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puckinghischier · 1 month

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Jersey Talk

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader finds herself engaging in a lot of jersey talk

notes: part 3 of my lil unnamed nico series!! i loved writing this part and hope you enjoy it as much as i do 🥹 also, i didn’t really proofread so ignore any mistakes. and just a disclaimer, i don’t claim to know everything there is to know about any of the players mentioned in my writing, so if there’s inaccuracies on timelines or personality traits, just ignore them and assume it’s for the plot 😌

p.s.!! i’m thinking about starting a tag list for this/any of my writing i post so if you want to be a part of that, let me know!!

part 1, part 2, part 4

[6.4k]

You absolutely love how foot travel friendly New Jersey is. Coming from an area where foot travel is virtually nonexistent, the change is a welcomed one. You appreciate being able to simply grab your favorite totes, your headphones, and make the fifteen-minute walk to the small corner store. Surely in the winter you’ll feel differently about the five-block trek, but hopefully you’ll have your car by then. For now, the comfortable Autumn air makes the walk enjoyable. The fresh air, the beautiful buildings, and the surprising friendliness of the strangers you pass on the street make you feel like you made the right decision in relocating your life to the garden state.

Luckily this grocery run was fairly light, only needing to pick up some essentials until one of the boys gives you a ride to the larger chain grocery store on one of their upcoming off days. You really just needed the ingredients to make dinner tonight, making good on your promise to be their personal shopper and occasional chef in exchange for a place to live. You even stopped in a small bakery about a block from your apartment and picked up a few assorted pastries for a sweet treat later, knowing how much Luke loves his dessert.

As you walk into the apartment, courtesy of your shiny new key Jack gave you last week, you see both him and Luke on the couch, each with one hand on an iPad held out so both could view the contents on the screen. You assume they’re watching game film, preparing for their game later in the week against the Rangers. Your assumption is confirmed when you hear the unmistakable sound of sticks slapping against pucks and ice coming from the iPad in question.

They’re both so engrossed in the game film on the screen that they have no clue that you’ve even walked through the door. You make your way to the kitchen to unload what’s in your hands, putting away what little groceries you bought. Once you’re finished in the kitchen, you make your way back out into the living room, wanting to catch up with your roommates on how their midday practice had gone. As you walk towards the living area, rounding the loveseat adjacent to the sectional where the boys sit, Luke catches your moving figure from the corner of his eye. His body jerks slightly, clearly startled until he notices its only you.

“Oh my god you just scared the shit out of me,” you hear him exhale, holding his hand to his chest.

You just chuckle as you see Jack whip his head up, confused as to what Luke was referring to until he saw you sitting down, tucking your feet up under your legs to get comfortable.

“When did you get home? Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asks, pausing the game film and sitting the iPad on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

“No, you two were just lost in hockey land when I came in. I went to the corner mart a few blocks down to get stuff to make dinner, then put it all away before coming in here. Thought I’d give you guys a few more minutes before I came in here and interrupted,” you replied, resting your chin on your hands that are placed on the arm of the loveseat.

“Well, you have our full attention now. What’s up?” Jack leans back into the couch once again, stretching his arms above his head.

“Just wanted to talk to my boys. See how practice went today. Figure out how you guys are going to fare against the Rags,” you throw in a small dig at their biggest rival team.

“The Rags? Since when do you participate in hockey talk?” Luke chimes into the conversation, laughing slightly at your attempt to assimilate into the world of hockey.

“Since I overheard a conversation at this cute little bakery down the street. While I was waiting in line there was a man in front of me with a Devils hat on and the guy working the counter was asking him about his thoughts on the game this week. He was talking about how much he wishes ‘the boys can pull their heads out of their asses and beat the damn Rags’ and I thought it was funny. Figured I should probably adopt the local vernacular if I want to fit in around here. You know, participate in the Jersey talk,” you recall with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two brothers let out a little chuckle at your story, amused at your attempt to insert yourself into their world. The two of them and Quinn taught you a lot about how hockey is played and the rules over the years, but their hope of you fully getting involved in all of the aspects of hockey and the fanbase quickly dissolved. They would sit and force you to watch reruns of games with them over the summer at the lake, and you would sit there and whine because of how badly you wanted to go out on the boat or drive the golf cart down to the local ice cream shop, not listening to a single word the trio would say to you. Once you made the decision to move in with the two youngest brothers, you figured you should probably put a little more effort into the whole hockey fan experience, considering you would likely be attending games on a regular basis.

“Well, we’ve been preparing for the Rags, so that old man in the bakery can rest easy knowing we’re working our asses off, which our heads aren’t in, by the way,” Jack speaks, correcting the stranger’s statement.

“Yeah, we’re doing really well, actually. We keep splitting the team up and forcing one half to mimic the Rangers and some of their techniques, so we’re actually getting really good at stopping them from getting the puck into our zone. Plus, our goalies are putting out some insane stops during practice, so I really think we’ve got this in the bag,” Luke adds, excited to showcase their hard work.

You’ve noticed that practices must have been hard for the boys this week. A lot of naps and ibuprofen consumed. You haven’t really seen much of them, if you’re being honest. They’re usually gone by the time you wake up in the mornings and so tired by the time they come home that they go straight to the couch or their bedrooms and fall asleep. By the time they wake up from their naps you’re usually already cooking dinner, at least getting to chat a bit while you cook. After finishing dinner they’re back to the couch, watching game film or heading back to the arena for various events and strategy meetings. They go to bed fairly early, considering all of their early morning starts, so evenings are usually spent in your room by yourself watching tv or catching up with your friends back home. You suppose you should get used to spending time by yourself, though, knowing you’ll be here by yourself more often than not during the season.

They had a game in Boston a few days prior, leaving you with your apartment to yourself for the first time in the two weeks you’ve lived with them. They were only gone for one night, but it was definitely lonely. You really haven’t been here long enough to have an abundance of people to call up anytime Jack and Luke were unavailable, so you had passed the time by exploring the area around your apartment complex a little, finding the perfect park to go sit at to soak up some much-needed sunshine. You couldn’t hide your excitement when the two brothers returned home the next evening, though. You got up from the couch and ran over to the door, ready to greet them and ask them all about the game (you had watched it on tv, but you really just wanted to talk to someone after a full day with no one’s company but your own), but you were greeted with tired eyes and frowns, despite their win the previous night. You simply gave each of them a hug and then sent them off to bed, knowing once they got some sleep they would be up for conversation.

This is why, right now, even though you have zero knowledge of what preparing for a rival hockey game consists of, you’re taking in every word the two have to offer about the subject. You’re just happy to have a few uninterrupted minutes to sit and talk with them.

“Good! That’s great! Really…good,” you say, giving a thumbs up and awkward smile after failing to come up with a better response to Luke’s statements.

Luke just laughs, appreciating your attempts at interest in their jobs.

“You’re coming to the game, right? We put back a ticket for you, but if you can’t make it that’s okay, too. Got you a pretty sick seat, though. Glass seat, right beside the net,” Jack reveals, raising his eyebrows a bit, as if trying to convince you.

“Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you exclaim, a little offended at the mere thought you’d skip out on such a big game for them.

“You won’t be disappointed, I swear. We’re gonna kick some major Rags ass,” Luke adds, excitement showing at the idea of you being in the crowd.

“The real question here shouldn’t be if I’m coming to the game or not. It’s whose jersey am I going to wear?” you throw out, poking fun at the two.

“Pshh, c’mon that one’s a no brainer. You’ll obviously wear mine, I’m your favorite,” Jack waves off your words, fully confident that you’ll agree with him.

“I don’t know, Rowdy. I feel like plenty of people will have 86 jerseys on. It is Moose’s rookie season, maybe I should wear his so he feels included.”

“Yeah, dickhead. You have a whole arena full of people wearing your number, she should wear mine. We all know it’s the better number anyways,” Luke retorts.

Jack rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back an insult at Luke, but he’s cut off by a knock at the door. You look over at the two boys to see if they know who might be at the door, but both of their faces mirror your confused look. So much for your uninterrupted time with them.

“Did you guys invite someone over? Or should I be worried that there’s a murderer standing on the other side of our door right now,” you ask.

“Well first of all I don’t think a murderer would knock on the door. They would probably pick the lock or something. Isn’t the whole point of murdering someone to do it when they don’t see it coming?” Jack responds, standing up. “Second of all, it’s probably just Nico. I had mentioned watching game film together at practice earlier and he told me he’d see how he was feeling later. Kinda forgot about it, if I’m being honest, but this is around the time he wakes up from his post-practice nap.”

You sit up a little straighter when Jack mentions his teammate and captain. You hadn’t seen him since your first night in town about two weeks ago. You’d caught little bits of information about him in passing from both Jack and Luke, but tried to keep your questions about him to a minimum. The two of you were still practically strangers, not having had any reason to communicate after that night. You assume he’s been as busy as Jack and Luke, coming and going far more than you. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t even run into him once. You figure his captain duties keep him far busier than even Luke and Jack.

You hear the front door open and then two sets of voices making their way down the short hallway. You look over to see Nico in a hoodie and sweats, a hat hiding his long hair. You think back to that night at the bar when his hair was uncovered and he was having to push it out of his eyes for most of the night, wishing you could catch a glimpse of the brown locks right now. The two were continuing their short conversation from the door, so Nico had yet to acknowledge you or Luke yet. You look away, starting to pick at a loose thread on your socks, knowing you needed to avert your eyes before you were caught staring.

Unknown to you, Luke had already noticed your stare, observing how fixated you were on his captain. You look over to find Luke staring at you, an undecipherable expression on his face. You give him a puzzled look, as if to say ‘what?’ and he responds by simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Oh, hey you two. How’s it going?” Nico’s voice pulls you from your silent conversation with Luke, noticing Jack was no longer next to him.

“Hey, man. How was your nap? Your shoulder okay?” Luke asks him, adjusting his body slightly on the couch to make room for Nico to sit down.

You turn your head to look at Nico once again, a small hint of worry surfacing. He doesn’t look injured? His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and he’s not holding it in pain. You watch as he sits down to see if even the smallest wince makes its way across his face as his back comes to rest against the plush cushions. If he’s in any sort of pain, he’s not letting it show in his actions.

“Yeah, perfectly fine. Don’t give yourself that much credit, kid. You don’t hit nearly as hard as you think you do,” Nico chuckles, taking his hand and tapping Luke on the knee a few times.

“Trying to hurt your captain before a huge game, Luke?” you speak for the first time since Nico entered the apartment. “Maybe I should wear Jack’s jersey on Saturday.”

“I knew it! See, my jersey is clearly the better choice, Moose. Sucks to suck, huh?” Jack interjects with a grin, walking from the direction of the kitchen, glass of water in hand.

“Now c’mon, Y/N, that isn’t even fair. It was an accident!” Luke cries out. “We were running drills and I was trying to stop, but I misjudged and ran into Nico. He didn’t even hit the glass that hard, you heard him!”he argues, looking between you and his brother.

“All I’m saying is, it won’t look good if the rookie is the reason the captain can’t play against public enemy number one. Then you’ll become public enemy number one, and I can’t be caught at a game wearing the new public enemy’s jersey. I’m already a newcomer, I can’t tarnish my reputation this early,” you hold your hands up in defense.

“What have I just walked into?” Nico asks, eyes darting between the three of you.

“Well, right before you walked in, we were talking about which jersey Y/N was going to wear to the game on Saturday. I told her the obvious choice was mine, but she decided to spew some bullshit about there being too many 86 jerseys already, so she should wear Luke’s since he’s new and needs to feel included,” Jack uses finger quotes around the last part of his sentence.

“Well, she has a point.”

“See! Even Cap thinks so! That’s it, you’re wearing my jersey, Y/N. Cap’s word is final,” Luke leans back, taking in his assumed victory.

Your mind wanders back to Nico’s words he spoke to you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, wondering if Luke’s statement includes those words, too.

“Maybe I should be fair and not wear either jersey. Just go down the roster and pick a random name and then buy it,” you joke, watching the brothers widen their eyes like you just told them you ran over their childhood pet.

“That’s…not even funny. How dare you even joke about something so important,” Jack stares at you, seriousness painted on his features.

“C’mon, Y/N, that’s just…that’s just cruel,” Luke emphasizes the last word dramatically.

“I think you should do it. In fact, I have a spare jersey I think you can wear,” Nico adds, looking at you with mischievous eyes.

“Oh, well that actually sounds lovely, Nico, thank you! What better way to show my support at my first Devils game than sporting the captain’s jersey?”

Jack and Luke both turn their heads to glare at their captain sitting between them. If looks could kill, the poor Swiss man would be six feet under right now. The Hughes brothers don’t play around when it comes to their jerseys. You remember when you had gone to one of Luke’s games while he was playing for Michigan, wanting to buy a Michigan jersey in support, but the gift shop had run out of Luke’s number once he announced his contract with the Devils. You knew you could have simply asked him for a jersey, knowing he had several lying around his dorm room, but the trip was supposed to be a surprise.

You were forced to buy a random jersey with some lesser known last name on it, because you still wanted to show up in Michigan attire. You don’t even remember whose name and number it was, but you remember the look on Luke’s face when he saw you during warm ups, going from pure joy to disgust in seconds. He skated off, going to the locker room briefly before returning with a yellow Jersey that he then threw over the glass to your seat, motioning for you to put it on. You just laughed and did as you were told. You’ve had similar arguments with both Jack and Quinn over threatening to wear a teammates jersey over the years, but you just like to poke fun at how protective the three are over you. Jack explained to you that they want you to wear their jersey’s because it shows their teammates that you’re to be left alone, knowing the reputations of their fellow players.

“Cap, please don’t make me kick you out of this apartment right now,” Jack looks at Nico with complete seriousness.

“Maybe I need to work on my body checks in practice tomorrow, Cap,” Luke tries to threaten.

Nico simply laughs, shaking his head at the sudden unity between the two bickering brothers.

“Alright, chill out you two, all jokes. Unless…” You trail off, standing up.

“No, no unless. You’re wearing one of our jerseys, preferably mine. Hey! Where are you going, this is serious!” Jack yells after you as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Unless you want to starve tonight, someone has to start making dinner. Plus, I have some jersey shopping to do,” you say, hearing Nico’s laughter ringing out once more as you enter the kitchen.

———————————————————————————

“Hey, Nico! Are you staying for dinner? I need to know how much pasta to make!” you shout from your spot by the stove, having just sat down a large pot of water on the hot eye.

You walk over to the cabinet to grab the box of pasta and a couple jars of sauce, waiting for an answer from the living room. You decided to go with just simple spaghetti and salad tonight, not really in the mood for having to prep a ton of food and spend an hour and a half cooking. Jack will probably complain about the amount of carbs he’s consuming, but he’ll get over it. As if he doesn’t burn enough calories from practice and his personal workouts he does on a daily basis. Luke will just be happy to have something that isn’t chicken, seeing as that’s all you made for the first few days of your new living arrangement, trying to stick to the meal plan Jack had the nutritionist send you.

After the third night of some form of chicken and vegetables, Luke was quick to inform you that no one on the team follows the meal plan so strictly. You also learned that Jack is going through some phase of eating nothing but chicken or steak and brown rice, Luke revealing that’s what the two mostly lived on during the weeks leading up to your move. You had told Luke he should learn to cook for himself, and then he wouldn’t be forced to eat what Jack or you decide to make if he doesn’t like it, but he had rolled his eyes and told you “this was the agreement, right? We won’t let you pay rent, so you told us you would contribute by cooking. So really, I’m just helping you fulfill your roommate duties.”

You still don’t have an answer from the three in the living room. You figure they’re too busy with game film to hear you, so you decide to just make enough for Nico, too. You can always pack up the leftovers and have them for lunch the next few days if needed. You dump what you think to be the proper amount of pasta for four people into the pot once it reaches a boil, then work on pouring the sauce into a pan to let it heat up. You cheated on the salad, too, deciding to just buy two bags of salad mix, dumping the bag into a large bowl and adding the small packets of toppings. You’ve just dumped the now done pasta into the colander in the sink, turning to put the pot back onto the stove to cool off a bit when a voice causes you to nearly drop the hot pot in your hands.

“It smells delicious in here,” Nico announces his presence, walking through the doorway towards the fridge.

You settle yourself before setting the pot down safely on the stovetop before speaking. “You know, I really need to get on ordering those squeaky shoes if I want to avoid a heart attack by 25.”

Turning your body, you see Nico hunched over looking in the fridge, arm reaching towards a water bottle before raising up, flashing you a smile.

“Nah, even if you buy them I wouldn’t wear them. This is like, our thing now. Me sneaking up on you, you getting mad, me getting a good laugh out of it,” he stands back at his full height now.

“How comforting that you find enjoyment out of my jumpiness. Such an admirable trait to have,” you grumble, taking the pasta from the sink and transfer it into the pan filled with sauce. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, seeing as it looks like I made enough to feed the entire team, but I think I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. See how funny that is.”

This earns another laugh, Nico moving to lean against the counter opposite of you, watching you try to combine the sauce and the pasta without making a giant mess.

“Why don’t you just put it back in the pot you cooked the pasta in. You’ll be able to mix it easier.”

“Because apparently that would have been too easy,” you step back and huff, wondering why you didn’t think of that before you created an overflowing mess of sauce and noodles.

Nico makes his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way. He picks up the pan and dumps the contents into the pot sitting next to it, not spilling a single drop.

“There, now you can mix it easier and it won’t spill out over the sides and cause an even bigger mess,” he states, placing the dirty pan in the sink behind you.

“Okay, captain chef, next time you’re cooking dinner, since you clearly have more kitchen skills than me,” you tell him, making your way across the kitchen to collect plates to sit on the table.

Nico just chuckles as he watches you grab the plates, sitting one in front of each chair around the small dining table that sits in the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here, please tell me its almost done,” Jack enters the kitchen, Luke trailing behind him.

“It is, just finished actually,” you look up, Nico carrying the pot of steaming pasta from the stove to the table, careful not to drop it.

“Rowdy, grab the salad over there by the sink for me while I grab some forks for everyone,” you move towards the silverware drawer, walking around the Swiss man in your kitchen, having to turn your body slightly as he steps back from the table.

“Well, I better get going, my leftovers aren’t going to heat themselves up,” Nico announces, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

“Cap, are you crazy? Do you not see how much food Bouy made?” Jack places the bowl of salad next to the pot of pasta, taking his seat at the table.

“Jack, I’m being so serious right now, if you keep using that stupid nickname for me I will sneak laxatives into your protein shakes.” You take the seat across from Jack, Luke falling into the seat to your left.

“Well, as long as it’s okay with Bouy, I’d love to stay.” Nico walks back over to the table, taking the seat next to Jack, smirking while avoiding eye contact with you.

“I know where you live, so the threat extends to you too, Cap” you glare at Nico.

The rest of the meal is mostly filled with talk between the three hockey players, you chiming in here and there, until Jack shifts the topic of conversation to you.

“So, what’s the update with your new job? You have everything lined up and ready to go?”

“Yeah, talked to them earlier today, actually. They said they’d have my office ready in about a week, so I should be starting not long after that.” You shrug, not wanting to bore them with the details of the corporate scene in New Jersey.

“Where are you going to be working?” Nico asks, genuine interest present in his tone, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I got offered a position with a small publishing company not too far from here, actually. Mostly independent, up and coming authors, but still exciting,” you reveal, perking up a bit at the opportunity to talk about your passion.

“Was super worried I wasn’t going to be able to use my degree after college, seeing as the market for English lit degrees isn’t too wide unless you want to teach. At least, that’s how it is back home. After I graduated and Jack offered the spare room here, I applied to a few positions here in Jersey and a few in New York, willing to make the commute if needed. Only heard back from one place, though. And it just so happened to be a thirty-minute drive from here, so I accepted and started packing,” you explained.

“It was meant to be. The gang back together once again,” Jack beams.

“Well, the gang minus Quinn. The fucker just had to end up in Vancouver of all places,” Luke grumbles, still upset the oldest Hughes is so far away.

“Lucky for us I can work remotely if I ever need or want to, so this summer at the lake we can all be together again,” you try to cheer Luke up, knowing how much he wishes the three brothers could have played on the same team while making their dreams come true.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack celebrates. “This is going to be the best summer at the lake house yet. We’re all grown, most of us legal drinking age, but don’t worry, we won’t tell if you won’t, Lukey,” Jack winks over at Luke, knowing the underage drinking rule has never really applied in the sacred space of the lake houses, “and we’ll all finally be there together again after, what, like 6 years?”

“It’s been awhile, at least that long,” you try to think back to the last time everyone was there together.

It was the summer before Quinn got drafted. Quinn had signed to play hockey at Michigan a few months before everyone was set to arrive at the summer oasis. You remember being so proud of him. You couldn’t wait to finally see him and congratulate him in person, knowing how hard he had worked for it. You figured things would stay the same for a few more years, expecting him to come home every summer for the next four years before moving on to the NHL. You had no clue that he would be drafted only a summer later and that it would be the beginning of the end for the summers of fun at the lake house.

“Nico, you should come up this summer! It’s always such a good time!” Jack pulls you from your reminiscing.

“I mean, maybe. I’ve been talking to my parents about flying home during the off season this year, since I didn’t make it over there last year. But I could probably come for a few days, at least,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You try to picture Nico at the lake house, hat covering his hair, swim trunks and a t-shirt covering his body. You picture him lounging on the boat in the sun while Jack takes everyone out for a midday ride, finding a secluded spot somewhere on the lake to stop and swim for a while. You picture him trying to wake surf, wondering if he’d be instantly good at it or if he would end up wiping out in the water. You picture him sitting around the fire at night, a light hoodie on to the mask the chill that never fails to make an appearance on Michigan summer nights, the glow from the fire illuminating his face just enough for you to admire him. You picture him with a slight sunburn on his nose, tan skin glowing from being in the sun so often.

You must have been lost in your thoughts for longer than you realized, because you came back to the conversation with several calls of your name from the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to us anymore? Or do you really not want Cap coming to the lake house?” Luke looks over at you, slightly waving his hand in front of your face.

“What? No,” you say, looking around at the expectant faces surrounding you. “I mean, no I don’t care if he comes. It would be fun, yeah. If he can make it, of course. You heard him, I’m sure he’s excited to see his family.”

“I’m sure I can work something out. Have the best of both worlds. These two have talked about the infamous lake house so much I’m curious to see if it really lives up to all the hype,” Nico leans back, nodding his head towards both Jack and Luke.

“Then its settled! Cap is coming to Michigan this summer!” Jack cheers, throwing his arms up in celebration.

You laugh in response to Jack’s excitement, noticing that everyone seems to be done eating, plates clean and glasses empty. You stand up and start to take some of the dishes to the sink, setting them in there before walking back over to the table.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, I think now would be the best time to tell you that you and Luke have dish duty tonight.” You clear the last of the dishes off the table.

You watch Jack’s face fall, while Luke’s does a sharp turn in your direction. You turn your back to them to walk back over to the counter, opening the cabinet below you to find Tupperware to store the leftovers in.

“On that note, I better get going. Have some laundry I need to get done before practice in the morning,” Nico stands, bringing over a few stray pieces of silverware you seemed to have missed.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cap. You heard her, she cooked, we clean,” Jack turns to look at his captain as he makes his way to the sink.

“No, I said you and Luke have dish duty tonight. Nico’s name was never mentioned. Guests don’t do the dishes, Jack. I know Ellen raised you better than that.”

“Nico is hardly a guest. He’s over here all the time!” Luke chimes in, opening one of the drawers by the sink, grabbing a towel to dry dishes with.

“He doesn’t pay any rent for the apartment, therefore he’s a guest. Just accept your fate, you two. You’ll survive, I promise.” You hand the pot you just emptied to Jack, taking the food in your hands to the fridge a few steps away.

“You don’t pay any rent, and you’re not a guest,” Jack mumbles, hands covered in soapy suds.

“Exactly! That means I don’t do the dishes, either. I knew you’d catch on eventually! And they say you’re just a pretty face,” you shut the fridge door, looking over at Jack with an amused grin.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jack whines.

“C’mon, man, you walked right into that one,” Nico adds, laughing at his teammate.

Jack glares at the taller man. “I thought you said you were leaving, that you had laundry to do or some shit.”

“I am, I am,” Nico throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll walk you out, Nico. Leave the children to pout while doing their chores,” you jest, walking toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N. Ten times better than whatever I would’ve found in my fridge,” Nico says as you pass through the living room.

“Anytime, Cap,” you use his title, blaming Jack and Luke for the new habit. “After all, I owed you for rescuing me from sleeping in the hallway.”

This earns another one of those laughs you love to hear fall from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he follows you down the small hallway towards the front door.

“I feel like you definitely had to put in more effort on your end of that deal,” he steps through the door you’re holding open.

“I’ll just wait until you owe me a favor, then I’ll make sure to cash in some extravagant request,” you joke, leaning against the door as he stands in the hallway.

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

Nico takes his apartment key from his pocket and unlocks his door, opening it and stepping inside, turning around to face you once again, his stance mirroring your own in his own doorway.

“So, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday, then?” He stalls a goodbye.

“Yep, I’ll be there. Still deciding which brother I’m going to piss off,” you reference the earlier argument over whose jersey you’ll wear.

“Oh, that reminds me-“ Nico says before propping his door open, leaving you alone in your doorway, confused as to where he could’ve gone.

After about a minute of you standing there, wondering if he was going to come back, he returns, holding a red jersey in his hand.

“Here, figured there’s no sense in you going out and buying one if you really wanted to mess with their heads.”

He hands you the jersey, stepping back into his doorway. You unfold the jersey and notice the big black C on the upper left corner of the jersey. It was a solid red jersey, the team’s symbol in the middle, two black stripes on the forearms of each sleeve, more black accents on the shoulders of the jersey. You look up at him, a little surprised.

“I- I can’t take one of your jerseys, Nico. What if I mess it up, or spill something on it? I’ll just wear one of the ones I have. This looks too nice to risk it,” you attempt to hand the jersey back across the hallway.

“No, I insist. I think it’ll be fun to mess around with them a little. Especially Jack, since he seemed so convinced you were going to wear his. They’ll never even see it coming,” Nico refuses.

You run the idea through your head for a second, thinking about how it would be a funny little dig at the boys. You also think about the implications of wearing a jersey that doesn’t belong to one of Hughes brothers. It’s harmless, though, right? Nico said it was just a fun way to get under their skin. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Y/N’ you think to yourself, trying to kick your habit of creative narratives in your head.

“Okay, but if I end up getting kicked out of my apartment I’m knocking on your door to sleep on your couch,” you finally agree.

“My door’s always open for you.”

You look back down to the jersey in your hands to hide the blush that appears on your face at his words. You know you’ve only known him for a short period of time, tonight being the first real chunk of time you’ve spent in his presence, but Nico is making it really hard for you to keep your feelings for him casual. You’ve always had a habit of getting a case of the heart eyes fast, but you’re trying to be normal, for once.

He’s likely just being his normal, personable self and you’re letting every smile and joke go to your head, placing more meaning on them than is warranted. There’s just something about him, though. He’s extremely attractive, for one. But it’s more than that. From all that you’ve learned about him through Jack and Luke, and the easy conversation that has flowed between the two of you from the moment you first spoke to him in the hallway, you can’t lie to yourself and say you’re not drawn to the Swiss captain.

Your mind circles back to the idea of wearing his jersey this weekend and what Jack and Luke will think. What if you seriously hurt their feelings? What if it affects how they play because they’re mad at you? What if they ignore you the whole game? You know the two brothers love you, but you also know how petty they can both be when mad.

“Stop overthinking it. I can see you getting lost up in that head of yours. It’s a harmless joke. They’re not going to freak out on the ice or anything. And if they do, I’m in more danger than you are,” Nico reassures you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You better at least score a goal if I’m risking being homeless for you,” you tell him, looking back up at his face.

“How about I do you one better. If you promise to wear my jersey, I’ll score a hatty for your first ever New Jersey Devils hockey experience,” Nico offers, his eyes flashing with something you assume is delight at a challenge.

“Well then you better work on your slapshot tomorrow morning, Captain. I’ll be holding you to that Saturday night,” you take the bait, knowing how difficult a hat trick is to pull off.

“No need, I know I’ll have the right motivation night of to get it done,” he winks at you, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. “And if I don’t, consider it your IOU for that extravagant request you might need one day,” He responds, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, the nonchalance of his body language making you hope for his failure, just so you can think of some ridiculous task for him to perform.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get right to brainstorming,” you respond, trying to prevent your thoughts from spiraling yet again.

Nico lets out a small laugh, standing up straight and placing his hand on the handle of his door. “Think hard. Let me know what you come up with. Have a good night, Bouy, see you Saturday.” He shuts the door before you can berate him for using the nickname you hate.

You walk back into your apartment, door shutting behind you, going straight to your room to hide the jersey before either of the boys see it. You think back on the entire interaction, a smile on your face at the possibility of being able to have Nico do anything you ask him. As you’re walking past the kitchen you hear Jack’s voice.

“Luke, am I stupid or did Y/N call me stupid earlier?” he recalls your earlier comment about him being ‘just a pretty face’.

“Think about how you worded the first part of your question and you’ll have your answer,” you hear Luke respond as you make it past the kitchen unnoticed, making you stifle a giggle so you won’t be discovered.

Oh how you loved being back with your boys.

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grimm-writings · 2 months

Text

pathetic

…ft! dan heng, topaz, argenti, seele x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, pining, reader is oblivious as HELL!!!, seele’s slightly suggestive

…wc! 210 ; 319 ; 258 ; 305 = 1092

…notes! pathetic crushing… i cannot and will not ever stop vouching for pathetic pining in this house !!!!!!!

Dan Heng is painfully aware of how he looks right now. If it wasn’t March giving him the biggest shit-eating grin, it was Himeko trying hard to look polite as she hides her giggles, or even Mr Yang pretending he isn’t paying attention.

You. You really haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing to him.

Every time you visit him in the Express’s archives, Dan Heng would light up. He wouldn’t do that for any such person usually. His excuse is that you bring him snacks. You would never complain, saying that you’d take this Dan Heng over the one with a poker face and sarcastic bites, even if he is just as cute.

How can you say that so casually?

One particular visit, he couldn’t take your sweet words any longer. His hand envelops yours before you could turn away from him. The way you look back at Dan Heng makes his heart swell in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

He couldn’t get the words out.

His grip loosens and he lets you go, albeit with confusion on your face.

The door closes with a quiet goodbye, and Dan Heng throws his head back in frustration, staring at the decorated ceiling above him.

How can he go on like this...?

Topaz is not the kind of person to sit idly by waiting for something to happen. She knows what she wants, and what she wants takes the shape of you.

You’re just so adorable! Really, the way you act so clueless whenever you flirt with her is just so endearing! How could she not melt?

…Well, it used to be easy. Flirting, complimenting you, relishing in how you react; she even asked you out to dinner, and took you to the nicest place possible! …But you’re still so shocked every time. You still didn’t pick up on any of her advances.

For once, Topaz is at a complete loss. What is she to do? Grab you by the shoulders and shake you around telling you that she’s completely enamoured with everything about you, and though that includes your cluelessness, she can’t take much of it anymore?

She could nearly keel over. Complete overkill. She needs to be smart about this; clear, but also suave and mature. Yeah, she can do this!

That’s how you find Numby making their way up to you, and there they drop a card in front of your feet. They curiously look up at you as you read, although you could sense another pair of eyes watching you closely.

‘You’re cute! Go out with me! Love, Topaz!’

Topaz could nearly explode from joy watching your face heat up. Finally. Finally! You get it now, don’t you?!

Her heart steps as you throw the card away and lean down and pet Numby. “Oh, Numby. Someone must have put you up to this for a prank, huh? You should find your way back to Topaz!”

Said companion of the Warp Trotter has already fallen to her knees with her face in her hands. You’re more work than she bargained for… but she’ll be struck down by an Aeon before she gives up on you! Just watch her!

Argenti doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Truly, he’s making all the right moves. He’s following examples from stories and myths, step by step. It’s not his fault that they always end up going wrong somehow. Maybe it’s just harsh luck…

He’s on one knee, taking your hand in his own. Like you are royalty, he kisses the back of it, and looks up at you.

“Thank you for saving me!” You beam, and Argenti’s brain freezes.

That’s how it all goes wrong, every single time.

He’s hopeless, how the knight of beauty stands up, turns around, and immediately feels his knees buckle and he’s down on the ground again. Maybe he’ll stay like this for a few minutes when he finishes crying.

He feels you kneel at his side, and prod against his armour. “Argenti…?” your sweet, sweet voice calls out to him quietly.

“Worry not. I am simply fighting the dirt in your honour. Keeping the worms off of you.”

You pause. He wouldn’t dislike being buried here like this. Then he hears your confused laughter. “Alright then! Thank you very much, sir knight!”

You pet his hair and stand up again, making your way back to a safe zone.

Yes, Argenti thinks, I will stay here and fend off the insects for you, my dear. And that is the only reason why I can’t move…

He certainly refuses to believe it’s your patience and kindness. How silly would it be for a knight of beauty to become so immobilised by it! How silly indeed…

Seele encourages you to stand up again. A simple sparring doesn’t do too much harm every now and again. She isn’t Luka; she won’t beg you for a match, but practice is good, and practice is better if it’s with a friend.

Haha. Keep telling yourself that, Seele.

Is it obvious yet she really wants you to just defeat her already? She knows you have it in you. Yeah, you’re more on the air-headed side, but you’re a reliable teammate! Maybe it’s the fact you refuse to actually hurt her…

You apologise again when you’re back on your feet. She doesn’t want any apologies, dang you! Can’t you see she’s just desperate to get you to at least brush your knuckles against hers as her scythe comes in conflict with your blade?!

…So that does it. In her mental ramblings, you manage to get her on the ground beneath you. Your thighs cage her under you as you push her down. Aeons, your smile is so wide.

“I got you!” you exclaim.

Seele can’t help the small laugh that escapes her. She hopes that her face is only red to you because of your fighting. You’re so close to her face. You could just kiss her right now…

“Yep, you really did!” is what comes out, shakier than she would have liked. How did you get her so weak? You’re not even making a big deal over straddling her like this…

You shimmy off her eventually, offering your hand out. “Time for lunch?”

Seele doesn’t move for a few seconds, before letting you pick her up. If not a kiss, she can at least get some quality time. The way you smile at her is enough for her.

…How you pushed her down will definitely haunt her dreams for the next week or so, though.

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drvscarlett · 1 month

Text

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine)

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 masterlist #max verstappen x reader #lance stroll x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #jenson button x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

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wonderlandwalker · 5 months

Text

Cherished Moments | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick is trying to get you to relax and, well, it works maybe a bit too much.

Content Warnings/Tags: Mostly fluff, small injury, lovesick Finnick, grumpy!reader x sunshine!Finnick, insinuations of violence, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.2k

Requested by Anon: I love your writing!!! What do you think a grumpy reader × sunshine finnick would be like? Love the back cat gf golden retriever bf trope haha and I feel like finnick would be obsessed with someone who was mean to everyone BUT him! Feel free to ignore if you don't feel inspired, I'll read everything you write anyway!!

A/N: Can someone pls let me know if they actually manage to find the request after I've posted them I have no clue if these are getting through. Ngl this one was a struggle for me but once I found the right idea it came pouring out. Do they even have darts in the Hunger Games universe? Well, they do now. Keep sending me requests I genuinely love doing them!!

“Come on, I know you can do it! I’ve seen you throw knives, this is pretty much the same thing, only smaller.” Finnick was trying to encourage you, but you weren’t easy to win over.

“I’m telling you, I can’t. This is just different. The darts are so much smaller and lighter, it throws me off balance.” You were at a party in District 13, well, calling it a party would be generous.

“Just try. I’ll help you come on. I promise it’ll be fun.” He couldn't hide his smile at your antics, but he also knew if anyone was able to convince you, it was him.

“Fine, but if something goes wrong it's on you.” You looked him in the eyes, and could see a spark of light inside them, and you wouldn't admit it, not with all the other people in the room, but it warmed your heart a little.

“It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen” He asked you, and you almost scoffed at the question.

“I could hit someone, and then everyone will hate me even more than they already do”

“They don't hate you, they just don't know you the way I do.” Whenever someone would ask him what he saw in you, he would always be dumbfounded. Sure, you had a hard exterior, but when someone has gone through as much in their life as you did, were you really to blame? No, he didn't understand the question, because, to him, you were perfect. Whether you were sulking at breakfast for having to leave the bed or smiling at him because they were serving your favourite dish for dinner, he would take anything you gave him.

“Are you telling me that you, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games, are afraid of hurting someone with a tiny dart?” He was challenging you, and it was working.

“I'm not afraid, I just don't want anything to go wrong.” The way your voice softened around him made his heart beat faster for you and sometimes, he swore you knew and were doing it on purpose.

“You won’t, just throw it straight into the board.”

Finnick is standing behind you, grinning like he’s just won some sort of lottery while he guides your arm up for you, you can feel his breath on your neck before he whispers “Come on love, do it for me.” You’ve never been able to deny him, to your own annoyance at times, so you do as he says.

The dart flies through the air, and it doesn't hit the board, but it comes relatively close. So you throw a second dart and it hits the board, but you don’t manage to score any points just yet. As you throw another one, it manages to hit the board, but only for a little while before it falls to the floor. You throw your hands up in defeat before saying “See, told you I couldn't do it.” But Finnick hasn't given up, in you, he would never give up.

“That’s nonsense, you just have to try again, be patient.” He walks over to collect your darts and hands them back to you. He steps behind you again, guiding you into the right position before speaking.

“Just close your eyes, imagine you’re throwing them at Snow.” It makes you laugh and he can feel your muscles relax. He would always feel so proud of himself when he made you laugh, he didn't mind that you don't do it often, it would only feel like so much more of an achievement.

You do as he says, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath right before you throw the dart, hitting it right in the bullseye. You throw another, hitting the bullseye again. But you miss the board with the next one when Finnick leaves a small kiss on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. You can feel his body moving from behind you, and focus to throw another dart. It’s only when you hear an exclamation of pain coming from right in front of you that you snap open your eyes, you would recognize it anywhere. In front of you was Finnick, standing right next to the board with one of his hands clutched in the other, and when you take a closer look, you can see the dart that is stuck in the back of Finnick's hand.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry are you okay.” He would never tell you this, but he doesn't even mind that it happened, seeing you being sweet on him so openly, it makes him forget anything even happened in the first place.

“I'm fine sweetheart.” there is a strain in his voice, and he knows you can hear it too from the way your brows furrow in regret. You knew he wasn't trying to be tough for you, no, you had moved past that years ago. he was trying to not make you worry, it was something he would always do no matter how much pain he was in. But you were worried, because in contrast to all those other times, this time it was your fault that he was hurt. It never phased you much when someone would get shot, it never phased you much as you heard the canons each night in the arena signalling another death, not in the way it phased other people, but this, this broke you.

“Finnick you are not fine, there is a fucking dart inside your hand and it's my fault.”

“Well, most people don’t throw a fourth dart sweetheart." He says, and he chuckles a little, but you don't hear it in your state of worry.

“I am so sorry I-” You were choking up over your guilt, and while he loved getting to see your raw emotions, this one he didn't enjoy.

“Hey, no, I'm sorry too, don't get yourself worked up over this. It's just a dart, I will be fine. Why don’t you go get me a first aid kit?” He really was fine, and he could have gotten it himself, but he knew how much you would get in your own head when you didn't have anything to do in these kinds of situations.

Once you come back and help patch him up, he looks up at you and you catch his gaze. A smile crosses his face in a way he knows his cheeks are going to hurt.

“Why are you smiling” you ask, confused at his glee in a situation like this.

“Because I know you care about me. You don’t always show it, and you don’t have to, because moments like these I’ll cherish forever.” His eyes are sparkling as he looks into yours, he swears he could just stand here and look at you for the rest of his life.

“Oh, would you shut up already” you tell him while swatting his hand away from your face and rolling your eyes.

“You can’t tell me to shut up, you threw a dart into my hand.” He’s still grinning like an idiot, and it's infecting you. One of the corners of your mouth lifts up, and it's subtle, but he catches it, how could he not with how intently he is watching you. You’re back to your old dynamic, but he loves it just as much.

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pawified · 3 months

Note

Hi I was just wondering if I could request headcannons for father figure bf!Suguru? Thank you so much I love your writing🩷🩷

hi so sorry for responding late . . . i hope you are well ! but ofc i cane give u littl headcannons some of based off of things i think he does ( ovbi ) and some are what i interpreted from da show & manga !

its supa short bc im swleepy bc its 3:30 am exactly nd i haven’t taken a nap at all.

( side note : i miss my puppy girl agenda so dis will b da first thing of my return to be fulfilled of puppy girl )

. father figure!bf suguru who wraps you in his arms when you are feeling uneasy with anxiety.

. father figure!bf suguru who buys you milk bread everyday at your favorite bakery on his way to pick you up from whatever college after activity you have going on for that week.

. father figure!bf suguru is very attentive, the first thing he noticed about you when you two first met is that you walk with a littl bounce

. father figure!bf suguru doesn’t care or particularly mind that you cling to him like a needy puppy begging for attention. he finds it cute how you rely on him for anything.

. father figure!bf suguru who hates the word “goodbye.” he always corrects you when you’re stepping out the car to head into your morning class. “hey. wait, what do we say?” he cocks his head to the side, you try arguing that you’ll be late, but he doesn’t let up. you sigh in defeat and mumble out a quick “ see you later, i love you. “ quickly slamming the door, you rush to your class before you could hear his response “i love you too. you look beautiful”

. father figure!bf suguru who gives you you a baby pink collar engraved with “ if found return to geto suguru “ on one of the sliver tags dangling from the key ring.

. father figure!bf suguru who starts calling you pup more often. he’s well aware that you love the petname he has adopted into his vocabulary. — he likes it also.

. father figure!bf suguru is never mean to you;not intentionally you think? but when he is, it make your brain a bit hazy.

. father figure!bf suguru doesn’t like brats or liars which you happen to be both. of course you never tell major lies at least that’s what you think but your partner would disagree. — you told a small white lie about how you had no clue how a big wine stain got on the couch and suggested that his friends did it. geto knew who had done it, but you don’t know that he is aware of it. he just want you to confess.

. father figure!bf suguru punishments hurt; alot. you aren’t use to the heavier ones, only a few taps on your bottom to bounce you back from being disruptive but they’re never like this. — ass cheeks are warm accompanied by a slight tint of red due to the pressure of his big palms, you can feel the welts starting to form. “restart over. you stop again, i will leave you here with a vibrator tied to your leg, do i make myself clear?” his voice is rough and firm. “y-yes sorry. m-sorry”

. father figure!bf suguru the after care is what makes you fall in love with him all over again. — after his corrective actions, you and him are embraced into each other for awhile, as he draws circles on your back while rocking you back and forth to bring you back down. “my sweet girl, you did so good. always know how to take your punishment well.” he coos, you look at him with big doe eyes, suguru thinks for a moment; you are a real puppy who has reincarnated into a 20 year old girls body.

. father figure!bf suguru regardless of his mistakes in the past before you became his light at the end of a dark tunnel, he make a secret promise to whatever god existed that he would do whatever it takes to heal from his past in order to keep you around for the rest of his life.

#˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆#𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 ‎໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ #! ! 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑥 — ꒰ঌ ໒꒱#𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑜 — ♡ ᵎ #father figure ! series #puppy!reader #father figure bf ! suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru headcanons #m’ startin tew fall in love wif him #geto x you

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plutoswritingplanet · 2 years

Text

White Rabbit (Peter Ballard x Female!Reader)

PART 2

a/n: how close can i get to writing monsterfricking before being called a monsterfricker?

Warnings: NON-CON (nothing too explicit, but still, be warned, be safe), bathroom-donging (once again), extensive use of a 80′s rock song as a plot device

Summary: Vecna’s Curse finally comes to take what’s his. Only thing is, he doesn’t look like the monster your friends described.

Edit: Y'all are actually insane for giving this fic so many notes. There will be part two, most certainly, after the finale comes out. I will tag everyone in notes and in my askbox. With peace and love, what the fuck

There is a clock, ticking inside your head. It's sound filling every crevice of your brain, seeping into every fiber of your being, rattling every bone in your body until you're unable to move. You know what it means, you've seen what comes after it. The mutilated corpses of a cheerleader and that press kid are burned into your consciousness. Then, Max, floating above the graveyard, her blue eyes rolled grotesquely into the back of her head.

You haven't told anyone, as the team runs around Hawkins, looking for any clues that could help them stop Vecna's Curse.

Speaking of which, you are yet to see the abomination causing your imminent demise. It terrifies you to your very core, but under that overbearing feeling, there is another one. Curiosity. Danger feels heavy on your shoulders, and you love it, the thrill it gives you. Besides, shall things go south, you have a recorder by your side, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson's Airplane recorded on a small cassette, ready for trouble. "You can do this", is a mantra you've been telling yourself for hours now, you can survive.

The Wheeler house is lively with worried chatter, parents lamenting over their kids, in trouble again, and with the Hawkins Police nonetheless. You're sitting in the living room, head hanging low, fingers pulling at the hem of your shirt, which is currently covered in stains of various origin. Moss, mud, some blood, although you don't know where it came from. All the fault will undoubtedly fall on your shoulders. Being the only adult on scene, the only one getting caught. You curse under your breath, thinking of your friends, old and new, currently stuck in the Upside Down. Leaving you to handle everything else on the surface.

It has been a hassle, the interrogation. You got put into a stuffy room with Officer Calahan, who was strangely excited at the prospect of potentially locking up a bunch of kids, for whatever reason. It won't happen, obviously, but you're not here to break his bubble. He asks you questions with an aura of sarcastic authority, giving you patronizing nods, whenever you answer. You want to punch him, not only because your friends are currently in mortal danger, and you could do so much more to help them, if he'd just let you out. There is also the sound of a ticking clock, coming from behind his back, and the suspense drives you insane.

And a spider. Fat and dangerous, it traverses the expanse of the man's shoulder, but when you blink, it's gone.

- Can I use the bathroom? - you ask, voice barely containing all the emotions you were feeling.

The Officer looks at you, startled, as you had just interrupted another one of the monologues. He blinks, as you turn your head, and blinks again, processing your words.

- Yeah - he sounds dumbfounded.

Before the man can say anything more, you bolt out of the room, to the corridor basked in warm light of the ornate chandelier. The ticking is louder here, seemingly just a smidge away from your ear, and slowly, as if not to startle the hallucination, you turn your head left. There, on a cream wall, where normally a lovely family photo of the Wheeler's would hang, you find a round face of a grandfather's clock, staring back at you. One hand comes to life, lazily sliding from one minute to the other, a rusty clank of the mechanism filling your ears. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, as you force your eyes away from the clock.

The world spins around you, as you fall through the bathroom door, closing it behind you. Your hands shake, as you reach for the recorder, fingers fumbling around the headphones you hastily pull over your ears. One click later, and a familiar base enters your brain, the sound of the clock barely recognizable beneath the drums.

- One pill makes you larger - you mutter under your breath, leaning heavily on the sink.

You try to control your breathing, focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest, still muttering the lyrics, like a prayer. The feeling persists, however, and you begin to sway in your place. The mirror shows your disheveled reflection in an almost mocking manner. Hair is sticking to your sweaty face, there are tears framing your eyes, and you're ghastly pale, worryingly so. Unable to focus, you close your eyes, shutting your eyelids tight. trying to block out everything but the music. Specks of light dance beneath your eyelids, and you try to follow their irregular paths, anything to bring you back.

Yet, that ticking sound is persistent, almost impatient. Waiting for the song to end. And with a click of finality, it does. Your heart jumps to your chest, as silence finally engulfs you. Your right hand flies to the Cassette player, fingers immediately finding the rewind button. Your eyes stay shut, as you listen to the whirling of the tape. And the ticking, always the ticking. Finally, it stops. A breath of relief shakes you.

- Don't play it again.

Your eyes fly open, as you give a startled gasp. The bathroom is empty, only your wracked figure reflected in the mirror. But something is wrong, you can feel it at the base of your neck, where the hairs stand up on guard. It doesn't feel like the Upside Down, doesn't look like it too, and yet, you can't shake the ever present sensation of indescribable dread.

Slowly, your fingers skim the play button, the plastic ridges dig into your skin, as you press down.

Then, something catches your hand. Delicately, like it's holding a flower.

You nearly scream, thrashing in the bathroom, turning harshly towards the shower, nails digging into the porcelain edge of the sink. Empty. Nothing.

Your heart stammers out of your chest, blood rushing through your ears in a suffocating display of panic. And the clock keeps ticking.

You're terrified now, properly. Screw all feelings of curiosity from earlier, you're pretty sure you can live without knowing. And so, even more feverishly, you fumble with the recorder, finally hitting the play button so hard, you nearly break your finger. The drums start again, and as the base joins it, you fall to your knees onto the floor, breathing heavily with relief.

- God - you sigh - Why me?

- Why you, indeed...

His voice is barely audible through the music, but you still feel it crushing through your skull. Your body freezes, as you glance up from the floor. There, just centimeters from you, stands a pair of white shoes. At least you think they're white, as the image keeps flickering in and out of existence, like a glitch on a homemade videotape. Your eyes drag up, over slender legs clad in white pants, white shirt tucked into them. Then, you finally see him. An angelic face looking at you from above. Beautiful, blue eyes, sharp features and lovely lips, all surrounded by a halo of blonde waves. An angel, truly.

You blink, and his image shifts out of existence just for a second.

- Who are you? - your voice sounds foreign in your ears, barely recognizable over the music

The man smiles a gentle smile, before kneeling down in front of you. His hands slowly creep towards yours, cradling them in a hold that is so warm and comforting, you want to melt into it without question. His eyes are so incredibly blue, it takes your breath away. And yet, despite the whirlwind of emotions, you can't stop staring into them. The man lifts your joined hands towards his lips. There isn't even a ghost of a breath, fanning your knuckles, as he places a kiss onto the bone. His image shifts again, violently, and a new feeling of slow dread creeps up your spine.

Then, a shadow passes through him, the kind facade falling into something much darker, much more sinister.

- I'm your worst nightmare - he smiles, teeth on full display, sharp and pointy.

You try to free your hands with a yank, but he holds them close with little to no force, eyes leaving your face in favor of studying the way veins move beneath your skin.

- I have many names - he says, his voice is calm and melodic - Henry - his lips brush the outside of your left wrist - Peter - a swift kiss is placed onto the tips of your finger - One...

He lingers for a bit at the juncture between your thumb and your pointer, and you still feel no breath coming from him.

- Although, the name your friends have given me has a nice ring to it - he looks up, capturing you again with those blue eyes of his.

- Vecna - your voice comes out as a mere whisper, one you can't even hear amongst the song, slowly, but without stopping, coming to an end.

Suddenly, the man stands up, and you feel yourself being pulled up to your feet as well. It's not gentle at all, and you nearly trip, before finding your balance. Faster than you can comprehend, the man turns you around, so you're facing the mirror. You can see him fully now. He's almost a head taller than you, slender and elegant. Not at all the monster you have imagined, not the one Max told you about. He peers at your reflection, towering over you in his clean, white clothes.

- My name means very little to me now - he says again, hand coming up to tuck your hair behind, exposing your neck to him - I am very particular about the names of my victims, however - another smile has you shaking, as his wondering hands press slightly on your pulse.

You can't move, your legs feel heavy, like someone tied them down with rocks. Your heart is beating so fast, you can feel it in your throat, where his fingers drum delicately over your skin, to the beat of the song still keeping you alive.

- Chrissy - he hisses into your hair - Sounds sweet like candy, and in a way, that's how she tasted.

A shiver wrecks your body, as images of the Cheerleader's body flood your mind. Her eyes, sucked into her skull, her limbs in disarray.

- Fred - you can feel his hands on the insides of your arms, fingers dragging over your veins - Intelligent, although slightly tart, like unripe apples.

Your head starts to spin, breaths escaping you in quick puffs. They found Fred in the middle of the road, alone, abandoned, mutilated.

- Patrick - he dips his head into the crook of your shoulder, nose sliding up, towards your ear - Stern, but full of life, reminded me of walnuts.

"When logic and proportion, have fallen sloppy dead" the singer wails, and you know, your time is coming to an end. A small whimper escapes you, as slender arms encircle your frame, pushing your back into his body.

- Max - there is a spark of rage at the mention of your friends name, one, he catches in your reflection with a raised eyebrow - Strong, youthful, like mint. When I heard your name amongst thousands, I knew, you'd taste wonderful.

Your entire body starts to writhe, as the man gives your neck a long lick of his tongue, starting from your shoulder, up to the back of your ear.

- Oooh - he laughs to himself, as you watch him in the mirror, still unable to move - There is some kick to you, I can tell. Like hot peppers.

He dives down again, placing open-mouthed kisses to your feverish skin, teeth just barely scraping your pulse point.

- A name like this should be savored. This guilt you feel should be savored.

"Feed your head" the woman sings, the song swelling in your ears, so close to the end, you start to shake. As if on cue, the man slowly reaches up, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair, as he pushes them under your headphones. It takes one move, for the plastic to fall from your head, clattering to the ground.

Your eyes meet in the mirror as sudden silence engulfs the both of you. There is a victorious smirk playing around on his lips, as his right hands starts to twirl your hair around his finger. He rubs the strands, like he's sampling a fabric, bafore bringing them closer to his nose, and taking a long whiff of air.

- ...Or maybe cinnamon - me sighs, eyebrows scrunching together.

- Are you going to kill me now?

Again, images of broken bones and mutilated corpses fill your mind, you can almost imagine the wet cracking.

The man laughs, stepping away from your trembling body for just an inch, the loss of his body behind you makes you sway in place. There's this weird flickering glitch running over his figure, intensifying for a moment. He takes a long breath, you can see muscles work under any visible sliver of skin, and as he relaxes again, his form stabilizes.

That is when you realize, what you're looking at isn't real. He isn't real. This angelic, terrifying boy is just an illusion, a hallucination, meant to lull you into a false sense of security. And it almost works. Almost, because as you focus more on his eyes, they seem to become less blue, and more milky and veiny. More like a monster.

- Guilt is a fickle thing - his voice is lower, more raspy than before.

His head dips down behind you, and he plants a wet kiss to the base of you neck, teeth scraping against your skin in a way, that wrenches a whine out of your lips.

Your stomach churns with a feeling sitting too close to arousal, as his large hands begin to explore your body further.

- It never leaves, not truly. And you have so much of it. - a hand digs itself into your hip, then slides up, leasing the edge of your shirt.

- Stop.

He doesn't, fingers creeping under the fabric, squeezing the soft tissue there.

- You're supposed to protect your brother, but he keeps getting hurt on your watch. How many bones does he have to break? How many times have you failed him?

Tears spring to life in the corners of your eyes, as you try to turn away from your reflection. He's faster though, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look back to the mirror. Then, he cranes your chin to the side, forcefully, so that your face is closer to him.

- Those kids you've taken under your wing, I will devour them all, and you'll watch - he seems unmoved by your sobs, whispering the words into your wet cheek - Your father, poor father, never had the chance of seeing how much of a disappointment you really are.

His lips are soft as he kisses your tears away, tasting the saltiness with a grin. Like a chef, proud of his most delicious meal.

- I see it all, sweetness - the hand digging into your stomach climbs up, over your ribs, stopping just short of the underside of your breast.

- Please... - a choked sob escapes you, as your body tries to free itself from his iron hold.

- Shhh - he shushes you, you can't feel his breath on your lips, when he gives you a chaste kiss.

For that matter, you can't feel anything, that would suggest you're being held by a living being. There is no rise and fall to his chest, no smell, no heartbeat.

His form starts to flicker yet again, and suddenly, you feel something definitely not human sliding and swirling behind you. A constantly moving mass holds you in place and instinctively, you screw your eyes shut. You don't want to know how he looks like in reality, mind focusing back on the angelic man from before. Now, you can feel him breath, a low rumble starts in his gut everytime he inhales, like a beast ready to pounce.

- It takes - the voice coming from behind you is gruff and monstrous - A considerable amount of strength to keep this image in place.

Slowly, with every word, the man's voice comes back to the normal, melodic tone. The shifting mass on your back seizes its movements, and slowly, you allow yourself to crack an eye open.

Blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a halo of blonde hair stare back at you in the mirror's reflection. He gives out a small chuckle, shakes his head slightly, and bends down to take another long sniff of your hair.

- There's no need for you to see my real form - he mutters into the crown of your head - After all, it's not your fear I'm after.

His hands move with unexpected speed, as the both slide upwards, under your shirt, to cup roughly at your breasts. The sound you give out is pathetic at best, as this sliver of friction sets your whole body ablaze.

- It's your guilt - he forces out through his teeth, giving your breasts another sharp squeeze.

Before you have the time to actually understand the implications behind his words, you body is being pressed forwards. The ceramic edge of the sing digs painfully into the meat of your thighs, but the feeling is swallowed completely by a slender hand worming it's way into your pants.

Your entire body rocks back and forth, as the man, Peter, Vecna, plunges two long digits into you without warning.

You feel a raw whine climb out of your throat, as you clench around his fingers, hands flailing at your sides, looking for any sort of purchase. He lets you lean on him completely, one hand massaging your breast, before abandoning it in favor of gripping your pulse.

He works you steadily and greedily, pulling sounds out of you, you'd have never imagined were possible. It feels sick, your stomach tightens into a growing coil, as the rythmic pumping shakes you to your bones.

- I...please - your words come out slurred, as your vision swims around your head.

He chuckles, seemingly unaffected, and presses his thumb down on your pulsing bundle of nerves. The sudden jolt of pleasure wrenches a scream out of you, one, he swallows, forcefully craning his neck, and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss hurts, plain and simple. His lips, despite being pillowy soft, bite into yours with force you've never experienced in your life. Then, teeth appear, raking abused flesh, tongue forcing it's way into your mouth. It's too much, the whole thing starts to feel less like a nightmare, and more like an execution.

Your lungs scream for more oxygen, the tightening in your stomach accompanied by the sharp pain in your chest. And just when you truly think, this is how you are going to die, something entirely unexpected happens.

"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small"

The song enters your brain like a dose of adrenaline, waking you from your stupor. Immediately, the hand toying with your insides, retracts, leaving you unfulfilled and disappointed. The emptiness carries, as his mouth detach from yours. You can't open your eyes, you refuse to do so, too overwhelmed to see.

- Remember this - the man says into your ear, his words slowly being drowned out by music - Remember this feeling, when I come for you again.

With that, you're being released, your limp body falling down onto the floor, where you're met with gentle hands of your friends cradling you.

- Jesus, we though you were a goner! - Lucas nearly screams in your face, as you try your best to focus on the kid's features.

- Yeah! You were flying under the ceiling - Dustin shoves a finger up, and your glazed eyes follow, looking at an unidentified spot above your head.

- Why didn't you tell us? - Max is gripping your shoulders so hard, you're sure it will leave a mark.

The kids, your kids, look at you with terrified faces, as you try to stand up, bones heavy, muscles trembling with unresolved tension.

- Didn't want to worry you guys...

It's a weak excuse, and right now you're not even sure if it's true. Dustin mutters something about you being an adult idiot, and in your heart you can't disagree with him.

- Just - Max slowly let's go of your arm - Keep the headphones on.

With that, the gang makes their way out of the bathroom, you following right after them. The coil in your stomach dies down, and with it, new, overbearing feeling arises in your chest.

Guilt. Crushing guilt of wanting something so wrong you can never recover from it.

And beneath the familiar drums, and the voice, and the guitar, you hear a gentle sound of a ticking clock.

#peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #stranger things #vecna x reader #vecna stranger things #001 x reader #henry creel x reader #001 stranger things #henry creel #my writing #tw: dark fic #monster #i dont support child murder but i do support men being pretty so here you guys go

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skyward-floored · 9 months

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Dawn part 4 analysis, here we go! At it again with my ramblings.

Starting off with THE GLORIOUS RETURN OF THE MAILMAN! The moment I saw the flag I was like :O HE’S BACK!!!

(I also got the blue’s clues mail song stuck in my head)

Hey look, it’s Warriors’ money! And the inkeeper who’s happily admiring the ridiculous amount of rupees Warriors now does not own!

Rip Warriors’ money. It will be dearly missed.

Also no vacancy?? I mean, it’s possible there’s other people staying there, or it’s just a small inn, but... it kinda looks like Warriors literally bought every available room there was. Mad lad.

I (like everybody else lol) took a crack at figuring out who’s signature was who’s, based on their respective game’s Hylian texts/scripts, order of when they got there, and the OG tags on the comic. So here’s my best guesses—

1. Time is first, which makes sense based on him being the one to take Twilight to the inn

2. Hyrule appears to be next— his games don’t have a written script, but the hylian here is close to Legend’s, so I’m assuming it’s his, based on the fact that he was part of the next group to get to the inn.

3. Four is who I’m least sure about I’ll admit, but seeing as how he came with Hyrule, (and he’s the only Link left I couldn’t identify at all), I’m assuming it’s his.

4. Warriors we know for sure, since the tags say this signature is his. He gets a shout out for being the only Link who can actually write in the lines.

5. Wind seems to be next, as his hylian is very close to what’s here (his signature partially obscures Warriors’ XD)

6. Legend is who I’m going with for this one, but I’ll admit it could be Wild’s since their script is pretty darn close. But once again, based on when they all got to the inn, Legend would make the most sense to be here.

7. Sky is definitely here. His hylian is very unique compared to the others (I think it’s my favorite)

8. Wild is probably next, but same case as Legend, they could be swapped. But once again, probably not, since Wild was the last to get inside.

9. Twilight bringing up the rear! His hylian is unmistakable, and it makes sense that he’d mark his name last. I don’t think he could handle it until he woke up that morning, though I do wonder which arm he wrote it with...

(Rip Mr. Mailman in trying to figure all this out)

Moving on!

It’s gotta be close to mid-morning by now based on the light, but Sky obviously does not handle waking up at dawn well. It’ll be interesting to see if he stays sleepy during the rest of this arc, or if he'll wake up a bit.

(Side note, Sky looks so soft and fluffy here, I want to hug him)

Sky is so relatable in this update, he’s got some serious “I have no idea what’s going on�� vibes. That first one he's got such a deer in the headlights look XD

The mailman is just like “you! I’ve been looking for you! Great to see you!” and Sky’s just “I have never met this man in my life” (probably forgot he actually did see him once (because he’s sleepy))

Four letters, all different languages and dialects... I’m guessing at least one Zelda based on the seal on that blue letter (it seems fancier to me), but I don’t know about the rest. I would guess Malon for one, and maybe another Zelda? Warriors or Wild or Four’s Zelda maybe? Maybe Twilight got a letter from someone in Ordon, or the Resistance!

Only thing I do know is that there’s probably not one for Sky, since he wasn’t immediately like “letter for me! :D”

Four trying to do something nice and fix Wild’s sword and this guy just laughs at him, rude 😤 At least he didn’t make a short joke, which was honestly what I was expecting. I mean I get knowing that your equipment won’t be enough for the job, but sheesh.

(Also the blacksmith’s goggles look a bit like Gondo’s in skyward sword’s, plus the ones the rescue knights wear, thought that was interesting).

(Cool pose mode: engaged)

I love this panel!! They all decided to follow Four and help him out just like they did last time, fix the sword and get Wild a good, reliable weapon.

I’ve also never noticed how similar these guy’s hair looks before, especially Warriors and Hyrule’s— if Rulie’s hair was a little shorter and blonde, it would be pretty near identical. Very interesting...

(Plus Wind has the funniest expression, he's so cute)

We interrupt this rambly analysis to bring you a brief moment of me yelling about Warriors' smile ABHDGFSFKHSBBG LOOK AT HIM that stupid cocky grin and the way he's rolling up his sleeve I'm *swoon*

Four absolutely losing it over Warriors’ jab about teamwork is SO funny, Captain you have no idea how good your joke was. (also Four, bud, you good? Little hysterical there pal)

Also he looks so happy!!! Compare that to any of the faces he was making the night before, he's doing so much better. I’m so glad he’s happy and smiling now, even if it was just at a dumb joke :)

I don’t even have anything to say about this panel. Just look at it. Glorious.

And one last thing...

MULTILINGUAL WARRIORS HOLY CROW that's such a cool trait to give him, I am in love with it now that's awesome.

An amazing update as always, it was fantastic all around <3

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe analysis #lu sky #lu mailman #lu four #lu warriors #update spoilers #long post #rambles from the floor #this isn't very deep it's mostly just me talking #but most of you all seem to like that so who am I to deny the masses my insanity

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effortandmore · 11 months

Text

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep.

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too.

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this:

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him.

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here.

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day.

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it.

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you.

Except the one thing you ask him to.

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit.

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him.

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one.

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness.

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.”

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?”

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to.

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.”

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.”

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people.

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.”

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.”

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take.

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself.

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again.

“Whatever you want, jagiya.”

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want.

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.”

He does.

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can.

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand.

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you.

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace.

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice.

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory.

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are.

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves.

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it.

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet.

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm.

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart.

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another.

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body.

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.”

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his.

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his.

He thinks they’re love songs.

He hopes you know.

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you.

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says.

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late.

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him.

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks.

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to.

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness.

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum.

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you.

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to.

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.”

“Are you the peacock or am I?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours.

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind.

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh.

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting.

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep.

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.”

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says.

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.”

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin.

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was.

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious.

“Spain.”

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.”

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are.

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says.

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too.

“About a girl, mostly.”

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?”

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks.

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin.

“But you have these dreams often?”

“Yeah.”

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think.

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.”

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now.

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…”

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless.

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours.

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you.

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better.

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first.

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador.

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color.

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most.

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what.

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him.

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him.

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas.

She does. A lot of them.

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you.

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple.

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition.

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay.

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you.

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going.

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else.

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you?

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar.

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you.

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds.

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life.

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought…

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again.

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for.

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night.

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him.

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight.

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road.

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling.

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever.

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he?

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.”

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you.

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day.

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.”

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers.

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive.

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.”

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings.

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades.

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly.

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.”

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist.

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again.

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it.

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here.

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him.

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world.

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine.

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you.

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it.

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing.

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you.

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see.

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment.

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time.

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon.

Like father, like son, as they say.

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong.

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you.

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around.

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly.

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart?

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate.

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do.

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave.

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you.

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright.

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life.

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe.

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you.

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you.

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head.

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye.

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace.

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him.

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person.

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone.

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear.

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions.

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying.

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.”

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter.

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know.

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.”

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.”

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks.

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.”

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?”

To his relief, you do.

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there.

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you.

“So… why the Met?”

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation.

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers.

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?”

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too.

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking.

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise.

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him.

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan.

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better.

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination.

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually.

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms.

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says.

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest.

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now.

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.”

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.”

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks.

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine.

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had.

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been.

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him.

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected.

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now.

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything.

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt.

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too.

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family…

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm fluff #rm angst #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #kvanity #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic

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stayevildarling · 14 days

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wait?!?! you‘re considering writing for wandanat??😩 omg!! can you please write them with reader x cordelia goode!! maybe something angsty where reader gets hurt on a mission or something and tries to play it down

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Cordelia Goode x Reader- One too many secrets

A/N: I have honestly been captured by marvel and wandanat. I couldn't help writing for them but I wanted to keep some of my ,,normal'' writing in there so I added Cordelia. This is my first time obviously writing Natasha and Wanda so I have no clue whether this is accurate or makes a lot of sense. Let me know what you think though as I quite enjoyed this 🫶🏻

tags/warnings: female reader, established relationship, quad polyamorous relationship, mention of violence, mention of gunshot, mention of blood, cursing, angst, fluff

translation: detka= baby, malishka= baby girl , zlatko= sweetheart

word count: 4.5k

taglist: (if you want to be added just sent me an ask/dm or comment)

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay , @whitelotus00 , @ninaahs , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @paulsonsratched , @stepintomyworld , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometime , @ohrwurm26 , @wastdstime

Todays mission had started out like any other mission, a quick briefing first, Tony talking you through most of the details and that you and the others had got this. Gathering your things before walking towards one of the quinjets and getting going. The last time you had both seen Wanda and Cordelia was two days ago now, travelling back and forth to the avengers compound and getting some training and exercise in, as well as greeting and chatting to some old friends.

They hated it, well Wanda only really did when she wasn't able to come along, however she had been stuck on another mission for the past few days and pretty much only got back when the two of you had to leave. Cordelia hated it altogether, she had met the avengers briefly and the three of you tried to be as open and communicative as possible, knowing the blonde wouldn't be able to cope with her crippling anxiety and worry otherwise. So, you had taken her to the compound a few times, getting to meet Tony and some of the others there. And despite the man even offering her to join them all, she refused, too busy with her own responsibilities of leading Miss Robichaux's Academy as their headmistress but also their supreme.

Cordelia was also your supreme, teaching you the basics years ago when you were dropped at the academy and didn't understand your powers and why no one wanted you. Somehow you stumbled upon the avengers, Wanda first before meeting everyone else and somehow getting caught in between it all. This was for sure never the life you had imagined, thinking you would grow old in the academy alongside Cordelia. However, a certain ginger and redhead somehow didn't only sweep you off your feet but equally the blonde sunshine that had been in your life for years. And so, the four of you slowly and with a few ups and downs along the way, built your life together, both away from the avengers compound and the academy, enjoying a more quiet and private space, rather than constantly being around people. Natasha's flying skills allowed her to easily move between places and Cordelia and Wanda's magic, as well as yours allowed the three of you to get wherever you wanted quickly.

As the quinjet prepares for landing, you glance at Natasha, who sits in the cockpit with Clint and you can't help but the small smile escaping you as you see her in her element. She loved this and you knew she did, however she especially enjoyed when her detka came along on missions. She had seen Wanda's magic on missions of course and her eyes always widened in that exact same way, disbelief, admiration and the slight shock. However your magic was different, so much lighter and beautiful and she enjoyed whenever she got to watch you or the supreme. It took a while to get you to where you are, Natasha training you to be her own little assassin and teaching you everything she had ever known and learned over the span of her life. She wanted to make sure you could protect yourself, hating the thought of anything ever happening to you and her not teaching you properly beforehand.

Your two girlfriends were utterly different. Sometimes when missions allowed it, the three of you would join in together. Wanda always fussed over you, often checking in with her magic to feel you close by when she couldn't see you. Not necessarily liking the thought of you doing all of these big adult things before Natasha had talked her out of those concern. Natasha let you do your own thing, trusting your abilities, magic and what she had taught you enough. However, her green eyes always lingered nearby, making sure someone wasn't getting a little too close to you, that the avengers didn't push you too much and didn't expect too much of you. She thought of you as a privilege to have around and help out and she made sure to treat you like that.

,,Ready Malishka?'' you hear her whisper as she brushes past, turning to smile at you before she follows the others. ,,Ready'' you assure with a smile, slightly taken back by her outfit and how badass she looked, especially with the flaming red hair, her smell lingering as she walks past and reminding you of home.

It really was supposed to be a quick in and out, Clint, Natasha and some others clearing the way for you, getting rid of some guards lingering nearby before getting to the big guys. Once inside, it was your job to finish the interrogation part, assuming they wouldn't talk and the avengers relying on you to use your Telepathy, read their minds and making them spill all the secrets, they would surely die for to protect. And it almost seemed a little too easy, as the three of you, including some backup cleared the way and eventually had the guys exactly where you wanted them. Bucky and Natasha tying them to some chairs before asking their questions, you eventually joining in and making them spill all their secrets. You had gotten what you wanted, Natasha filling in Tony who stayed behind, content with what you had gathered.

Yet, somehow you had missed something. Maybe it was due to the fact that you thought danger was averted, maybe you had been too taken back by your girlfriend and how both badass and beautiful she was or maybe it was the thought of relief and thinking you could return to your other two girlfriends waiting at home after finishing your mission reports once returned. It must have either been the cameras or the guys somehow alerting backup and almost as the four of you made it back, more guards appeared in front of you, heavily armed and ready to fight. Natasha was the first to notice, quickly tackling the first two running around the corner, Clint shooting some of his arrows, making some more fly across the floor. And you equally used your magic, making the new wave of them fly across the hallway and knocking them unconscious, Natasha watching and smirking in adoration.

As Natasha winks at you, she watches as your face turns serious, the three of them expecting danger to be averted as it had been deadly silent. However, your magic was quick to alert you that you had missed something, sending an all too familiar shiver down your spine and the feeling of doom that was nearby. You were no supreme, and usually this was a power that only Cordelia and Wanda managed to use. ,,Incoming'' you quickly alert them, their faces growing serious with concern. As you look around you, trying to find the obvious sign of what was going on, you glance around only to find another flood of them coming basically out of nowhere. ,,Fucking hell'' Natasha curses before the four of you get back into action, fighting to get out of there as really your mission was done and successful. Again you use your magic to send most of them shooting across the hallway and into the nearest wall.

However as you glance at Natasha, you watch her surrounded by some big guys, and despite the Russian definitely not needing your assistance, you can't help the overwhelming feeling of wanting to keep her safe. In a swift motion, you send half of them flying across the floor, quickly teleporting near her. ,,Nice one'' she praises as she chuckles. The room fills with the sound of more grunting and gunshots as the last wave of guards attempt to stop you from exiting with all the informations you had gathered. It doesn't take too long before the four of you manage to send them to the floor as well. Caught in the heat of it all, you had missed the excruciating pain you felt on your back, swallowing the lump in your throat and ignoring the obvious signs of pain and shock your body was alerting you of.

,,Detka, you okay?'' Natasha reassures as you exit the building and make your way towards the quinjet. ,,All good'' you smile, before she buckles you into your seat and begins taking you all back home. You should have said something, the pain increasing by the minute and causing your vision to blur slightly as you feel the throbbing pain in your shoulder. You had always been a little stubborn, not wanting to show weakness in front of them as especially your girlfriends lifes so far had been filled with nothing but pain and grief. And you never wanted to add to it, always making sure to help them out in whatever way you could, whether it was helping Nat with training, Cordelia with the academy or Wanda with things she was doing around the house.

Before your eyes feel heavier by the minute, you manage to linger your hand over the source of the pain, your magic slowly easing it a little before you allow your eyes to close. Your healing magic for sure was nothing compared to Wanda or Delia's and so the only thing it managed to do is ease the pain, lulling you to sleep a little, however the bullet remaining inside your shoulder, as well as blood dripping slowly down the inside of your clothing. It doesn't take long before you make it back, the quinjet allowing you to travel through the sky in no time before making it back to headquarters. As Natasha gets ready to follow the others, her eyes land on your sleeping form, still strapped into your seat and she can't help but frown, knowing how tiring and exhausting missions could be. ,,Detka, wake up'' she tries softly, nudging your shoulder moments later in an attempt to wake you.

As the pain shoots through your body again, your eyes widen, your mouth slightly agape but quickly composing yourself as you see the concerned green eyes from your girlfriend in front of you. She had noticed of course, ever the perceptive one, how your face was much paler, eyes filled with pain and the slight wincing when she had woken you moments ago. ,,Are you okay?'' she tries again, before you quickly nod, unbuckling your seatbelt and quick on your feet. Despite the dizzy spell, you take your girlfriends hand and lead her outside, following the others as you wanted nothing more than to get home. The redhead knew you to be stubborn, even secretive at times and she could tell something was up, assuming that maybe you indeed were simply tired and worn out after today, unbeknownst of the wound and the blood that continued dripping down the inside of your uniform.

The meeting following after, as well as the mission report feel like an eternity and you can't help but seek the comfort of your girlfriend. Mid meeting you had subconsciously reached for her hand underneath the table and she squeezed it tight, you not usually the affectionate type, especially when it was outside of your home and sacred, safe walls. After another hour, Natasha is quick to guide the two of you outside and back home, noticing how with each minute passing you seem more tired and practically falling asleep on her shoulder. She couldn't help but admire how comfortable you seem, resting your head on her and how her presence noticeably made you feel safe. She had taken a mental note to get either Wanda or Cordelia to check on you after this mission, making sure that you didn't get hurt, whether that was physically or something bothering you else wise.

,,Malishka, we're home'' the voice of your girlfriend softly awakens you, your eyes quickly falling shut again as the pain continued to pierce through you and almost take your breath away.

,,Come on sleepyhead'' she tries again, chuckling a little before you follow her inside, your heart beating a little faster as you think about getting to see your girlfriends in a moment.

As soon as the two of you step inside, the air is filled with both Cordelia and Wanda's cooking. You can't help but smile, assuming that Delia had cooked dinner and Wanda probably baked something, the two of them enjoying greeting you like that after a long mission. ,,Hi there'' Cordelia beams, greeting Natasha with a kiss on the cheek, before opening her arms to you. ,,Hi sweetheart'' Cordelia coos, as you practically fall into her arms, the exhausting heavy on your features and tired body. ,,There are my two favourite girls'' Wanda chuckles softly upon laying eyes on you both.

,,How did it go?'' Wanda asks curiously, not really having been able to think about much other than the two of you and the mission, despite Cordelia trying to distract her. ,,All good, our detka kicked ass'' Natasha chuckles, causing Wanda to smirk a little and Cordelia to smile proudly.

The supreme could tell there was something bothering you, her senses and the love she feels for you, instantly alerting her of something. However she wasn't quite sure what but the way you had held onto her for a second longer than your usual greeting hug, the way your eyes looked a little different and missed the usual sparkle and just your overall form. ,,Are you two hungry?'' Wanda tries, watching as Natasha is quick to toss her jacket away, having already showered at the compound but you insisting on showering at home. ,,Shower first please'' you manage to mumble out, before the three of them share a knowing glance. ,,Of course sweetheart'' Cordelia softly assures before you walk towards the bedroom. ,,Need any help zlatko?'' Wanda tries but you simply shake your head, thankfully declining her offer.

As soon as the shower is to be heard, Wanda and Cordelia simultaneously glance at Natasha, who stands by the kitchen counter, already stuffing some of the cookies that Wanda had made into her mouth. ,,What?'' she shrugs, her two girlfriends not being able to hide the smirk at her adorable antics. ,,How did that mission go Nat? really?'' Wanda tries, her and the blonde sharing the same concern over you. ,,It was good'' Natasha begins speaking, trying to swallow the cookies before getting scolded for speaking with her mouth full. ,,Y/N was great- as always'' she reassures before she meets their concerned glances. ,,I think she's tired, she fell asleep pretty much as we headed back and she's been a bit clingy since'' the redhead announces, before taking another mouthful of cookies and Wanda raises an eyebrow in return.

A set of green eyes meet Cordelia's brown ones, Wanda sharing the concern over you and knowing it had always been important to you to keep this professional, especially when around the others. Meanwhile you had somehow managed to get inside the shower, washing most of the blood and dirt away from the day, despite the soaring pain that was hard to ignore by now. It took you a while to wash yourself, really only having one arm available to do so. Before you know it, you find yourself half dressed, in front of the bathroom mirror, on your tip toes, trying hard to get a good look on your wound and trying to determine what you needed to do in order to heal it with your magic abilities. However as you try to turn a little, another wave of dizziness washes over you, causing you to stumble forwards and grip towards the sink, causing the several shampoo, conditioner and soap bottles to fall to the ground with an alarming noise.

,,Sweetheart, are you alright?'' you hear the voice of your blonde girlfriend moments later, internally cursing yourself for being so stupid and knowing they would be furious if they found out like this now. ,,Darling?'' Wanda tries next, and despite wanting nothing more than to answer, to reassure that you are fine and make the worry very evident in their voices, go away, you couldn't. The dizziness held a tight grip around you, making it impossible to open your eyes, the bright light only adding to your state. The pain causing the lump in your throat to get bigger, tears beginning to spill almost if your eyes had been open. It takes mere seconds before the door bursts open and you are unsure in your state whether you had locked it to begin with, unsure whether Natasha had simply kicked in the door, or whether your other two girlfriends had used their magic to open the door.

,,Y/N'' Cordelia calls out, watching your frame as you grip harder around the sink, Wanda's eyes immediately landing on your shoulder and seeing the blood and wound. They are quick to rush over, Wanda also calling for Natasha and the redhead quick to equally jolt towards the bathroom. ,,What happened?'' the redhead speaks with concern, before her eyes lay upon you. ,,Dammit detka'' she curses, finally understanding what had happened and why you had been so quiet. ,,Alright, sweetheart, let's sit you down'' Cordelia tries softly, despite the panic very evident in her voice and features. Wanda and Natasha are quick to get you to sit down, careful of your injury. ,,Looks like it's still in there'' the redhead remarks, having seen her fair share of gunshots in her line of work. ,,You can fix this right?'' she asks, her voice betraying the hint of worry as the color continues draining from your face.

Wanda and Cordelia's gazes meet, certain they can fix this but determining how. Their magics worked quite differently and while it would take healing potions and swamp mud for Cordelia to fix it, it pretty much only takes a flick of Wanda's wrist to fix your injury and so she is quick to light her hands in a red color before the blood and bullet slowly fade, making the wound disappear altogether. Cordelia watches in awe, Natasha watching in relief as your shoulder is back to normal due to Wanda's magical abilities. ,,Darling, are you alright?'' the scarlet witch questions softly, noticing your face still a little pale and face scrunched up in pain. In reality, you felt more guilty than anything, knowing they would be upset with you now, the pain still lingering on your shoulder due to the impact and how long it had been there. ,,Fine, thank you'' you manage to mumble, before Cordelia is quick to help you on your feet and finish getting you dressed.

As the supreme leads you back towards the bedroom, offering you some rest after the shock from today, you can already hear your other girlfriends voices raising from the room next door. ,,Nat, calm down'' Wanda tries softly, noticing how the redhead was visibly upset, pacing back and forth the living room, her fists clenched. ,,No- she should have talked to me for gods sake''. Cordelia frowns watching your guilty eyes and the tears threatening to spill any moment, despite the fatigue and sleepiness very visible in your features and tired eyes. ,,You get some rest darling and we'll be right here'' the supreme reassures, tugging you in a little and pressing a soft, comforting kiss on your forehead.

,,Enough'' the blonde scolds as she makes her way back towards the living room. Natasha simply rolls her eyes, Wanda's concerned eyes following the redhead as she continues pacing. ,,She could have jeopardised the whole mission'' the redhead sighs before she continues speaking ,,If one of us gets hurt, we tell the other one'' she sighs now, the anger slowly subsiding from her features before it turns into hurt, her eyes glistening with tears. ,,Hey hey'' Wanda tries, moving towards her girlfriend before taking her shaky hands into her steady ones. ,,Our little one certainly is good at keeping secrets'' Wanda begins, Cordelia nodding in agreement. ,,But I'm sure she just wanted to keep everyone safe'' Wanda tries reasoning with her girlfriends, despite feeling furious herself, given what could have happened.

,,I didn't see it, I thought she was tired'' Natasha sighs again, almost mumbling the words as a tear falls down her cheek. ,,Honey-'' Cordelia coos, quick to wipe the tear from her girlfriends features. ,,Like Wands here said, she's stubborn but you couldn't have known'' they reassure, slowly coaxing the avenger out of her shell and state. ,,I'm sure you must be hungry darling'' the blonde tries softly, before some guilty puppy eyes meet her brown ones. ,,Come on'' Wanda chuckles, taking Natasha's hand and leading her towards the dining room.

By the time you finally awaken from your slumber, your eyes eventually closing as dark shades of orange and red flooded your bedroom from the sunset, it's now replaced by a darkness. The only light source, a little lamp in the corner of your bedroom. When you turn a little, you notice both the absence of your girlfriends but also of the pain. Wanda's magic really did wonders to your state, as you can move freely without the slightest pain, despite a headache lingering. Slowly, you move the blanket from your tired body, despite feeling sleepy, wanting to be close to your girls and knowing you owed them an apology. As you walk past the dresser, you reach for a cardigan, feeling a little chilly and instantly noticing how it must be Wanda's as her scent and perfume lingers around you, instantly making you feel calm and at home.

As you step through the hallway, glancing at the countless artwork on the walls, as well as the photo wall that Wanda had added a while ago, both dorky selfies and official photos from either of you at events, you smile a little, recalling each day as if it had been yesterday. Your sleep didn't last too long, as by the time your eyes meet them, the three of them are still sitting by the dining table, having finished their meals not too long ago. With a smile, you watch Wanda bringing over the tray of cookies, Cordelia already getting a head start on the dishes. ,,Hi detka'' Wanda greets you softly as she notices you hovering by the doorframe.

,,Hi'' you mumble, the guilt very evident in your voice as your eyes fall upon both Cordelia and Wanda, still avoiding Natasha's gaze as you knew she was furious with you. ,,Are you hungry baby girl?'' the witch questions, causing you to simply nod a little shily before Cordelia reaches for your plate that she had kept warm for you. Hesitantly, you sit beside your girlfriend, Wanda joining the blonde with doing the dishes, knowing you and the redhead could use some quiet to talk this through, knowing you both to be stubborn. You gaze is dropped onto your plate, as you take slow and hesitant bites, despite feeling like starving, suddenly feeling like not eating under Natasha's gaze, the guilt consuming you and nagging at your insides. ,,Detka?'' she tries softly, seeing the genuine remorse in your eyes and feeling bad for her earlier outburst after the two had managed to calm her down.

,,Yeah?'' you whisper softly, your eyes already filling with tears. ,,Can you look at me?'' she tries, hating to see you like this and not having you meet her gaze. As soon as your eyes land upon the redhead, your vision fills with tears and she is quick to move her chair back, allowing you access to settle on her lap. ,,Come here'' she ushers and you comply, quickly getting comfortable on her lap, before holding onto her, as her strong arms wrap around yours. ,,It's okay malishka'' she reassures as she notices you sniffling in her embrace. ,,I'm sorry'' you choke on a sob, pathetically holding onto the hem of her shirt as your guilty eyes meet hers, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with todays events, despite usually being able to stay strong for your girlfriends. However, the thought of upsetting, displeasing your partners killed you inside as all you ever wanted was to make them happy, proud and content.

,,Why didn't you tell me?'' she asks softly after your cries eventually quieten down, listening to her steady heartbeat. Her tone is soft, the question sounding more curious and concerned than stern or angry and you could tell. ,,I just hate letting anyone down'' you sigh, not necessarily knowing how to put your feelings into words. ,,Detka, you didn't let anyone down, you made sure we got out of there'' she reassures, recalling your badass actions. A moment of silent follows, Cordelia and Wanda watching the exchange and a sad smile forming on their lips, seeing you two so closely, despite your pain. ,,What is it, really?'' she tries again, knowing you long enough by now to know that this wasn't the whole truth.

As you glance around, you watch as Cordelia gives you an encouraging smile, still cleaning the kitchen but obviously following the exchange between you two. ,,I just never want to burden you three'' you finally sigh, some more tears streaming from your features. Natasha's eyebrows furrow in confusion, not understanding your statement, considering the four of you had always been so loyal, so honest with each other. And you pick it up, her hesitation, the confusion washing over her face. And you knew if you had told the same to Wanda or your Delia they would have understood, knowing what it feels like to be a burden due to their past. But Natasha was tougher, fierce, being able to work out her demons on her own and having worked through her past mostly on herself.

,,I-'' you hesitate but feel Natasha's hand reaching for yours and squeezing it in a reassuring manner. ,,The three of you have been through enough and I thought I could fix it on my own'' you admit and you watch as her face almost crumbles, finally understanding your actions. And Natasha hated your statement, she hated how you put them first, their pain and grief and past before your own. She wanted to simply hold you and never let you go, tell you that they and she always want to know, always want to take care of you and never having you hide these things. ,,Detka'' she begins, taking a deep breath and hooking her finger underneath your chin so you can look into her green eyes.

,,Detka, you mean the world to us and we never want you to hide from us, we want to be there for you, just like you are always there for us three'' she reassures, watching your eyes and wanting to make sure you understand her statement. ,,Besides darling, you are a witch, not some super soldier'' she chuckles a little ,,Did you really think you could fix this without us noticing'' and your guilty puppy eyes meet her own yet again. ,,I'm just glad you're okay'' she reassures before holding you a little tighter and you finally manage to relax in her touch.

It doesn't take long, before Wanda and Cordelia join the two of you again, the supreme giving you a reassuring and proud smile for opening up, knowing it wasn't your strong suit. Wanda doing the same towards Natasha, glad the redhead had managed to calm down and talk this through with their detka. ,,Can I have a cookie now?'' you frown, before Cordelia and Wanda chuckle passing you the tray. ,,You didn't even touch your dinner darling'' Cordelia scolds softly, raising an eyebrow. ,,I'm an avenger, I can have dessert before dinner'' you protest, the three of them chuckling before Natasha presses a kiss to your forehead while still holding you in her arms. ,,Are you now?'' Wanda chuckles, finding your antics and the sight in front of her adorable. ,,Our badass avenger'' Natasha confirms, glancing at her other two lovers with a proud and satisfied smirk.

#sarah paulson #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #american horror story #ahs #ahs coven #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #wandanat x reader #scarlett johansson #elizabeth olsen #marvel #the avengers #scarlet witch #black widow #writing

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devourable · 1 year

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☹ the alt kids

sfw | tags : poly!nb!yans x gn reader (only prn used for reader is ‘you’), obsessive thoughts, slight manipulation, mentions of drinking

listen,,, i know melchior / nb demon yan beat these three in the poll but im itching to write about them. this goes out to my friend who wants to get piped by faust + lolita anon. love yall mmmmwah

also for reference, faust is they/he, delta is they/them, and anton is he/she/they !

please rb to support me 🫶

the alt kids were notorious for seeking out club newbies to play with. it was just something they did.

there was just something so adorable about the way someone totally out of their element dipping their toes into their scene! and the three had made it clear that fresh meat was off limits to anyone but them.

it was a simple cycle — someone new would enter the club, they'd swoop in and show them a good time, take them home at the end of the night if they're lucky, and repeat.

they thought it'd be no different when you came along, but...

oh, how wrong they were.

see, faust could practically feel the inexperience dripping off of you the moment you entered the nightclub.

all on your own, your eyes wide as you took in the flashing lights and loud music, the way you cautiously stepped around the sea of dancing bodies in attempt to find some place you could fit in comfortably? definitely another cute little freshie that'd soon join their ranks.

but faust didn't account for the zip of heat that ran through his body when you and him locked eyes from across the club. he didn't expect the unfamiliar feeling of his heart racing, a feeling only comparable to how he felt when he saw his partners — but why was it so much stronger? and when you offered up a shy little smile and averted your gaze, it damn near knocked him back.

who were you?

they had no clue, but they knew one thing. they needed to leave this club with you at the end of the night.

so faust all but ran to your side, appearing by you before you had even noticed their approach. god, you were even cuter up close... the way you looked up at them made their heart want to leap from their chest!

but they kept their cool. faust introduced themself, commenting on how they noticed you from across the bar and how they couldn't just let a sightly little thing like you venture around all on your own. the club could be so intimidating for newcomers — dangerous, even! but you didn't have a thing to worry about with them by your side.

they loved how demure you were, how you held your heating face when he complimented you, how you tried to wave off their advances but seemed to enjoy it just a bit too much to wave them off. were you intimidated by them? or… did you like them back? they wish they knew!

so you joined them, and accompanied them to the bar.

it was there you met one of their partners — a startlingly tall, reserved goth. you saw him well before you even got to the bar! between the major size difference, her icy gaze, and seemingly disinterested demeanor, it was safe to say you were intimidated. so you were incredibly surprised when faust strutted right up to them, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and waved you over to meet her. and it surprised you even further when they took one of your hands in theirs, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and introduced themself after studying you silently.

unbeknownst to you and faust, anton was feeling that same intense fire in his chest that faust got when they first looked at you. he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over your attire as you gave your name in turn.

you were so small compared to him. as was most other people, but… it was strangely endearing when he looked down at you. it’d be so easy to just scoop you up, wouldn’t it? and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. he kept those thoughts to himself, but they flickered across his mind every time you came enough for him to take in the difference in your sizes.

the pair bought you drinks, got you a nice seat and showered you in attention. chatting you up, complimenting you, practically treating you like you were part of their polycule already. though they never mentioned it, faust and anton knew they had the same feelings towards you. the intense desire to just… have you. and not just for the night, either. you were so much more than all of their previous flings.

then delta came along. petite, sly delta who liked to play coy when it came to those they were interested in. they had pretended to be too busy dancing the entire time before joining their partners and you at the bar, but they were watching. and after witnessing how their boyfriends were all over you for so long, they had to join in. what were you doing to them?

they walked up to the three of you, pointedly looked you up and down, and… they understood in an instant. man, you were a looker! and even sweeter than the usual folk the three would usually play around with. they easily invited themself to the conversation, taking a seat right on faust’s lap and stuck up a chat with you as if they had been there the entire time.

they loved how flustered you were, so overwhelmed by all the attention the three were now pouring onto you. and despite your overstimulation, you were trying so hard to talk to them all anyway. you clearly had no clue what to do, poor thing… they had no choice but to take the lead for you!

“wanna dance? ..no? that’s fine~ let’s get another drink!”

“it’s so loud in here. let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah? i wanna hear that pretty voice more clearly.”

“aww, you wanna leave? you can sober up at our place! it’d be dumb if you got a ticket you could’a avoided.”

“you’ll stay the night with us, won’t you, darling? we’d hate for you to leave us so soon.”

#🕷️ the alt kids #yandere x reader #yandere boy #yandere x you #yandere x oc #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x darling #nonbinary yandere #nb yandere #trans yandere #yandere girl #lovesick | ocs #yandere #yancore

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hitlikehammers · 3 months

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feel the bigger thing

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!Eddie, domestic husbands are domestic ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, rockstar husbands, love is lying on top of each other on the sofa discussing buying a new house with a pool, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twelve: Love is having hope for the future together (@acasualcrossfade)

you know how the rockstar husbands talked about lights for their pool in the original fic, je ne regrette rien? well GUESS WHAT FEATURES HERE

“These numbers,” Eddie’s reading over the printouts from their manager, sales projections and preliminary tour dates and all the rest: “baby, we can get the new house, hell, we can keep this one and have a second house if we want it,” Eddie kisses the top of Steve’s head where he’s got him bundled up on his chest, tucked under his chin where they’re currently both sprawled on the couch; Eddie says he likes to think like that—likes to know Steve’s there by design, no question, the weight of him evident every time he breathes, he says; held close to my heart, baby, in fact, is what he also says.

Hopeless goddamn romantic, his husband. But he wouldn’t have him any other way.

“We don’t need a second house,” Steve points out, smooshed against Eddie’s sternum.

“We can get the pool,” Eddie added with the audible equivalent of his brow-wiggle and okay, fine, that’s a good point, because Steve may not have really used the one at his parents’ after, well, everything, but he…does kinda miss having one. Now that the memories are distant enough in both time and miles that he doesn’t see standing water deeper than four feet and start fucking hyperventilating anymore.

So…yeah. Compelling argument regarding a pool.

“This record,” Eddie blows out a long breath, slow and even as Steve rides it where he’s braced atop his chest, lifted with his lungs: “this record’s gonna change everything.”

Steve turns his opposite cheek against Eddie’s heartbeat, huffs a little as he gets comfortable again before he asks:

“You think so?”

Eddie doesn’t move, but the fact that he stills so completely is kinda like a motion in itself.

“You don’t?”

He doesn’t sound angry or anything, or even upset. Not disappointed. Maybe just…surprised.

And Steve gets that. The numbers attached to this album are…if they’re right?

This is going to be huge.

But.

“I mean,” Steve shrugs, which is kinda useless given his position, so he sorts of ends up nosing at Eddie’s shirt instead as a byproduct of the hushing of his shoulders: he’s not mad at that, as the outcome:

“I guess, not really,” Steve finally settles on because it’s really not any more complicated than that.

Then Eddie’s got his fingertips at Steve’s nape and he’s spreading them through Steve’s hair and oh.

Oh, that’s so fucking nice.

Which is probably why he pairs the sensation with the question he follows with:

“It’s not good?”

And Steve almost doesn’t hear it, and he wouldn’t even fucking feel bad for not hearing it or not processing it when Eddie’s hands are in his hairlike that because fucking hell, Eddie knows what that goddamn does to him; but Steve does hear it. And again: it’s not angry, or upset. It’s maybe a little surprised. It’s not even quite…hurt, or disappointed, but it’s far closer to either or both than Steve’s comfortable with, than Steve ever wants to hear in that voice, so:

“God no,” he answers with real feeling, shaking his head to back it up and also to—mournfully—dislodge Eddie’s distracting fucking hands; “it’s spectacular,” Steve tells him, plain and honest because it’s the fucking truth: “definitely your best yet.” Also true.

Eddie goes still again, and Steve tips his head up and back at the most uncomfortable possible angle to catch Eddie expression, to read its clues: he’s watching Steve so intently, like he’s something unfathomable and dear enough to spend eternity decoding—but that’s strange in itself. They kind of know each other inside-and-out by now.

So Steve rolls back the words exchanged, looks for the catch, the dropped stitch, the record-scratch.

Gonna change everything—

Ah. Steve’s breath hitches a little, but: he thinks he’s found it. Right.

He makes himself breath in deep but slow, gentle and calm as he can, and Eddie’ll pick up the tension he can’t wholly wash out just yet, and Eddie’ll feel the uptick of his pulse where his one hand holds Steve still around the ribs. But it’s fine. Because they’re fine.

Okay.

“I just,” Steve exhales long; “you said everything,” and Steve tries to make his tone hold the word itself to account, to fill it up with all of the things that came to Steve’s mind and made him denounce the possibility on sight—change everything? But there’s so very little about Steve’s life, about this life together, about their life that they’ve clawed and fought for and now get to relish and bask in: Steve doesn’t want that changed.

And to think a fucking album release could change what they have, that was just, insanity.

…right?

“You said that, and I—“ and that’s as far as Steve gets before Eddie’s dragging him up, firm but so tender, and so full of love in just the touch that any misgivings—and they weren’t even that, that were just…just little off feelings that Steve knew weren’t of real consequence, because he knowswhat they are and what they have and his first instinct was right damnit, and he knew that like he knows the sky is blue and Eddie curls frizz no matter what you fucking do to them: they won’t change in the ways that matter, because they’re…unshakable.

So Steve knew that already, and he knows it now in just Eddie’s touch drawing up upward and closer, but if somehow he’d managed to miss both of those points?

The way he kisses Steve is…fuck, it’s like sucking his soul to consume.

“Oh, oh baby,” Eddie speaks so that they’re lips aren’t ever anything but locked tight, but touching close and with feeling; “not everything, no,” he promises, seals it, vows it straight into Steve’s open mouth so it’ll slip safe down to his heart and soul:

“Not everything,” he whispers, still close enough they can’t breathe without the other there, too, and: that’s heady. That’s real.

“Good,” Steve exhales but with a weight to it, a finality: a seal and vow of his own as he nips Eddie’s swollen lips once, twice, and then tucks himself under Eddie’s chin again, where Eddie’s arms are waiting to envelop him even closer, now; tighter still somehow.

“You’re the center of my world, you know that?” Eddie finally murmurs into Steve’s hair once their breaths have calmed a little, and he can say it steady and sure like he means to, and Steve really just smiles, and burrows that half-an-inch closer, where he compresses Eddie’s flesh to the bone so he can feel the nearest a person can be.

“I do know that,” and it’s not even a fib, or a half-truth: and Eddie already knows the understood ‘you’ of the sentiment clear and well-established—Steve knows Eddie’s love in all sorts of ways, big and small and in between but the first way he probably believed it best was coming to grips with the fact, the unwavering law-of-the-universe fact, that Eddie Munson’s heart beats for Steve the very same Steve’s beats for him. No difference. No more or less. Perfect concert, exact same time signature: precisely shock-start to pump in the first place, like the same spark keeps time in both their chests.

Steve knows he’s loved in ways that don’t have words. Because he loves the very same, and so he knows them intimately, no labels required.

“I already told the promo team we work around your schedule or I’m gonna have to by inconveniently down with the flu for appearances,” Eddie adds as Steve settles back on his chest, soft again and languid: he wasn’t fearful, or even truly hesitant, but—it’s nice. To lean back in and cuddle close.

“You know you don’t have to—“ Steve starts but Eddie tuts him quiet in a flash.

“I do have to. Save my heart the aching, baby,” he presses lips to Steve’s temple and speaks there, drags his mouth wet to the skinL “more important, save yours the same.”

And Steve maybe can’t help but press his own lips first through the cotton of Eddie’s shirt straight to the center of his chest, and then leaning up a little, to the stretched-out collar sneaking the lowest peek of flesh beneath his clavicle: kisses there too, a little sloppy and a lot overfull of feeling as he breathes:

“I love you something wild, Eddie Munson,” and his pulse skips happily, a little dance under Steve’s mouth as he smiles before propping his chin on Eddie’s chest and looking up, meeting the eyes he knows are waiting for him, waiting to lock with his.

And when they do—even after all these years, and Steve has no expectation of it ever change with more to come—but when their eyes meet it’s Steve’s heart that goes giddy, a little off-kilter for joy, and it fucking is that, isn’t it.

It’s wild.

“I love metal, baby,” Eddie answers, and Steve tips his head a little; an odd direction, but he’s intrigued: “music and D&D and meeting the fans,” and Eddie’s playing with his hair again, and he knows what that does, but—

“I feel something so much bigger, for you,” and Jesus, Steve’s in love with maybe the only person in the world who can match him for romance; sometimes outstrips him, even. His heart goes back to dancing chaotic and he couldn’t fucking stifle the grin if he tried, and fuck if he’s ever planning to try.

“Fucking sap,” Steve mouths tight against Eddie’s chest, damp through his shirt for the chuckle he breathes there, weightless and marveling because he gets to have this; they get to have this: they’ve had this for so long and they get to keep it.

“You love it though,” Eddie runs his cheek back and forth across the top of Steve head, and Steve just hums:

“I don’t love it,” he insists with intent in it: “the bigger thing,” he corrects, makes clear: “I feel the bigger thing.”

And Eddie just ducks a smile against Steve’s hair, warm where as it spreads, and Steve can feel it; can’t help him mirror it full as he sighs:

“So tell me more about this pool.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #established relationship #established steddie #rockstar eddie munson #domestic fluff #or rather more: domestic LOVE #idiots in love #slice of life #rockstar husbands #they might have enough money for the POOL #criminal levels of softness #steddielovemonth #love is having hope for the future together #these two boys have probably been together around a decade at this point and it FUCKING SHOWS #old married couple!steddie #stranger things

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svndaysaweek · 1 year

Text

Aftermath — {Feat. Kazuha}

1.8k words

A/N: After math is science. Hope y'all like this one too,, Also thanks to everyone for 200 followers and big big support on e^(iπ)+1=0!! I hope I've improved a little. Inclined words are scientific terms so google it if look unfamiliar!!(Certainly will help you understand this)

Tag: Science (?), Loving sex, creampie

******

The ride's finally over. Even before you turn the car off she eagerly hops off. Kazuha opens the door for you.

"Zuha–Owff!"

Now she hops on your arms.

You are suddenly burdened with her body, but not the weight. As if she is violating the law of universal gravitation. Although you weigh her much more than the Earth you two are stepping on—in fact Kazuha isn't—this time Earth just lets her go.

"Carry me inside,"

That famous position—arms around your neck, both legs on your arms, face right in front of yours—and that cliché progress, which is to carry the girl inside and then make love. You follow just that, but with a kiss it's clicheic no more.

You were wrong then, to allege that Kazuha violates the law of universal gravity. You are now pulled into an absorbing kiss, like the light and a black hole, like an apple and the Earth. A kiss that does nothing less than force your eyes shut.

Almost blindly you open the main door to enter her house.

"Which one?"

You detach from the kiss and gaspingly ask her.

"First,"

Inertia—Newton's first law. There's no turning back from here. Even if there's extrinsic force it's from Kazuha, and it only adds positive acceleration to you.

You open the first door you see as told, carry Kazuha to the bed and toss her onto it. Accelerated, you hastily take your shirt off. Kazuha successfully gets rid of your pants and boxers while you take your bare torso out.

A supernova itself—a breathtaking explosion to leave the core only. Kazuha takes her own clothes off, to leave the cruelty of her body only. As she brings her hands behind her back to unclasp her bra, you stop it.

"Let me,"

Chest unlocked.

Without anything to hinder the observation, you now get an immaculate visual on the pulsar. Heat beaming in tandem with her heartbeat is the clue notifying you of her anticipation.

Then the formation of a black hole—your hands are driven wildly toward those breasts. This close to her beautiful mounds, time doesn't make sense. You touch eternity, immortality, permanency, to tip yourself over the event horizon, into oblivion.

Her hot breath steams your face up, and you feel the ultimate need to devour her tits. The inclination to Kazuha's breasts is far above scientific explanation.

It's a lunar globe, you would say, faced with how her spit-glistening tits reflect the dim moonlight. Not so big, not too small. One in your mouth, another grabbed firmly by your hand. You thoroughly clean them both by dirtying them with your saliva, which is flooding with your instinctive intention full of filth.

"Baby, I need you down here."

Kazuha takes your hand softly down to her hot crotch. Her both pairs of lips have their energy right on you. You kneel on the floor to find her gushing core. Kazuha eyes you approval with her lower lip tucked in by her teeth.

Newton's third law—action and reaction. Your tongue presses on her third nub to draw such a raw response. An agonizingly addictive taste blesses your nerves, as Kazuha makes a wild reaction to the electric action you take. She pulls you in and she is definitely being pulled in, too.

Even the slightest actions of your tongue make her reactions go crazy. Her squirming even almost feels like struggle not to reach the wanted high—or the opposite.

"Fuck, baby just like that…It's so good,"

Like the Moon orbiting around the Earth. Like the Earth rotating around the Sun. Your tongue draws an imperfect circle around the very centre of her system. Not too far, not too close—you've found the Goldilocks Zone on her clit.

And as you remember, Goldilocks Zone is where liquid water can exist–

"Haa, I-I'm cumming…!"

Kazuha herself proves it, as she proudly waters your face with her cum. Ironically it tastes fatal. You lap up the remnant of her godly liquid, readying to truly fuck her.

You detach your mouth from her pussy and raise your hand to wipe your mouth but, no.

"Give me a taste,"

She holds your arm from going further and calls you in for a kiss, a wet one. Kazuha needily licks over your mouth with a long, low, satisfied moan, which turns you on too much to let her continue.

So you challenge her.

"Mmm…"

During the kiss you bring your dick to her waiting pussy and rub it on her entrance, collecting the wetness needed. Kazuha's arms slowly lock behind your neck, simultaneously with her legs around your hips.

She bites your lower lip, pleading you to push inside her.

"Mmm–!"

As you smoothly push in your cock, her animalistic response hits back.

Kazuha's entire body is becoming an undeniable proof that Earth is round: Her tongue curls inside your mouth, around yours. Her back arcs upward to form a sexy curve you can't unsee. Just like what Magellan did, you could wrap your arms around her body.

There's only space for you to fill up, but you are pulling back—same reason why Mars retrograde occurs, how heliocentrism was invented. Nothing in the universe works straight, not even light. Things curl, get absorbed, go back, and those are the most basic, the most natural things to happen, even when written rules carry straightness only.

(Besides, to such a perfection of a body, who wouldn't dare to break the rules?)

You gradually up the pace of your pistoning, in the second time of asking—Newton's second law: F=ma. With your accelerated, massive cock making love inside Kazuha, she is forced to cum.

And you've experienced it so, so many times. Tachyon flies slower than you, as you travel back to every night you shared with Kazuha. You are fucking her until time runs backwards, not giving even the slightest bit of fuck to the theory of relativity—actually, you are giving all the fuck to Kazuha right now.

Oh, Be A Fine Girl, Kiss Me. Kazuha's lips always remind you of this phrase. You can't just let them stay idle. She already came once so the main sequence starts now. Like protons undergoing nuclear fission, you two in bed are tangled, synthesized, fused into one—into a totally new individual.

"Come on, baby. You need to cum, too."

Your body that once was over Kazuha's is now reversed and under hers, but again, you feel no weight at all. Like she is the light itself.

With almost no mass, she feels light—maybe that's why it was named that. That however, is not the only reason you compare Kazuha to the light.

The horny side of Kazuha, sexy, hot, wet and curvy. That's a wave. The lovely side of Kazuha, on the other hand, cozy, comfy, cheerful and straight. That's a particle, a photon. The duality you love, you adore. Whenever you notice the deviant changes in her eyes in bed it enlightens you, makes you wonder what her real nature is—that's what even Einstein wouldn't be able to discover, of course.

"God, Zuha… You–"

You bring your hands to her ass to start your thrusts, but then Kazuha stops you by pressing your arms down on the bed.

"Let me."

Hypnotized, you let your arms down in compliance with her direction. She then puts her hands on your heaving chest, readying herself to start riding you.

"I can feel your heart,"

You too. Your head is thumping loudly at your heartbeat, as if your brains are now working as another blood pump. And Kazuha raises its rate so easily.

"How does it feel?"

You ask, putting your hands softly on hers, on your chest.

"I don't know,"

The last thing you see is Kazuha's divine smile, before your eyes are forced shut by her sudden tightness descending to the base of your cock.

You feel her fingers dig into your chest as she gradually accelerates the speed of her ride.

"You, maybe."

You smile and look at her. What a cheesy girl, you think to yourself. And at the same time the lust-filled look on her face is so cute—opposed to what's going on down there.

"Baby…"

Kazuha breathes out her word then halts.

"Go ahead,"

You give her the knowing smile.

"I love you."

Yes. Love. Love is the only correct word to be spoken right now.

Because, as always, you feel how wonderful, how powerful it is. Within just a night you've witnessed so many examples of how easily love ignores laws of physics like they're nothing.

After saying that she never loses eye contact with you as she almost hazardously rides you out. Her tightness is fatal, fatal enough to vitalize your throbbing dick inside.

"I'm close, Zuha… Keep going,"

She knows you are. You try to sit up to kiss her but her arms sternly deny it.

Let me make you cum, her eyes tell you.

You can just stay there, let me serve you, her lips whisper.

Let me pay your love back, Kazuha's love speaks for itself.

You can even hear it, as your ears go numb. You see the ecstasy itself, as your eyes slam shut. You breathe loving words out, as you stop breathing.

"Zuha, I'm cumming…!"

You grab on her ass and begin to pour your seed into her.

"Go on, baby. You deserve it."

Kazuha doesn't stop grinding on you for a little more until you ease down completely. She then climbs down and lies beside you.

That is when you again admire her presence. Her black hair, dark enough to absorb any light except herself. Her blushed face and even redder lips perfecting the angelic façade of hers. Her perky breasts heaving up and down to indicate the intensity of the love between you two. Her toned, tight abs, wet crotch and both silky legs that are on yours.

How did I even end up next to this girl?

She deserves much more love than I can possibly give her.

"Zuha, I–"

Lack of strength out of the aftermath haze blocks you.

"Go ahead,"

This time she throws a knowing smile back to you.

You can only laugh at this moment. Kazuha being such a perfect partner, you can't help but say–

"I love you, Zuha."

Beside her is the best place on the planet, you could proudly announce.

You look at her in awe, and she turns her head to you with a grin.

"What, wanna go for another round?"

#kpop male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop smut #kazuha smut #le sserafim smut

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nicoline1998enilocin · 2 months

Text

Control

PAIRING | Boyfriend!Young!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 4.7K

SUMMARY | Your boyfriend has asked you to take over the control in the bedroom, and you're more than happy to do it. You two go down an incredible path of exploring what he likes and loves and discovering what it's like to put your trust in someone else's hands. In the end, you both learn a lot about the other person and will happily do it all over again.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | No powers AU, established relationship, use of nicknames (Love/My Love, Sunshine, Puppy),

SMUT | Dom!Reader, Sub!Tony, subspace, discussion of safewords, safewording, use of traffic light system, light bondage (tied up with a scarf), begging, dirty talk, praise/praise kink, degradation, light teasing, edging, Mommy kink, spanking, anal play, anal fingering, cumming untouched/prostate orgasm, aftercare

A/N | @ccbsrmsf1: This fic is dedicated to you because you have helped me immensely by giving me inspiration, proofreading, and suggesting this hot as f*ck GIF for this one! I hope you will enjoy this as much as I did when writing it 💙

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: @duckbuttt

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | AU Masterlist

It's been a hectic week for both of you at college, but you're happy to finally have a night of peace together as you sit in his single-person dorm, glad to have the place to yourselves. You haven't often slept over at each other's dorms, but you enjoy every night you can spend together even more.

You just finished eating Chinese takeout together, and now you're both sitting on his floor playing a board game, one of your favorite activities. Tonight is 'Clue' night.

Since neither of you plans to go out the door tonight, you're already wearing your comfiest pajamas, and Tony is also wearing a simple, cozy outfit. He made your favorite tea, and soft music is playing in the background—the perfect setting for a relaxed evening together.

However, you're unaware that Tony is scraping together every last bit of courage to bring up a topic of conversation that has been swirling around in his mind for a while: he would like to explore what it's like if you dominate him in the bedroom. He's used to doing things the 'traditional' way, and even though that blows both your minds every single time, he would like to give you some control in that aspect.

He has thought about this conversation countless times, and in every single one, you're entirely supportive, but he can't get himself to say the words for some reason. When you're about to take a sip of your tea, looking over your Clue chart, he finally finds the courage and brings up the topic he's been desperate to talk about forever.

''Sunshine?'' he starts confidently and is proud of himself for sounding that way, though that confidence doesn't last long. You look up at him expectantly and give him a reassuring smile to let him know you're listening.

''I- I- Do you- No, I'm going about this all wrong,'' he mutters to himself, and you can see he's struggling with something, though you're not sure what that is exactly. A red blush spreads over his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his body because he cannot even ask you a simple question.

''What's wrong, Love? Is everything okay?'' you say, the game you were playing forgotten as you crawl over to where he's sitting before taking your place in front of him. You take his face in your hands to calm him down now that the nerves are completely taking over, your brows knitted together as you're getting worried.

"I-I want to ask you something," he whispers, his eyes cast down as he's a bit nervous to look at you when he asks the question. Giving up control is not something he's used to, but something he desires all the same, so he knows he has to ask it, no matter how difficult it is.

"And what would you like to ask me?" you ask softly, and he looks up at you. His cheeks still warm at the idea of asking his burning question.

"Are you okay with taking control during... you know..." his voice trails off near the end. Even though you know what he wants to ask you, you still like him to say it. Seeing him all flustered like this has you feeling some way, and you cannot get enough of it.

"During...?" you say, trying to coax the words out of him.

"During sex," he whispers. You two have had plenty of conversations about sex before, and it is not a taboo subject for either of you by any means, but Tony's not used to giving up control - or asking for what he wants, for that matter. He looks cute doing it, though, making your heart flutter.

"You want me to take control during sex?" you ask the question just to be sure, and he nods in response. The color on his cheeks seems to deepen even further, and you decide to have mercy on him.

"I would love that, My Love, but I would like to prepare beforehand to ensure we're both comfortable and not doing anything either of us isn't okay with. I'd love to discuss it first to see what you have in mind and go from there. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," Tony sighs as if a huge load has been lifted off his shoulders. Your reaction is exactly what he hoped for, and now you'll spend the rest of the evening discussing your plans instead, your board game long forgotten.

"So, I can only assume you've thought about what you want me to do because I already have a lot of plans, but I want to hear about your ideas first, My Love," you tell him, and he feels the blush on his cheeks burning brightly.

"Y-yeah," he responds in a soft tone, and it makes your heart melt. Tony's shy side never ceases to amaze you; you can't get enough of it. When he finally finds the courage, he tells you how he wants you to give him pleasure in every imaginable way. From light anal play to you fucking him deep and hard with a strap-on and from tying him up to blindfolding, everything passes the revue.

That night, you and Tony had an exciting night as you two discussed your shared fantasies, and it ended with a slow, love-filled session of sex, during which he could not stop telling you how much he loves you and how amazing you are.

"Nat? Do you have time to go shopping with me?" you ask your best friend and roommate, and she practically runs into your room, finding you in front of your closet.

"Shopping, you say? Is there anything specific you're hoping to find when we're out?" she asks, and you chuckle at her words. She knows you only go out to shop when you're going on a date with Tony, and you need to look your best, so her curiosity is immediately piqued.

"Yes. But please don't laugh when I say what it's for," you tell her, and she nods as she sits on your bed.

"Well, I'm hoping to pick out a beautiful set of lingerie that will ensure Tony goes crazy when he sees it. He has asked me to dominate him in the bedroom, and I guess I want to look... presentable when I do," you say, eyes trained on the floor as you do.

"Really? I have to say, I never thought he would be into that! You? Absolutely, but him? I'm surprised," she says as if discussing the weather. You know Natasha won't judge when it comes to things like this, but it's still not something you're used to talking about.

"I'm going to invite Wanda too, and we'll make it a girls' shopping trip," she tells you, immediately grabbing her phone from her pocket. Not even five minutes later, it is all arranged, and you two will meet Wanda at the lingerie store.

"Thank you," you whisper as you look at her, and she gives you a reassuring smile.

"That's what best friends are for!" she says, pulling you into a comforting hug. You're still very grateful to have been paired with Natasha as a roommate because you couldn't have wished for a better person to be there for you.

Once you're in the store, you have tried on countless color variations and sorts of lingerie, from two pieces to bodysuits, and you have had every color of the rainbow, but nothing seems right—until Wanda picks a beautiful red piece off the rack.

"How about this?" she says enthusiastically as she walks over to you, and you gasp at the sight of it. The delicate lace combined with the ribbon in the middle and the deep red color makes you fall in love with it immediately, so you go to the fitting room to try it on immediately.

Not long after, you walk out, smiling broadly as you show Nat and Wanda the lingerie. You look like you're glowing now that you're wearing the perfect lingerie, which looks like it was made to fit your exact measurements. Every tattoo is beautifully shown, and the low back also shows off the large phoenix on your back.

"I think we've found the one!" you tell them excitedly, agreeing it's perfect. When you're back in the fitting room, you give Tony a little sneak peek of what he'll be seeing. The red lace compliments your skin beautifully, and he almost choked on his drink as he received the photo. He is out for lunch with Bruce and Clint, but when he opens the photo, he can't concentrate on anything other than you.

When the little heart-eye emoji pops up in your messages, you smile again before changing into your everyday clothes. Once the lingerie is paid for, all three of you decide to go for lunch, and it just so happens that you choose the exact restaurant where Tony is as well.

As you push open the door, Tony looks over to see who's coming in. His whole demeanor changes the second your gazes cross each other. He sits up straight and can't help but smile, and both Bruce and Clint know exactly who just walked in the door without looking.

"Hi, Sunshine," Tony says as he gets up to greet you. His lips crash on yours in a possessive, needy kiss, his hand cupping your cheek as he does. His tongue immediately licks the seam of your lips, and you happily let him in. You can taste the drink he was enjoying just now.

"Hi, My Love," you whisper after he pulls away, and you sit opposite him in their booth. It's good that they still need to order their lunch because now all six of you can enjoy it together.

"So, did you get something special for me?" Tony asks you, and you nod. Even though you know he has seen your photo in the lingerie, you can't resist playing along.

"Sure did; I picked something beautiful for you, My Love. And I picked up some other things to make it even more special," you tell him with a wink, and you can tell Tony's mind is going into overdrive at the thought of what you possibly could have gotten. You picked out a few regular candles, a scented candle, some massage oil, and a scarf to put to some good use, and you're looking forward to the moment you'll be able to use it.

The lunch is spent laughing and gossiping among your friends, and you could tell something was going on between Bruce and Natasha, but you decided to put a pin in that and ask her about it another time. You're all spending time together; your afternoon couldn't have been any better.

"Are you ready, My Love?" you ask Tony when you leave the bathroom. You have put on the lingerie you bought a few days ago, your hair is pulled back, and your make-up is darker than usual, but it's giving you a sultry look that has Tony's cock twitching anticipation already. You have instructed him to sit on his knees in the middle of the bed, his hands folded behind his back.

"Look at you sitting there, so pretty for me, Puppy," you tell him, and the bright red blush you love so much has appeared on his cheeks. His cock is standing at attention against his abdomen, and you can tell he's painfully hard already, but you'll be taking care of him soon enough.

"Can you tell me about your safewords?" you ask him, and he nods.

"We'll be using the traffic light system, so green means that I'm good and we can continue, yellow means a small break to adjust or reposition if necessary, and red means stop and moving into aftercare," Tony tells you softly, and you nod.

"You're right, Puppy. What's your color?"

"Green," he tells you, and you nod. Before you move on, you do a last scan of the room, and every candle burns. Soft music plays in the background, and you have a towel, massage oil, water, and food ready for aftercare.

"I want you to lie on your stomach for me, Puppy, so I can massage you to get you to relax a little. It's new to both of us, so I want to go slow today." Your voice is sturdy despite the slight nerves swirling in your stomach.

"Okay," he whispers, and he moves to lie down on his stomach, his cock trapped between his stomach and the sheets as he does. When he is in position, you drizzle some massage oil on your boyfriend's calves and thighs, watching the muscles flex as the cold substance hits his skin.

"Color?" "Green, Sunshine," he sighs, and you move to massage both his legs, starting with his calves before moving up to his thighs. You take your time to massage every inch of him, relaxing him as you do. Soft moans leave his lips as your fingers dig carefully into his flesh.

The dusting of hair on both his legs makes you chuckle as your fingers run over it, as it feels soft under your fingertips. When it's time to massage his back, you put a little more oil on it before running your hands over it with long strokes, and you can feel the nerves and tension leave his body with every passing moment.

After you've thoroughly massaged his back, you move down, ready to pay some special attention to his butt.

"Are you okay with me massaging your butt and some light anal play?" you ask him, and he has told you beforehand that's something he's willing to explore - though you still ask to be on the safe side, in case he has changed his might.

"Yes, Sunshine," he whispers, and you lean over his body to grab the small bottle of lube you have put there in advance. Your hands are still slicked up from the massage oil, so you first take your sweet time to massage each cheek before landing a playful slap on each, making him moan a little louder from the pleasure he's feeling.

"Sit on your hands and knees, Puppy. Show me what a good boy you can truly be for me," you order. Even though it takes him a few moments to adjust to the new position, you're delighted with the sight in front of you.

Tony's buttcheeks are spread open beautifully, exposing his puckered hole for you, and his cock is hanging under him, fiery red and already leaking pre-cum. There's a wet spot on the bed where it was trapped underneath his body, making you clench your thighs at the sight. He's been enjoying himself more than you thought he would have.

"Spread your legs for me, Puppy," you tell him, and he does as he's told. However, instead of moving on to pleasure him with your fingers, you get off the bed to grab a long, thin scarf you brought with you for tonight.

"Since I will bring you all the pleasure, I will tie your hands together. You will do what I say when I say it, and I do not expect any talkback unless I ask you a question. Do you understand?" you tell him sternly, and you can see his cock twitch at the way you're talking to him. It doesn't quite come naturally to you yet, but you still enjoy it at the same time.

"Y-yes, Mommy," he whispers, his eyes clenched shut.

"What did you say? You need to speak up; otherwise, I can't hear you, Puppy. And I know for sure you can talk louder than that," you say, and he finally looks up at you, eyes glossy and his mouth slightly slack. It finally dawns on you to know how much he enjoys it, and your panties are officially ruined as a gush of arousal soaks your panties.

You look at him with a raised brow. Even though it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, he finally manages to say them properly, and you're very proud of him.

"Yes, Mommy, please tie me up," he says as he looks wholly fucked out already, and you have barely touched him apart from the massage. The anticipation has him trembling slightly, so you decide to take a bit of mercy on him, swiftly tying his hands to one of the bars on his headboard.

"Look at you, Puppy, you're fucking beautiful like this," you praise Tony, and he whimpers softly at your words. He's leaning on his elbows, and his ass is perfectly presented now that he's sitting like this.

"What's your color?" you ask when you take your place behind him again, seated on your knees between his spread legs.

"G-green," he croaks out, and you smirk at his response. The sight in front of you is nothing short of perfect, and you're glad he asked you to do this—you'll definitely be doing more of it in the future, too.

"So beautiful, Puppy," you whisper as your hands glide over his cheeks, and you can't resist the urge to give a nice spanking on them, marking them with your handprints in the process. As your hands make contact with his plush flesh, you feel a jolt of electricity going through your body, and the sheer power you're currently having over your boyfriend has you on the edge of orgasm already, and tonight isn't even about your pleasure.

"More, Mommy, please!" Tony begs you, but instead of spanking him again, you take hold of his balls, catching him by surprise as a soft gasp leaves his lips.

"What did I say? You don't talk unless you're being talked to," you remind him, and he nods. You roll his balls in your hands, giving them a gentle tug and squeeze every now and again that has Tony gasping and moaning within no time, his cock only leaking more and more pre-cum as you do so.

"You close, Puppy?" you ask him, and he nods. He only needs a little more to cum, but just before he can, you pull your hand away, leaving him on the edge of an orgasm with a whine.

"It's okay, Puppy, I'll let you cum later. First, I'm going to have some fun with this beautiful, tight hole of yours, and if you're a good boy for me, I'll let you cum in my mouth so I can swallow every last drop of that delicious cum of yours."

You reach over to grab the lube, and you flip the top open, ready to put some lube on your fingers to open him up slowly, ready to take your fingers before you allow him to cum.

"What's your color?" you ask as you see him jerk as he hears the lube.

"G-green," he whispers shyly, but you don't entirely believe him, giving him the chance to try again.

"Tony, can you tell me your color? It's okay to need a break," you tell him, reassuring him as your fingers softly glide over the side of his thigh, his entire body trembling in the moment.

"Yellow," he says as he drops his head, ashamed of having to speak safeword right now. He goes to sit on his knees, his head hanging between his upper arms, a blush spreading over his cheeks from embarrassment.

"Can you tell me what's going on, My Love?" you say as you crouch next to the bed, your face on the same level as his while your hand runs soothingly over his back. Concern is all over your face as you look at him, and your heart hurts slightly at the sight.

"I'm very nervous. Please just hold me for a moment," Tony asks. You nod in understanding before moving onto the bed and by his side, holding him now that he needs it most.

"That's okay; you're allowed to be nervous. We're only doing this for the first time, and I'm proud of you for safewording when you need a break. I promise you that you're doing amazing right now," you tell him, your free hand cupping his cheek, and your thumb runs soothingly over his cheekbone.

"Thank you," Tony whispers almost inaudibly, and you smile reassuringly. You lean in for a soft kiss, which he happily reciprocates as his mind calms down and the nerves slowly seep out of his body. He trusts you completely with everything, but it was too much for him right now, and he's glad you stopped when he needed it - and that you gave him the space to take the break he wanted.

"There is no need to thank me, My Love. This is what we do: We trust each other and listen when others need it. Love is a two-way street, and we're on this together," you tell him, and he nods.

"I love you, Sunshine," he tells you, and you smile brightly at his words. The butterflies in your stomach go wild at the sight of your boyfriend, who willingly puts every ounce of his trust into your hands.

Once Tony has given the all-clear to continue, you have taken your place behind him again, and he's wiggling his butt in anticipation of what's to come. There's an apparent change in his behavior, and you know the small break did him well. He drank a few sips of water before moving on, and he felt a lot better than before.

"Ready, Puppy?" you ask after slicking up your index finger with the lube you opened earlier.

"Yes, I'm ready," he says to you, and you spread his cheeks with your free hand, the other one moving to slick up his puckered hole as well. The moment your finger makes contact with the rim, he gasps at the cold feeling of the lube on your finger, and you chuckle.

"Keep breathing for me, Puppy," you tell him when you notice he's holding his breath, and he does with a long exhale. He wasn't aware he was holding his breath, and he inhaled deeply as you massaged his rim.

Your gaze is laser-focused, and you bite down on your bottom lip when you slide in the tip of your index finger. Tony rocks back against your finger, trying to get more of it after a bit of taste, but you don't give him the satisfaction of doing that.

"Stay still, Puppy. I'm the one who decides the pace right now, and you're going to take whatever I'm giving you," you reprimand him, and Tony whimpers at your words.

After a short moment, you pick up where you left off, your free hand kneading the flesh of his butt as you slowly and carefully stretch him further on your finger until you can comfortably work two of them in. You let out a content hum as you feel his walls pull around your fingers, and you suddenly understand why he loves using his fingers on you.

"That's it, Puppy, you're doing so well for me," you praise him as you find his prostate. Your fingers gliding over it earn you a loud moan as he pushes his hips back, wanting you to do it again.

"You like that, huh? Does my Puppy like it when I play with his ass until he cums like a fucking slut? Yeah, I knew you were nothing more than a little hole for me to play with until you cum for me," you say as you slowly work him up to his orgasm.

"M-Mommy, please!" Tony begs when he's close and doesn't need much to reach his high.

"What do you want, Puppy? Let me know what you want. No, beg me for it like a pathetic little slut," you order, and he slips even further into the fuzzy headspace as you do. He enjoys it and wants to stay in it forever, having you take care of him forever when he's like this.

"M close, Mommy, l-let me cum! Please, spank me, Mommy!" he says, and you're going to be forgiving to him this time. Just as your fingers work over his prostate again, you smack him hard on his ass with your free hand, and he cums with a loud, broken moan.

Endless ropes of his cum paint his sheets as his cock keeps twitching, and his hips rut against your fingers as you work him through his orgasm, praising him endlessly. When he's spent, he collapses to the side, careful not to trap his sensitive cock between his thighs by accident.

"That's it, Puppy, such a good boy! You listened so well to Mommy. You're beautiful when you cum for me like this," you tell him as you pepper his entire body with kisses, reassuring and praising him constantly as he catches his breath. You quickly untie his hands, so he has his free range of motion back.

You come to lay behind him, pulling him close to your body as you act like the big spoon, though in reality, he's still a lot bigger than you are. Despite this, his hand seeks out yours, and he laces his fingers together with yours when he finds it, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

"You did so well for me, My Love; you listened so well," you tell him. The two of you stay like that for the good part of 15 minutes as you keep praising him to ensure he comes down from his high carefully, not wanting him to crash.

"Can you sit up for me, My Love? You need to drink some water and eat some strawberries; it'll give you your strength back," you tell him, and he nods slowly. With slow movement he sits up against the headboard, his thighs spread a little to not hurt his cock.

"That's it, such a good boy for me," you whisper as he takes a few sips of water between each strawberry. He moans at the taste exploding in his mouth, the sweetness coating his tongue with every bite.

"I'm going to run a bath for you, okay? I'll be right back," you tell him, and he nods. The bath is drawn in a few minutes, and Tony sits in it to relax after your scene. You brought his water and the strawberries, which he's now happily munching on while sitting and soaking in the bath.

"I love you so much, Sunshine. Thank you so much for doing this," he tells you, and you smile brightly at him. The sparkle in his eyes shows you everything you need to know, and you could not be happier about how everything turned out.

While Tony is enjoying his bath, you change his sheets and prepare a comfortable outfit for both of you before preparing the couch with your favorite blanket and more snacks to enjoy as you watch a movie.

Once Tony is done, he dries off quickly before putting on the outfit you put on, which matches yours. As a surprise, you bought matching cozy pajamas for the two of you, making you look adorable together. Tony lets himself fall onto the couch in his dorm, and you quickly sit next to him before putting the blanket over your legs.

"Thank you for everything tonight, Sunshine. It was truly a beautiful experience. And most of all, thank you for trusting me enough to explore these things. I know I couldn't have done it without you," Tony tells you as you're curled against his side.

"I should be thanking you for trusting me, My Love. You have been very brave in doing this and also for safewording when you needed it. I'll be looking forward to doing this again in the future, though, because it was a lot of fun to explore this together," you tell him, and he nods.

He leans down to capture your lips with his in a featherlight kiss, but it conveys every ounce of emotion and love his words can't. That night, you two watch a movie while cuddling up on the couch, eating the snacks you prepared, and laughing endlessly without a single care.

Just as you're about to reach for another snack, you suddenly get nauseous before making a beeline for the toilet. Little do you know that the future you're dreaming of is closer than you could ever imagine, and your world will be turned upside down for the better when it does. With your boyfriend by your side, you can get through everything life throws your way, though, no matter how significant it might be.

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