

Steve was putting together the playlist for the party himself, hand-picking songs you liked, recommendations from Nat and Wanda, songs from Taylor Swift’s discography, and then, finally, a special song he’d been saving.

Steve liked to listen to his records in the privacy of his room, away from the ears of members of the team who would tease him for it. They were forties jazz mostly, made the place feel a little more like home, especially when you weren’t around. But there was a song that he would soon share with you, as soon as tomorrow came. He hesitated to add it, but eventually, he pressed his thumb to the song, adding it to the playlist.

He closed his eyes, remembering that moment. The last song of the night before Val’s closed. It was one of the last times he had gone there.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…” The singer’s voice had floated across the room, words striking him to his core. He got chills, opening his eyes again. God, he couldn’t wait for you to know. Sure, he was a supersoldier, but he was pretty sure the weight of his secret was finally crushing him.

***

You retreated to your room when you and the girls got home. It was kind of late. You’d decided to catch a movie while you were out. You didn’t mind. You were beyond ready to go to sleep and just…get it over with.

Off with the Band-Aid.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Steve asked, finding Natasha and Kate in the dining room.

“She went to her room for the night.” Kate replied innocently.

“Alright.” He nodded. “How was she doing?”

“Not great.” Yelena said, already into the box of the Lego set she’d settled on. “I mean, she’s like fine. Just…kinda sad.”

“Quiet.” Wanda agreed. Vision had his arm around her.

“Okay, well…” Steve put his hands on his hips, thinking. What was the harm in telling them now? Warning the rest of them what they’d be waking up to tomorrow. “Vision, can you round up the others?”

“Of course.” Vision nodded. “To be clear, I am to leave out (Y/N)?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everyone but (Y/N).” Steve confirmed, leading the others upstairs to one of the lounges. He sat on the couch, mouth resting against his hands, elbows on his knees. Tony sauntered in, followed by Bruce. The rest of the team filed in one by one, finding seats, staring at Steve, waiting for answers.

“So, um, thanks for coming everyone.” Steve said, meeting their eyes.

“Uh, Cap, we’re missing (Y/N).” Clint said, looking around.

“That’s the idea.” Natasha replied.

“Is this a party planning meeting? Do the decorations look okay? I really thought the ants did a good job.” Scott said.

“They did a great job.” Steve reassured him, taking a moment to collect his words. “So, as you all know, tomorrow is (Y/N)’s twenty-fifth birthday. And…I need to finally come clean. I’m her soulmate.”

“Okay, now that I did not know.” Tony said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Your long lost love is one of our housemates?”

“Tony.” Nat shot him a look.

“No, I’m serious. I’m just…I’m relieved is all.” Tony admitted with a sigh. “I…the reason I didn’t tell her is because I didn’t know if Illustrians…I didn’t know if she’d have one. I figured…” He shook his head, staring at the floor. “I didn’t want to bring her down when it was so close.”

Steve took off the cuff on his wrist, finally finally showing him the mark that had been there since his twenty-fifth birthday in 1943. Your name, written in your neat, careful handwriting, first, middle, and last.

“Why not tell her, then?” Kate asked. “Why haven’t you told her?”

“That’s a little more complicated.” Steve thought. “When I turned twenty-five…she was there. In a few hours, when she goes to sleep, she’s headed to the forties to see…well, me, before the serum. I don’t know how or why, but…when she got there, she didn’t know. I didn’t want to risk changing anything. Butterfly effect and all that.”

“Time travel?” Bruce asked, eyes bugging out of his head. “You are just casually telling us that time travel exists.”

“I guess so.”

“Woah. Bruce. We’ve got some tests to run.” Tony said.

“Oh I am already taking notes in my head.”

The meeting ended shortly after that. The rest of the team gave him supportive words and smiles, but Tony’s were the most poignant.

“I don’t know what you’re still doing here, Rogers. Go see her off.”

“Right. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good luck, Steve.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

***

You closed the door after Steve left, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall, steady and even. You let another tear roll down your cheek. All of the crying was exhausting. You just wanted to be done with it.

You sat on the bed, taking off your bra and chucking it across the room, laying back to relax and, hopefully, get some sleep.

The exhaustion must have been helping, because as soon as you closed your eyes, you felt the drifting start. It was strong and immediate, pulling you down through the mattress. You felt like you were floating and falling at the same time, limbs tingling. Your eyes shot open when you realized what was happening, but it was already too late.

And then everything went white.

Right Where You Left Me

In 1943, you walked hand in hand with your soulmate down the sidewalk, through Steve’s favorite park. It happened to be a shortcut between his favorite diner and the local theater. He liked to sit there sometimes, sketch couples walking by. Never had he imagined he’d be one of the couples someday.

For the past week, he’d about worried himself sick. He’d barely slept, he’d had no appetite, he’d had the worst art block of his life. Every time he fell asleep, he had dreams of finding his soulmate, only for them to be some pretty but shallow girl who didn’t want anything to do with him. He had nightmares of a grayed out mark like Bucky’s, or worse, no mark at all. Which is why when he’d run out that morning to get the mail, he hadn’t even checked yet.

Part of him didn’t want to.

And then he’d found you out there, laying under the mailbox.

And now, he was holding your hand.

You caught his eyes, grinning. He smiled back, heart racing. Gosh, maybe he needed to sit down.

“Hey, could we sit for a minute?” He asked, motioning to the bench beside the path and trying his best not to sound out of breath.

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, following him and sitting down beside him, hand still clasped tight in yours. “Do you have an inhaler?”

“What’s an inhaler?”

“Shit, right, they probably haven’t been invented yet…” You murmured, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“You…know about the asthma.” He realized.

You nodded. “I know about all of it, Steve.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And you’re still looking at me with those eyes?”

“What eyes?” You tilted your head, innocent. “There’s no one else I’d rather be looking at, Steve. Just you.”

“Okay, now I know you’re not real.”

“Am I gonna have to spend all day convincing you I am?”

“You just might.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a reddish mark there. “Oops. Sorry, let me—”

Steve grabbed your hand, stopping you from wiping it away. “Leave it. Bucky comes home covered in ‘em all the time. I’ve never gotten one before.”

“I am going to cover you in lipstick marks by the end of today.”

He grinned, finally standing up to keep moving. “Is that a promise?”

***

It was nearing the end of the night. Steve could feel his time with you was nearly spent. So he led you by the hand to the stairs at the back of the bar, the ones that led up to the roof. He’d found himself up there alone on quite a few nights, when the double dates Bucky set up inevitably crumbled.

It was a beautiful night, clear. The stars were out in force, dotting the sky in perfect constellations. In the distance, fireworks boomed. It was one thing he’d always loved about his birthday.

“Wow, this is great.” You murmured, looking out at the city. It was like you were living in a photograph, the old buildings looming in the skyline, vintage cars driving down the street.

“My favorite spot.” He explained, walking over to the railing.

“I can see why.” You let out a sigh, gripping his hand tighter, fingers laced with his. You turned towards him, looking at the smattering of kiss marks on his cheeks. You’d kept true to your word.

Steve twirled you around, pulling you closer, a soft, romantic smile on his face. “God, you are so beautiful.”

“Let me show you something.” You told him, drawing his eyes to your hand where you made a tiny, gentle forcefield, its blue light shining across his features.

“What…is that?” He asked, staring at the orb. “Is that how you got here? Where were you keeping it?”

You curled your fingers, letting the bubble fizzle away. “It’s not a thing. It’s part of me. Something I’ve been able to do since college. There are a lot of people like me where I’m from, people with gifts. Steve…after I leave, your life is about to get a lot weirder than time travel and forcefields. I can’t tell you how or why, but…”

“I appreciate the heads-up.” He assured you, smiling. “And I love you, too. I didn’t say it down there, and I know I just met you this morning, but…I…I love you so much, doll. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

“You, Steve Rogers, are going to do amazing things.” You whispered, taking his hand again.

“Says the girl with superpowers.”

“I’m serious.” You told him. “I grew up hearing stories about you. I wanted to be just like you. Brave beyond words, fiercely loyal. I guess it only makes sense that we share a soul.”

Steve grabbed your face with both hands, kissing you deeply, lips dancing against your own, heart racing, knees wobbling like Jell-O. He rested his nose against yours, breathing shallow.

“Careful, there. Don’t let me take your breath away.”

He shook his head, kissing you one last time before murmuring, “Oh doll, I could do this all day.” He glanced back towards the door, music from downstairs faint. He took your hand. “Let’s go back downstairs. I think they’re playing the last song.”

You smirked, following him. “I thought you had two left feet.”

He shrugged. “I’m a quick learner.”

***

After you’d disappeared, Steve felt hollow, walking slowly back into the house. Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table, absently reading the paper. He met Steve’s eyes when he heard his trudging footsteps.

“She left you something.” Bucky chucked the bundle of fabric at him and Steve caught it, holding it out in front of him.

Your Star Wars shirt. Shit. He hoped you didn’t need it for anything. “Uh oh.”

“Might fit you.” Bucky chuckled. “Obviously you can’t wear it out, but…”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, eyes sparkling with tears. He held it to his face, inhaling the scent of your perfume like it was oxygen. “God, I miss her.”

“I know, pal. It’ll be alright. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it will be.” Bucky’s eyes fell to the grayed out mark on his own wrist, so faint it was barely legible. “You just gotta take it one day at the time.”

Don’t Know Where, Don’t Know When

Your veins were on fire. The blinding white shimmered, giving way to…your ceiling. You were laying on your bed again, sunlight streaming through the window.

You blinked a few times, feeling flowing back into your limbs slowly. Your heart raced. You sat up, staring at your hands. Soon enough, your eyes found your wrist. The letters were still there, spelling out the name of your soulmate.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“Oh my god.” You looked up and met your reflection’s eyes, your hair still set in elegant 40s waves. Your pajamas were gone, replaced with the blue dress. Your lips were a deep shade of red, the same shade you’d left all over Steve’s face last night. A different Steve in a different time.

You let out a breath, standing up and walking towards the door, your new-vintage forties heels clicking with every step. You marched straight out to the kitchen, where Steve was sitting at the table, fiddling with his cuff. He was sitting across the table from Bucky and Natasha, whose eyes tried to warn Steve that you were approaching behind him.

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N). Um, how’d you sleep?” He asked, eyes widening when he saw the way you were dressed. His first love, in the flesh, just the way he remembered her.

“I didn’t.” You replied, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the room, snatching up the folding footstool leaned on the end counter as you passed.

“Good luck, pal.” Bucky laughed.

You just about kicked open the door of the conference room, skirt swishing as you did. You closed the door behind you, locking it with a click.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but—”

You unfolded the stool, getting up on top of it and pushing him against the wall. You crushed your lips against his, hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. He moaned into your mouth, frozen for a moment until the rest of him got the hint. His eyes fluttered shut, strong arms wrapped around your waist, head tilting as he deepened the kiss.

Your grip on his shirt weakened, arms looping behind his neck, holding him close as his lips left yours. He rested his forehead against yours, breaths ragged. He laughed, tucking his face into the crook of your neck to hide the tint of his cheeks.

“Not quite where I thought this conversation was gonna go.” He murmured against you, pressing kisses up your neck.

You reached for his left hand, fingers lingering against the strip of leather that was still hiding your name.

“You can take it off.” He told you, eyes sparkling. “It’s about time.”

Carefully, you undid the metal bit holding it in place and peeled it back, revealing your name etched there onto his skin, your handwriting unmistakable. You choked on a sob, tears slipping down your face.

“The whole time?” You asked, grabbing onto his hand with both of yours. “You knew the whole time?”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, eyes falling to the hand you were holding. “I…You didn’t know when I met you. I didn’t want to risk…changing anything.” I didn’t want to risk losing you.

“I can’t believe…Here I thought I was your rebound.” You laughed, sniffling through your tears of relief. “I thought you were falling in love with me and I would be the asshole for getting a soulmate and breaking your heart. And it was me the whole time.”

“That’s why you were worried we wouldn’t be friends?” He asked softly.

You nodded, more tears falling when you remembered the way you’d felt day before.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He shook his head, wiping your tears away. “Honestly…I’m really glad we got to be friends first. Most soulmates don’t get that. It made me appreciate every moment with you even more. It was weird and hard, but…loving you was easy. Always has been. It was not telling you that was crushing me.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner…” You said, shaking your head. “All of those little moments…the reading chair, the Hunger Games marathon, the cabin…” Your heart ached remembering the night in the cabin.

You remembered him sleeping against the wall in the infirmary after you’d been knocked unconscious, unwilling and unable to leave you alone when you were hurt. You remembered the bewildered look in his eyes when he thought you were dressed up for a date instead of Wanda’s birthday outing. The argument about whether or not you should go on the Red Room mission, when he was more worried about your safety than anything else, broken over the idea of something happening to you when he wasn’t there to help. The Lego set you’d spent hours building together, his hands so careful, fingers brushing against yours every so often. The mission in the Amazon, when the only thing he could think about while pseudo-drunk was you.

It was always you. It had always been you.

“Steve…”

“Are we gonna be okay?” He asked quietly, watching you, searching your eyes for some flicker of disappointment. “It’s okay if you need time. I’d understand. It’s…well, it’s a lot to process.”

“I just…” You sighed, squeezing his hand. “I can’t believe I get to have you. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Believe it.” He said. He raised your hand, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. “I love you, (Y/N) (L/N). I always have.”

“I love you too.” You confessed, earning that handsome smile he was so famous for. You couldn’t help but admire him, your supersoldier, the man that time had saved specifically for you. “I don’t need time. I just need you.”

You looked down at your new dress, realizing for the first time what it meant that you were still wearing it. You’d left your other clothes behind.

“Right. Before I forget.” Steve said, presenting a tattered, faded wad of fabric that had once been a shirt. “You left this at my place.”

You unfurled the fabric to find your missing Star Wars shirt, or what was left of it. You stared at it, dumbfounded. “You’ve had this the whole time?!”

“Took it everywhere with me.” He admitted. “Storming Hydra bases in Europe, Battle of New York, Sokovia, everywhere. I used to wear it, back when I was…you know, but it didn’t fit after my growth spurt. Sorry I couldn’t get it to you in better shape.”

“This is why you like Star Wars.” You realized, staring at it and looking back up at him.

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.” You laughed, shaking your head. You handed it back to him. “I think you need this more than I do, Steve. You can hold onto it for me if you want.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course. I know it’s safe in your hands.”

Your shirt wasn’t the only thing that was safe in his hands. You were pretty sure, finally, that your heart was, too.

You stepped down from your footstool. Steve watched with an amused smile, chuckling.

“We had less of a height difference last night.” You reminded him, folding up the stool.

“I remember.” He reached for your hand and you gave it to him. He brought it to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles with care. “God, I missed this. I missed you so much, doll. Which is silly because you’ve been here, but…”

“I get it.” You reassured him, dropping his hands and wrapping your arms around him instead.

He hugged you to his chest, resting his head against yours and letting out a long breath. You could tell he’d been holding it in for a long, long time.

***

Before you changed out of your forties look, Wanda insisted on a little photoshoot, which you were grateful for. Looking back, it would be fun to have pictures, even just as more proof that it had actually happened. Steve obviously sat in on some of the photos.

You asked some questions, of course, such as “who all knew?” The answer was everyone, but not until the night before when he’d finally come clean to the team. Before that, it had just been Bucky and Nat, and more recently, Sam.

Wanda claimed she had felt something, but never pried. Anyone could see it, though. Anyone with eyeballs. The way he looked at you had always been with love.

You changed into your dress for the party, necklace on display between your collarbones. You touched up your makeup a little bit, but left it. Bucky’s vintage lady friend had done a good job.

Tony showed up about an hour before the party was supposed to start, instructing the caterers. He stopped in his tracks, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. “Rogers tell you my side of the story?”

“He did.” You nodded. “And I appreciate you looking out for me. Kind of. In your own way.”

“And I am sorry, for the record. Maybe there would have been a way to bring it up without…you know.” Tony shrugged. “Happy birthday, kid. I’m glad it all worked out for you and the old-timer.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Got in touch with your parents. You were right. They’re off-planet. But I have their contact info if you want to…”

“Yeah, I’d really like that. Thank you, Tony.”

“Of course. I’ll get that all squared away.”

Steve walked up to you as Tony walked away, eyes landing on the necklace there. You realized, as he stared at it, that you’d been wearing it the night before. You hadn’t taken it off before bed.

“Is that what you meant when you said you had help picking it out?” You realized, putting the pieces together. “I thought you meant Natasha or something.”

“No, I uh…” He grinned, nodding. “I got a good look at it that night. You never said who gave it to you, but I figured it may as well be me.”

Steve was wearing a blue button-up, his nice black slacks that did everything for his legs. He’d shaved, combed his hair all neat. His hand settled on the small of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You stood on your toes, hooking an arm around his neck and tugging him down for a kiss, lips melting against his. You felt his warm hand settle on your jaw, tilting your head just so. He smelled good, like his woodsy mahogany cologne. His breath was fresh, spearmint. And his lips were soft, confident but gentle.

His nose nuzzled yours, breath warm as it fanned across your cheeks. He met your eyes for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling you against him again. Now that he could touch you freely, he just couldn’t get enough.

“Bout time.” Bucky chuckled, walking into the room, Natasha’s hand in his. She looked great, wearing a nice red dress. “How are you two doing?”

“Great, Buck.” Steve replied, still not letting you go as he swayed. “I’m doin’ great. How are you, birthday girl?”

“It’s the best one I’ve had so far.” You said, echoing his words when you’d asked him the same question. You kissed him again, lips finding his easily.

He smiled, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Same here.” You told him. “I’ve had a crush on you since middle school. Imagine how I feel.”

“Middle school???” He asked, laughing.

“Yeah, why do you think I was crying at Air and Space Museum?”

“I was still in the ice!”

“Middle school girl crushes know no bounds, Captain Rogers.” Kate said, her and Yelena walking into the room next, more or less matching in their black dresses and purple and red accents. “I had plenty of crushes on old dead guys when I was in middle school. No offense.”

He laughed. “None taken.”

The party guests arrived in waves. The remainder of the team came, along with the extended family: Maria Hill, Jane Foster and her intern Darcy. A handful of your college friends came, buzzing about the prospect of being at the Avengers Compound, as well as the fact that you were an Avenger now, since most of them hadn’t seen you since that change had occurred.

You greeted them all as they came in, smiling and laughing and joking around like you did during the good old days. You introduced them to your new friends, your team. The playlist Steve had agonized over set the perfect tone. Some songs were upbeat and danceable, some were chill and slow, giving the couples in the room the chance to pair off and dance together.

During one of such songs, Steve offered his hand.

“Come on, let’s dance.”

“Like old times…” You murmured, hand sliding into his as he led you out onto the makeshift dancefloor.

Steve faced you, strong hand settling on your waist, the other still wrapped around yours. There was only one song it could be, of course. His favorite of the songs you had shown him thus far. He spun you around, face hovering just behind your ear, where he pressed a tender kiss before spinning you back around to face him.

“Even if we’d met on a crowded street in 1944, and you were headed off to fight in the war…”

“You still would have been mine, we would have been timeless…” You sang softly, meeting his eyes, the smile on your face matching his own. It was like Taylor had plucked the lyrics from your very heart.

“I think we kind of are.” He said, head nuzzled to yours, still swaying along to the song.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You replied.

When the song was over, Steve leaned in and asked, “Can I give you your presents now?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded.

He led you out of the room and down the hall to one of the conference rooms, where he’d stashed them earlier. There were four things waiting there. A medium box, a tiny box, and two easels covered with sheets.

He turned a chair around and motioned for you to sit, so you did. He handed you the bigger box first, and the infamous clinking sound gave it away before you could even get the wrapping paper off.

“Oh I think I know what this is.”

“I thought you might say that.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know if you had this one or not. I kept the receipt just in case…”

You tore the paper off to reveal a Lego set. It was Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “I don’t have this one yet. And I cannot wait to build it with you.”

“That makes two of us, doll.” He kissed your cheek, handing you the next present, the smaller one.

You tore the paper off to reveal a small velvet box. You gently lifted the lid and inside, there was a set of star earrings and a simple silver band. An eternity band, if you weren’t mistaken. Not an engagement ring, but it was a common gift for soulmates to give once they found each other, especially after they’d spent some time together.

“Oh, Steve…” You murmured, tears in your eyes. “They’re beautiful.”

“Can I?” He asked, kneeling down beside you and reaching for the ring.

“Yeah, of course.” You held out your hand and let him slide the band onto your finger. How he’d gotten your size, you didn’t know, but it fit perfectly.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since 1943.” He confessed, hands lingering around your own.

“It’s still so crazy to me.” You sighed, shaking your head. You met his eyes. “You were in love with me before I even existed, before my parents were even born.”

“I know.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek, another to the corner of your lips. “When I woke up after the ice, I…I was lonely for a while. I spent a lot of days alone, learning, trying to figure out the new world I’d found myself in. I was kind of bitter. I didn’t know why it had happened to me…until I found you in the mall that day. And then I knew it wasn’t some accident. What happened to me was fate. You’re my destiny. Everything that happened led me straight to you and it was all worth it.”

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” You sighed, fingers intertwining with his.

“Doing what?”

You leaned your forehead against his, whispering, “Making me fall more in love with you.”

“No promises.” He laughed, kissing your lips and pulling you to your feet. “On my twenty-fifth, you said you didn’t know I was an artist and I promised I’d show you sometime.”

He pulled the sheet off of the first painting. It was you, glowing a brilliant blue, streaks of energy emanating from you like you were a star. Your eyes glowed, hair blew in the breeze. Behind you was a bright waypoint and zipping through the air was his shield, all of it captured in breathtaking oil painting. You wondered how long it had taken.

“This is so beautiful, Steve.” You rested your head against him, arm wrapped around his waist. “You made me look like a freaking goddess.”

“Well now you know how I see you.” He reached for the sheet covering the second painting, a little more careful with this one due to the age of it alone. “You might recognize this one.”

It was the painting from the antique shop, the soulmates dancing in Val’s. Now, with your new knowledge, you recognized them immediately. It was you and Steve. Always had been. Tears slipped down your cheeks and your hand covered your mouth, muffling your sobs. There was a time when you were afraid no one would ever love you as much as the blond-haired man loved the girl he was dancing with and it had been you all along.

But that little blond guy had painted it for you, not knowing whether or not you would ever get to see it.

You turned to Steve, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders, head resting against his strong frame as you cried.

“I never stopped looking. Never.” Steve said, voice getting emotional. “Every base I went to, I met every nurse. At every coffee shop, I studied every college student in case you were there doing homework. Every time I went to the theater, I was scanning faces for yours. It became habit, looking for you. I…”

“You found me.” You said, pulling away to see his face. You brushed his tears away with a gentle thumb. “You found me, Steve.”

He surged forward, kissing you deeply, with a century of passion behind his lips. Your hand wandered into his soft blond hair, the other settling against his firm chest. His hands caressed your body, memorizing every curve and dip, lips chasing yours through every slight movement. And after, he pressed a dozen kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. You giggled, finally catching his lips again.

Your breaths were heavy when he finally pulled away; his, too. You straightened out the fabric of his dress shirt, pulling him back down for one last kiss. Then another. Then, really, one last one.

“I love you, Steve Rogers. Now, then, and always.”

“Now, then, and always.” He murmured, kissing you again.

The two of you cleaned yourselves up before returning to the rest of the party. You blew out your candles and made your wish, for an eternity side by side with him, that wherever life took the two of you, it took you there together.

You had a slice of cake and some ice cream, sitting on the couch next to Steve, legs draped over his. He used his thumb to dab a little frosting onto the tip of your nose. You smeared frosting across his cheek with yours, which made him laugh.

After, there was one last song before most of the guests would be headed home for the night. As soon as the instrumental kicked in, you got emotional. It had been your last song with Steve the night before, a song that had been written about those going off to war, their futures as uncertain as the stars were numerous.

For Steve, it held a different meaning. He’d known then that his time with you was running out. He had no idea when he’d see you again, just that it would be a long time and that the version of you he met wouldn’t even know him yet, that it might be years before he got to kiss you again.

And so, the two of you danced as you had the night before, on Steve’s twenty-fifth and on yours, your face tucked against his, his arms wrapped tight around you as you swayed gently to the music.

“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…”

Tags: @cap-lu20

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #marvel #mcu #soulmate au #steve rogers soulmate au #the avengers

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xehanortsreport · 21 days

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i love love love ansem but a lot of it is kinda in spite of how he's written and not because of it.

now, most of this is as a consequence of the franchise simply growing far outside of kh1 and ansem being shifted to a secondary antagonist as a result, but the change in his writing is still stark.

he's always been a darkness obsessed weirdo, but pretty much every game after 1 treats him as only this, or otherwise kind of relegating him to a physical manifestation of riku's trauma. and like, that's fine, he plays the role well.

but in kh1 there's this...mystique, and regal bearing, and a distinct intellectualism around him that kind of gets lost in later depictions. billy zane's performance is equally as dramatic as richard epcar's, but a lot more toned down. (though to be fair to epcar, he seems to adjust closer to this performance from DDD onward.)

he fairly whispers at times, a lot of the power in his voice comes from the restraint and controlled use of volume rather than just kinda. yelling all the time, which he does more of later.

you can tell he was and still is a researcher. he's observant and patient and even cordial, though condescending. it comes across less as uncomplicated malice and more as him just being upset that no one else grasps his magnum opus, no one else can understand him, everyone else is just /beneath/ him.

in later games, his taunts are just centered around "succumbing to darkness" and pretty much every line circles that same drain. but in kh1, it's more like he's gloating about his own superior understanding of the universe, of which darkness is but a piece.

like, just compare his lines from KH1 with his later lines. Here's KH1:

Yes he's throwing out his Darkness Lines, but I can't imagine DDD Ansem saying "perhaps this will enlighten you" lmao. Here is DDD and KH3:

i think a lot of it is because kh1 ansem was supposed to legitimately be a fallen sage king who went mad from The Horrors and like. i will die on the hill of that being a way better character than splitting him between xehanort and ansem the wise imposter. in my ideal world that plot point was never erased. anyway - they still could've kept that cool, cruel intelligence in him a little more.

to their credit, KH3 does kinda backpedal and restore some of his KH1 personality - as previously stated, Epcar cranks back his performance, and they even allow ansem to dabble in science again with his discussion on subject x (wow!) it's not perfect, he still gets pigeonholed into Guy Yelling About Darkness for half his scenes, but it was at least nice to see him with his original personality peeking through before he got banished into the void.

idk how to end this. ansem slaps if you're kh1pilled as much as i am. he should've been the one and only ansem. mad king truther over here.

#and i really really miss billy zane #that man gave such a haunting performance. miss billy zanesem every day.

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eldritch-spouse · 8 months

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Poll results: " What are we doing? " (40,3%)

(The demonoid says nothing when you set the cup down, an identical one untouched on his side of the table. He seems a lot more comfortable and confident than before, smug even. Your question rises an eye roll from him.)

" To the point. I can't say I fault you for that, though I did wish you had a more... Explorative side, at times. It certainly wouldn't hurt you. "

" Oh poor oblivious mentee, I almost envy you and your innocence. We're going to be pioneers after today, we're going to set the records straight. "

(His face suddenly twists in one of stress, trying once more to see something in you. To be sure of something- Whatever it may be.)

" The questions you've asked... I know you and I are the same. Don't you want to fill all the blanks our books so garishly leave? "

" Don't you think it's unacceptable?! "

(He doesn't wait for an answer, tutting.)

" I know you do. "

" So don't worry, there's simply no point in it. "

(A more relaxed look crosses that expanse of darkness you've been calling a face. You think you hear a gulp.)

" I've gotten my hands on a piece of scripture- No, that's not quite the word... "

(His brows furrow as he tries to redefine it, correct himself.)

" A set of... Procedures. Instructions. For something truly marvelous. If what little I was able to gouge on my own is correct, then we're dealing with something of such unimaginable proportions! "

(Hudd seems to tense in a fit of overwhelming emotion, all but shaking in place.)

" Mentee -My protégé- This is my Magnum Opus. With this, we can put everyone else to shame. "

(The demonoid's voice turns into a mewled tremble of elation that's almost uncomfortable to the ears.)

" We can do anything. "

(And, as if nothing had transpired, Hudsyn regains some of his composure, now almost seeming to sway in place, fantasizing far away, as he addresses you again.)

" Mm, but we have time. Is there something you want to get out of the way before we start? "

(The demonoid chuckles.)

" I know I get all sorts of jitters when I'm about to do something big. "

#Hudd oc #pinnie's art #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster oc #demon oc #monster boyfriend #minors dni

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iphigeniainaulis · 10 months

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Background paintings in Ikevamp and why they matter

...even if you are not familiar with art.

Warnings: minor spoilers for all routes, though I tried to keep it as vague as possible

Time to talk about background paintings in Ikemen vampire because…why not?

First, let me warn you that the following is nothing but a theory based on some visual resemblance. While it may occur that Ikemen designers wanted to hide a few Easter eggs, it's also fair to mention that sometimes the sky is blue just because it's Sunday morning, and that’s all.

Nevertheless, one detail may hint at the former statement being true. And this is because there’s a significant difference in how different paintings are shown in the game.

Some of them are blurry, overdark or too bright. While we can distinguish some unclear silhouettes, the rest is on our imagination.

For example, it seems that the first picture is the natural landscape (probably, sunset in the forest) as well as the second one with the Ionic style columns being placed in the center of a garden. Still, we’re not sure.

But the thing is it doesn’t matter. The amount of details the viewer is given is too small for us to make any art-historical assumptions. Based on these mere images we can figure out neither the artist who painted them nor the narrative. Therefore, these paintings have only a secondary function of background decorations and proof of demonstration of their owner’s wealth.

On the contrary, there are paintings that we can easily detach because their creators are too famous to be unfamiliar with. But even within this scope of paintings there is a slight differentiation due to the way they are incorporated in the game design.

Some of them have been revived by the hands of geniuses who once created them. This is the case of Leonardo’s Study of a woman’s head and Study of Hands

or Vincent’s Sunflower and the Olive trees

While it’s easy to reduce the meaning behind this design decision to simple hype, I think that it also serves as a visual representation of the suitors' character traits. What is the point of redrawing the painting that was already brought to life a long time ago? For Vincent it means years, for Leonardo - centuries. My guess is that for artists like them it's never enough. Life is too beautiful to be captured once and forever. A woman’s face is never a mystery solved. While for many people it’s okay to achieve a goal and forget about it the exact minute they are done, for geniuses like Leonardo and Vincent it’s always different. You must improve. You have to work further. There is always something new an artist’s eye can capture. That’s why they painted it again, again and again.

Let's move to another group of paintings. Spotting The Starry Night in Theo’s room is not a surprise because we know that, first of all, they’re brothers with Vincent, and, secondly, Theo is an art dealer.

What deserves to be brought into focus is that this work is regarded as the elder Van Gogh’s magnum opus. Sure, you can argue that the real Theo and Vincent thought little of this painting, calling it “a failure”. To which I reply that, again, this is a game for numerous people across the world, including those who are not familiar with art history. For many of us The Starry Night is viewed as one of the most popular art works, a special work, a valuable one. Therefore, by omitting historical accuracy Ikemen writers and designers try to achieve something more contributing to the plot - they try to evoke certain emotions. Putting the art of such great significance in the room of one of the brothers should be a clear indicator of the amount of respect and love the two of them share. Describing the emotional bond between them is mainly the prerogative of writers. But sometimes game design plays no less if not more meaningful role in the process of us as readers getting familiar with characters. The painting here becomes a subtle part of the plot as it highlights certain prerequisites of their relationship and prepares us for what is going to come next.

The latter is especially relevant to Vlad's route. The female portrait in the pureblood’s room is what takes background paintings in Ikevamp on a fundamentally new level - the level of plot-forming core.

Unlike those paintings I mentioned at the beginning, these ones are no longer a substitute for the room decor. Instead, they serve as a device that pushes the plot forward. It accumulates three major points that are relevant to the plot:

It adds the mystery element for triggering our curiosity. The portrait is ‘faceless’, and even though we all see the resemblance in features, there is this ‘if’ element. What if they decided to go with a classical Dracula plot? Eternal vampire loses his lover and waits for her to be reborn? Is this MC? Why can’t he remember her face?

The portrait itself allows us to get for a second into Vlad’s head and understand his feelings towards the mysterious woman. Vlad drawing her portrait is caused by the act of kindness she showed him. His entire motivation is connected to the single painting. She was the one who he wanted to be with. In order to do so, he had to become strong, to accept his tragic loss and move forward. The portrait serves as a silent reminder about what was his goal and why he chose the path he chose.

It circulates the narrative. At the beginning, MC faces the challenge of being the third one in the relationship with Vlad and his unknown lover. She questions the identity of that unknown counterpart of hers and secretly wants to learn more about her. By revealing the truth of Vlad’s past and their connection, MC figures out who was the woman in the painting which in some way pushes her to find enough strength for making a certain groundbreaking decision.

Finally, there is the third group of paintings that possess what I call ‘potential meaning’. These paintings maintain the main features of the two previous groups, namely, vague silhouettes combined with a rather clear narrative that somehow increases the possibility of them being more than a decorative object.

Take a look at the two paintings in Vincent’s room. In comparison to all other paintings these ones differ not only in terms of shape but also in terms of color. The lines seem to be more fluid, and the color palette is dominated by ochreous, blue and black which is typical for East Asian classical ink art. By taking a closer look, you can actually see the vague outlines of the sea and shrouded in mist mountains in the background. Personally to me such landscapes together with a specific composition angle remind of Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji which can be a great allusion to Van Gogh’s obsession with Japanese prints and their role in his artistic career.

The huge painting in Comte’s living room has been haunting me for years, I shall admit. It portrays a marine landscape with a single boat chasing the wild waters in the dark or right before the sunrise. When talking about marine art, the first person that comes to my mind is Ivan Aivazovsky. Yet, it is evident that Aivazovsky’s style was pure romanticism with heavy realistic elements, whereas this painting looks like it's more about light and colores rather than clear and precise lines. And also this sun, this strange orange sun..that can be spotted only in Claude Monet's Impression. Sunrise.

The mansion’s copy is a darker mirrow image of the original work. Nobody knows why Comte chose this painting for the mansion, but isn’t it a bit of irony that the painting that praises France, the country that suffered from the war with Prussia and was on its way to revitalisation, is located in the house that is about to face the battle between the lesser vampires and their haunters or rather the figurative war of two different morals (we are yet to know about it, though)?

Another version is that the painting serves as a metaphoric description of the character. In various routes MC mentions how Comte reminds her of the sun that made manifest, and everything supports this claim to be true, from his golden eyes and hair, to the brightness of the room and..paintings that symbolize the master of the mansion.

Finally, I wouldn't forget about the massive backlash Impressionists had to face at the early stage of the movement’s existence. It was only until the 5th Impressionist exhibition in 1880 that the artists finally got praised by critics. Just a bit more than 10 years before the MC’s appearance. However, we know that the creation of the mansion had taken place before this event. So, my point is that probably Monet’s painting was purchased by the greater vampire during the times when Impressionists were still harshly criticized by the Salon. And if so, the display of the painting that represents the les misérables of the art world speaks so much volume about Comte’s character and devotion to fulfill what he perceives as his noblesse oblige - to support those in need, to help them reveal their talent no matter what social class they belong to.

The game room’s central painting is another amusing detail as it’s completely out of mood. Playing cards, watching chess games or taking any other light leisure activity with a glass of brandy in your hand, you rarely expect to raze your gaze from the table only to stare at the image of ruins. Yet, this is what we get here - a typical capriccio painting like those of Alessandro Salucci and Leonardo Coccorante.

Capriccio artists dared to do something new in the history of art - they put real archeological signs into fantasy surroundings, sometimes from the same time period that the artists lived in. To an extent, they brought the ancient past and allowed it to live in the future, which is not a bad allusion to the original purpose of the mansion’s creation.

And here is what we can spot in Shakespeare’s room. At first, I didn't think much about this painting in Will’s bedroom but something felt odd. And then I understood.

You see, there’s this famous Vincent’s work named Cafe Terrace at Night. The painting is created from the north eastern corner that allows us to see the starry night without facing an obstacle in the form of the cafe's roof.

But this is how the modern cafe looks from a different perspective. Yellow elongated building with two wide niches that serve both as windows and entrance.

Do you see it, right? RIGHT?

I headcanon that Vincent was so eager to spoil his new friend with a present that he decided to redraw his favorite work and give it to the bard. But being an empathetic and observant one, Vincent immediately figured out Will’s admiration of everything unique and rare, so he decided to create a completely new version of his own painting instead of just redrawing it from the same angle as he did with sunflowers.

Aaand this is what we get in the living room. Random at first sight, the composition of various unrelated pictures actually makes sense. The most evident one is, of course, the image of theater curtains. What else should we expect to see in the manor of the great Bard of Avon? The same curtains, by the way, appear in almost every scene where MC and her suitor are invited to Shakespeare’s play.

Just a small detail, but I think this is one of those rare occasions when we can actually name the place Ikemen writers took inspiration from (apart from, of course, Louvre and the University of Paris). What helps us here is the curtains over which we spot golden metal lambrequin with a cartouche that imitates the image of the sun.

Such a prolonged lambrequin with the sun image (in honor of Louis XIV, the Sun King and also the father of the Paris Opera) in the center actually exists only in one Parisian theater - Opera Garnier, where in 1888 Shakespeare’s Roméo et Juliette was staged.

Just to make sure, look at the curtains in some of the most popular theaters that existed during the historical period in Ikevamp - Théâtre du Châtelet or the Opéra-Comique. You won't find a similar one.

Two last possible Easter eggs may be related to the two historical objects that existed during Shakespear’s era. The first one is still connected to the curtains for as you see, there were rumors (modern archeological findings prove them to be true) that the first venue of Shakespeare’s plays was called ‘the Curtain Theatre’.

And the second thing I want to point at is two images of the chair. Honestly, I highly doubt that a person like Will who has an almost narcissistic obsession with expensive staff would put a painting of such low value in his private apartment. But I can understand it, if this is not an image of some random piece of furniture but the well-known Shakespeare’s Courting Chair, wherein, according to William Henry, ‘the bard was used to sit, during his courtship, with his Anne upon his knee’.

Anyway, I hope it wasn't too much. Thank you for reading!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #cybird #ikemen series #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp comte #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp theo #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen le comte #ikemen leonardo #ikemen theo #ikemen vincent #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen vlad

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light-yaers · 11 months

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Take Care: Chapter Six

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: this is my magnum opus. please don’t hate me.

Word count: 8.5k

Chapter Six

As much as you tried to be normal about it all, it was impossible for you not to innately freak out. You slept on yours and Roy’s confrontation for the remainder of the weekend, and when Monday rolled around, you thought about pulling a sickie and not going into work.

Maybe it was just you, but when you felt embarrassed about something of your own doing, you didn’t want to see anyone. Especially not the person who’d seen you embarrass yourself the entire fucking time, in the form of Roy fucking Kent. It was exposing, and made you feel overly vulnerable, on top of still being internally pissed off that he’d gone into this knowing that he was never interested in reading what you’d written. All of it mixed up into a cake that only made you feel sick, so you did the most rational thing that any embarrassed person would do– isolated yourself.

You stayed in your office all week, with the door closed. When you left each day, you made sure you were the last to leave, double checking the corridors for stray players, coaches and Roy himself. In the mornings, you walked a different route to work, one that didn’t follow the main roads around yours and Roy’s part of Richmond. You didn’t want to be walking along and see his Jeep round a corner, only to have to stand there like a twat and catch his eye through the windshield.

“Does a simple misunderstanding really need to get to this level of discomfort?” Rebecca said, over one of your rare but appreciated lunches. She’d lightened up even more after the Everton game, which was a nice side effect.

You crunched down on a mouthful of salad, chewing sullenly. You’d been on edge for days. “I don’t know,” you let out. “Probably not. But I still can’t make myself get over it. I feel fucking awful, I mean— he just said yes to get me off his back, didn’t he?”

Rebecca shrugged. “No one can know with Kent. I don’t think he did it for that reason, though. You said the interview went well?”

“Well, I thought it did, I don’t bloody know. Either way, I’m not submitting the article now.”

Rebecca looked at you with raised eyebrows. “It’s up to you, I know, but if it were up to me, I’d still submit the damn thing.”

“Yeah, well it’s not.” You stuffed another forkful of salad in your gob. You’d heard the same thing from your mother a few days prior, and were debating telling Keeley the next time you saw her, but nothing would sway you with this.

You’d messed up, and you felt mortified that you’d made Roy open up when he wasn’t even interested in reading what you had to say. You were in a position where you were definitely going to take his side into account, even if it meant a standstill for you.

Rebecca’s face softened. She leant closer to you on the sofa, and placed a gentle hand on your arm. “So, you pissed off a footballer. He’ll get over it, and by God, what you’ve written cannot be as bad as any tabloid drivel that’s been written about him before. It’ll be fine in time, you just need to stop beating yourself up about this, alright?”

You sighed through your nose, swallowing the food in your mouth painfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I still can’t make myself face him just yet, though.”

“Why?” Rebecca asked, and the way she was looking at you made you want to open up.

Oh, because I have an immense crush on him that I can’t shake, and I cannot stand the thought that I’ve annoyed him in any capacity.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it was an obvious lie. Rebecca widened her gaze further, noticing something there. You let out a pent up breath. “It’s my problem. I’ll sort it soon, but I just— I don’t want to crowd him more, especially after last week. I’m being fucking stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid to want to make someone feel comfortable. That’s a good trait to have,” she said, squeezing your arm. “Just don’t let it ruin you further when it doesn’t need to.” She smiled at you softly, and you smiled back. “What happened to the girl that chased Roy down for those player profiles in the first week, hm?” she added, trying to lighten the mood. It only made you feel worse, weirdly enough.

“I got to know him,” you said, trying to keep the hurt off your face. “Properly, I mean. I got to know him properly.”

Rebecca’s face perked up with alarming speed. “Oh?” she asked, assumptively.

You waved her off immediately. “Not like that,” you said, but it was clear that both of you knew you were fibbing. Rebecca’s smile only grew. “Not like that.” You reiterated, trying to get yourself across harshly, but it only made it more apparent:

You fucking liked Roy Kent. It was clear to fucking see, and he probably knew it himself, too. That made it all the worse, and embarrassment crept onto your ears immediately.

You shoved another full fork of salad in your mouth, and Rebecca scoffed to herself, amused. The two of you finished your lunch together, with her playfulness counteracting your idiocy. How many more times were you going to make yourself feel childish?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I get it,” she said. “He’s grumpy, and mean, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who doesn’t want to fix a grey, stormcloud of a man.” She smiled at you sincerely. “Your secret is safe with me.” She winked, and you scoffed so abruptly that an olive from your plate launched itself across her office.

It felt good to have another woman around. You liked it.

You had the weekend to yourself, and stayed in for the sake of self care. You’d face Roy sometime next week, but had to psych yourself up first to deal with it. He’d been training non-stop anyway, with the first threats of relegation for AFC Richmond appearing, despite their win against Everton the week before. It just wasn’t enough to keep them in a stable position, not when the season was over halfway done.

You wanted to call Keeley, but stopped yourself when you remembered she was on a weekend away with some sponsors, getting treated and talking business. You were thankful that you weren’t in her shoes. You knew nothing about PR, nor did you have her same sense of style and immediately approachable personality.

You messaged Sam a few times, just to talk about your latest shared book. He was as sweet over text as he was in person, and even invited you out with the guys on Saturday night— you were tempted, but declined for the sake of stressing yourself out too much. You had a full-on few weeks and wanted to be chipper for the days ahead; you had an assignment due imminently, and your aversion to Roy at the moment was proving difficult to manage work and your personal life at the same time.

You needed to snap out of it. Rebecca was right— it was eating up your time and energy. And as much as you were picturing it badly, you knew that Roy probably didn’t care nearly as much as you did. Embracing your mistakes was all part of learning.

That’s the mindset you adopted when you entered the Dogtrack on Monday morning, just over a week after the team’s win at Everton. You smiled at your colleagues and chatted to them in the cafe in the morning like normal, before you went about your daily routine. You popped your head around the manager’s office a bit later on, and discussed your weekend with Ted, Beard and Nate, before all the players started arriving for training. They sent you smiles and hellos in greeting, and Sam told you about the messy night he’d had on Saturday. All was normal, until Roy stepped into the locker room.

When he caught your eye, the air stilled. The guys around you silenced like school children, and you fought the urge to fake an emergency so you could leave. Roy scanned the room bluntly, before he strolled towards his cubby and dropped his bag on the bench. You sent Sam an awkward smile, before you turned to the Richmond Captain.

He peered down at you for a second, before looking away without a word. “How was your weekend?” you asked, trying to keep things light. Roy didn’t like small talk, but this would have to do.

He growled in response, but you were determined to get something– anything– out of the gruff man before you. He’d noticed your overly avoidant behaviour for one, and you only had yourself to blame for that. “Roy,” you tried again, shooting him a small smile when he peered at you once more.

“You talking to me again, are you?” he replied, and a jolt of electricity ran through your limbs.

The energy in the locker room stalled, as the guys descended into absolute silence at Roy’s response. You felt their stares on your back, and you fucking hated it. You doubted they knew what was up, but had probably had to deal with some weird energy from Roy over the past few days.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, holding your ground. “Are you okay with that?” You raised your brows at him questioningly, strongly, and he reciprocated with a quick scan of your face.

All his prior angst faded away with your simple retort. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” he said, and you felt your chest relax instantly. “I took Phoebe to the zoo on Saturday. Two lions were going at it in the enclosure and I had to tell her they were wrestling.”

You scoffed so hard you almost choked, not expecting those words to fall from his mouth. “She has to learn one way or another, I guess.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want her thinking that sex is like fucking wrestling one another,” Roy said gruffly.

You shrugged. “It sort of is,” you let out hazardously.

Roy perked an eyebrow at you questioningly, an amused smile appearing on his face. “What kind of sex are you fucking having?”

Sam choked beside you abruptly, and you shot your stare onto him quickly, only to find Isaac and Colin smiling at each other like schoolboys behind him. You pointed at all of them sternly, with wide eyes. “Enough.”

Isaac clutched a hand to his chest defensively. “It’s a valid question, bruv. What kind of sex are you fucking having if it’s sort of like wrestling?”

The boys descended into childish giggles, and you turned back to Roy as you tried not to join them. You could feel your cheeks warming as you did, but you loved them all so much that you didn’t care if they were laughing at your expense. It was good to laugh at yourself once in a while.

You inhaled deeply, accepting the embarrassment only for the sake of you and Roy being okay again. He was smiling at you as you fiddled with your fingers. Not that he’d admit it, but this week had gone twelve times slower without your presence breaking apart his time. He’d got used to your impromptu locker room crashes, and the methodical way he always peered around your open door after training was done for the day.

“None,” you finally let out. “I am having no WWE level sex, sadly, because I’m not a fucking Premier League footballer.” You scanned the room and pouted at them all melodramatically, before you headed towards the locker room door with false glumness. Their giggles surrounded the entire room and it warmed your heart.

“We’ve gotta get you on some apps, or something,” Colin suggested, as you turned back to them and leaned against the doorframe.

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “Which ones?”

“Tinder?” Isaac offered, and you mimed sticking a finger down your throat.

“Please, Isaac. I’m not a fucking teenager anymore.”

“What about Bumble? It allows women to message first,” Sam said, and you furrowed your brows.

“I don’t want to talk first, ever. I’d rather a man send me a shitty pick up line that I don’t respond to than have to do that.”

“Hinge?” Bumbercatch added, and you let out a disgusted laugh.

“Oh, great! I can have three dates with some posh Richmond bloke, engage in awful fucking sex and then be ghosted the next day for no reason. That sounds thrilling.”

“There’s always Grindr,” Colin said, and the room fell silent. All eyes were on him, including your own that were squinting at him questioningly. Colin paused for a moment, like a statue. “Oh, sorry. With all this wrestling talk I forgot that you don’t actually have a dick.”

The room erupted in ooo’s while you tried and failed not to scoff to oblivion. You glanced over at Roy– there was a smile on his face, one that he was trying to hide and absolutely failing at. He shrugged his shirt off quickly, and you sucked in a painful breath, before you forced yourself to look away.

“Maybe I do,” you said bluntly, before you pointed around the room. “And none of you will ever fucking know.” You smiled at the way the boys got all bashful, before you stood up straight and beamed at them all. “Thanks for the dating advice, but I accepted my chronically single fate a long time ago.”

“That’s only because you’ve been around pretentious, uptight writers your whole life,” Zoreaux offered, and a few nods of agreement cropped up around the room. Zoreaux clapped his hands together suddenly, and you flinched in surprise. “You need to find yourself a footballer.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored their childish chants. “Over my dead fucking body,” you said, raising your hands to the sky in defeat. “And this is where the dating advice ends.” You swivelled on your heels and sent them a chaste middle finger, before you made your leave. “Goodbye!” you yelled from the corridor, and were met with one collective Bye!

Roy slipped on his football shirt after you left, and he was thrust back to two weekends before. He knew he’d fucked up with what he’d said in Liverpool, but there was something that kept him from opening up about it all– the fact he avoided everything that was written about him. Every interview, every post match press conference, every fan photo or interaction, the lot.

As much as he felt like a twat, he was also secretly relieved that you’d chosen not to submit the article. He wanted your success, certainly, but he wished you’d picked someone else. It was his fault for agreeing to it in the beginning, which was exactly why you’d got angry and upset. You were right; he’d been harsh, he’d been mean, but he hadn’t expected you to give a shit. Maybe that was more of a commentary about him than about you.

Either way, he was glad to put your week of silence behind him. Having you back in the locker room in the morning felt like coming home.

The days flew by quickly, but you still hadn’t updated Keeley about everything that had happened, and part of you didn’t want to now. She’d been so excited for you, and you didn’t want to break the news to her at all. You put the article behind you, and focused on new projects. With the days whittling down and matches being played in the blink of an eye, it wouldn’t be long until the season was up– along with your time at Richmond. It was funny to call it a year of placement, when in fact it was only nine months, to tie in with the football season.

You’d been at the club for almost six fucking months already. Christmas and the New Year had passed unceremoniously, and when you thought about it all you only freaked out more. You’d been to more matches than you could count, had written more words than you ever had in your entire life, and actually considered a bunch of footballers as your friends. But the worst thing of all– you’d held onto Roy’s jacket for close to three fucking months. He had to have noticed its absence by now, but still hadn’t approached you about it. Nor had you done the right thing by returning it, especially not after your panic in his house the month before.

That’s what you found yourself thinking about over the next few weeks. In between matches and assignment days, you’d lie awake at night and think about the fact it was all going to end. You needed Keeley to tell you to snap out of it, but had been so deprived of her company since she’d become so busy all of a sudden. As the final three months of the season loomed, you barely got more than a few minutes to spend with her at lunch. You hadn’t mentioned the article at all since the incident with Roy, but you were glad that it wasn’t hovering over you anymore like a few weeks prior.

As February ended and March began, you walked to work happily. You’d miss this immensely. Your small flat, your easy walk to Nelson Road, and everyone you got to see on a daily basis. Richmond was definitely part of your life now, and that wasn’t something you were going to forget.

You entered the stadium like normal, but there was an uncomfortable buzz in the air. You smelled it first in the form of static, the kind you get before a thunderstorm. The corridors were quiet as you walked towards your office, void of all players and your colleagues alike. You weren’t overly early, nor had some sickness ravaged through the entirety of Nelson Road, but nevertheless all was quiet.

You strolled into your office. When you switched on the light, you screamed when you were met with the burst of a confetti cannon right in your face. “You’re a fucking writer!” Keeley screamed, as you ducked down to try and protect yourself from this surprise attack. Paper crinkled in the air and all over your hair. It landed on the floor and ceased to move. Glitter covered everything.

Behind her, Sam, Ted and Nate cheered at your terror, while you tried to compute what the fuck was going on. Keeley lunged at you and encased you in a fast hug. You squeezed her back when you came back into your dimension, but confusion rattled in your brain. “Well fucking done, babe! We’re so proud of you!” she exclaimed, and you allowed yourself to accept their excitement, even if you had no clue what she was talking about.

“Ah– thank you?” you let out, alongside a subtle yaaaay that you felt was necessary, when Keeley started bouncing up and down while hugging you. You smiled at her as genuinely as possible when she pulled away.

Sam stepped forward first. “I particularly liked the paragraph where he talked about football academy. It is sweet to imagine Roy so young and less grumpy,” he said, and Ted clapped him on the back in agreement.

“Oh, absolutely, that was a banger.” Ted looked at you and grinned so hard that his moustache moved higher-up on his face. “Now, I don’t hold what Roy said about Beard and I against you, I was just glad to get a mention in this legendary article of yours.”

The smile dropped from your face immediately. You stood up quickly, and turned to Keeley quickly. “What are they talking about?” you asked, but you already knew the answer.

Keeley frowned at you. “Your article, babes,” she said, like you should know exactly what she was fucking talking about. Quickly, she shuffled in her bag and brought out today’s copy of the Independent. It was already open on the sports section, and when she hovered it before you, you stopped breathing.

Your article was on the front page. In huge, bold letters, as clear as fucking day, it read The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football). Your name was on the byline, alongside the photo you’d picked out before to be submitted alongside it.

“I– I didn’t–” you stuttered, trailing off in shock.

“I did,” Keeley said for you. “I submitted it for you, after you let me read it,” she admitted, but the look on her face showed you she was so much less excited about it now. All you saw was red at her admission, to the point where you were torn between screaming at the top of your lungs or crawling into a ball on the floor.

“Will you guys give us a minute, please?” you asked quickly, shooting a wide-eyed and panicked look at Sam, Ted and Nate.

The three of them scattered like rats, and you slammed the door behind them as soon as they were out of your office. Keeley flinched when you did, but your heart was beating too fast for you to notice. All you felt was the wobble in your fingers and pins and needles in your toes.

“What’s going on?” Keeley asked, concerned.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the article. Your words were printed right in front of you, but you’d never been so mad to see something of your own published. “Roy and I had a bad fight,” you started, but the words took so long to form in your brain from all the yells that ratted inside your skull. “He told me he had no intention of reading the article, that he’d never wanted to, and I said–” You stopped yourself from choking on your words. You caught Keeley’s eye, and chose to ignore how much yours were welling up. “I told him I wasn’t going to submit it.”

Keeley gently brought a hand to her forehead, digesting your words. She paced your office slowly, trying to find the right thing to say, but both of you knew it was useless. “I’m– fucking hell,” she said, stumbling over her thoughts. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She turned to you with glassy eyes. “I didn’t know, and I– I just wanted you to believe in yourself–”

“I know,” you said, trying to hold it together. Your anger dissipated into something else entirely, and that something else was on the brink of tears. “I know,” you repeated.

Keeley rushed forward and grabbed your wrists gently. “I’m a fucking idiot and I never should have done it,” she said quickly.

“You’re not an idiot,” you breathed out, before you peered down at the floor. “But, you never should have done it, yeah.” There was no point in beating her up– she’d done something with the intention to help you, without knowing that Roy would react this way and cause shit to hit the fan.

Never before had you gained friends so kind that they did stupid things all for your sake. In any other universe, you bet that Roy agreeing to the article had gone very well, and Keeley submitting it without you knowing had gone amazingly, but here? No. Hell fucking no. In your universe, everything you touched turned to absolute shit when it didn’t need to.

“Fuck,” you said sharply, clamping your eyes shut. A few tears fell and landed on the grey carpet of your office. “Fuck.”

“I’ll tell him,” Keeley said, panicking. “It was my fault, none of this is on you–”

“I wrote the fucking thing in the first place!” you exclaimed suddenly, and inappropriately found yourself laughing. Chuckles bobbed from your chest involuntarily, and with every burst another tear fell from your eyes. This was a mess.

Keeley squeezed your wrists reassuringly, and you forced yourself to breathe out and look at her. When you caught your eye, you sent her a soft look. As your panic subsided, you thought about the fact that she’d submitted it for you because she’d believed in you. She’d done it as a favour, as a gesture to let you know that you were good, that you had potential, to get you out of your head.

You wrapped your arms around her before you could back out. You were thankful for her, even if it had all gone tits up. Laughter trickled from your lips affectionately, and it only made her squeeze you even harder.

“Is now a good time to mention that you fucking won?” she said, her voice muffled by your shoulder.

You laughed even harder, absolutely astounded by it all. Out of hundreds of students, your article had fucking won the entire competition. “I fucking won!” you chuckled out, and the two of you swayed from side to side in each other’s embrace.

You hated not being in control. It was unsettling and made you feel erratic, like everything could fall apart if you didn’t have it all planned out beforehand. As far back as you could remember you’d had this issue; not being able to switch the fuck off. Things needed to be planned, and when they weren’t, you felt sick. Now, times that by ten and add a bunch of hyperactive footballers into the equation. It was a miracle you hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest during your six months at the club. Your masters had been fucked from the start, you’d messed up countless times during the job, and everything with the article was just the cherry on top of a shitstorm.

You sat in your empty office and stopped yourself from yelling at the ceiling above you. After Keeley had left, all your innate foundations came crashing down imminently. You wanted to go home and sleep for the remainder of your placement, but you couldn’t– not now. This mess had been reopened, and you had to clear it up again.

You knew the longer you left it, the worse it would get. Roy and the other boys were due in for training soon, and you couldn’t stand the thought of Roy seeing the article out and about before you’d had the chance to catch him up to speed. Keeley had made a massive fucking oopsie, but you didn’t hold it against her. She didn’t know about your fight, nor had she had the intention to screw things up this bad. That was always the thing, wasn’t it? Intentions were always good, but that didn’t always mean the best outcome was inevitable.

Wracking your fingers through your hair, you puffed out your cheeks with a colossal sigh. It was a waiting game, now. And as soon as you could, you’d tell Roy everything.

Roy slammed through the doors of the stadium for training. He was in no mood to be messed with, and knew that seeing your face would only make it worse. That morning, as he shut his front door, he looked down to see his face on the front page of the Independent’s sport section. Your name was beneath the heading, alongside a smiling photo. He leaned down and picked it up, scanning the title quickly–

The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football).

He growled to himself, before he crumpled the paper in his hands angrily. He stormed towards his Jeep and threw his gym bag harshly onto the passenger seat, before he headed off to Nelson Road. Everywhere he looked, the newspaper article loomed over him. His colleagues in the cafe read it over their morning cup of tea, and promptly froze when they saw him pass. This was he last thing he’d fucking wanted, and he was regretting his decision to ever say yes to you.

You’d reassured him you wouldn’t submit it, so why was it printed in the paper for everyone to fucking read?

He continued to the locker room in frustration. When he entered, the guys stopped the conversation they were having. They nodded at their Captain, before they silently turned back to their cubbies and got ready for the day ahead. Roy tried to ignore the prickling feeling of being watched. He had it whenever he went anyway, but this was tenfold. The thought of people knowing new information about him made him feel overexposed to the max.

Sam approached Roy through the silence, and shot him a sunshine smile. “Morning, Captain,” he said. Roy didn’t respond with more than a quick glance at his teammate. “So, have you seen the ar–?”

“Where is she?” Roy interrupted him suddenly. His voice was coarse and gruff, and Sam immediately recoiled when he sensed the anger seeping through Roy’s pores.

“In her office,” Sam replied, gesturing in the direction of your office innocently.

Roy didn’t stick around after that. He headed to see you as fast as he’d bombarded through the doors from the car park.

Your inbox had been blowing up all morning, along with your Twitter. You hadn’t been able to stomach reading them all yet, as you sat upon your anxiety and tried not to imagine the absolute worst when you saw Roy. Trying to reassure yourself had stopped working after the first ten minutes, and a Google search of ‘how do you un-print an article from a published newspaper?’ hadn’t provided much in the way of help.

Roy didn’t bother to knock. He rounded the door frame and took you by surprise. You sucked in a sharp breath and stood up quickly, meeting his gaze. “Roy, there’s something I need to tell you–”

“You submitted the fucking article?” he said harshly.

You frowned at him apologetically, and gently rounded your desk to stand opposite him. “You saw it,” you started, trying to settle your nerves. “I’m so sorry, Roy. It was a total accident, and it was actually Keeley who–”

“An accident? How is this a fucking accident?” he interrupted you. Upset cut through his aggression, but he was still seething. He pointed at you harshly. “You told me you weren’t going ahead with it. My face is plastered on every fucking newstand around London, and you’re saying it’s a fucking accident?”

You furrowed your brows at his outburst, not expecting him to be this angry. It was a mistake, but he was acting like you’d done this intentionally. “Roy.” You tried not to stumble over your words as rage crept up on yourself. “It was an accident. I’m sorry, but this was out of my control. Keeley submitted it without me knowing.”

Roy balled his fists. “Fuck this!” he yelled, and you took an abrupt step backwards.

“This could have been avoided if you’d just told me the truth!” you hit back with, losing all sense of composure. “If things had gone smoothly, this would have been the fucking outcome all along, and it’s obvious that you never wanted this! This is not just on me.”

“Not just on you?” Roy repeated. “Oh, of fucking course, it’s not just on you, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s always someone else's fault with you.” He raised his arms theatrically as he spoke, trying to expel his anger. “The uni cocked up your placement, I fucked up your first assignment, and now Keeley accidentally submitted an article that has my name stamped all over it.”

“You just stated facts, Roy–”

“But do you know the biggest fact of them all?” he cut over you, before he took a looming step forward. He leaned closer to you, until you could feel the air warm at how heated he was. “You did this. It was your choice to come here when you knew fuck all about the game, about us. It was your choice to write the fucking article in the first place, and it’s your fault that everything has gone tits up–”

“You fucking agreed to this!”

“I didn’t agree for you to get involved in my life!” he yelled, and you let out a colossal groan of frustration. You paced on the spot, needing to just fucking move, to dispell what you were feeling, to get it all out of your system. Roy didn’t back down. This fight, the real fight, had only been growing within both of you from the moment you first met. “I didn’t agree to you walking in here and latching on like a fucking leech, and fucking with my head, and making me feel– all this.”

All this.

Your heart pounded within your chest as his words spilled onto the carpet. This wasn’t just about the article, you realised. This was more. This was the jacket on the peg by your door, and all of the another times, and all of the smiles and jokes and texts that had been rattling between you both for the past six months.

“Oh, I see,” you said, lowering your voice. There was an energy that buzzed between your gazes, one that told you now was a good time to rip off the fucking bandaid, even if it meant the end. “This isn’t just about the article, is it?”

Roy breathed heavily opposite you, his chest rose and fell erratically. His fists were balled at his sides, but his face softened almost imperceptibly. You noticed it. You noticed every look that Roy sent your way. That was why this entire problem had begun.

Him, him, him, him, him.

“Why won’t you let me in?” you caved. “Or fucking anyone.”

“This is fucking stupid—”

“What’s stupid is that you cannot fucking stand when people give an actual shit about you.” You stepped towards him strongly, trying to convey everything you felt within your words. “You do it with the guys, with Ted, and you fucking do it with me.”

“This isn’t a fucking therapy session. I don’t need a fucking uni student to psychoanalyse my thoughts and feelings and all that other bullshit,” Roy said lowly, like a warning.

“Why have you never mentioned the jacket?” you asked suddenly.

Roy’s eyes widened. He stilled. “What?”

“The jacket. The one you leant me after the charity ball. I’ve had it for months, yet you haven’t mentioned anything.” Roy’s thoughts short-circuited. “Not once have you asked for it back, or collected it, or fucking anything.”

“At least I didn’t chicken out while trying to return it,” Roy said harshly. You held your breath. “I saw you shove it in your bag at my house, after the interview.”

You fought the urge to be sick. You weren’t expecting a full read through of yours and Roy’s relationship when you entered the Dogtrack today. You weren’t expecting to be so fucking mad at him, madder than you’d been about anything else in your life.

“I didn’t want this to end,” you admitted calmly, despite the butterflies tearing holes in your gut. “Is that why you never picked it up, hm? Because you didn’t want to admit to yourself that you actually give a shit about someone else?” You kept your eyes on his, flicking back and forth between them as you tried to hold it together. There was a finality to your feelings, and you feared you were approaching the end of their tether. You weren’t one to stick around if you knew you weren’t wanted. Roy had made himself perfectly fucking clear to you. “That’s why you agreed to the article, isn’t it? An attempt to give a shit, but you got scared when you realised people will know you just that little bit better from it. That’s why you’re raging and whining and looking at me like that, and ignoring all the other shit you’re feeling just because it’s easy, and what you’re used to.” The words spilled from your mouth like water. “That’s not how I do things, Roy. I bother, and I care, and I give a shit. And–” you stopped to let out an upset chuckle. Your eyes welled. “I can’t believe I thought we were actually close, when the truth is…” You forced yourself to keep your gaze steady. His eyes inhaled you. “I hardly know you, Roy. And you won’t let me try to, not properly, or on paper, or in the fucking article, even.”

Roy’s brain had stopped thinking coherently as soon as you’d started talking. You were right, you were always fucking right, but he would never let you know that. Not after this, not with the way you were looking at him so desperately, in pleading, baring your feelings out in the fucking open to try and get him to understand. His anger was real, but it wasn’t about you– it was about himself, but that’s just not how Roy Kent worked.

He was mean, he was angry, he was harsh. He didn’t let anyone stomp all over him on the pitch, or in life. Anyone who entered his life and tried to scale the tall walls he’d built around himself was nothing more than a threat. It was unsustainable, and had only brought pain in the past. It explained his string of finished relationships and friendships, and why he was still unsettled at the age of thirty-five.

“I’m sorry about the article,” you said softly. “But, I’m not sorry about everything else. Whether or not you get over it– that’s on you.” You shrugged, before you frowned at the floor. Tears disrupted your vision. You felt defeated, almost.

As the anger disappeared from his shoulders, Roy nodded at you in understanding. There was nothing else to say.

You let out a shaky breath as you looked up, and you decided that time was up. “I have work to do,” you said, as a signifier that this conversation– confrontation, fight, admittal, whatever the fuck you’d just had to endure– was over.

Roy hardly spoke for the rest of the day. Not during training, or during the team’s pep talk before their next match that Saturday. When he drove home, he felt odd in his house alone. All he could fathom to think about was you. Your words, the way you so easily revealed all and told him to grow up. He was overly used to people backing down when he got angry, but you hadn’t let him. You fought back, and had such determination to put him in his place.

It was a refreshing change of pace.

Roy noticed your absence at the game that weekend. The owner’s box was void of your energetic support. Out of a crowd of ten thousand, he could easily pick out your voice above all else– not only for the fact that you yelled like an opera singer, but because he listened out for you, in truth. When the crowd went wild at an excellent tackle of his, his signature chant roared from the stands.

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where. Roy Kent. Roy Kent.

When your voice hadn’t rang out next to all the rest, he glanced up at the owner’s box to find your seat empty. It threw him off his game for the remainder of the match.

The weekend after, you also didn’t attend. Your presence was sporadic after the fight, and Roy found himself enduring the sharp sting of butterflies in his gut whenever he so much as glanced at you in the hallway, or caught sight of you in your office during his workouts. Guilt was not an emotion that Roy often felt, but it had taken over his entire body. It was a slap in the face when you’d laid everything out perfectly, and absolutely judged him correctly. Whether it was projecting, or just being fucking stupid, his anger about the article stemmed from something much bigger. You saw straight through him, and that was what terrified him.

Word of your fight had spread across the team. He knew as soon as the guys started looking at him differently– with pity. They were careful not to step on his toes, and muttered to each other when he left the room. Your visits to the team were still clockwork, but it was clear to see there was something painful whenever you caught Roy’s eye. You’d smile, you’d say hello, and that would be that. He was surprised that you acknowledged him at all, and had been certain that you’d restart your silent treatment from before, but you were bigger than that. If anything, he wished you’d ignore him, since every stare you gave sent a shockwave of guilt through him.

When you failed to turn up for the third game in a row, Roy bottled it on the pitch. He played poorly, and was overly distracted to play decently. He kicked his boots off from frustration when entering the locker room afterwards, and they smacked against the wall of cubbies loudly. Behind him, Sam and Isaac looked at each other knowingly.

Isaac was the first to step in. “Roy,” he said calmly.

“I get it, I played like fucking shit and lost us the win. I fucking get it,” Roy said quickly, trying to get this over and done with.

“Nah, bruv.” Isaac gently grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face the rest of the team. “This isn’t about the game.”

“She has never missed this many games before,” Sam said, and the team all shared sullen looks. “We get why that would throw you off, but now it is time to do something about it.”

The team nodded in agreement. “Did you read the article at all?” Isaac asked.

Roy frowned. “Why would I? It’s nothing I haven’t read before.”

Sam moved to stand next to Isaac. They looked at each other quickly, and shared a soft kind of look. Isaac turned back to Roy, and squeezed his shoulder. “Just read it, bruv. Seriously.”

“It is not like the others,” Sam added.

When Roy got home that evening, he opened the top drawer of the side table by his front door. It was full of old post and discarded papers, just stuff that didn’t have a place anywhere else. He’d shoved the copy of the Independent in there after the fight. He hadn’t wanted to throw it away for some odd reason. From the drawer, he picked out the newspaper and clutched in tightly. He got himself a whiskey from the kitchen, and sat at his dining table, before opening it up to the sports section.

His face stared back at him judgingly. Donned in his Richmond shirt with his foot on the ball, there was a steely look that had been captured in time on his face. He remembered that day– the first game of the season, where they’d been fucking battered. Beneath it was the article, in all its glory. The words loomed on the page almost scarily, but Roy told himself to get over it.

He inhaled deeply, and then started to read.

The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football)

The first fact I came to realise, working at AFC Richmond, was that Roy Kent is a legend. He was only nine when he was scouted for Sunderland, and he grew up loving the greats– Robbie Fowler, Paul Ince, Gary Neville– but his favourite footballer falls to his namesake; Roy Keane. ‘He didn’t take crap from anyone,’ Roy tells me, over a beer in his Richmond house. It’s full of sports memorabilia, trophies, awards, shirts, that I’m sure any fan of the beautiful game would whimper at. For me, however, it goes straight over my head.

It’s impossible not to feel the gravitas of being in Roy Kent’s home, but I feel it’s wasted on someone like me. I wouldn’t consider myself a football fan, but having been AFC Richmond’s appointed social placement for three months, it is a world that I’m desperately trying to enlighten myself on. Roy knows that, which is probably the only reason he’s let me grill him about his past, despite his very public opinion on the press.

Roy looks nostalgic when he thinks of his initial training. ‘You’ll never know how cool I felt when I was twelve, going to a football academy with the likes of world class players. My life was laid out as soon as I signed on the dotted line, and from the age of fifteen it was obvious I was going to be signed at Chelsea,’ he recounts like it was yesterday.

‘Chelsea. I think I know that team,’ I say, and all it does is make me seem more stupid. Roy shows me he doesn’t mind when a smile appears on his objectively grumpy face, and it eggs me on to try and make the footballer laugh as much as I possibly can throughout this interview. Having been at Richmond for almost half a season now, I know that the boys work hard. Making them laugh is part of my job description, just to break apart the obvious stress they all feel about the rest of the season.

Lasso’s reign is something new that none of them were expecting, and Roy’s face sours slightly when I mention his name. ‘You know Ted just as well as I do, you tell me what you think is going to happen?’ Roy says, and I comically mime locking my lips and throwing away the key. It’s best not to let people who know nothing about this game comment on what could happen at the end of the line.

From his start at seventeen, Roy Kent was a Chelsea staple. He donned that bright blue until his thirty-third birthday, which is when he made the decision to leave. He headed to AFC Richmond soon after. Even though I know nothing, I’m curious to know why he made such a career altering decision– going from the top, to the literal bottom. AFC Richmond haven’t got higher than 18th place in the Premier League in six years. It was practically moving to an alien nation.

‘I’d been at Chelsea for more than a decade,’ Roy starts, and I can’t help but notice the tension on his jaw, covered by his signature beard. ‘It had become routine, my life. The guys were stellar, and the management. Everything was the same, except me.’

‘You mean… your ability?’ Roy nods almost severely, and it’s easy to understand what he’s getting at. It’s then that I get up and grab us another beer. Roy makes it very easy to feel at home, despite someone prodding into parts of his life that he hasn’t spoken about publicly very often. He speaks highly of his sister, and his niece. Family is a large part of what makes him the man he is, one that drags him away from football when he needs to be reminded of other things that make life beautiful– not just the game.

Since arriving at Richmond, I’ve heard a phrase within the walls of the Dogtrack; the Roy Kent Effect. His teammates say it when they nail a play in training. Lasso and Beard say it when Roy makes things easier for their NFL suited brains to understand. His hamstrings say it when he withstands another sports massage from the club physio.

The Roy Kent Effect is a household name at AFC Richmond, only becoming so alongside Roy’s arrival at the club two years prior. When I mention it to him, Roy leans back in his chair and smiles. Yes, he can smile! ‘They’re good lads, the Richmond lot. I see myself in a lot of them. Obisanya, McAdoo, they all work so hard. It’s an honour to be their Captain, but I don’t steer the ship on my own.’

‘I don’t think that’s what the Roy Kent Effect means. It’s not about you leading them.’ I say, and this is the only time I’ve ever felt smart when it comes to football, especially next to the likes of Roy.

Roy leans forward. He likes to show people when he’s listening to them. It only elevates the notion that he knows there’s always something for him to learn. ‘The Roy Kent Effect isn’t anything you do, it’s simply having you around. You’ve been a role model, a leader, a staple of the game, for more than ten years. There’s admiration there, and that’s what they want to show you. That’s why they perform, and overachieve, and kick the ball like their life depends on it. It’s for them to show you how much you mean to the sport.’

He sits with my words silently, as I juggle with the panic I feel at making Roy Kent speechless for once. This will never happen to me again.

It’s only then that I realise the Roy Kent Effect has hit me, too. It’s why I annoyed him for this interview. It’s why I research, why I show up for work everyday, despite knowing very little in the grand scheme. When I learn something new, Roy’s the first person I tell at the club. I fit it into conversation, but he always notices. The other’s are often amazed when I reveal I know a fact, or understand the sport more, but Roy doesn’t make a big deal of it. It’s another reason why I don’t stop. He pushes me, the same way he Captains his team, directs his managers, and plays the damn game– with thought, with care, putting one foot in front of the other, like he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t keep this up.

‘One day I’ll wake up, and without knowing, it’ll be the last day that I ever play football,’ he says, later on. Roy has changed our beers to whiskey. ‘From your perspective, you think football is just a game. But, it’s not for me. It’s my whole life.’

We talk about the possibility of what lies beyond the sport, of what is out there for Roy after his inevitable retirement, but he doesn’t seem to understand that there is more that lies beyond. It’s impossible not to take it to heart. I spend the latter half of the interview trying to slot my feet into his shoes, and I still won’t ever know how it feels to be Roy Kent. Even Roy doesn’t know, which makes me strike off every tabloid photo, pundit quote and incel tweet that’s ever been shared about the Richmond Captain.

He is often described as blunt, harsh, mean, angry, and all of those traits are definitely true. But, the man that sits before me, after welcoming me into his home, his world, his life, is so much more than than. This is the Roy Kent Effect in full force, and I, amongst thousands of others, will not take it lightly when he leaves football behind for good.

“Fuuuuck,” Roy breathed out slowly. The butterflies in his stomach had disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax

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gretavangroupie · 11 months

Text

Vigilance (Chapter 13)

Word count: 12.1k

Pairings: Sam x OC, Jake x Reader

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, smoking, language, fluff, angst, smut.

This story is a collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon.

A/N: This chapter has to be broken into two parts thanks to Tumblr's character limits. I know this is a long one, but I hope you can stick with it until the end and then read part two! I promise this will be the only one that is this long. We will go back to our regular sized chapters next week. Enjoy!

READ CHAPTER 12 FIRST!

AUSTIN CITY LIMITS

JAKE POV

The time had come to return to the office space to regroup after most of Strange Horizons had wrapped up, and you were excited to discuss your new ideas with management. Many inebriated nights with your brothers had formulated a deep and diverse plan for the inevitable next leg of tour, and your ideas just kept building and building.

The pandemic had placed a huge damper on your initial tour schedule, release dates and shows being pushed back dramatically. Not to mention having to deal with all of the new rules that were placed last year for venues…though it had been over a year since the world shut down, the effects were still massively trickling down.

As you entered the office together, you thought back to over a year ago...the four of you had locked yourselves in a secluded cabin in the Smoky Mountains for a portion of time that you scarcely remember, only leaving to get supplies and food. It was there that you crafted a list of songs, some brand new and some dusted off from the depths of your library.

The isolation that you felt being tucked away in the mountains was the perfect setting for the way you all wanted the album to be…loud, dynamic, mysterious, orgasmic and borderline perfect. Not a note out of place. You’d talked about making an album like this for as long as you’d been a band, and you’d decided it was time to make it happen. What better time to create it than in the midst of a worldwide shutdown?

“Let’s make it sound like a film soundtrack, without the film…” Sam had said, setting the premise for exactly how he envisioned it.

“Ha, a man after my own heart.” Josh had responded. “Are you saying you want to make the soundtrack to my first film before I even know what it’s about?”

Late nights had turned to early mornings of writing riffs, and introducing lyrics that spoke about the current state of the world and the more difficult subjects. Josh was truly in his element when it came to storytelling through his lyrics; you were absolutely blown away by his ability to talk about the here and now while making it sound like you were reading from a 500 year old novel. More often than not, partaking turned into conversations with the ghosts you were certain inhabited the old cabin’s walls, thrusting you into sleepless nights spent laying down haunting samples on Sam’s piano.

Sam’s sonic concentration and being able to hear the music before you had even laid it down was perfectly tuned in…Daniel’s ability to think outside of the box when it came to bringing everything together as a whole...you found yourselves in a true state of enlightenment, visually and instrumentally, and you prayed that the outcome of your hard work was to be accepted well.

Strange Horizons had been the trial run, and now it was time for your bigger idea to come to life.

“We want to call it Dreams in Gold. A lyric from the magnum opus of the album, the crowning achievement of our careers so far. The premise of this album is a concoction of stories being told, dreams, if you will. We’ve got ideas all the way down to stage setting and album art. Every element is going to be intentional, and is going to tie into one another. It’s going to be all about details. The whole thing is going to be a journey, just like the storyline of the album itself. We want to include commissioned artists that we find organically, as well, to help with our visuals.”

“To begin with, we want to entice people to get back outside, hit the road and come and join us at shows. We’ve all been cooped up for too long and we want to show the fans that we’re still here. So, yes, we’re ready for another lengthy tour.” Josh began the meeting by condensing the details into a concise introduction to the panel of your management team.

After a few hours of debating and compromise, the initial plans were set, and management was ecstatic about your new ideas. Things were truly looking great.

You had one more small run of shows planned, a two-weekend span at Austin City Limits festival in Texas, then you were off to Los Angeles. Until then, it was time to relax, recharge, and enjoy every second alone with your girl.

HER POV

OCTOBER 2021

As you waited for the front desk attendant to finish with the person in front of you, your eyes flicked to the TV screen behind the desk, ‘Welcome to Austin’ it read in bright blue letters.

It was late, nearly 11:00pm when you finally arrived in Texas, flights delayed for nearly 2 hours due to weather. The van was late to pick you up at the airport and overall everyone was in a foul mood, yourself included.

“Next! Hi, how can I help you?” he asked.

“Hi, I just need to check in. Should be six rooms, under this name.” you say sliding the man your ID.

He clicks around on his computer for a few minutes, brow furrowing as he looks to you, “I see five rooms under this name. Looks like one was canceled about two weeks ago, and one was upgraded.”

“I’m sorry? Which room was canceled?” you ask.

“Looks like a Queen Non-Smoking…oh, actually the name on the room is yours.” he says, nervously.

“Mhmm, and the upgraded room?” you ask.

“Jacob Kiszka? Upgraded to a King Suite.” he answers.

“Okay, and can you tell me who authorized the change?” you ask.

“Looks like it was Mr. Kiszka, ma’am.” he answers.

“Right... Okay. Well, that’s fine. Thank you.” you say, accepting your ID back from him.

“Here are your room keys, two in each pocket. The elevators are just to your left, vending and ice on each floor. If there’s anything I can do for you, just call the front desk.” he smiles.

“Thank you.” you say, grabbing the keys and turning back to head towards your group.

“Alright guys, let's end this miserable day. Sam…” you hand him his key.

“Daniel…Josh… Summer…” you say in succession, handing them each their key cards.

“Jacob.” you say handing him his.

“We have to be down here, in this spot ready to leave at 11:00am. The festival is being very stringent on timing, if we are late we don’t get any kind of sound check. Maybe a line check at best.” you say, as everyone begins rolling their luggage towards the elevators.

“Yes mother.” Josh replies with a smile.

As you all load into the elevator, everyone checks their floors, and presses their respective buttons, as it begins to rise. One by one they exit the elevator, first Summer, then Daniel, followed by Elle and Sam, leaving you, Jake and Josh in the tiny enclosed space.

Josh looks at the two of you, a knowing but contemplative look on his face as the elevator reaches his floor and the doors spring open. He steps out of the elevator, pausing to turn to the two of you. You can see the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back and smiles as the doors close again.

You don't look at Jake until the doors fling open two floors above. You step out, and make your way to your room, pulling your suitcase next to you as you walk. As you stand at the door you stare at the wall, not making eye contact with him as he steps up to meet you.

“Baby…” he whines. “Don’t be mad…”

You turn to face him. “I would like to go to bed.” you hiss.

With a huff he taps the key card to the door, letting it unlock as you push it open.

He rolls both of your suitcases inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

You slip your shoes off and walk across the room, pulling the curtains shut as you start to undress. “You can't just…do that! What if…someone found out! I would have no way to explain this!” you say, raising your voice.

“It’s fine baby. No one is going to know.” he says, trying to ease your tension.

“Josh knows! He totally knows. He basically just told us he knows and he didn’t even say anything!” you say, pulling your pajamas from your suitcase.

You pull on your pajama shorts, and slide your arms through the top as you start to button the buttons.

“Listen…” he says, making his way over to you. “If our secret is safe with anyone, it’s him. People will eventually find out love, and personally I’m ready to shout it from the rooftops.” he says, his fingers taking over buttoning up your top. As he fastens the last button he rests his hand on the back of your neck, “I have slept next to you almost every night for weeks now. I’m not giving that up. No chance.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sigh, leaning into his chest as you wrap your arms around him. His bare skin on your cheek is warm, and calming. His very presence centering you and bringing you back down to earth. “I’m not mad. I’m just…afraid of getting caught by the wrong person, you know?” you say.

“I know. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise.” he says, squeezing you one last time before letting you go.

He walks over to his suitcase and grabs his phone charger, plugging it into the wall as he strips off his pants. You knew you would never grow tired of seeing him like that.

You slipped into the overly fluffy bed, and made your way to the middle, fluffing the pillows behind you.

“Oh you think you’re sleeping in the middle, huh?” he asks playfully, turning off the lamp.

He pulls the blankets back, sliding in next to you as he circles his arms around your waist. He lays his head on your chest, listening to the sound of your beating heart as he hums a tune..‘she’s a woman in a dream…’

“Thanks for not getting mad. I know it’s stupid and careless, but I… sleep better next to you.” he says softly into your chest.

“Mmhmmm… that’s the only reason right?” you ask.

“The list is endless of reasons that I need you.” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips and quickly pulling away to turn over to his back.

You whine at the loss of his warmth, and you feel the bed shake with his chuckle, “Come on…” he says, opening his arms to you. You scoot further onto his side of the bed, and place yourself into his arms.

He nuzzles his head into the top of yours, taking a deep breath. “Okay, my boss said I can’t be late tomorrow or I'll get in trouble, so I have to go to bed.” he says.

You giggle into his neck, as you twist your fingers with his. ‘Love you…”

“I love you too.” he says, and not too shortly after you both fall into a well deserved sleep.

—

JAKE POV

“I’ll go down first, then you come down in like ten minutes?” she said, a serious look on her face as she flicked through her iPad.

“You got it. Hey…” you said, pulling her by her waist.

She drops the iPad to her side as her eyes meet yours.

“You’re killing it. Best coordinator we’ve ever had. So proud of you.” you say, really meaning every word.

You could see her eyes beginning to grow misty at your words, so with a quick kiss, and a promise of later, you shooed her out the hotel room door to begin your ten minute wait.

—

Shockingly, everyone arrived downstairs on time and the van was parked and waiting for you at the entrance. Today was already going ten times better than yesterday, and you could tell Y/N was feeling less stressed because of it.

As you all loaded into the van, you sat in the back with Josh, and scrolled through news on your phone.

Josh

11:07am: Anything you’d like to share?

You

11:08am: No thanks. I’m done sharing with my siblings.

Josh

11:09am: So…

You

11:10am: Later

The van arrived at the back gates, and you all made your way to the artist check in table, securing your wristbands and being shown to the area where your things were being loaded in. Your crew had been here since early this morning, getting the stage pieces loaded in and the gig boxes situated where they needed to be. Slated to go on at 6:30, you got there with enough time for a quick sound check, before spending the rest of the day exploring, and getting ready in your trailer for the day.

It was hot in Texas, significantly hotter than Nashville, and the sun beating down on you had you sweating even from just standing outside. You and Daniel drew the short straws on the artist interview, so as you stood and waited for your time slot, you turned to Daniel, “What’s up with you man? What’s going on? Where is Heidi?”

He clapped his hand against your shoulder blade and sighed, “She is…busy. At least that’s what she keeps telling me.”

You smiled as you shook your head, “Ahh…sorry to hear that dude.”

“Nah, you know what? It’s fine actually. Feels like things have kind of run its course, ya know? I’m starting to figure out who I am without her. Feels good.” he says, as you both take a step forward.

“Just want to see you happy brother, whatever that means for you.” you reply.

“Could say the same to you. Been a rough couple of weeks.” he says, trailing off.

“It has. But things are looking up.” you say, pushing up your sunglasses on your nose.

“Are they?” he asks.

You nod slowly, as the interviewer welcomed you to her table, relieving you from having that conversation just yet.

—

A few hours and a few drinks later, you are feeling loose and free and happy preshow, for the first time since this tour started. Your skin felt stiff from the salt in your sweat and you wished you could just jump into the shower to rinse off.

Making your way to the trailer, you stepped inside, but in the bathroom found no shower. Great.

Sam entered a few minutes later, and he was just as sweaty as you were. “This fucking sun is nuts.” you said, leaning against the couch.

“I know, I need a damn shower.” he said.

“Isn’t one. Already looked.” you replied.

“My hair is fucked. Maybe I can just wet it.” you said, staring off into space.

Sam grabbed two water jugs from under the table and held them up with a suspicious smile. “Like the old days?”

It really had been a while since you did this, taking turns pouring water jugs for each other, not able to shower daily as you toured across the US in that tiny little van. Times had changed, but you knew you weren’t above it, and you never would be. You knew your roots.

Stepping outside you grabbed a lawn chair and took your shirt off, “Me first, then you?” you ask.

“Let’s do it.” he replied.

You sat down in the chair and threw your hair over the back, letting Sam pour the water over your head until it was completely saturated down to your roots. The water ran over your face and you wiped at your hairline, hoping most of the sweat would wash away. He continued pouring until the jug was empty and you felt your hair was clean enough. He ran his fingers through your hair, one last time as you heard footsteps approaching.

“What are you two doing?” Y/N’s voice filled with laughter as she watched on.

“We are playing beauty salon! I have an opening at 5:00, if you’d like to book!” Sam answered enthusiastically.

She laughed and shook her head as she walked off, and you felt your chest grow warm, but this time it wasnt from the heat.

—

A few hours later, dressed in one of your favorite suits, you looked yourself over in the mirror feeling extremely confident about tonight's show. You knew you weren’t going to hold back. You were going to lay it all out there wordlessly confessing that the stars aligned in your favor after all these years. This one was for her.

As you and your brothers took your shots and said your words of encouragement, you watched as Y/N checked over each of your outfits as you exited the trailer, saving yourself for last.

As the door slammed shut behind Sam, you made your way over to her, iPad clutched to her chest as she smiled at you.

“I thought the green suit was my favorite… but now I don't know. You look…” she trailed off.

“Really? I wasn’t too sure about all the sparkly stuff at first, but it’s kind of growing on me.” you smile.

“Jake…really. With your complexion, and your hair… you look so good. I have half a mind to make you change into something else.” she giggled.

Your favorite giggle.

“Anyways, you look perfect. Get out there, make me proud.” she smiled, and you laughed, knowing you were going to do just that.

As you twisted the knob on the door, you stopped to look at her. “It’s all for you.”

Her cheeks grew pink as she pressed a kiss to your cheek, and ushered you out the door. It really was all for her. It always has been.

—

As you made your way up the steps, your tech handed you your guitar and you took the stage, the crowd roaring violently in front of you. Your body felt like it was on fire as you played the opening notes, the deafening noise of the screams from thousands of people just fueling the flame. You finally had everything. You finally felt true happiness, and the best part was that tonight, when it was all over, and the room was quiet you got to share it with her.

The fire you had raging in your bones for this entire show continued to engulf you...you weren’t sure if it was the setting, the heat, or the fact that you finally had your girl back, but damn it felt good to be playing to a crowd again.

You were two songs away from ‘Highway Tune’, and the sun was beginning to set. You took the tiniest of breaks, allowing yourself to look out over the crowd as darkness began to set in. The sweating, exhausted, blissed-out fans were having the time of their lives, and you were truly mirroring them tonight. You were giving it everything you had. You smiled as you made eye contact with a few of them, watching as they fell apart on their friends after you did so. Always so funny to see them react that way just because you looked at them.

Even with watching all these people, Y/N was filling your mind. All your thoughts, connected back to her. She was the one who was keeping this fire burning so bright. She gave you a reason.

You glanced at Josh, then back out to the crowd again. As he spoke, something caught your eye…something, someone...very familiar in the audience. The crowd was an ocean of moving bodies, hindering your vision as you tried to zero in. You caught quick glimpses every few seconds, trying not to crane your neck or be caught staring. Was that…?

The cue came through to begin ‘The Weight of Dreams’, and your muscle memory kicked into high gear as you played, and scanned the crowd again. Red hat, white shirt. Your heart sank into your stomach. You were sure.

You continued to play as you looked at Josh, making the eye contact only he, Sam, and Danny could recognize. You proceeded with the song as normal, trying to stay present with the crowd and your guitar.

There he was again, in plain view.

Fucking. Hell.

The song went on, and you decided to forget for just a second. You trailed into your solo…7 minutes of most jarring guitar succession you’d ever written. The fire was still burning.

You pranced around the stage wildly, getting closer and grabbing a few different angles. It also gave you a chance to hop onto the audience speakers for an even closer look.

Positive.

You wrapped it up, jumping back onto the stage, and rushing to the band mic. You looked to Sam intently, grabbing his attention as quickly as you could. You pressed your lips to the mic, and spoke as clearly as you could.

“Hey, listen to me….11 o'clock, about ten rows back. Red hat, white shirt. Please tell me I’m wrong.” You held eye contact with Sam, and he nodded in understanding.

Danny glanced at you, and mouthed “I can’t see that far.” You shrugged him off, motioning that you would explain later.

Josh had been speaking to the crowd, and you were unsure whether or not he had paid attention to what you said.

You began ‘Highway Tune’, and were determined to finish the show with a bang. About halfway through, you looked to Sam, who had a panicked look on his face. Shit, you must be right. You raised your eyebrows to him for confirmation, which he returned with a horrified nod.

You wrapped up the show without a hitch, proud of the way you all had played. You took off in a sprint, looking for Y/N. You needed to see her face, but she was nowhere to be found.

The rest of the guys ran up beside you, panting and out of breath, sticky with the sweat in the Texas heat.

“What the hell was that about? Who did you see?” Danny asked, worry in his voice.

You looked to Sam, your face down and fallen with dread.

“It was Andy.”

—

Panic, dread, fear, the overwhelming need to find Y/N…all of it taking up your mind at once. You all pulled off your in-ears and disposed of your instruments with the techs as quickly as you could. You were pacing around backstage, not bothering to talk to anyone or give anyone the time of day. You just needed to find her. Make sure she was safe. You looked behind you, all three of your brothers following you doing the same exact thing. My boys.

“Hey, there she is!” Sam yelled from behind you, pointing over behind a trailer in the lot. The four of you rushed up to her, almost crashing into one another as you came to a stop. You inspected her, almost completely forgetting you couldn’t take her into a full embrace.

“Hey! God, what the hell is wrong with you guys?” She asked, stunned by your sudden presence.

“We uh, just couldn’t find you. We were wondering if you….wanted to go catch St. Vincent with us...we need to leave now if you do.” You spat, thinking on your toes.

She looked at you sideways. “You guys just stepped off stage...don’t you need to like…Go pee or something? Change clothes? Sit down?”

You glanced back at the guys, just as sweaty as you, all still dressed in your stage clothes.

“Yeah, yeah, we'll change really quick. But, meet us back here in 10?” Sam said.

Her face grimaced up in confusion. “Uh, I have to close up with the crew…” she glanced at her phone checking the time. “I’ve got a lot to do still...before I can–”

“Don’t worry about it. Get what you need to do done, and meet us back here ASAP. We’ll wait for you to walk over.” Josh said, throwing you a knowing glance.

“Alright, yeah okay...I’ll text Elle and meet you back here...” her face was wrought with confusion at your display. She walked away, radioing to someone about something.

You took back off as a group, walking quickly and scanning the grounds. Your head felt hot and your eyes felt glassy. You finally made it to the trailer, and you were all quiet until you shut the door, the A/C feeling like it could knock you down.

You immediately sat on the couch, putting your head in your hands. “What the fuck is he doing in Texas?!” You yelled, standing back up and beginning to undress. Sam had gone over to the mini fridge, and he pulled out a seltzer for everyone, popping the top on yours and handing it to you. You practically chugged its contents, not realizing how thirsty you were.

“Man, chill out. Maybe he moved here. Just going to the festival…” Danny offered, trying to give the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah maybe. But remember how fucking insane he was…he was the last person I expected to see when I looked out there. Just really…strange...right?” You asked.

The rest of them nodded in agreement. “Yeah, really fuckin’ strange.” Josh said, pulling off his clothing and hanging it on a hanger. “But, don’t stress out too bad. We’re all here, there’s thousands of people around…it’ll be okay. Just an anomaly.”

You could always count on Josh to bring you back down to reality. He was right, it was probably just a huge coincidence. A wild one, but a coincidence nonetheless. But, Andy knew who you were, who the band was…why did he come to watch? And stand fairly close to the front near you, at that?

You shook the thoughts from your head, trying to stay positive. Everyone continued to get changed and started downing drinks, pregaming for the rest of the shows tonight.

“Hey, I don’t think we should tell Y/N he’s here. It would probably ruin her night, don’t you think Sam?” You shot Sam a look that screamed ‘please agree with me’.

“Yeah, I agree. We’ll never see him again, so. Let’s just let her have a good time.” Sam played along.

“Jake, what the actual fuck were you on tonight? I’ve never seen you solo like that before…that was nuts, dude...I thought you’d never cue me to stop.” Danny said, plopping down on the couch.

“Yeah no shit!” Sam said. “My feet were getting sore.”

You grinned, knowing all too well why you were playing better, but not able to speak on it quite yet.

“Ahh, I dunno. Must be something in the air...” you offered.

Josh approached you slowly and talking quietly, wearing his knowing face. “Hey, are you and Y/N okay? I know things were still really rocky last time we talked…” he had sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Uh, yeah actually. We’re okay. We talked a little bit without ripping each other’s head off, so…” you couldn’t say anything more right now, though you never kept any secrets at all from Josh, this one needed to be kept as long as possible. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t kind of enjoying the idea of sneaking around.

He looked at you again, squinting his eyes.

“What?” You asked.

“Hmmmm...nothing. But you’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think I don’t know when you’re lying. We do share the same brain cells, you know.” He said, walking back over to join Danny on the couch.

You slipped on a more comfortable pair of shoes, and placed a flat-brimmed hat on your head. “Alright, let’s get going. We don’t want to miss the shows. I wonder if Duran Duran can still...Duran?” you said in a faux british accent.

Sam shoved your shoulder as you passed by him. “Ha ha, that was such a good one Jake.”

“I’m full of them. I’ll be here all night.” You flicked the brim of your hat, and tossed back the rest of your drink, crushing your can as you exited the door. A sharp pain flew up your arm when you dropped the can in the trash, an all too familiar feeling that hadn’t hurt this bad in years.

——

Y/N had magically finished up what she needed to do in that short amount of time, and managed to find Elle, too. You all met at the corner of the lot, and walked over to backstage of the next show. The sun had set now, and you were finally starting to relax a little bit after seeing Andy earlier. He gave you an eerie feeling, almost one that creeped you out, for some reason. You felt confident that Danny and Josh were right, and he was just here for the festival.

Y/N had changed into a short little green dress, that was low cut in the front and flowy, and sat right at her mid-thigh. You knew she had chosen that exact dress to tease you, and she watched as your sunglass-covered eyes traveled up and down her body, undressing her with each glance. You slowly shook your head back and forth, letting her know that she was indeed making you suffer.

You all stayed side stage for the majority of the next two shows, and the night was going well. You kept your distance from Y/N, and watched from afar as she danced and drank with Elle. Occasionally, your glances would meet up, and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away from her.

You were feeling fairly tipsy, conversing with other musicians and people in the industry. Suddenly the delicious and familiar aroma of marijuana slid past your nose, and you followed it to its source. Josh and Sam, of course. You excused yourself from the conversation you were having, and went and joined them.

The whole group shared what must have been three or four joints, as the last artist played into their late-night set. The haze in the air was heavy, and you felt the fuzz climb into your face and extremities. Ahh, there it is.

Things began to move in slow motion under your hooded eyelids, the music sounding louder and better..everyone started to dance and move their bodies with the beat. Your eyes drifted to Y/N, you could tell she was feeling it too.

“I gotta hit the head, you wanna go?” Sam shouted over the music in your ear. You nodded, noticing your full bladder. He took Elle’s hand and pulled her behind him as you followed them off the stage.

“My god, I’m really fuckin high…” Elle giggled at herself as you made your way across the lot to the restrooms.

“Yeah same, I scored some good shit down here.” Sam laughed. “We’ll wait for you out here, babe.” He said as you separated.

You and Sam stood next to each other, relieving yourselves in the urinals.

“So, when did you and Y/N finally fuck?!” He asked, loudly as ever.

“SAM! Goddamn, could you talk any louder? What is wrong with you? What are you talking about?” You spat at him from across the divider.

“Duuuude, don’t play dumb.” You could recognize his stoned voice from a mile away. “Come on. Unfortunately, I know her body just as well as you do, now. Maybe even better…? I know what she acts like when she’s been…satisfied.” Your mouth hung open at his words. He did nothing but stare at you, raising his eyebrows up and down.

You buttoned up your jeans, and walked over to the sink to wash your hands quickly, avoiding his question. You busted out the door, with him following close behind. You stood by the restroom entrance, waiting for Elle.

“Jaaaake, don’t avoid my question. I’m not stupid, I can read her body language. And yours too, if we’re being honest. You guys are gravitating towards each other again.” His words had begun to slur slightly. “How long ago?”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Chicago.”

He bounced away, clapping his hands loudly. “Ha! I knew it!!”

“Sam you can’t tell a fucking soul, do you hear me?” You got into his face, trying your best to threaten him like you did when you were kids.

He held his hands up in submission. “I promise.” You turned away.

Suddenly he was next to you again. “I will say though, she’s become a bit of a freak in the sheets, if ya know what I mean. You better start building up that stamina…” he said quietly. “You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It wasn’t funny, it shouldn’t be funny, but it was. The whole situation, sharing this conversation with your little brother. All of it was so fucked up.

He started to laugh with you. You grabbed his shoulder, speaking through shared belly laughs. “So I’ve noticed, Sam. Appreciate that.” You shook your head at the awkward but hilarious conversation.

Elle emerged from the bathroom finding the two of you in stitches. “What are you two laughing about?” She said as you started the walk back to the stage.

“Oh nothing, just that him and Y/N finally slept together.” Sam said.

“Sam, I swear to god.” You said.

“OH MY GOD! You finally boinked?!” Elle said, a bit too loudly for your liking. “It’s about fucking time, Jake. What took you so long?!”

“Jesus Christ…” you said under your breath. “Elle, love, you promise me right now you will not tell a soul, okay? Her job is really…on the line.”

“I got it, Jake. She’s my best friend. I promise.” She zipped her lips and threw away the key, and you actually trusted that she would stay quiet.

—

You made your way back to the stage, suddenly feeling uneasy. You glanced around at the crowd, just waiting to see a red hat bobbing its way around. You found Y/N, still dancing and having a good time as the band wrapped up its last song.

“You guys want to come back to my room for one more smoke?” You asked the group, suddenly feeling the need to leave. Everyone nodded in agreement, as you started back down the steps.

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go take some stage shots. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Summer said, waving your group off.

The hotel was only a few minutes drive from the venue, and Sam had insisted the driver stop at the nearest gas station so he could buy beer. You could tell everyone was still feeling exceptionally high, but it was a nice feeling. You felt a little more at ease the further away you got from the venue.

Everyone gathered back in your room at the hotel, changed into comfortable clothes and toting cases of beer. You could afford to get cross faded tonight. Josh brought his speaker and asked Elle to hook up to the Bluetooth. Some Cajun-sounding flute music began to come through it, some gritty messy metallic sounds you thought sounded familiar.

“Elle, what is this?” You asked her as you sat down to roll a few more joints.

“Ry Cooder, he’s amazing.” She answered, pulling her lips from a bottle of Corona.

“My god, yeah, did he play with Taj Mahal?” You asked.

She shook her head. “Yep. I think they’re actually releasing an album together next year. So you’ve seen Southern Comfort, right?”

You grinned and nodded. “Yep. That must be why I know this.”

You could definitely see why Sam was attracted to her now.

Y/N joined her on the bed, popping the top off her own beer. Your eyes met hers for just a second, but long enough to linger. She’d changed into a thin and silky dress, with a flannel on top. Oh my god.Your flannel. The one you gave her at the lake, the one she borrowed every time she came over when you were younger. She actually kept it. Your face must have fallen at the sight, because she gave you the slightest wink while she sipped her beer.

Your hands suddenly became weak, the tiny ground pieces of weed falling from the sides of your half-rolled joint.

“Jake, what’s taking so long over there?” Josh asked.

“I’m rusty, you come fucking do it.” You answered.

You opened the double-door window of the room and turned on the vent of the bathroom so the smoke could escape, and you rolled a towel and tucked it under the door. It felt like high school again. It was still warm outside, and the breeze came in through the curtains, bringing with it a peaceful and relaxed feeling. Everyone was feeling themselves, passing several joints and listening to Josh tell elaborate stories.

Your bed was king sized and the room was larger than a standard room, so you found yourself feeling thankful you’d upgraded to a room large enough to accommodate everyone comfortably, completely by accident.

Everyone eventually gathered in a tight circle, seated on the bed. Y/N found her way over to you, sitting directly beside you. Shit, she was feeling it. And Danny and Josh didn’t completely know yet. At least, you thought they didn’t. Her hair brushed your shoulder, sending the smell of her directly to your nose. It was intoxicating having her that close, in that sexy dress, in your flannel…unable to touch her.

Danny had brought a deck of cards and a game of poker ensued. “We don’t have any chips, what could we use?” Elle asked.

“Ooooh we could use the hotel shampoo bottles and bars of soap and these quarters in my pocket.” Josh answered, laughing at himself through a goofy stoned giggle.

“Did someone say chips? I’m hungry…” Sam asked no one in particular.

An hour or so passed of talking, laughing, drinking, and smoking. Your head was absolutely spinning at this point, and Y/N’s hand just happened to keep landing on your knee. She was letting loose. Sam glanced up at you from under his hooded lashes, looking at her hand, then back to you, his eyebrows raising again. You felt a flush find your face as you realized just how high you actually were.

The room was full of smoke, a haze falling onto everything as everyone basked in their intoxication, and all you could feel anymore was a draw to her. She was like a hot magnet that you were being pulled to, unable to think about anything else other than having your way with her.

“Jake, that flannel looks very familiar...” Josh said, motioning to Y/N. You sighed. You couldn’t handle it any longer. You were over hiding her. You were in love with her, and your best friends deserved to know it. If anyone in the world could keep your secret, it was the people in the room with you right now.

“Well Josh, that’s because it’s mine. I gave it to her when we started dating when we were younger and I just…never asked for it back. I let her keep it.” You leaned back on your arms, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. He smiled at you, almost as if he was proud.

“Y/N, why didn’t you ever give it back to him?” Josh pressed.

The group went silent. She looked at Josh, somewhat surprised, but catching his drift. Then she brought her eyes to meet yours, deep and glassy and full of love. She placed her hand on your knee, lightly brushing her fingernails over it.

“Well Josh, because I love it too much. It makes me feel good. I want to keep it forever, keep it safe and loved...” she answered him, never removing her eyes from yours.

“And Jake, will you ever ask for it back?” Josh went on.

You kept your eyes locked on hers, and grabbed her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers.

“No, Josh. It’s hers now. She can keep it for the rest of our lives.” You answered, your voice low and steady. Her face bloomed into a smile that went from ear to ear.

Josh chuckled as the group finally stirred. “Ha, well I guess it’s fucking settled then, isn’t it?” He said, reaching over and patting you between your shoulders, firmly holding your neck and shaking you side to side.

“Well hell yeah!” Danny exclaimed, coming across the circle and bringing the two of you in between both of his arms, hugging you tightly. The next thing you knew you had all fallen into a giant pile, laughing and hugging and falling off the bed in fits of giggles.

The relief that fell over you was immense…these were your best friends. The people you trusted the most in the world. The ones who would go to bat for you, and for Y/N, no matter what the circumstances.

In the cloudy air of the room, you felt your inhibitions begin to fall away. You found her in the pile of laughing bodies, and met her eyes, knowing that in that moment, you didn’t care who in the world knew it. You grabbed her face, and pulled her into a long and loving kiss, eliciting cheers from the rest of the group.

Her cheeks went flush when you pulled away, but she grabbed you back, pulling you in for one more. Sweet and passionate, but with something else hidden behind it. You knew that look from long ago, she didn’t want to wait much longer.

Everyone began to sit back up and find their seats on the bed again. Keeping direct eye contact with her, and bringing your face close to hers, lips almost touching, you spoke. “Hey, it’s been fun, but do you think you guys could get the fuck out of here?” Your eyes were unabashedly flicking from her eyes to her lips, plush and pink and waiting for you.

They all laughed in unison, and your ears went deaf to everything surrounding you. All you could see, all you could hear and feel, was her. Suddenly, you found yourselves alone, sitting on the bed, starving for one another.

Like clockwork, she quickly crawled over and pushed her lips into yours, her hands furiously wrapping in your hair, pulling it and tangling it between her fingers. She stood up on her knees, and you brought your hands underneath her dress to cup her ass. Her tongue was immediately in your mouth, searching deeply for parts yet unexplored. You felt a deep hunger in your gut for her, something that felt like starvation that could never be satiated.

You growled into her mouth as she bit your tongue, pulling it from your mouth and into hers. The wind picked up outside and blew across you, lifting her dress a little, revealing more of her body to your naked eye.

She yanked on your hair at the back of your neck, pulling your head backwards to look her in the eyes. You scanned her eyes from left to right, reading a story that was only half-written. She smiled a devious smile, and connected your lips again. You squeezed her ass cheeks hard, pulling them apart and pulling her body into you. You separated yourself from her lips, and began kissing her throat, her neck, her collarbones, and in between her breasts. God, they were so beautiful.

You picked her up by the waist, forcefully lying her down on the bed. You began to pull up on her dress, successfully removing it over her head.

“You thought you could wear this dress, and MY clothing, in front of everyone, and expect me to not want to fuck you right here? Torture isn’t nice, love.” you said, pulling her arms above her head and pinning them there, diving into her neck again.

“No Jacob, torture isn’t for the meek.” She responded, making your eyes roll back in your head. Oh, so it’s gonna be this kind of game. Let’s see what Sammy was talking about…

The both of you were blazed out of your minds, your eyes heavy and red, not to mention the drinking you’d both been doing all night. You decided to let it work to your advantage, though, watching her as all your inhibitions went straight down the drain. Nothing felt off the table.

You buried yourself in her hair, letting your tongue graze over her ear as you held her arms steady above her. You had one knee beside her, and one knee between her legs, hovering above her as she dug her fingertips into your sides. “Jake…” she spoke.

“Hmmm?” You breathed into her ear.

“You have entirely too much clothing on.” she said.

You pulled back, realizing she was correct. She was down to her lace bra and panty set, while you still had everything but your shoes on. You sat up and began to unbutton your shirt, keeping your eyes glued to hers. She reached up and grabbed your hands, stopping their movements.

“Hang on a sec, let’s make this interesting.” she said. Her eyes were heavy and solid, thick with intoxication from the weed, and from you. With that, she unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, but left it hanging over your shoulders. Then she reached down to your belt, unbuckling it and undoing the zipper.

“Let me help–” you said, reaching to pull your dark jeans off.

“No, leave them on. Come to the edge of the bed.” She commanded, signaling with her finger for you to follow her as she rolled off the end and into the floor.

She perched sitting on her knees, and you did what she told you, sitting with your feet on the floor right in front of her. She lurched forward, bringing her face between your legs. She rested her hands on your knees, pulling them apart a little bit to gain more access. She brought her mouth to your hardened length, dragging her tongue across the tip that was still covered by your boxers.

The indirect contact and the warmth of her mouth felt like heaven. She began nipping at it with her teeth, causing you to inhale quickly. You brought your hands to her head, envisioning the last time she’d done this, not long ago on the floor of your study.

She cupped her lips overtop of your head, blowing warm air into the fabric. Your brain was buzzing with intensity, but you needed more. You needed to feel her. Almost as if she heard your thoughts, she reached her fingertips into the hole of your boxers, and freeing you through them instead of pulling them down. That’s different.

Suddenly her mouth was completely taking you into her throat to the hilt, your tip hitting the back of her throat as she immediately swallowed around you.

“Motherfuck, Y/N…” you hissed through your teeth. She’d taken you completely by surprise. She began bobbing her head, taking you as deeply as you could go, running her flattened tongue across all your sweet spots. She was starting to remember them. Her hands that were rested on your knees climbed up to squeeze your thighs, massaging them with her fingers. You tilted your head back in pleasure, letting your eyes fall closed.

“Hmm-mm...” she hummed ‘no’ around you, causing you to peer back down to her. She took her pointer and middle fingers making the ‘two’ signal, pointing to first your eyes, then hers. Eyes on her. She wanted you to watch her.

Good god.

You kept your silent word, watching her every move intently as she glided her mouth around your now soaked dick, popping her lips around it every so often, and squeezing your base with her hand. You felt yourself beginning to unravel, watching her mouth on you was like seeing something you weren’t supposed to see…so sinful…but so enticing…

“Shit baby...your mouth…is fucking heavenly...”

You grabbed her hair in your hand, remembering what she had said last time. ‘I want it…’

She nodded her head, again giving you the go-ahead to control her movements. You felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten, feeling yourself near release. You tightened your grip on her locks, using a little extra force now as you pushed into her mouth, in and out with a bit more speed.

“Baby, I’m close…you’re almost…” the knot in your stomach began to unfurl, as the buildup approached. Just then, she removed herself completely, standing up and towering over you. She wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand as you felt lost without the contact, so close to your release.

“Ok, you can take your shirt off now.” She said, a devilish smile crossing her face.

You were basically panting with desire. “Wha–what?”

“You didn’t cum. Good job. You can take your shirt off now.” She said, not giving you much explanation, but feeding you enough information that you could see where this might be going.

You looked at her sideways, and slowly removed your shirt, tossing it into the floor. You leaned back on your elbows, eyeing her half-naked body standing before you. What next? You felt like you could jump out of your skin with excitement, the fog still heavy in your head.

“Up the bed…” she commanded again, motioning to the headboard. You did as she asked, your lower half still clothed with your dick still poking through the open hole of your boxers. She crawled on top of you, snaking her way up to meet your mouth with hers, laying wet and searing hot kisses to your lips.

She pulled away, turning herself around backwards and straddling you, her hands steadying herself on your thighs. She turned her head around to make eye contact with you, your eyes open wide with surprise.

She slowly shook her hips from side to side.

“Pull them to the side.” She said, demand thick in her voice. Yes ma’am.

You exhaled loudly, feeling a rush of blood to your face, and then straight to your already overly excited member. You did as she asked once more, hooking your finger in her lace thong, pulling it to the side. She arched her back so that her opening was pointed toward your face, and you felt your head plummet to her, your tongue immediately between her folds. Her mouth was on you again, as quickly as your tongue had found her. 69? Seriously, where did this woman come from?

You went to town, feeling like you were starving to touch her in any way you possibly could. You let your tongue do the talking, sliding it’s way up and down her slit, burying your face in her pussy. She tasted fucking phenomenal. You brought your hands to grasp the front of her thighs, trying to pull her toward you.

You felt her mouth bobbing at a sickening pace, not too fast, and not too slow. Her tongue was like silk, and it kept the saliva pooling inside her mouth while she flicked your tip, causing you to buck your hips into her.

“You can grind into my mouth, baby.” She purred, running her closed fist up and down you while she spoke. You took that as an invitation to slowly rock your hips up and down, slowly making circles and fucking into her face.

“So can you.” You responded. You felt her hips begin to gyrate slowly, positioning her sweet spot exactly where she needed it. You found her clit, and tightened your tongue muscle so that it pointed directly onto it. You quickly bobbed it in and out of your mouth before you pulled it all the way in, and began flicking it with your tongue again.

“Fuckkkk yes Jake. Oh my god…” her whimpers spurred you on, and apparently her too, as she then took you extremely deep again, tightening all of her mouth and throat around you. You felt yourself nearing release again. Her fist was working you, bringing you closer and closer to the white hot heat.

She pulled off again, turning herself around to face you. You let your head fall back against the pillows, a sheen of sweat beginning to cover your face.

“Damnit baby, you are killing me.” You laughed into the room, bringing your hands through your hair. “What’s with the punishment?”

“Not punishment, baby. Are you enjoying yourself?” She asked, slithering her way back up between your legs.

You shook your head maybe a little too fast.

“Yeah, yes. I’m enjoying myself.” You answered.

“Okay then, it’s not punishment. You can take your pants off.” She said, a smirk forming on her face before she gave you a sweet peck on your still soaked lips.

“Errrhhhh…finally.” You said, clipping your thumbs in your bottoms, pulling them both off in one swipe. You bounced back on the bed, bringing your arms around her and pulling her down into you. You allowed yourselves a few minutes to indulge in one another, kissing into each other furiously, finally feeling your naked body brushing and pressing up against hers. You suddenly felt like you were leaving her untouched, so you gripped her hips, pulling yourself down the bed underneath her. You hooked your fingers in her thong and pulled it down, signaling for her to bring her legs together so you could pull it down over her knees. She obliged, surprisingly.

“My turn, love. Climb up. All fours.” You tapped the backs of her thighs, making her inch her way up the bed. She listened, positioning herself overtop of your ready and waiting mouth. You opened wide, smiling as you stuck your tongue out. She was looking down at you between her legs, and she let out the sweetest giggle. You gripped around her folded legs as she lowered herself down.

“Mmmm...” you growled. “You think you can ride my face, baby?”

She didn’t even have to answer, she’d already made contact with your mouth. She instantly started grinding and bouncing, her wetness covering your entire face. But god, you didn’t care. You wanted to drown in her. Taste her forever. It was something you’d never forgotten. And now it was something you were sure you couldn’t live without.

You looked up at her body, reveling and rolling her hips in circles as your tongue danced inside her. She felt so warm, so delicious. You brought your hand to her mound, finding her clit with your thumb. You began swirling it, massaging it while you kept working inside her with your tongue. You were suffocating, fighting for air, but you couldn’t care less. You could do this all night.

Her sounds were like music to your ears, filling up your mind with the dirtiest thoughts. You fought to bring her there, you wanted her to spill herself around you and into your mouth, but instead you decided to play her game.

You reached up and unclasped her bra with one swift motion, pulling it down her arms and tossing it away. You lifted her off of you.

“Get my flannel.” You said, pointing to where it lay on the floor. She glanced over to it, then back to you, obviously pissed you stopped the ride of her life.

She reached over the side of the bed and picked it up, offering it to you.

You removed yourself from underneath her, “Turn around.” She gave you another side eye, but did what she was told.

You took the sleeves of your flannel, straightened them out, and gently pulled both of her hands behind her. You tied the sleeves of the flannel around her crossed wrists, leaving them a little bit of wiggle room. She peeked over her shoulder, making the most seductive eyes at you. You brought your mouth close to her ear, and grazed her cheek with your hand. “This ok, love?”

“You can tie it tighter, if you want.” she said.

Fuck, that’s exactly what Sam was talking about.

You laughed a low howl, pulling the sleeves a bit tighter, causing her back to arch. You noticed her body reacting, so you gripped the back of her hair, pushing her face down into the bed. You pressed your length up against her ass, and brought your face close to hers again.

“You thought you could tease me all night, edge me…well, time’s up. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight.” You weren’t sure where these words were coming from, it wasn’t your normal bedroom talk. But she seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much.

“Just fucking do it, Jacob. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

You felt your face get hot...you’d seen her a thousand different ways before, but never quite like this. This vulnerability mixed in with her confidence was making your high come back full force. Your mouth had gone dry now from the after effects of the weed, your vision feeling delayed and stippled. Your ears felt like they had cotton in them, and the dopamine was swirling through your body. You could tell she was still faded too; her movements weren’t quick and calculated, but instead slow and sultry. And you were fucking loving it.

You noticed that the double door windows were still open, so you stood up to close them and the curtain.

“Leave them open. I don’t mind.” She said, surprising you.

“But someone might be able to see-“

“Let them watch.”

Holy. Fucking….

You dropped the act for long enough to truly press her.

“Wait seriously Y/N?” You asked. “You don’t care?”

All she did was shake her head. “No. I really don’t care. Now please come back.”

You shrugged it off, leaving the doors standing wide open, the act you were about to perform on full display for anyone who might happen to see.

You returned back to her, getting back in the headspace you needed to. Her hands were still tied behind her back, most of her face covered up by her hair.

The wind was blowing around again, sending chills all over your body. It was cooling off outside. You took yourself in your palm, stroking a few times before making contact with her. You ran your tip up and down her slit, collecting all the wetness that you could. You grabbed onto the flannel, pulling it back toward you a little bit, eliciting a tiny moan to fall from her lips.

“Tell me how bad you want me.” You spoke, leaning down toward her. You eased the very tip into her, not giving her too much too fast.

“I want you so bad, Jake. I want all of you, need all of you. Please.” She murmured.

You clicked your tongue. “Hm. I can’t really hear you, love. I said tell me how badly you want me...” you pulled back again on her wrists, still teasing at her entrance.

“Damn it, baby. I said I need you to fuck me, please! I want to feel all of you inside me, don’t hold anything back...” she raised her voice just slightly.

With that, you felt your cock twitch, and you released her wrists, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling it as you finally entered her, pushing all the way in until you couldn’t go any further.

Pure. Fucking. Bliss.

She cried out with pleasure as you began to pull back out, watching yourself leave her, practically dripping.

Expletives left both of your lips at the sensation, you felt like you completely forgot how to speak. Nothing in this world, not a single thing you love could ever compare to how you feel for her, how she feels around you.

You began to work at a steady pace, pulling in and out of her, basking in the feeling of finally having her again. And how amazing she felt like this. You grabbed her hips, and she stepped her knees apart a bit, allowing her back to arch more for you. Her torso was at an almost 90° angle; you wished you could see this from a side view.

“Did he fuck you like this? Huh? Tell me, did he fuck you this good?” You asked, wanting to ignite something in her that in all reality, you didn’t care about one way or the other.

“Mmmm sometimes… yeah he did...” she cooed.

“Hmmm, well. I’m going to fuck every single memory of his body off of you, whether you like it or not.”

“Let’s see it, Jake. Prove it. Prove to me you’re better...”

Her face was buried in the sheets, her expression fucked out and contorted as you pounded into her hard. You slowed your pace, making her cry out again. If you weren’t mistaken, you were sure she had tears in her eyes. The good kind.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Tell me you’re never gonna leave me. You’ll never go anywhere ever again…” you were panting, trying to keep up with yourself as your body wanted to fly harder and faster into her.

“I’ll never leave you, Jake. I promise. I love you so fuckin’ much…please don’t stop…” she whimpered.

You continued your assault on her, not letting up except to snake your hand around her front, finding her sweet spot again with your fingers. It made her cry out, you could tell she was getting close.

You grabbed the knot of the flannel, untying it quickly, letting her hands fall back to her sides. She lifted herself up and looked back at you as you pulled out, also dissatisfied with the loss of contact.

“What the fuckkkk Jake...” She half laughed.

“Go get in the shower. Make it hot.” You demanded, walking over to the mini fridge and pulling out a few little bottles of tequila. The feeling of being intoxicated while fucking her was a high you wanted to keep chasing...neither of you had any guard up, and no holds were being barred. Would it be a rare occasion? Maybe. But you were determined to finish it with a bang.

A wild smile came to her face, her hair was an absolute mess, her lips were swollen and her cheeks were pink. Beautiful, always so beautiful. And the way she looked at you? Made your stomach fall directly through the floor. Like you were the only human left on earth, and she wanted to own every single bit of you.

She scampered off to the bathroom, and you heard the water turn on full blast. You reached for the two plastic cups wrapped up in the ice bucket, pouring the tequila into them. You grabbed a tiny can of soda water, adding just enough to add bubbles to the shots. You stuck your pointer finger into them, giving them a tiny stir. You brought your finger inside your mouth and sucked away the excess, following her into the bathroom.

HER POV

The bathroom mirror and glass walls were already steaming up within the 30 or so seconds you’d been in the shower. You turned on just a bit of cold water to offset, and stepped under the water. You let it flow over you, closing your eyes as it cascaded down over your face and hair. You stood, waiting for what felt like ages, waiting to feel him again. Where the hell was he? You were still dripping with desire, and you didn’t want it to rinse off…

You heard the door open, and watched through the fogged glass as he entered the room carrying two cups. You opened the glass door for him, steam rolling out as you did so. He smiled, handing you the cup. “Didn’t want to go get ice. Didn’t think you’d care...” he spoke, his voice still sleepy and laced with his high.

“You know I don’t mind, baby. Thank you.” You smiled and took the cup. He held his cup up to yours, clinking them together, before you both shot back the liquid. “We’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow…” you laughed.

He laughed in agreement, and walked over and stood under the oversized shower head, letting the hot beads soak his hair and body. Why was everything he did so fucking attractive?

Once he was sufficiently rinsed, he brought his hands back over to you, bringing your back to the wall. “Mmm, where were we?” His mouth found yours in an instant, picking up right where you’d left off. Except this time, your hands were free to touch him, grab him, squeeze him and stroke him, all the things that made him feel good. You wanted to make him feel good.

The hot shower poured over you, making each touch of his hands feel like electricity. His hand found itself between your legs again, his fingers knowing exactly where to go. Knowing your body so well…

“Ahhh, still wet for me, are you baby? You ready for me to fuck you again?” He growled into your neck. “It sure feels like it...”

You could do nothing but nod as he slipped two fingers into you, pumping them slowly.

“Ahhh, shit baby...” you breathed, biting into his shoulder. “I need you so bad...”

He hummed low, working his fingers in and out and shaking them lightly as he entered, giving you a whole new rush of pleasure.

You suddenly got an unwelcome flashback of just a few short weeks ago, you and Sam in another shower in another hotel, tangled up with your leg hitched over his hip and your tongue in his mouth.

You bent in half as he teased you with his dick…smacking you across the ass when you didn’t listen…

You shook the thought from your head, hoping that that wouldn’t become a normal occurrence. They did feel…very similar.

Thankfully Jake was able to pull you back to reality, his eyes looking deeply into yours, beckoning you back to him with his unwavering and unfaltering passion for you.

He sat down on the small bench in the shower, and patted his lap. “Come here.”

You waltzed over, wiping the water from your eyes, and placing your knees on either side of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and positioned yourself above him, sliding yourself down onto him.

The ride was hot, steamy, sweaty and cloudy. You were still incredibly stoned, your vision still blurry, your movements delayed. The tequila hit you both at the same time…your eyes struggled to stay open to even look at each other…you rode him slowly, feeling every single centimeter of him as you pulled yourself up and down, tightening your muscles as you went.

He massaged your ass, kissed your shoulders, held your hair as your hips bucked and rolled. You were certain you’d never ever felt this much ecstasy before in your life, whether it be from the smoke or the drink, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was mostly him…he was intoxicating all on his own…breathing your name over and over through the water dripping from his lips, his brow turning down into a frown as he looked down and watched himself enter and leave you...your tits bouncing as you fucked him slowly, intently, with as much love as you could muster…

…you felt it growing again, deep inside you, a blazing fire that you’d been chasing after all night. You began to whine a bit, rolling your head on your shoulders in circles as you concentrated on fulfilling your goal.

“Huh-uh baby, eyes on me, remember?” He said, the steam rolling in front of his face. You were sure you were going to combust at any moment, and the eye contact only made it worse.

“I’m right there too…just keep riding me...just like that baby…god, fuck you feel so amazing…”

His face contorted into the most beautiful look of pleasure as he lost eye contact, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he cried out. His body convulsing, his arms shaking, his hands grasping and pulling your hair as he came into you, hot and slow, your name spilling from his lips until he had exhausted all the breath in his lungs…

…you weren’t far behind...your release came in the same way, a buildup of intensity, starting low and quiet and exploding into a million tiny white lights passing behind your eyes as your muscles contracted around him…you held on to him for dear life…gripping his shoulders and hair until you both found yourselves panting, coming down from the most tantric and beautiful scene your young bodies had yet to endure.

He was it. He was everything. Perfection in a person. Nothing else, no one else would ever compare. You knew in your heart that you’d fight for him for the rest of your life, no matter what the consequences might be.

SAM POV

Your eyes felt bone dry as you tried to pry them open, the cold air blowing from the air conditioner drying them out even further. You were warm under the sheets, not wanting to move just yet, as you noticed Elle sprawled across you. Her curls were splayed around her head in a perfect halo, and you couldn't help but stare.

Blinking a few times, the dryness started to fade away, giving way to the massive hangover you were sporting. You rolled to your side and grabbed your phone, flipping through your notifications and swiping them away. Your mouth was dry and all you could think about was how perfect a scalding hot coffee would feel slipping over your tongue.

Dragging yourself from the warmth of the sheets, you stood up, and pulled your messy hair into a bun at the back of your neck. You quietly walked over to your suitcase and pulled out a pair of shorts and a shirt, pulling them on as you looked for your wallet.

Finding it in your pants from last night, you slid it into your fanny pack, and slipped on your birkenstocks. You set your phone to vibrate and dropped it into your pocket as you grabbed the room key and slipped out the door.

You took the elevator down a few floors to the lobby, milling around watching as festival goers checked out to return home. You made your way to the little cafe, and ordered two coffees, one black and one with room. You paid for the two cups and made your way over to the small table that held the cream and sugar, pouring in just the right amount of both, just how you knew she liked it. You smiled to yourself as you did it, thinking back on the days you spent wishing you could do just this.

As you stirred the coffee, it turned a caramel color and you knew you got it right. You placed lids on the two steaming cups and started back towards the elevators. Walking past the front desk you smiled and said hello to a few people who recognized you, none of them wanting to take up too much of your time. But as you stepped closer to the elevator, the doors opened, and people filed out.

Someone caught your eye, however, sporting the same red baseball hat as the day prior. You turned to look at him, to really make sure it was him, and as his eyes met yours you knew you had your confirmation. You would know that face anywhere.

Mother fucker.

He quickly walked away from you as you stepped into the elevator, watching as he made his way into the lobby and disappearing out of sight. Your heart was racing at his proximity to Y/N. Why was he here? Did he know she was here?

Your hands were shaking as you stepped out on your floor, feeling like you had to watch over your shoulder as you walked to your room. Stacking the coffees you tapped your key card to the door, and entered the room quietly. Elle was thankfully still sleeping, so you placed the coffees on the desk, and kicked your shoes to the side of the bed. You grabbed your phone and sat on the couch, trying to figure out what to do. With shaky hands you opened your texts, found the brothers group chat and began to type.

You

9:08am: 911

9:09am: He’s in the hotel.

Taglist:

@gretavansara@jordie-gvf-admin@starshine-wagner @eyelinerjake@gretavanfvckface@gretavanmoon@misshunnybeebee@fretaganvleet@gvfpal@joshkiszkas@ascendingtostardust@raviolilegs@sammysprincess@gvfpal@objectsinspvce@lallisonl@gvfpal@raviolilegs@jaketlover@ascendingtostardust @indigostreakmorgan@jakemarrymeibeg@fakeplastiqtree@radmads-gvf @fwzco @katelynn-gvf @writingcold @jakesgrapejuice @jakekiszkasbabymama @emsfallingsky @gretavanbear @ejoygvf @beebloopbleep @mackalah @weneedsomehealing123 @reesetrippingthelight @lightmylove-gvf @wetkleenex-gvf@fulltimecynical @little-bit-of-monica@ageofbajabule @ageofsinners@indigostreakslut @profitofthedune @katelynn-gvf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @joshskittytickler21 @mp0801@starcatcherry @samsbirks

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