#forever thinking about the lipstick stain on his sleeve | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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orbit, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Ah, university. A time to get drunk, get laid, and (maybe) get an education. And Jeon Jungkook could do all those things. It was great. Until the moment he encounters an inescapable gravity, the kind of gravity that had already trapped all six of his friends... but left him out in orbit, circling alone.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, (too much) alcohol consumption, slow burn; smut (fem reader, dry humping, m-receiving oral, striptease, cock-warming, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - university!AU; a LOT of buildup; longhaired!Jungkook likes getting his hair pulled a little too much; Jungkook’s POV Technically BTS x reader, but we’re focusing on JK. :)

“Hey, you’re Jeon Jungkook, aren’t you?”

“Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

The slim, pretty hand slid into her backpack and she held out an iPhone to him.

“You’re friends with Kim Taehyung, right?” Her voice seemed a little hoarse. She was wearing a dark gray t-shirt with a leather jacket over it. “He left his cell at my place.”

Jungkook took it from her, frowning. “Ah, he’s not usually that forgetful.”

She waved a hand. “It’s fine. I wanted someone trustworthy to give it back to him.”

That was their first conversation.

When Jeon Jungkook entered university, he knew it was going to be different from high school. Bigger classes, more work, and completely monotone teachers as he struggled to stay awake during mandatory studies like Physics. What adult in real life uses physics anyway (besides physicists, of course)? At least he went to the same university all his friends went to, either as undergrads or as graduate students. Being with his friends was awesome.

Being smashed with his friends was even better.

The first time he saw her, she was standing in the corner of the party. It was at someone’s house with way too many people in it and everyone only vaguely knew the host. He was celebrating the first complete week of university by getting absolutely plastered (as one does). He noticed her right away because she was wearing a thick black choker with a silver ring on it and an oversized band tee. She wore a gray flannel over it like a jacket. Chunky combat boots, very different from the other girls in their high heels. The sharpest black eyeliner he had ever seen, paired with a red-stained lip.

She was also taking shots.

Surrounded by guys, in some sort of contest. She was throwing them back and two guys were beside her at a table, absolutely fucked. Heads on the table, unable to touch their shots, looking green. She clinked her glass down triumphantly and slammed her hand on the table, curling the other towards her.

Jungkook watched as money was slapped on the table.

She grinned and gathered it towards her, pocketing it in her flannel’s chest pocket.

“Nice try, boys.”

Jungkook looked away, quite impressed. Then Park Jimin fell over at something Kim Taehyung said and Jungkook had to catch the smaller man. He was laughing way too hard that something only mildly funny, but everyone was laughing because they were losing it. The night went on. Someone had retrieved a beach ball from the backyard and was throwing it around the party, making a fucking mess. The beach ball bounced off of Min Yoongi’s red face. He looked incredibly disgruntled and Jung Hoseok lost it, rubbing Yoongi’s nose soothingly even though he wasn’t hurt. Kim Seokjin threw it back into the chaos by headbutting it.

And Kim Namjoon was nowhere to be found.

Jungkook frowned. Also, he needed to pee. He yelled around for the bathroom and someone pointed in some random direction. Jungkook followed it, his bladder ready to explode. Eh, if worse came to worse he could just find a random bush in the backyard or something. He opened random doors, but they either had more people or people in various stages of fucking. Then he saw the open bathroom door down the hallway and two people two feet away from the doorframe.

The two people being Kim Namjoon and the young woman he saw earlier.

Namjoon had his fingers curled around the silver ring on the choker, pulling down as he pressed her against the wall, making out with her exposed shoulder. His beige sweatshirt already had a red kiss print on the collar, paired with a purple hickey. Her palms were pressed flat, snickering as Namjoon rolled his hips into her ass.

Jungkook turned around and decided to find a fucking bush.

The second time he saw her, she was wearing an oversized beige sweatshirt, no pants, scratching the back of her head. Black ankle boots with black thigh-high stockings. He was at the dining hall, waiting in line. She sat at the of the tables, across Jung Hoseok. Even though it was the middle of the day, she still wore sharp black eyeliner and a dark red lip stain. She was nodding, one of her hands playing with Hoseok’s pastel tracksuit sleeve. Hoseok was blushing, looking a little sheepish. She just shook her head and said something. Hoseok’s cheeks grew redder and she leaned over.

And kissed him.

Jungkook blinked. The cashier snapped her fingers to get his attention.

“Oh! Sorry,” he apologized quickly.

When he looked back, the table as empty.

The third time he saw her, he was at the club. He was knee-deep in an argument with Kim Taehyung about how building Iceborn Gauntlet was a lot more useful on Ezreal than Triforce because it allowed you to get off more autoattacks with the slows and helped you survive with the extra armor. Plus, the twenty-percent cooldown! Taehyung was rolling his eyes and telling him building damage was much better.

“Then build Infinity Edge if all you care about is damage!” Jungkook roared.

Park Jimin’s eyes were glazing over. “Guys, can we stop talking about League of Legends? I have no idea what you’re saying anymore…”

She caught his eye because she was wearing a pastel track jacket with a black t-shirt dress under it. And because she was pressed against Kim Seokjin in a booth, making his ears red as he spoke to her. The same sharp winged liner and a wine-red lipstick. She hooked a bare leg over Seokjin’s jeans. The older man jumped, but didn’t push it away. The silver tipped toe of her black boots rubbed against his other leg as she smiled. Her hand was on his navy t-shirt, tracing the embroidered white flowers. She placed her lips against Seokjin’s ear and whispered something. Seokjin’s plump lips opened into a small ‘o’. Her pink tongue slid out from between her lips and she licked his earlobe. Seokjin turned his head sharply to face her.

And she kissed him.

“Hah, here, got you a beer.”

Taehyung clinked the beer bottle down, still pouting. “I still think you’re wrong, but for Jimin’s sake I’ll shut up about it.”

Jimin whined. “Thank God, because I was starting to fucking lose it.”

When Jungkook remembered to look back at the booth, Seokjin and her were no longer there.

The fourth time he saw her, Jungkook was pissed.

He had gone to bathroom and came back to no friends. The fuck? Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung had just fucking disappeared. Like, yes, Jungkook had to throw up to prevent himself from getting alcohol poisoning and had taken longer than he anticipated, but still. What month of university was this? Whatever, not late enough to get fucking abandoned. He could understand if one of them was trying to get laid, but they were not drunk enough to forget he existed without so much as a text.

Earlier, Jungkook had been dared to shotgun way too many beers in a row compared to the amount of money he won. He still won though, so that was lit.

Anyway!

He had to throw up because it was disgusting. And now he felt much better, except for the fact that his friends were fucking gone. Dumbasses.

This party house was much bigger, much louder, and much rowdier. Whoever owned this house was loaded and they had tons of alcohol. Jungkook even swore he had seen drugs, but his friends told him to be careful and not fuck around. Getting expelled wasn’t on Jungkook’s list of things to do anyway, so he didn’t even bother to look.

Instead, he went on a familiar routine of opening random ass doors to random ass people, either way too drunk to notice him or way too occupied with fucking to care about his existence. Whatever. Where the fuck were those two loons?

And then he opened the door Jimin and Taehyung were behind.

They didn’t see him. Jimin’s head was tipped back against the headboard of the king-sized bed, hands clasping the hair of a woman Jungkook was beginning to see way too often. She was wearing a navy t-shirt, and her head was between Jimin’s legs, her hands clutching his pink dress shirt and Taehyung railed her from behind, eyes closed, white t-shirt drenched with sweat. The rough movements made her shirt flutter. Jungkook spied the white, embroidered flowers amongst the navy folds.

Jungkook closed the door and decided it was time to go home. Fuck those guys.

Not literally.

Well, it was happening right now. Technically.

Jungkook sighed and marched back downstairs, trying to figure out how he was going to scrub his eyeballs to erase the image from his mind forever.

Jungkook liked to hang out at Min Yoongi’s apartment. Yoongi didn’t live in the dorms because he was older and a grad student. Jungkook often went there to study because Yoongi practiced piano and guitar all the time. It was nice to study to some background music. Yoongi usually didn’t care if he was there or not. He had opened the door in a dark gray t-shirt with a skull graphic, yawning. The shorter man looked even shorter in his baggy black sweatpants.

“Oh, it’s you,” Yoongi mumbled. “Come in.”

Jungkook made himself at home, taking out his papers and textbooks on Yoongi’s coffee table. Yoongi busied himself around the apartment, making himself a coffee before going back to his bedroom which was also a makeshift studio. Soon, Jungkook began to hear synth beats, samples, and Yoongi’s pensive noises he made when he was thinking. This was fine too. Yoongi also often mixed music or was in the middle of making his own. Jungkook missed the piano, but rapper Yoongi was just as cool as piano Yoongi.

Jungkook stayed there for a while. Yoongi bought him lamb skewers for dinner. Sweet.

Maybe he shouldn’t party so much. This was nice too.

And now, a week later, Jungkook was staring at the same dark grey t-shirt he had seen that night at Yoongi’s. He was sure it was the same one, because he could see the skull graphic on the center of the shirt underneath her leather jacket. He tilted his head and frowned. She nodded and turned around, walking away from him. She didn’t say anything more.

Jungkook stared at Taehyung’s iPhone and then at her retreating back.

The fuck?

So, he waited.

Clearly, she knew who he was, because she had said his full name when they talked. Jungkook was going to ask Taehyung when he returned the phone, but Taehyung had just shrugged.

“Just hanging out. Don’t worry about it.”

Yet it was the end of the semester and…

Nothing.

The next semester started and still.

Nothing.

Jungkook saw her all right, wearing a pink dress shirt over a white t-shirt as she walked to the library, black backpack slung over her shoulder. Not just there, but fucking everywhere, at all the parties, all the clubs, in the hallways, and on his way to class. Wearing the clothes of his friends like they were badges of her conquests. They had to be, otherwise why the fuck would she have them? And none of his friends said anything. Nothing! Obviously, every single one of them had hooked up with this woman and every single one of them acted like they hadn’t. Even Min Yoongi, who was too lazy to even go to most of the parties or outings. How she had managed to bang him was beyond Jungkook.

And the fact that she didn’t even try to hook up with him was beginning to infuriate him.

He knew he wasn’t ugly. Jungkook received enough compliments to assure himself of that (plus his mom always reminded him, thanks Mom). He had drunken sex just like everyone else. It wasn’t like he didn’t make himself available. He was in her vicinity. In her orbit. Always on the periphery.

And she did nothing to acknowledge his existence.

Why?

Jungkook didn’t get it. And he didn’t like it either.

“Newton’s law of orbital motion.”

Jungkook’s eyes were glazing over. His professor’s voice was the equivalence of white noise. Why was Physics split over two semesters? Ugh. Whatever. That wasn’t the problem right now.

The problem was, he was going to get laid by this mysterious woman and he was going to do it at this weekend’s party.

Yeah, well, that was as far as Jungkook got with that. How was he supposed to start the conversation? Yo, you fucked all my friends, what gives? What about me? He could try to pick her up normally, but his ability of picking up women was talking to the ones he knew were interested in him first. And she was evidently not that, because he was just a damn asteroid floating mindlessly in her space. Probably not even an asteroid. Just a fleck of space dust.

He groaned and slumped down on his notebook, copying the stupid equation with a grumble.

Yoongi had a hickey and Jungkook knew who it came from because she was wearing the same black-and-white long-sleeved shirt Yoongi was wearing yesterday. Yoongi yawned and shrugged his jacket over it, but Jungkook saw it immediately.

What the fuck?

Jungkook fumed into his beer, the plastic cup shaking. How? Why?

And Yoongi again?

She was in the kitchen, chatting with a guy, stretching her arms he placed a mojito in front of her. The action made her shirt ride up and the short, short black shorts became visible. The hem sunk into her soft thighs, just a tad too small. It made Jungkook’s mouth water.

She thanked him before wandering back into the crowd, holding her cup. Ponytail bouncing, high-fiving some guys. Yoongi was on his phone, texting. Hoseok and Jimin couldn’t make it because of dance practice and Namjoon was working on some sort of seminar paper. Taehyung and Seokjin had dragged Yoongi out – “Eh, I have to watch out for you idiots anyway,” was Yoongi’s grumble as he picked up his car keys – and Jungkook tagged along because he was bored. Taehyung and Seokjin were playing was very drunk Twister for some reason and Yoongi had declined – “You’re all idiots” – leaving him with Jungkook. Which was fine, because Yoongi had a comfortable energy about him. Jungkook liked being in silence with him. Yoongi wasn’t drinking because he was driving.

So Jungkook was spacing out, watching her move amongst the crowd. Her free hand absentmindedly flicked up the back of her long shirt – well, Yoongi’s shirt technically – and pulled out her phone. The curve of her ass was clearly visible against the white parts of the shirt. She looked at it and typed something, hands tucked into the sleeves.

Yoongi’s phone buzzed next to him.

Jungkook’s mouth thinned into a line. He snuck a glance at Yoongi who, completely expressionless, responded. She was peering at her cell again and smirking.

Was it possible to pop a vein just by standing there?

Jungkook finished his beer.

“I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook didn’t see Yoongi raising as eyebrow as he stalked off.

Was he overthinking this? Was it a conspiracy? His brow furrowed as he moved closer to her. She turned her head in his direction and her eyes widened.

And she bolted.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Jungkook ran after her, pushing through the crowd, but she was much faster and knew where she was going. Twenty seconds in and he had lost sight of her. He stood in the center of the packed patio, confused as shit. When he got back to Yoongi, Yoongi was listening to something with his headphones.

“Something happen?” Yoongi asked absentmindedly.

“Who’s the girl you fucked last night?”

Yoongi paused. He removed a headphone from his ear. He tucked his tongue in his cheek and looked up at Jungkook, who was putting on his best annoyed face. Yoongi’s eyes shifted from the crowd and then back to Jungkook. He shrugged.

“Does it matter?”

“Why is there a woman wearing your shirt?”

Yoongi frowned. “A shirt’s a shirt. Is it that weird for a girl to own a shirt I also bought from a store?”

Jungkook made a face. He narrowed his eyes as Yoongi gave him a confused look.

“She just ran from me…”

Yoongi shrugged again. “I mean, you look really angry. I’d run from you too if I was a stranger.” He went back to his phone, scratching his cheek with his free hand. “Maybe she thought you were someone else.”

Was he going crazy?

The, uh, fifty-seventh? Who cared, Jungkook had lost count now. Once again, he spied her from across the sidewalk, in the crowd of students, holding three folders stuffed full with papers and balancing a coffee and her black backpack. Red crop top with a leather jacket and tight black jeans. At least it didn’t look like she had stolen anyone’s clothes this time… unless that jacket was from someone… Or even the crop top, because it wasn’t like Jungkook knew what her sexuality was to be honest.

Anyway!

Jungkook stopped walking. Their paths were going to cross if she continued walking. She took a sip from her coffee, leaving a red lipstick mark. She scowled at something on her folders. A piece of paper. She clicked her tongue, lashes looking downward, the same winged liner as usual. The paper flapped in the wind and she pushed it against her chest, looking perturbed.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Er, hello.”

She didn’t even look at him. She was chewing her lip, thinking. Jungkook had to stand in front of her for her to realize he was speaking to her.

“Oh.” She snapped out of her thoughts and stopped walking, tilting her head at him. “Um… Jeon Jungkook, right?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Er, yes. That’s me.”

She nodded. “Kim Taehyung’s friend, right?”

And Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Kim Seokjin’s friend, he thought with annoyance.

She blinked at him.

“What do you want?”

To FUCK because obviously you fucked everyone else!

Jungkook didn’t say that. His id definitely wanted to say that, but his superego told him to shut the fuck up. So that left Jungkook scrambling to think of an answer.

“Ah… I just so happened to see you last weekend. At that big party in the white house.”

She blinked and nodded. “Uh… huh.”

She did not seem to remember that she ran from him. Okay, fine. Take two.

“The shirt you were wearing… it’s Yoongi-hyung’s, isn’t it? He asked if I could get it back,” Jungkook lied.

She frowned. “Min Yoongi? You know him too?”

“Yeah. He’s my close friend.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Huh. Alright, I’ll talk to him about it the next time I see him.”

Or fuck him, he thought bitterly. “You could just give it to me.”

She chuckled. “For one, I don’t have it with me. And, for two,” she continued, small smirk on her lips. “I’m not giving it back. Thus, Yoongi and I need to have a little discussion about that.” There was a dangerous glint in her eye. “But it’s sweet of you to try anyway. Gotta get to class now, so see you, Jeon Jungkook.”

She brushed past him.

Is it that weird for a girl to own a shirt I also bought from a store?

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. He spun around. She was already ten feet away. Students milled about, hurrying, hurrying. He didn’t have any classes after this.

He followed her.

He sat outside the lecture hall. It was an upper-level psychology class. He could see her from the small window in the door and fiddled with his phone. There were less than thirty students and everyone was listening intently to the animated professor. She was focused, writing notes and answering questions when asked. She looked… normal. Just a normal student with normal priorities. She didn’t look like someone who could take shots like a champ and fuck literally every single one of his friends.

Maybe Jungkook was the crazy one.

He frowned, staring at his phone. Why would Yoongi lie to him? Well, it wasn’t like he was obligated to tell Jungkook anything about his sex life. In fact, he was probably thrown off by Jungkook asking him straight out, because who the fuck does that? To top it all off, she didn’t actually have to fuck him if she didn’t want to. If for some reason she wasn’t attracted to him (possible, Jungkook thought), then why was he trying? That was just rude.

Jungkook spun his phone around in his hands. Then he got up and grabbed his bag. His eyes flickered to the door.

She was staring straight at him, one hand under her chin, smirk on her plump lips.

And she winked.

Jungkook froze. What? That was literally the only attention she had initiated with him during all his time at university. The class seemed to be on break, with students talking amongst themselves and the teacher sipping his coffee at his desk. She cocked her chin at him and then raised her phone, tapping the screen. He looked down at his, not even realizing he had a new message.

From Min Yoongi-hyung.

Why are you lying and involving me?

Jungkook jerked his head up, but she was facing the other way now.

He ran.

“Kind of weird that you don’t want to come to the party, but, okay, man,” Taehyung was saying. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Yeah, because if she was there, Jungkook could not look her in the face. He also couldn’t look Yoongi in the face either. Not that Yoongi ever brought it up again or even sent another text after that. Jungkook hadn’t even responded to it. He ran a hand through his long hair, staring in the mirror as Taehyung chatted with him.

“Alright, I’m off. Let me know if you decide to show up.”

Jungkook sat in his dorm, shirtless. He didn’t have a roommate – he had one of the few single rooms to himself. He didn’t really want a roommate and none of his friends lived on campus anyway. He liked his own space. Plus, it made fucking someone a lot less awkward if he was living alone. He fell back against the bed. He didn’t actually have a paper to write. He had written it earlier and it was good enough. He just…

Didn’t want to make a fucking fool of himself again.

Jungkook rubbed his forehead. This whole situation wasn’t even a situation. It was him in his head dreaming up stupid shit. It didn’t actually matter. It was only filling his head with confusing thoughts and indecision.

But still… why?

He placed his right forearm over his eyes. The black script tattoo was healing and he was planning to add more soon. He sighed, thinking. He worked out. Had a (more than) decent face. Got pretty good grades (for someone who didn’t try very hard). So, why? Did she really not consider it, not even once? They were around the same people, the same crowd, and never? Not even in a drunken stupor? Jungkook clicked his tongue. Did she have a type? It didn’t seem like it; everyone in his friend group was very different, looks-wise and personality-wise. She was attractive, of course. You couldn’t sleep with that many people and not be hot. Juicy thighs, perky ass, nice shape to her tits. A playful face with a smile that made you fall in love. Dimples on both cheeks when she laughed really hard. Ugh. So cute. Lovely-shaped lips that reminded Jungkook of Jimin’s.

Okay, that last thought was a little weird.

Anyway!

Jungkook sighed again. He sat up, intending to get on his computer and play something. Maybe Overwatch or League. He looked down at his gray sweatpants. Oh.

Well, maybe he should jack off first.

Before he could decide however, there was a knock on the door. The RA? He got up, shaking his sweatpants. Hopefully the bagginess would mask it. Plus, talking with the RA wasn’t sexy, so he was pretty sure his dick would pass out by then anyway.

Jungkook opened the door.

She smirked at him.

Jungkook closed the door.

She shoved her black boot in the opening, preventing him.

“No, you don’t, Jeon Jungkook.”

He backed up, shell-shocked. She pushed the door open and walked into his room. Hair over her shoulders, the same winged eyeliner and red lip stain. The black collar with the silver ring, the same one she had worn the first time he saw her. Pink dress shirt, the one she grabbed as Jimin face-fucked her. White t-shirt underneath, the one Taehyung had worn as he fucked her from behind. Both too big for her, so she wore no pants. Just thigh-high white socks and her thick-soled black boots with the silver tips, the ones she wore when she sat in the booth with Seokjin.

In short, Jungkook’s dick snapped to attention like a scared newbie army recruit.

She tucked her tongue in her cheek and raised her eyebrows at him. Jungkook seemed to come back to reality and slapped his arms across his chest. He was shirtless, after all.

“H-how did you figure out what dorm I was in?” he sputtered. “And w-what room?”

She tilted her head. “Friend of a friend, of a friend, of a friend, of a friend… of a friend,” she said slowly, tongue poking out a little from between her lips when she paused. “I know some people.”

Jungkook blinked rapidly. “W-well, why are you here?”

She kicked his door casually behind her. It slammed shut, making him jump.

“Because,” she drawled, holding up her hand, lowering a finger as she made each point. “One, you decided to speak to me, only to lie to my face. Two.” Another finger went down. “You stalked me outside my Psychology of Anger class. Three.” Down it went. “When you realized you got found out, you ran away. Four.” Down. “Every time you see me walking around campus, I see you throwing yourself in the opposite direction as if you’re being attacked. Yeah, I notice, because you’re not subtle about it,” she added, chuckling. Jungkook felt his ears turn red. “And finally, five.” Her hand was a fist now. “Before that, you gawked at me every time I happened to be within eyesight of you. With your big round eyes, almost as if you were spacing out. Sometimes with your mouth open.” She twisted her lips to one side for half a second. “Kind of disorienting, really.”

Jungkook thought back to all those moments. Her eyes on him when he saw Namjoon press her against the wall. Her eyes flickering towards him when she was at the table with Hoseok. The shift when she was kissing Seokjin at the booth. Oh, God. The half-second before he closed the door, her eye on him as she sucked Jimin off. The light on her face as she was reading Yoongi’s text on her phone, her pupils on him. She knew. She knew, she knew, she fucking knew.

Jungkook’s lips parted. “Then why… why did you run?”

She raised her eyebrow. Then she nodded her head slowly, finally understanding. “Ah. Yes, that time at the party. I thought you were some kind of weird stalker, honestly. I really don’t have time to spend on creeps.”

A shameful shiver slid down his back. She thought he was a creep. Of course, she did, because literally everything he witnessed was sexual in nature and he was fucking ogling the entire time, holy fuck.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, the rest of the guys straightened me out.”

Rest of the guys? What? THEY ALL KNEW TOO?

“You just want to fuck.”

God, Jungkook thought. If there is a God, please just open the Earth and throw me in Hell right now.

“I-I don’t–what–that’s preposterous–how would you even know–”

Jungkook was tripping over every word as she stood there, tapping her foot against the ground. He lost track of his thought and made a strange noise of defeat. Her lips curved into a slow smile.

“Well, technically, I didn’t know,” she said slowly. “I guessed and it looks like I guessed right.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Oh holyfuckingshitcrap.

If Taehyung or Jimin were witnessing this right now, they would have face-palmed.

She licked her lips. It made Jungkook’s stomach flutter uncomfortably.

“Anyway, I figured it would be better for you to be alone when I told you this.” She shrugged. One shoulder of the pink dress shirt fluttered down, revealing a shoulder. “It seemed like it might have been embarrassing for you, and judging by your beet-red face and tomato ears, I am correct.”

Jungkook slapped his hands on his cheeks. “W-what, of course not, hahaha…”

“You got a tent in your pants, kid.”

He looked down and tore his hands from his face to place them over his crotch. “Erm.”

She chuckled and shrugged again. “Well, since that’s the case, I’ll leave you be then. Just didn’t want things to be weird between us, that’s all. And found out you aren’t a creep. Only a shy, awkward boy.”

Then she turned around and reached for the door handle.

Jungkook crossed the space between them within two steps and slammed a hand on the door, preventing her from opening it.

“Wait.”

He was staring at the back of her head. Her hair had a warm, herbal scent. He could see the slope of the pink dress shirt, outlining her shoulder blades under the thin white t-shirt. He was so close that he could even spy he straps of her pink bra underneath the white fabric. Looked even further and he spotted the point that the dress shirt stuck out a bit from the curve of her ass.

“I’m not… a boy,” he said slowly. His voice came out lower than he thought.

He heard her make a light scoff.

“You expect answers without asking the questions,” she replied, still not turning around. “Not everything will be handed to you just because you’re cute.”

Pause.

“Boy.”

Jungkook knew how she managed to sleep with all of them now. She pressed every single one of his buttons, perfectly, within a single conversation. He placed his other hand on the door, fingers spread out. Took a step forward and pressed his body against hers, relishing in the softness. One of his hands slid down and snaked between the space of the door and her face, cupping her chin. He pushed it up so her eyes met his. Her teasing, perfect eyes.

“Wanna fuck, then?” he breathed against her forehead.

Her lips curved into a slow, foxlike smile. For a half-second, Jungkook thought she would say no.

“Now we’re talking.”

Jungkook had experience. He knew what women liked. But he did not know what this woman liked, because this woman was the embodiment of a fucking enigma. And at this point he was quite sure she had him mostly figured out. For instance, she pressed back against him, ass perched right on his cock, making him gasp. Her hand came up and she slid his fingers up her chin, opening her mouth slowly. He stared, transfixed. Her pink tongue slid out and she pushed two of his fingers in her mouth, wrapping her warm, wet tongue around them.

Sucking on them. Slipping her tongue around his fingers, single eyebrow lifted as she drenched them with saliva, so wet that his cock twitched at the thought of being in that hole. She placed her lips around them and used her tongue to push them to the roof of her mouth, sinking down to his knuckles.

Jungkook really couldn’t breathe, watching his dirty display of power.

Her hand was still wrapped around his. Slowly, she pulled his fingers out of her mouth, strings of saliva snapping as his fingers trailed out with a small pop. Jungkook shivered. The pink dress shirt was sliding down her arms, onto the floor.

She straightened her head and turned around slowly. She kicked the shirt aside, looking up at him through his lashes. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it was going to beat out of his chest.

“Why… why do you take their clothes?” Jungkook whispered.

She grinned. She looked down at his bare chest. Reached out, fingertips dancing in the air. Her nails slowly made their way up the ladder of his abs, eyes finding his once again.

“I like to remember who did a good job fucking me,” she replied steadily, so calm and cool that it was ruining him, driving him insane. “Let’s see if you’re so lucky.”

She flattened her palm against his toned pecs and let it slide up. Jungkook couldn’t look away from her face. She snaked her arm around his neck, fingers tangling in his long hair. She pulled his head back roughly.

He whimpered.

Help.

She got on her tiptoes; lips so close. Her other arm came around his waist. She rolled her hips into his. Delicious, sweet friction. Held him there as she dry-humped him, agonizingly slowly, breathing against his shaking lips. The only thing holding him up was his one hand against the door.

“You like that, little one?”

Jungkook wasn’t little. She was saying it to provoke him and it was working even though he didn’t want it to. He tried not to gasp or make any indication that he was enjoying it, but his hips were already moving, pushing back, frantic for more. Her tongue slithered out and brushed against his lips. He moaned. Had he ever been more desperate for a kiss? More desperate for anything more than just simple dry-humping at his fucking dorm door? Her grip on his hair tightened, pulling a little harder.

“What if I leave you here?” she taunted, digging her nails into his side. “What if I let go and leave you here, needy and lonely, without me to take care of you?”

What was going on? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t how he was supposed to end up. Why couldn’t he collect himself?

“Please don’t…” he whined. His hand on the door balled into a fist. “Please.”

She kissed him.

Oh, fuck.

Lips so soft, barely any pressure, tongue on his lips. Poking, teasing him. Jungkook moaned, mouth opening and the tip barely thrust in. His whole body shivered as she slid it in and out between his lips. There wasn’t enough. Wasn’t enough pressure, not enough tongue, not enough forcefulness. He whined, jerking his hips into hers, trying to suck her tongue into his mouth, but it slipped away every time. Then her lips pressed fully against his and she mouthed the words on his lips. He knew what she said even before the sound touched his ears.

“Want more, little one?”

Yes. Oh, please, yes.

But he couldn’t say it because his lips were trapped against hers. She softly kissed him, over and over, hardly deep enough or passionate enough for his liking, infuriatingly not adequate and all of it on purpose. She pushed him into the room, away from the door, making him stumble. Jungkook could only break apart for half a second to choke out one word – “shoes” – but she was already removing her arm from his waist, zipping down her boot and kicking it aside, and then the other, pushing his head down to hers the entire time so she could make out with him.

Then, she pushed them apart.

He nearly tripped, forced to take several steps back. He was panting, out of breath as if he had been running for a long time. Jungkook lifted his head to her crafty expression. He could be the dominant one. He knew he could. But she wasn’t letting him. She had him in the palm of her hand, even now, even in this slight second of breath, the single moment of sanity, and then it was gone because she was lifting her shirt, the white t-shirt crumpling and thrown aside, landing on his desk, on his laptop. The pink, polka-dotted bra molded to her sinful breasts, so innocent-looking. They matched the tiny pink polka-dotted panties that pressed into her skin, complimenting her white thigh-high stockings that clamped around the softness.

His brain?

Broken. It was frozen at this image of this hot-as-fuck woman dropping to her knees and crawling on her hands towards him. Each movement a little closer, a lion stalking her prey and he was the frozen antelope, unable to run. She stopped right in front of him, straightening. And then, the smallest detail, spreading her thighs so he could see the faint wet spot between her panties. He could see her cleavage, the curve of her breasts as she trailed her hands up her thighs, her stomach, bending around her breasts, up her neck, tracing the silver ring and black leather of her choker, mouth opening to her wet tongue, a single fingertip touching the end.

“Wanna be in here, little one?” she murmured around her finger, eyes half-lidded.

“Fuck yes.”

If Jungkook could gather his last two brain cells, he would have sounded a whole lot less desperate, but at the moment those two brain cells had abandoned their post, leaving him an absolute mess as she hooked her fingers on the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear and dragged them down, down, exposing his leaking cock out in the open. Fuck, she looked so smug and he couldn’t do anything about it as she leaned in with a soft kitten lick, wiping it away.

“Let me ask you something before I start,” she purred.

Jungkook blinked. “O-okay…”

“Were you upset that I fucked all your friends and never, ever asked you?”

His eyes widened.

She smirked and wrapped her lips around his cock. His brain cells came back from their lunch break to Jungkook screwing his eyes shut and throwing his head back as she bobbed her head up and down his cock, deep, slow, wet. Tongue rubbing all around him, hands gripping his hips. He didn’t know what to do with his hands because he didn’t want to mess with her pace so he curled them into fists, sinking his nails into his palms as he moaned, feeling the head smack the back of her throat, muscles squeezing him hard and tight. Because she had been so soft and teasing less than ten seconds ago, Jungkook was not prepared for this wild intensity. She was literally deep-throating his cock like nobody’s business and he was trying very, very hard not to bust his load within seconds because that would be fucking embarrassing as shit. He forced his eyes open to look down at her, panting.

“S-stop…” he pleaded, but she wasn’t stopping. “P-please, stop, I want to f-fuck you.”

The slightest tick of her eyebrow. She stared up at him. It was too sexy. He chomped down on his tongue, anything to feel something else than the overwhelming pleasure from being in her mouth.

“P-please… want to fuck your p-pussy…”

She slowed, still making eye contact with him. She didn’t completely stop until she was all the way down his cock, saliva dripping out and down his balls. She didn’t get off him. Just watched him, pulsing her throat around his dick. Jungkook got it. She wanted him to beg. Her throat squeezed him extra hard and he whimpered. He bit his lower lip.

Pride? What pride?

“Please…” Oh, God, was that him? That wretched, pitiful whine, so wrecked and barely anything happened. “Please, let me fuck your pussy. Let me inside you. Let me pleasure you.” She blinked slowly. Not enough. “You made me wait so long…” His eyes raked over her sensual body, his skin burning. “You fucked them all and made me wait, made me want you, made me think about you all the time, made me crazy knowing everyone had you, but me.”

What even was this? He had never begged like this in his entire life, but he was ruined and destroyed by this beautiful woman whose red lips were around his cock.

“I want you to use my cock and make you cum, just for me. Want you to watch me when I fuck you, want you to moan for me, want you to say my name with those lips.”

Her eyes sparkled. She drew back, slowly. His cock achingly, deliberately popped out of her tight, wet mouth and he cried out softly, almost regretful that he didn’t ask for her to finish him then. She got off her knees, sliding up his body, his cock hitting her stomach and then her thigh, smearing saliva and pre-cum on her smooth skin. She pursed her lips against his, the tiniest peck, and he could taste himself, a slight hint of his own cum.

“Alright, Jungkook,” she said slowly, reaching into her bra and pulling out a condom. Of course, she had a condom in her bra. “I’ll let you fuck me.”

She smacked the warm foil packet against his chest.

Fuck, the way she said his name. So velvety, so wanton. She moved past him and Jungkook turned around, condom in hand, watching as she faced him, unhooking her pink bra. It peeled off her body and dropped to the floor, tits bouncing. She pressed her hard nipples in between two fingers and tugged, giving him a little gasp and a peek of her pink tongue from between her plump lips. He followed, swallowing hard as she backed up to his bed, hopping up and sliding back. Jungkook made it to the end of his bed and watched as she linked two fingers on the sides of her panties and pushed them down, lifting her legs up and together as she slid them off.

Thus, providing Jungkook with a shockingly clear view of her glistening pussy lips.

She lowered her legs and spread them. Wearing nothing but those white thigh-high socks and the black choker around her neck.

“Holy fuck.”

She smirked. “Come here, little one.”

At this point, he was beginning to enjoy this nickname. Either that or Jungkook was so horny that she could call him anything and he was still going to climb onto the bed, chewing on his lip, hand over hand, breath hitching as he neared, smelling her arousal. His eyes flickered to hers. She tilted her head and nodded. He bent down and licked her slit, long and slow, groaning as her sweet, thick taste coated his tongue. Oh, if only he had more patience to eat her out. Instead, his cock was dripping an embarrassing amount of pre-cum onto his sheets, so he got to his knees, unwrapping the condom and sliding it on, somewhat grateful for it so that he wouldn’t explode within two seconds of being inside her. He positioned himself at her entrance, lifting her legs.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

He shifted his attention to her face. He felt her hand reach down and guide him to the correct angle.

“Look at me when you go in,” she said, smirking.

His eyes widened as he pushed inward, slow, centimeter by centimeter, feeling her warmth cover him and shake him to his core, her eyes boring into his, satisfaction glittering in those orbs as he gasped at her tightness, her wetness, her heat. Breathing so shallow Jungkook felt like he was ready to pass out, thrusting the last of his cock inside her so he was fully buried, his entire length squeezed by her pussy.

She lifted herself up and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers in his long dark hair. She pulled lightly and he moaned, lips trembling.

“You like that, little one?” she murmured, lips against his cheek, licking him lightly. “You like your hair pulled?” She kissed his chiseled jaw, clenching around his cock.

“Y-yes,” he whimpered. “A l-little…”

Her tongue wrapped around his earlobe, playing with his earrings. He could feel her hard nipples rub against his chest as she pressed her body against him. She pulled again and he moaned into her ear, shuddering as she paired the pain with the pulse of her pussy.

“I like the sounds you make,” she whispered. “Let me mark you, little one.”

He swallowed, still unable to move because he was in her gravity now, lost in her smokey voice.

“Yes, please…”

She kissed down his ear softly, lips against the pulse point under his ear. She bit his skin, sucking hard, rolling her hips onto his cock. His eyelids fluttered as she bit him, hard and unforgiving. Sharp, wet sounds. He whimpered and she ran her tongue over the bruised skin before kissing down further, finding the spot where his neck and shoulder connected. She pressed her lips against it and he swallowed in anticipation.

“Jungkook.”

“Y-yeah?”

He could feel her lips form the words she was spoke into his skin.

“Your cock feels nice inside me.”

She bit him again, hard. His eyes rolled back into his head, cock swelling at the compliment and the pain radiating through him as she pulled on his hair, sucking his skin, rutting her wet, tight pussy onto his cock. The euphoric ecstasy was unlike anything Jungkook had ever felt before. It was just a hickey and some hair pulling while he was cock-deep into a woman, but it was so much more, the soft kitten licks as she soothed the irritated flesh, the rubbing of his scalp, and the throbbing around his cock.

She finally let him go, leaning back. Her hair fanned out on his pillows, lipstick smeared, tongue between her teeth. He really thought the first time was going to be at some shitty party where he was half-drunk and confused, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t like that at all. Instead, she cocked her chin at him, giving him an open-mouthed smirk as she looked up at him from his bed.

“Fuck me, Jungkook.”

He began to move, starting slow and deep, gasping at the feeling. Her eyes drifted from his face to his cock moving in and out of her, then back up to his face. She was letting him do as he wanted, he knew. Jungkook could tell from her expression, giving him the reins for once. He scooted up, still fucking her leisurely as he lifted his hands and touched her nipples with his fingertips. He pushed them in a circle, rubbing them, closing his eyes. They were hard but soft, so fun to touch as he thrust his cock inside her. He pinched them and he whimpered as her pussy squeezed him. He did it again and felt it again. He cupped her breasts and did it again, pulling a little his time. She made a breathless moan and he opened his eyes, seeing hers shrouded with lust. He held her nipple between his index and ring finger, using his middle finger to rub the hardened nub. She gasped softly, whispering his name.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jungkook panted, feeling his hips thrust harder, spurred on by her noises. She pressed her head against his pillows, crying out as he increased his pace, rubbing her nipples harder.

“Harder, little one,” she purred, rolling her hips into his. “Want to feel your cock in the deepest parts of me.”

He pinched her nipples, hard, and she moaned with a teasing smile as he let go, placing his hands back on the bed for leverage. His long hair brushed into his eyes but he didn’t care, ramming his hips into her, hearing the harsh, loud slap of their bodies. She hissed out his name, tipping her head back as she lifted her arms above her head, clutching his pillows.

“That’s it, Jungkook,” she panted as he pounded her into his bed, feeling her pussy tighten and throb around him. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

He did, hard, rough, gasping at her pretty lips opened and her eyes closed in bliss, enjoying his cock, just his, enjoying the way he felt, enjoying his hips slapping into hers and his cock twitching inside her.

“Need you to cum for me,” he growled, surprised at his own rawness. “Need you to cum all over my cock. Need to feel you.” A hint of desperation juxtaposed with his order. He wanted her to fall apart with his cock, wanted to watch her unravel as she came with his cock.

She cracked her eyes open and wrapped her legs around his waist, thighs squeezing him. Oh, fuck. Eyes that said, go for it. Do it if you can.

He rammed his hips into her, pounding into her over and over, so hard the bed squealed at the force, so deep her fingers gripping his sheets were white, her moans filling his room, imprinting in his memory.

“A-ah, Jungkooooook.”

His name dragged out, mixed with a moan, cock twitching at her back arching, tits bouncing with his thrusts.

“So good, so good… Gonna cum for you, just for you, Jungkook...”

And then he felt it, the heated, throbbing squeeze and the instant squelch of liquid dripping out and sliding down his balls, soaking into his sheets. The scent of her sex so heavy and sweet that he was drunk, slowing so he could feel her pussy pulsating around him, vibrating his entire length.

“W-why do you feel so good?” he whined, shoving his cock so deep she jerked up his pillows. She chuckled, but he kept going, back to his rough pace, because he couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to cum. He needed it now, deep inside her pussy, her scent on his skin, her foxy eyes on him.

“You wanna cum for me, little one?” she panted out, licking her lips. “Want to feel your cock get milked by my pussy?”

Jungkook sucked in a breath, clenching his jaw as he nodded fiercely, unable to respond. She reached up and he knew what was coming and he wanted it, wanted it so fucking bad. His long hair was smacking him in the face but she collected it back, only leaving a few strands on his sweaty forehead.

“Cum for me, Jungkook. Fill me up.”

And then she yanked on his hair, hard, tearing a gasp from his lips. The pain shot through him, igniting every nerve, the pleasure of her pussy clenching him as he kept going, slapping his hips into hers, feeling the pull on his hair every time he sank in. Jungkook was doing it to himself now and he loved every second of it. The familiar tightening coiled inside him, so sharp and sudden that he almost screamed as he came, the orgasm racking his entire body as she pulled his head back with his hair, moaning with him as she came again, throbbing as he shot into the condom, cock jerking with force against her walls.

His whole body shuddered as the aftershocks faded. Oh, shit. He was winded, throat dry. Someone must have heard. Holy fuck. Jungkook had never cum so hard in his entire life.

Her hand let go of his hair. She rubbed his scalp. He closed his eyes, his body rising and falling as he exhaled.

“Did I live up to your expectations, little one?”

The next day, Jungkook ran into Taehyung at the usual coffee spot. It was the weekend, so Jungkook hadn’t expected to see him. Taehyung looked super hungover and barely alive as he ordered a coffee in his raspy, deep voice.

“Damn, are you dead?” Jungkook asked playfully as Taehyung stumbled to him, trying not to spill his coffee. Taehyung hated coffee, so he must have really needed it for some reason or another.

“Probably. I forgot I have a paper due on Monday.” He took a sip of it and made a disgusted face. “I hate this shit.”

Jungkook spied her walking up to the counter. She rubbed her chin and ordered a tea, handing over her card. She was wearing a white crop top, black baseball cap, and short leather jacket.

And his gray sweatpants.

Taehyung squinted at his neck.

“The fuck happened to you? Someone punch you in the neck?”

Jungkook slapped a hand over his hickey. “Er…”

She breezed past them, not looking at them as she hurried along, checking her phone for the time. Taehyung whipped his head around, recognizing her instantly. And the sweatpants.

“Yah! She told me she was going to study!” He whipped his head back to Jungkook, who looked away immediately. “Study your dick, apparently!”

“Uh…”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes and grumbled as he walked away.

“Well, get in line, bitch.”

sister story: meteor, m | myg

masterpost

note: Yes, I am aware League of Legends has changed the entire item inventory for 2021 preseason. I haven’t played the new patch since I wrote this. Just pretend this all happened before the preseason patch, okay? lol

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic

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joonkorre · 3 years

Text

(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, “I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #yeah erm harry isn't the brightest bean in the pod or whatever that saying goes #they'll work it out i promise #draco's idea of a first date would be dragging harry over to the weasleys and forcing him to give ginny a formal apology #like ok he doesn't care about her at all but having this woman's unhappiness on his conscience is unbearable #also i really like the idea of the sectumsempra fucking up draco's bodily functions #the scars are really cool but i especially like it when the consequences are idk more visceral and clearly lower draco's quality of life #im not gonna get into the whole connection thing bc idk either #just know that whenever draco feels something intensely #like grief fear jealousy and ooooh heartbreak #his heart throbs and harry also feels it #in this fic harry's secretly happy that despite the whole shitty heart thing there's an unbreakable connection between the two #he needs some work in this fic but he means well i assure yall #draco seeing harry canoodling w ginny and feeling his heart hurt: that was weird haha #joonkorre writes

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dadsbongos · 3 years

Text

Reges Sumus

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa (which game/anime? who tf knows) Dynamic: Izuru Kamukura/Reader (heavily mentioned Hajime Hinata/Reader) Warnings: despair arc tings, i tried to put more into izuru’s character so i’m sorry if he comes out ooc :( Summary: Izuru knows he’s miserable, but he can never find himself pulling away. ~~~

“The world has fallen into despair. A despair so deep the entirety of humanity has cascaded into bloodlust. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Those outside our walls feel it all. Those outside our walls are jealous of us. Of our hope. Of our unity. Of our home. We cannot let them take us. We cannot let them take anything that is rightfully ours. Protect this place with your lives, for if you fall - so does our hope. So do I. So go out and fight, fight with all you have, fight with all you are. For your spouses, for your parents, for your children - for me. As long as you do so, we can save this world. We will save this world using my Ultimate as a weapon.”

“Praise be, oh Dominus.”

“Praise be, Reges Sumus.”

(Y/n) outstretched her arms to the crowd, “Now go, my children, my loves, save this world!”

In near perfect synchronist, the people pulled down their masks and turned to the large front door of the ransacked mansion, picking up their guns, bats, and knives as they left. Just in case, of course, it wasn’t their fault if someone wasn’t willing to give their rations to the leader. Same as it wasn’t their fault if their bat slipped over someone’s head, hard enough to crack open the skull like a nut, or if their fingers slipped over the trigger long enough to kill a small family over a can of beans. It wasn’t their fault. It was despair’s. It was Junko Enoshima’s.

“Dominus, aye?”

Looking to the source of the voice, (Y/n) gave the boy a close-eyed smile, she turned completely and waved off the guards that escorted the pair, “Fuyuhiko, Peko, my dears!” she let her hands fall on the blond’s cheeks, pressing a holy kiss to his forehead, leaving a lipstick stain in her wake before moving onto Peko and doing the same, “It’s lovely to have you visit.”

They both knew better than to wipe off the lipstick stains on their skin, anything even close to slander aimed at (Y/n) could be met with merciless death at her follower’s vengeful hands.

Fuyuhiko looked about the lavish room, decorated with stolen jewels and furniture, before nodding, “Not fuckin’ shabby.”

“Thank you,” (Y/n) clasped her hands together, bringing them to her chest in delight, “As much as I adore having you here, I must ask why drop by so suddenly?”

Peko piped up, “We got chased out of a hideout. Kazuichi thought it’d be funny to send us some Monokumas.”

“Oh, my! That’s not good at all,” the girl shook her head before turning and beginning to walk up a set of stairs, “Come.”

Following close after, Fuyuhiko watched as his fellow Despair trailed her fingertips gently over the paintings of herself hung in the hall. (L/n), (Y/n), Ultimate Charisma, had truly built herself a cult of lies. The belief that somehow her followers could rebuild the world and rid it of despair, somehow she could save the world with the power of her ultimate status.

She had no intention of doing so, but it gave the people something to believe in and fight for - and that was good enough.

“Here we are,” (Y/n) opened a bedroom door, a queen-sized mattress laying on the floor with no bed frame, “It’s the best I can do at the moment, my dearest apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fuyuhiko brushed off - he knew better than to complain.

Peko nodded, “This is enough.”

“I’m glad,” she gestured the pair inside, taking each of their hands and pressing a kiss to their knuckles, “Anything for my comrades.”

As she left, she shut the door. What despair would become of the poor soul whose room that was, a shiver went down (Y/n)’s spine at the mere thought.

Minor, of course, but only in the moment. It was one of many things that would slowly build up into a cacophony - and she was reveling in it.

Entering her own room, (Y/n) jumped slightly at the dark silhouette standing by her king-sized mattress, completed with the fanciest bed frame she could steal, before recognizing the long, flowing hair. She smiled at the boy, hands already reaching out for him, “Oh, Izuru, my darling,” she took his cheeks, lovingly brushing her thumbs over the bones and bringing his forehead to her lips in a staining kiss, “Did you get in with Fuyuhiko and Peko?”

He made no gesture of nodding but the agreement was there, or perhaps he simply ignored her question and she was projecting upon a blank canvas, “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to start a cult, but won’t they tear you apart when they realize what you’ve done?”

The lies she’s told. The things she’s stolen. The people she’s killed. The sins living in her veins thrived on every weeping babe and execution splattering across these walls of hers.

“Isn’t that the point? The despair. Having everything I’ve worked for crumble when the worms revolt,” she answered, sitting upon her bed and patting the space beside her for Izuru, “Sit, my dear, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he corrected.

“No, but I missed your face,” she leaned over, not particularly caring of any personal boundaries he may have, and brushed back his hair, slicking it away from his face and tying it back, “Well, it’s not truly your face, is it?”

Izuru didn’t respond, simply watching as the woman took a finger down the bridge of his nose.

“It’s Hajime Hinata’s,” her smile faded for the first time in a long time, a soft frown taking its place, “We were close, you know?”

“So I’ve heard,” Izuru grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist as her fingertip brushed his cupid’s bow, “I have no memory of that, you know.”

“I do.”

“So don’t force me to.”

“I’m not,” denying his claim, (Y/n) knew he didn’t believe her - though to be fair, she didn’t believe herself either, “I just like the despair of being so close, yet so far, from my beloved Hajime.”

Silence festered within the room once again.

A smile slowly teased back onto (Y/n)’s face, “You must be tired, but there’s something I simply have to show you.”

He knew where she was going with this, an attempt at recruitment as usual, but something deep, deep, deep down told him to go along with it. Perhaps it was a rare pity.

Perhaps it was the part of him enamored with the one called Dominus.

Perhaps it was the part of him that mourned the Ultimate Gamer.

Perhaps it was both.

Perhaps it was him.

Any which way, he stood and followed after the woman, the red of the sky drenching the walls through cracked, dusty windows as they traversed down the hallway.

Passing Fuyuhiko and Peko’s room, passing the guard’s posts, passing the main room - (Y/n) led Izuru to a room at the very end of the grand corridor. Cardboard had been hastily tacked onto the wood with messy, uneven letters spelling out ‘nursery’ in bold. She pushed the door open easily enough, despite the clear indication it should’ve been locked, and gestured the long-haired man through.

It was dark save for the faint light emanating from a baby monitor hooked onto a stained crib in the corner with ‘K.S’ etched into the corner. From what Izuru could see, there were about four cribs in the room and all of them filled with a sleeping baby.

“I feel no sympathy for babies in despair.”

“I never wanted kids,” (Y/n) brushed past the man and his words, her voice quiet to avoid waking the children, “I always thought they were snotty, whiny, loud, annoying little money-suckers who took and took and took until they were of age to take care of themselves and then they leave you forever…” she ran a finger over the sticky wood, “and I still do. But Hajime,” she hesitantly took a glance at Izuru, knowing she’d never find what she wanted in his gaze, “Hajime liked kids. He wasn’t sure he wanted any but I think he might’ve.”

Izuru watched the woman slowly revert back to his side to watch the babies as they slept, “So?”

“Do you want kids, Izuru?”

“I’m a war criminal.”

“War criminals can want kids, can’t they?” she huffed at his difficulty, previously cheery attitude slipping into her real feelings, “Someone being unfit to be a parent doesn’t stop them. I don’t know of any restrictions preventing someone from having a child, do you?” when he didn’t respond, she continued, “Hajime’s parents were unfit and still, they had him. I’m glad he was born but I wish it was to better people.”

“He didn’t seem to resent them. From what little I can feel of him.”

“He doesn’t seem to resent a lot of people he should. But it’s his life, who am I to interject?” she sarcastically mumbled, patience for Izuru Kamukura growing thinner, “I told him the procedure was an awful idea and look who’s standing next to me…”

“You seem to hate me and yet you strangely desire me at your side.”

“I told you already, it’s the despair.”

“I’m not stupid, (Y/n), I can see through you.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Your request is impossible and you know that.”

She just wants her boyfriend back, is that really so much to ask for?

“My request is…” she paused, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows, “My request is…”

“I’ll be taking a room for the night,” he coldly informed.

“Stay with me,” (Y/n) took Izuru by his sleeve, fingers grasping at the clothes she’d never seen on her lover before - and she still hasn’t, technically. Because it wasn’t him, no matter how much she wished for him to magically wake up and be Hajime again - deep down, she knew better.

Izuru looked at the woman, her eyes slowly wetting and bottom lip quivering. She didn’t want him. She may have thought he was attractive, but that was only because he had stolen a man’s face.

She’d never want him.

It… stung. To know a woman so enamored with a lesser version of yourself, or who you had taken over, wasn’t similarly enamored with you. And she never could be. He didn’t like feeling so hurt over her rejection. He didn’t like knowing why it hurt.

Because he always wanted her.

He shook off her hand before wordlessly leaving the room and beginning his trek towards their shared abode for the night.

He wasn’t Hajime Hinata, he was Izuru Kamukura and he knew that no matter how much he wanted the sting to die, he would still be Izuru Kamukura when he woke up in (Y/n)’s arms the next morning.

It was Junko’s curse.

It was despair.

#sdr2 x reader #hajime hinata x reader #izuru kamakura x reader #izuru x reader #kamukura x reader

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izzyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Like Lipstick Stains On His Skin

SHIPS: Remile

CHARACTERS: Emile Picani, Remy Sanders

WARNING: Anxiety, references to heartbreak

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Emile Picani had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember.

The moment he had first laid eyes on Remy Sanders, his initial thought had been that that was the most attractive person he’d ever seen. And, after getting to know him better, Emile’s thoughts only solidified; Remy was funny and sarcastic, smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and casually flirty in a way that made Emile’s heart stop and pound and ache all at once.

And Emile’s feelings had only strengthened as they grew up together.

From awkward teenagers still figuring out their sexualities to adults with their own homes and jobs and independent lives, Remy and Emile had stayed friends through it all, sticking together like glue since they’d first met in middle school. They knew almost everything about each other, and they were best friends.

But that was just it – they were friends. Nothing more.

And Emile was... fine with that. He was fine.

He loved Remy. Loved, loved, loved Remy.

And, sure, it hurt when he was with Remy, but not really with Remy, not in the way Emile always wanted to be. It hurt to be around him and know that it would only ever be platonic, that his best friend would never love him back in quite the same he loved him.

But time spent with Remy was better than time spent with anyone or anything else. And Emile knew that Remy cared deeply for him, too.

Emile could take the heartache if it meant he never lost his best friend.

When Emile heard the knock on his front door, he immediately recognised it as Remy’s. He jumped up – perhaps a little too enthusiastically and excitedly, but the only person that could see him right now was himself, so there was nobody around to judge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open. Remy’s eyes lit up when he saw Emile, and he grinned.

Emile would never admit aloud to the tremble of his heart in his chest at the expression on his best friend’s face, but he did immediately squish down the traitorous hope that emerged every time Remy looked at him like that. Which happened almost every time they saw each other.

“Hey, Remy! You’re here early,” Emile said.

“Hope that’s chill, babe. I was not watching the time.”

(Emile did his best to ignore the feelings that the use of the nickname ‘babe’ stirred up.)

Remy’s sunglasses were propped up on his head, as they often were, and his warm brown eyes were on display. He was wearing his signature black leather jacket, too, as he usually was, with a white crop-top – with the word ‘bitch’ across the front in block capitals – underneath, exposing his midriff.

It took effort for Emile to keep his eyes from drifting downwards.

“It’s fine, Remy,” Emile smiled, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his best friend’s face. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Remy laughed. “If you keep saying that, I’ll end up showing up here at 4am when I’m drunk.”

“Well, I would rather you came here than go somewhere else and get yourself hurt.”

“Even if that means I wake you up from whatever candy-coloured, cartoon-filled dreams you’re having?”

“Mhm!”

“Damn, gurl, you really are sweeter than sugar, huh? How the hell did someone like you end up being besties with someone like me?”

“Aww, Remy, I think you give yourself too little credit.”

Remy laughed again. “Nah, babes, I love myself. I’m just kinda an asshole sometimes.”

“Isn’t everyone sometimes?” Emile said.

“Not you, apparently. Come on, you’re basically an angel, like, 24/7 and I have legit no idea how you do it. You’ve got the patience of a saint and a smile that literally gives me toothache just looking at it. You’re downright adorable.”

Elation bubbled up in Emile’s heart, and those bubbles filled his chest and spilled over in the forms of happy giggles. He covered his smile with his hand, and practically melted on the spot at the soft, fond look that crossed Remy’s face for just a moment – almost unnoticeable, but Emile paid enough attention that he saw it – before being replaced with Remy’s usual grin.

“Do you want to come in?” Emile asked, still smiling.

“Sure.”

Emile stepped to the side, and Remy’s arm brushed against his own as he walked past him. He hoped the stuttered breath at the contact wasn’t obvious.

“I like the new tie,” Remy commented as Emile shut the door and turned to face him.

Emile perked up. “Oh, you noticed!”

“Course I did,” Remy said. “I’ve seen every tie you’ve got like a million times. I could tell that one was new basically as soon as you opened the door.”

“Aww, Remy... you’re great. The best friend a guy could have!”

Emile’s smile was soft, fond, and so, so caring, and – for just a moment – he could have sworn that Remy looked flustered to be the recipient of it: wide-eyed and as still as a statue. But then, the moment passed, and Remy’s expression smoothed over and returned to normal, and Emile was sure that he’d only imagined it.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively. “You noticed when I got that new skirt last week, even though it’s identical to my old one-”

“Your old one had a big hole in it! The new one didn’t.”

“Yeah, so I had to get a new one ‘cos it made my ass look great and I wasn’t ‘bout to give that shit up, you know? Ooh, and I especially love it paired with those heels that get everyone looking at my legs, ‘cos that combo makes me look fab AF.” Remy paused. “You know what, I think that’s kinda beside the point. Any-gay, you noticed ‘cos you’re cool like that, so me noticing your tie is, like, nothing.”

“Aww, Remy,” Emile reached forward, and poked Remy’s arm. “It’s not nothing, most people wouldn’t even be able to tell! You’re my best friend, and it makes me really, really happy that you notice these kinds of things.”

Remy’s expression softened. “Well, then I guess it makes it pretty special then, huh?”

Emile felt like screaming. Or kissing Remy. Or kissing Remy and then screaming.

(Though, really, if Emile ever got the chance to kiss Remy, he’d be too busy savouring it to even think of doing anything else. Too busy savouring the feeling of warm lips against his own, of Remy’s gentle hand against his cheek, of a chest pressed against his own, of being so close to the one person he wanted to be close to more than anything else in the world. But he never thought he’d ever get the chance.)

Emile stumbled over his words, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other as he fiddled with his hands. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, and wasn’t sure if he even could without losing control of his mouth and accidentally confessing his undying love for his best friend.

“Um...” he trailed off.

Remy laughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair and glancing away.

“So, uh... what did- what did your patients think of your new tie?”

“Oh!” Emile perked up again, at once both disappointed and relieved by the return to the original topic of conversation. “Yeah, two of them complimented it. And someone said the red was a nice change from the usual pastels, so I think it was a big hit!”

He smiled, and Remy immediately smiled back.

“Nice.”

“I think the pink tie’s still my favourite, though.”

“Mine, too. It’s a classic Emile colour.”

Emile laughed. “There are classic Emile colours?”

“Sure, there are! You’ve got your baby pink, baby blue and, you know,” Remy reached out, tugging gently on Emile’s cardigan sleeve. “You’ve got your cardigan-colour. I’ve, like, barely ever seen you without this thing. How many of these do you have? Like, a hundred?”

Emile giggled again, covering his mouth with his hand. “I have two. And they’re both a little different!”

“Right, right,” Remy nodded. “One’s, like, a little bigger.”

“Mhm! And this one’s a bit softer.”

Remy nodded again, slowly and with an amused tint to his smile. “So, are we gonna, like, move, or are we gonna stand in your hallway forever?”

“Oh, right!” Emile said, like he’d only just remembered that they were still stood at his front door.

He moved past Remy, gesturing for his friend to follow as he went into the next room and sat down on the couch. Remy immediately flopped onto it beside him, getting comfortable on the soft, squishy cushions. He leant back lazily and stretched.

“Ooh,” Remy finally said, straightening up. “I bought a new lipstick yesterday!”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“It’s, like, pink. It matches the shoes I bought last week, and it makes me look killer. I’m gonna get all the guys’ eyes on me, so it sucks that I can’t wear it when I’m, like, actually looking to kiss strangers, you know?”

Emile ignored the pang of pain in his heart, and did his best to smile encouragingly.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned,” he said. “I- I bet you look great in it. And it- it's a shame you can’t wear it when you want to.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda tempted to, you know, but, like, if I’m wearing lipstick, then I won’t know if any marks my lips make are ‘cos of my lipstick or ‘cos of soulmate shit, right?” Remy continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “And, like, what’s the pointing of making out with people if I can’t also know if they’re my soulmate?”

“Right.”

“So, I can only wear lipstick when I’m not looking for people to kiss. Sucks, but it’s gotta be done.”

Emile nodded slowly. Then, he paused, and his brow creased in thought.

“You don’t usually wear lipstick when you’re with me,” he said. “Even when we’re going out and it’s just us, no- no kissing strangers involved. How come?”

Remy froze in place.

“Uh...”

Emile blinked at him. He tilted his head questioningly. “Hmm?”

He could practically see the cogs turning in Remy’s head, while he searched for an answer that he obviously did not have or did not want to share. He looked... flustered, in a way that Emile had almost never seen him before – opening and closing his mouth a few times – and Emile just couldn’t seem to figure out why.

Remy and Emile just stared at each other, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Emile was confused, not wanting to speak up at the risk of interrupting whatever Remy wanted to say. He also absolutely would not let his mind wander to the any possibilities that would fill him with hope.

A crushed hope was definitely not something Emile wanted to deal with, not right now.

Remy cleared his throat. He swallowed.

“Um- there’s...” he then huffed, looking down at his lap and running his fingers through his hair. He let out an awkward laugh, and then looked back up at Emile. “I... okay,” he sighed. “There’s something I think I should probs tell you.”

Emile stared at him, blinking. “What is it?” He asked.

“It, uh...” Remy sighed again. “I have no idea how you’d react to this. The thing I want to tell you... it could probs mess up our friendship.”

“Remy...” Emile said softly. “You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, and I promise you this won’t mess anything up, okay?”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“I don’t need to. I know you.” Emile leant forward slightly, giving Remy his best attempt at a soft, reassuring smile.

Remy stared at Emile for a second. Then he laughed again, a strange mix of awkwardness and nervousness and with a hint of slight joy, too – with a confusing, even a little alarming, effect. His eyes never left Emile’s smile.

“Jeez, babe. How are you making this so much harder but so much easier at, like, the same time?”

Emile blinked. “Um... is that good?”

“Dunno. But...” Remy took a deep breath. He clenched his hands into fists, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before he turned back to Emile. “Okay... wow, I’ve wanted to tell you this for forever, but, like, fuck, this is terrifying.”

Emile’s expression creased with concern. He reached forward, looking him over worriedly, and rested his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Remy, are you okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he frowned slightly.

“No, I- I want to tell you. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about telling you about my feelings.”

Feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings.

Did that mean what Emile thought it meant?

The hope rose up, though he tried so hard to squash it down, but it was like trying to fit something large in a container too small and he could hardly keep it from filling up and overwhelming him. His breath stuttered, and he was sure he tensed up and froze in place for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and physically relaxed.

“Feelings?” He asked, in a voice slightly more strangled than before. “What feelings?”

Remy let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that’s- that’s what I’ve gotta talk to you about. My- my feelings... for you.” He took another deep breath. “I... I love you, Em.”

“I love you, too,” Emile answered back immediately. “Haven’t we said this before?”

They had. The two best friends had been friends for so long: exchanging ‘I love you’s was practically part of their routine, by now.

But it had always been platonic, at least from Remy’s side.

Right?

“We- we have...” Remy said slowly. “But that’s not what I meant. I love you. Like, love love. Like the head over heels in love kind. The- the I can never stop thinking ‘bout you kind. The, fuck, you’re so gorgeous kind. The kind that means I’m, like, basically always thinking about you and about kissing you and about how, wow, you’re- you’re just amazing. I mean, damn, I know last week when I told you that you’re my favourite person, I kinda said it like a joke, but I meant it. I like really, really meant it.”

When Remy realised that he was rambling, he clamped his hand over his mouth, like it was the only way to get the words – the pretty, pretty words that had set Emile’s heart aflutter – to stop tumbling out.

Emile was frozen.

He stared, wide-eyed at his best friend.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could say, in a strangled voice.

He was sure that his face was already bright red.

“Great.” Remy sighed, removing his palm from his mouth and burying his face in his hands. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” He mumbled just loud enough to be audible. “I- I know you don’t feel the same way, babe, and it’s fine. It’s totally, totally fine. I’m happy just being friends with you, ‘kay? You- you don’t have to return anything. It’s- it’s whatever. It’s chill.”

Emile’s brain had broken. He could hardly think anything other than the words ‘Remy’ and ‘love’ just over and over on repeat.

Instead of saying anything in response to that – as he wasn’t even sure if he could – he just suddenly burst into nervous, delighted laugher. Emile was sure he sounded like he was crazy, especially when Remy turned to him with a bewildered expression.

“Did- did you really mean that?” Emile asked when he could finally collect his thoughts enough to speak, which took slightly longer than he would have liked it to.

Remy blinked. Then, his expression softened.

“Of course, I did,” he said. “I’d never lie to you about something like this, Em.”

“So, you... you really mean it?” Emile asked hopefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Remy said. He hesitated for a moment, before nervously adding: “Do you- I mean, is it-”

“I love you, too.”

There was a beat.

Remy stared back at him, wide-eyed. The moment of silence was somehow simultaneously nerve-racking and also soft and so, so exciting, because, oh my gosh, Remy loved him. Remy loved him, he loved him, he loved him!

Love! Love! Love!

And, oh, heavens above, Emile was about to start wiggling excitedly because, gosh, he really, really just had to kiss Remy, right now. And maybe – maybe, maybe, maybe – Remy would say yes if he asked.

Emile let out another giggle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“You... you do?” Remy asked, eyes wide and hopeful, and Emile was suddenly glad that the sunglasses were propped up on his head, as his expression was always much easier to read that way.

“Yeah,” Emile responded, equally soft. “I really, really do.”

“Wow. Just- just wow.”

Emile reached forward, impulsively cupping Remy’s cheek with his hand, and Remy froze. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh, gosh- sorry,” Emile apologised. “I should’ve asked-”

He moved to take his hand away, but was stopped by Remy covering Emile’s hand with his own.

“You’re good- you're- yes. Yes.”

And, well, that was exactly the answer that Emile had wanted to hear.

He leant forward, and finally – finally! – did the thing he’d most wanted to do for years. Years. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on Remy, he’d thought about it.

He kissed Remy.

Softly. Carefully. Holding Remy’s face so delicately like he was holding something precious.

And the way Remy was kissing him back...

Emile had seen Remy kiss people before – strangers, friends – and he’d always kissed them like he was doing it for fun, not love. He’d never seen Remy kiss anyone as gently as Remy was kissing him, right now.

Bubbles of delight and fireworks of excitement were going off in Emile’s heart and his mind.

He sighed happily into the kiss, and he could suddenly feel Remy smile against his lips.

Emile broke the kiss with another delighted giggle and Remy couldn’t help but just start laughing with him, too. And, of course, that just made Emile’s giggles louder and more enthusiastic.

He was so focused on the laughing and the delighted feeling in his chest from the fact that he had just kissed Remy, that Emile didn’t immediately notice that Remy’s lips were suddenly pink – a light, pastel pink that certainly hadn’t been there before.

And, in fact, it was Remy who halted the laughter first, by freezing in place and staring – yet again wide-eyed – at Emile’s own lips.

Emile paused, and tilted his head in confusion.

“Remy?”

Remy opened and closed his mouth a few times, never taking his eyes off of Emile’s lips.

“Em... your- your lips.”

Emile blinked. He reached a hand up to his own lips, and swiped a finger across them. He then looked back down at his hand, and found nothing – no blood, no anything.

He paused, and then turned his head to look at the mirror that hung on an opposite wall.

His eyes landed on his reflection, and he finally noticed that there was a smear of shiny silver across his lips that definitely, definitely hadn’t been there before.

Emile sucked in a breath as Remy turned his head to look into the mirror, and he realised that Remy’s lips were now a lipstick-like pink, when he certainly hadn’t been wearing any just before the pair had kissed.

“We’re-” Remy started.

“Oh,” Emile breathed.

“Oh,” Remy echoed.

They turned their heads to stare at each other, equally wide-eyed and shocked and excited.

Soulmates.

They were soulmates.

And then Remy surged forward, and kissed Emile again.

#me #writing #remile #sanders shorts #cartoon therapy #emile picani #remy sanders #sleep sanders #fluff #human au #soulmate au #first kiss

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

chambers - vi

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3892

Description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

Well, this was awkward.

Peggy sat across from you, a gorgeous off the shoulder red dress, red painted lips, hair curled perfectly. Lipstick stained the rim of her wine glass. “Relax,” She soothed, her hand coming to place gently over yours. Her nails were red lacquered, perfectly manicured. “You look like you’re waiting for the floor to drop from beneath you.” She humored.

“I think in some ways I am,” You smiled at her. You almost couldn’t believe you were even here. You’d come back to almost the minute you’d gone into the ice. A separate timeline. A new future. You looked around the room, other couples just as cozy and close. It was a romantic italian place, pianist playing softly in the corner.

This was your first date with Peggy. Steve’s first date with Peggy. The plates in front of you were soon picked at and consumed, the woman across from you with her eyes twinkling made your heart skip in your chest. She was just as beautiful as you remembered. This aching hole being filled by her soft touch. Her hand in yours as you slowly danced to the pianist’s lilting melody.

“I’ve been without you,” You could hear yourself say, “Longer then I would have ever liked to be.” Her dark brown eyes smiling up at you.

“I love you, Steven.” You smiled, pressing your lips to her forehead, before resting your head on top of hers,

“I love you too.”

It only made sense that you would have that memory now, sitting here in a little cafe in Brooklyn, sweater sleeves curled over your fingers as you tried to warm them from the cold. Fall was here and it swept through the city quickly, the leaves were almost fully changed you’d noticed on the drive in. A few stragglers still holding their green hue while others have submit to their lifecycle.

“You could hardly even call this coffee,” Eric joked as he settled into the chair in front of you, “You have a sweet tooth?” He smiled as he took a sip of what looked like black coffee. You smiled back, wrapping your cold fingers around the mug of your milky sweet coffee taking a testing sip. Almost perfect.

“Not usually,” you admit, “For whatever reason I just really like my coffee being sweet.” You shrug, “It’s how my grandmother always took hers.” He was handsome, just like you remembered. Dimpled cheeks, very white teeth, his smile was infectious and made you warm all over.

“So, how’ve you been?” He asked, leaning forward, your mugs and hands almost touching. Today was VA day, a week had passed since you’d last seen him and you told Sam and Bucky that you were going to head into the city early to grab coffee with Eric before heading over.

Sam was quick to give a teasing flirtatious grin, whereas Bucky wasn’t too keen on the idea. “I’ll go with you,” He offered. He was obviously irritated when you’d told him no.

“I’ve been alright,” You took a sip of your coffee before continuing, “Been taking a break from the testing and everything.” You’d explained you Eric briefly over text about complications that came with heart surgery, but you didn’t tell him what those complications were.

“It must be strange, huh?” He glanced out the window and then back at you, “Living with heroes like that.” You shrug absentmindedly.

“They’re just like everyone else,” You laugh, “but they’re really nice people,” Eric nods, “They’re a fun crowd.”

“I bet.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “So you work for the Avengers?” He asked, picking at the muffin he’d bought. It was probably best to lie here,

“Yeah, I just assist Dr. Banner in his lab,” You lie, “I have no idea what he’s doing half the time, but he likes the company. What about you?” The motor oil around his nail beds,

“I’m a mechanic now, my Pops had his own shop that I took over after—“ he choked up a bit, “After I blipped back.” You placed your hand gently over his,

“Hey, it’s okay.” You smiled, “You don’t have to hide that kind of stuff from me.” Rubbing your thumb against his rough hand you continued, “Everyone still hurts from the blip. Everyone.” He nodded, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Thank you.” He sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry and make this awkward—“

“I don’t feel awkward.” You offered, watching a smile break out on his face. “Listen, I’m not sure if I’m ready to date yet either. This was kind of like—“

“Dipping your toe in the water?” He asked, god he was cute.

“Yes.” You laughed. “So don’t feel pressured about it. Really.” He nodded, beginning again,

“Anyway, I’m a mechanic.” He laughed nervously clearing his throat, “I live here in Brooklyn, I have my entire life aside from when I was doing my tours.” He’d done two of them. He spends most of his week working under the hood and the rest of it was spent going to the VA, visiting his sick Mother who was now in hospice. He was just a normal guy.

A handsome, sweet, opened the door for you as you left, normal guy. It was nice.

He didn’t make a big deal about your heart. The fact that you just had surgery, which was also nice. It seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about when they found out you’d had a heart transplant, not having to talk about it and skirt around knowing the name of the donor like you had to with everyone else.

He’d bought both of you coffee to-go, “The stuff they have down at the VA is kind of trash.” He laughed, the two of you walking to the community center where your cars were parked. It was a Wednesday afternoon, the sun was shining, your sweater becoming a poor choice now that it reached the days highest temp.

You’d been a block or two away when it happened.

The fight or flight kicks in before they even made themselves aware, Eric was grabbed before you were, you watched a fist meet his face, blood spattering on the ground as you screamed in alarm. Hands met your arms and Steve took over, twisting around to turn his wrists, smacking your head against his, causing your ears to ring and vision blur momentarily as he fell to the ground unconscious.

Another man, twice your weight and at least a foot taller than you grabs you roughly, shoving you to the ground, grabbing your foot and dragging you into the alley where Eric was pinned against the wall, punches raining on his gut, “Let her go!” He yelled, trying to break free.

You kicked your handler in the groin, the large man grunting in pain as he curled over, grabbing himself as you jumped up from your spot on the ground, your hands had gravel embedded in them, beginning to bleed.

You raise your fists, back against the wall facing the large man as he straightened back up. “Give up kid,” He grunts, “Just come with us.” You ball your fist tightly, turning to swing on him, but your fist fell through the air, the man being ripped away from you, throwing you off balance to fall on the ground.

Bucky.

And Sam. The two men who were pummeling Eric were soon disbanded, one taking off out of the alley and onto the street, the other unconscious, Sam’s hand fisted in his shirt. You crawled on your knees, over to Eric pushing his chest against the wall, helping him sit upright from where he collapsed on the ground.

“Bucky!” You yelled. The super soldier had the large man in a headlock, his eyes slowly closing and the hand that beat against his metal arm slowing until it stopped. “Bucky…” You felt your vision begin to blur as you fell backward, head hitting heavily against the concrete.

“Stay down kid.” The greaser spat. You could taste the blood in your mouth, the concrete beneath your hands as you pushed yourself back up, stumbling on your feet. “You’re either a fuckin’ idiot or you just wanna die kid.” He raised his fists back up.

“I don’t like bullies,” came from your mouth, and you remembered. This guy was being fresh with a girl. In the diner where you were having lunch and sketching. He wouldn’t leave her alone. “Especially not perverts who don’t understand what ‘no’ means.” The guy rolled his eyes at you taking a quick swing that connected with your jaw, tossing you back on the ground. You groaned in pain, trying to get back up.

There was a scuffle and when you looked up, Bucky was in boxing stance in front of you, landing a right hook on the jaw of the greaser, throwing him back into the wall before the guy took off leaving the two of you with your heavy breathing.

An asthma attack was coming on. “Alright big guy,” Bucky’s hands met your arms, pulling you off the ground. “Breathe, Stevie.” Bucky matched your breaths with his, pulling a little jar from his pocket. He popped the lid and held it under your face. Peppermint oil. You could feel it, cold down your airways, his soothing breaths matching yours until you were calm.

“Hey Buck.” His hair was slicked back, he was wearing his work uniform. He must’ve just come from the canary. He rolled his eyes at you before wrapping an arm under your shoulder to help you walk home.

“You can’t keep doing this Steve.” Dabbing alcohol on your bleeding lip and fists. “One day you’re not gonna get back up.” Throat tight with emotion. You felt guilty. Every time. But you couldn’t help it. You can’t just stand by and do nothing. It just wasn’t who you were.

“Hey.�� His voice was soft against your ear. You shifted in his arms. You were in his arms, turning your head, wincing at the sunlight coming through the car windows you quickly covered your eyes with your arm.

“Bucky.” You whined, head pounding.

“I’m here doll.” Fingers moving soothingly against your back. He was whispering to you. You could feel you were in the back seat of the car, it was moving quickly. You felt nauseous.

“I’m gonna be sick.” You groaned, he shifted you up slowly, sitting you upright in the back seat.

“You definitely have a concussion.” Your eyes were squeezed shut as you heard him move around.

“How’s she doing back there?” Sam’s voice came from the front seat. So he was driving.

“Where’s Eric?” You asked as Bucky pressed his cold hand to the back of your neck. It felt so good. You placed your hand over it to keep it there.

“We had medical take him back to the compound,” Bucky explained, “Where does it hurt?”

You opened your palms and he could see the gravel embedded in them, knuckles split and bleeding from the fall. “Just my hands and head.” You couldn’t open your eyes. It hurt.

“We’re almost home,” Sam said from the front, “I’m gonna go check on the perps and see how Eric is doing. Buck, you think you can take care of her?”

“Yeah, I got her.”

He’d lowered the blinds and threw a bandanna over the lamp next to your bed, creating an easy light for you to manage, finally being able to relax your eyes for the first time in what felt like hours. The chair next to your bed was wordlessly pulled close as he laid out a pair of tweezers, rubbing alcohol and some bandages. A little dish was there to collect the pulled gravel.

“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” You joked. Wincing as he pulled the first piece out. He scoffed, continuing on in his work.

“I didn’t want you to go alone.” His gruff voice replied, “I told you I’d go with you.” You sucked your teeth as he pulled out a particularly large piece.

“To be fair, you thought Eric was the threat.” He looked at you through his lashes.

“I still don’t like the guy.” You hummed in response. “You know this means you can’t leave the compound by yourself anymore?” He gently dabbed your hands with the rubbing alcohol, before spreading a cream on them.

“What could they possibly want with me?” You asked, “Who even are they?” He, with great care, wrapped your hands.

“We don’t know,” He admitted, “Could be Hydra,” He shrugged, “Could be something else. We’re going to interview the two guys we captured, so I’m sure we will know pretty soon. Here,” He put two pills in your hand and a glass of water, “Take these and lay down.” He shifted the blankets around, slapping his hand against the pillows as he helped you get comfortable.

“Don’t leave me.” Your wrapped hand gently gripped his. His other hand lay over yours,

“I’m gonna be right back sweetheart.” Sleep was coming on quickly, “Get some rest. I’ll be back.” His hand softly slipped from yours and you slipped into sleep. “Sweetheart?” Bucky mumbled to himself.

Bucky looked at you for a moment longer, lingering, before exiting the room. Face turning into a scowl he quickly took the elevator down, meeting Sam right outside of the interrogation rooms where they had the two perps cuffed in separate rooms, letting them stew. “They didn’t have cyanide capsules, so I don’t believe they’re Hydra.” Sam was staring at the monitors, arms crossed.

“How’s the guy?” Bucky asked, Sam’s eyes shifted over to his quickly before turning back to the screens.

“He’s got some internal, but he’ll be fine… This isn’t your fault Buck.” Hand coming to rest on his shoulder, Sam turned to him.

“No,” He growled, “It’s yours.” Shrugging his arm off him, “I wanted to tail them Sam. If you’d let me be there--”

“No.” Sam shook his head, “People still would have gotten hurt or these assholes wouldn’t have come out of the woodwork. Either way, you can’t tail her to go get coffee just because you think that dude is a shady guy for no other reason than your ‘intuition’.”

“My intuition has never been wrong before,” Bucky leaned in, looking at the monitors. “No one knows she’s got Steve’s heart Sam. Even if they did, they don’t know what it’s doing to her. So what’s going on here. Why do they want her?”

“I don’t know man.” Sam looked at his friend in concern. “You’re getting better with her.” Bucky nodded, chest tight.

“I’m trying.” He cleared his throat, looking over at Sam. “I feel guilty.”

“You should.” Sam smirked, “So who's gonna be good cop and who’s gonna be bad cop, cause I was thinkin’ it’s my turn to be bad cop.” Bucky rolled his eyes, dropping his jacket from his shoulders and rolling up his sleeves.

“If I don’t get to hit at least one of ‘em I’m gonna hit you instead.”

Wanda sat steadfast next to the sleeping man, fingers itching to do it. To look inside his mind. She had to know. Bucky was clear about how much he didn’t like this guy and she trusted Bucky. She can look, just take a quick peek. It would give her all the information she needed to make a sound decision on whether or not to trust him.

A red tendril spilled over her palm, crawling down her fingers to slip into his temple.

It was chaos.

Screaming, blood. A nightmare. The fear, the anger. The loss. It felt so familiar. Like she’s seen this before, but she doesn’t know where.

She sat back in her seat heavily, panting. The stress and anguish. Her heart was racing. She found no ill intention, but an immense attraction to you. She found exactly what you’d described. A man who had seen war, who had lost everything, she saw his mind as it was. Nothing to be hidden. So why did she feel so uneasy?

“Lock them up for the night.” Bucky instructed to the two agents standing guard outside the interrogation room. “Make sure they’re at opposite ends of the cells, we’ll be back to deal with them in the morning.” The two young cadets nodded, a ‘yes, sir’ and they were off to their task.

“We’ll work on them tomorrow,” Sam looked at his watch. “Go check on Y/N, maybe get her to eat something.” Bucky nodded, hands on his hips.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.” The pair watched the two criminals be taken to their cells and locked in for the night before leaving,

“There’s gotta be a leak.” Sam agreed. “I’ll call Clint.” Bucky hummed in agreement before walking away, deep in thought.

“We should maybe reach out to Peter too.” He said as the two entered the elevator. “Have him keep an ear out when he’s patrolling.”

You were right where he left you, the dim light giving a soft illumination to the room. He walked over to your side of the bed, brushing the hair out of your face before squatting to your eye level.

“Hey Y/N,” He spoke softly, gently rousing you from sleep. His advanced eyesight scanned your pupils as your sleepy eyelids parted.

“Bucky.” You whimpered, head throbbing.

“I’m right here kid.” What was he doing? Fingers gently massaging your scalp stilled and awkwardly removed themselves. “Here, take these.” He helped you sit up, giving you two more of the tablets you’d taken earlier, following them with the stale water from your bedside. “Are you nauseous?”

“No.” You croaked, sinking back into the pillows. “I’m sleepy.” Your throat felt thick and palms were itchy.

“Alright, I’ll be right here okay?” The shuffling of the chair as he sat down heavily. He gave you one last look as you drifted off,

“Okay.” Mumbled against the sheets.

He pulled out his phone drafting a text to send to Peter Parker,

suspicious activity in Brooklyn, focus patrol. all suspicious persons bring to compound.

With a tap it was sent and he settled down deeply in the chair, fatigue hitting him for the first time in two days. “Peppermint oil.” Mumbled against the sheets, drool forming by your lips. “That’s sweet, the peppermint oil.” He watched you shift around until you were laying on your back, arm tossed over your head, one across your belly. His heart tight in his chest.

It helped with asthma. The peppermint oil. A ventilation inhaler didn’t exist for another twenty years. Bucky made due. He kept it in his pocket everywhere he went in those days. Just in case. The thought made your heart sing, but it wasn’t your heart. It was Steve’s.

It made Steve’s heart sing.

He was sure to wake you up periodically, making you drink water, giving you more medicine, before sinking back into the chair next to your bed. Your own private watchman. If you weren’t hurting so badly you’d be enjoying the company, just because it was Bucky and the attachment Steve had to him, that was then passed down to you, was sated by it.

The next morning it was as though nothing had happened, when it came to your injuries anyway. Your head was clear, hands had no mark when Bucky went to change your bandages.

“How are you?” Wanda asked, pulling you into her arms.

“I’m fine,” You smiled, you looked to your right through the glass window where Eric was resting, “How is he?”

She swallowed heavily, “He’ll survive.” She looked you in your eyes, oddly. “He’s been in and out throughout the night, he’ll need to stay for a few days but should be good to go by Monday.” You worried your lip,

“I owe him an explanation,” You sighed, “I feel terrible.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Wanda defended, hand soothingly rubbing your arm. “We had no clue that someone was targeting you.” She seemed angry, “Nothing on our radar.”

“Who is doing this?” You asked, looking up at your friend. She shrugged,

“I’m going to go join them in the interrogation.” She said, “See if I can find out. Do you need anything?” You shook your head, eyes staring blankly at Eric’s sleeping form. She left.

The door handle was freezing when you put your hand on it, turning to enter. A chair was set next to the bed, one that you sunk yourself down into. It was quiet in here, the slow melodic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound.

His jaw was a mix of black and blue, a swollen eye, his right hand was bandaged where he had tried to fight back against his two assailants and failed. Guilt churned in your gut. Maybe you should have let Bucky come with you after all. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone. Then Eric wouldn’t be lying here with a morphine drip 12 hours out of surgery.

“No self pity on my watch,” A groan from the bed, his split lip coming in a half smile. Your watery eyes met his.

“I’m so sorry Eric I-”

“Hey,” His fingers twitched, hand moving dismissively, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from--” He groaned, shifting in the bed. You leaned forward, taking the bed’s remote and using it to sit him upright. He winced.

“It’s not your job to protect me,” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I’m sorry we were attacked. They were after me. It honestly--” You felt a fat tear roll down your cheek, “It is my fault.”

The man in the bed studied you for a moment, “Did you tell them where we were?” He asked, “Did you tell them to attack us?” His bruised mouth never faltering in a smile. “You had no control over this.”

“Still, I’m--”

“I know.” He smacked his dry lips, reaching a hand over for the water cup on his tray. You’d quickly grabbed it, bringing the straw to his lips. “So,” He rested his head back on the pillow, “Are you gonna tell me what’s really going on here?” He gestured vaguely to the tip of the thin pink scar that was peeking out from under your t shirt.

You owed him an explanation. He’d taken an ass beating for you, it was the least you could do.

A chill went down Bucky’s spine as Wanda told him the name of who was responsible. She knew the name in passing, an issue she’d never had a problem with. Something that happened adjacently to her, but she knew the name enough to know the man was dangerous.

The trio thought to the couple sitting in the medic ward, Eric recovering from internal bleeding and you, who was still trying to figure out what was going on with your body, your heart. What would he want with you? What did he think he could possibly do with you? And also who was relaying this information to him?

Sam put on his Captain voice, chest tight, shoulders back. There was tension there, and a lot of it.

“Call Sharon Carter,” He commanded, “Tell her to come to the compound with all the information she can find on Helmut Zemo.”

Bucky thinks he’s going to be sick.

taglist // @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @an-lover

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #the winter soldier #steve rogers

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

Text

National Anthem

6. October 22, 2020 🌶

Voices whispered around her, bombarding every inch of Belmont University’s auditorium with an anxious hum of energy. She had a pretty decent seat, all things considered. Most of the journalists sat scattered around the place with views that ranged from abysmal to ‘is-that-him-behind-the-pillar’. She got the coveted spot reserved for candidate family and team members so she could see everything and it only came with a single drawback.

Being backstage meant her view was from the side, and the view she wanted, the image of Kol in his clean cut suit - the one she wanted to peel off piece by piece - was blocked by a man she really didn’t want to see.

“He’s doing a good job,” Cami mused from beside her, “open and engaging. That’s excellent.”

“Open and engaging, and witty are only gonna get him so far today,” Elena breathed. She would rather gauge her eyes out than look at his opponent, but she had to admit he possessed many of the same qualities. “Damon Salvatore can be just as charismatic.”

“I gotta believe people can see through the show,” Cami sighed, tapping her foot against the floor. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she glanced around the backstage area. In the corner she spotted Marcel talking in a low voice on the phone jammed between his shoulder and ear while his hand took quick notes.

Elena followed her look and gritted her teeth.

Which of course, Cami saw.

Stupid psychologists.

“Are you going to be angry at him forever?” She hooked her finger under her watch chain.

“He ripped my world apart,” she inhaled sharply, exhaling in a controlled rush. “He took everything I knew about myself and scribbled it out with a red pen.”

She licked her lips and sniffed, dropping her eyes to her lap. It had been months since she found the file, months since her heart shattered to pieces and she relived her teenage grief.

She had told Caroline after a few days, and Rebekah, and her brother. The memory of that lunch when the campaign bus swung through Mystic Falls still made her emotional.

And it was only partly because Kol deliberately altered their course of travel to give her that moment with her friends, and with Jeremy.

Everyone who mattered knew, and that went a long way to fixing the damage done.

She was adopted, but she had been loved.

She was adopted, but she had her friends.

She was adopted, but she had her family.

Her friends had squealed happily when she showed up for the unexpected lunch and told them she had something to tell them. They had sat on the edge of their seats while she picked over her burger and fries then poked at a slice of apple pie. When she took the deep breath that came before her admission they both fell silent, but she got the sense her words weren’t what the girls had been expecting.

Jeremy had declared loudly and with particular vehemence that it changed nothing. She had always been his annoying big sister. She always would be his annoying big sister.

They loved her.

She was still her.

She was still Elena Gilbert.

Later, on the bus, she had marvelled over Caroline refraining from asking about what she witnessed with Kol. And after Kol admitted none of his brothers mentioned it she had to conclude that for once Caroline had kept her mouth shut.

Maybe she was waiting until it was clear she was better before dropping the bombshell that would have Rebekah climbing down her throat. If that was the case then Caroline had a new record for keeping a secret: four months.

“He broke me and left a giant question mark over my life,” she came back to the present, rising from her chair.

“For what it’s worth, Elena,” Cami pushed her hair behind her ears, “I’m sorry for my part in this. I all but confirmed you were together when I said you two were cute, and set Marcel on his hunt.”

“Thank you,” she crossed her arms, hugging her elbows. Her fingers tugged gently at the indigo sleeves of her sweater.

“And for what’s it’s worth, knowing what you know shouldn’t change anything.”

“I know,” Elena nodded. “It took me a little time to get there, but I know. I’m still me, but that doesn’t erase the giant question that nobody, not even Marcel with his vast resources, seems to be able to answer.”

“I guess her name was pretty common,” Cami crossed her legs.

“Fourteen of them across the country near enough to the right age when you take in alternate spellings,” Elena murmured, leaning against a pillar to get a glimpse of Kol cutting a remark towards Damon. “Half of them grew up close enough to fit the bill of teenage runaway.”

“Marcel will find her,” she watched him talking on his phone. “He’s really good at what he does.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Elena caught Kol’s eye when he glanced in her direction. She offered him a small smile that grew bigger when he went back to slapping Damon down in the debate. She couldn’t wait to get him alone.

“Elena?”

Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped, spinning towards the voice at her side.

“Stefan?” Her brows rose, though why she was surprised she couldn’t say. His brother was on stage.

“I thought that was you,” he smiled, tilting his head. “But I couldn’t be sure when I saw you from the other side,” he gestured with one hand to the other end of the stage.

“What are you doing here?” She swept her hair behind her ear.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He smirked, eyes sparkling.

“I meant over here,” she laughed, shaking her head and lowering her voice to a whisper, “this is the opposing side.”

“So, just because Damon’s my brother I have to support his political party?” Stefan lifted a single brow.

“Does that mean you don’t?” She mirrored his expression. Outright detestation from family probably wouldn’t work in Damon’s favour.

“Are we on the record?” He countered, leaning a little closer.

“I’m not here as a reporter Stefan,” her stomach shifted with the admission. “I’m here as a friend.”

“Well, its not a friend to Damon,” he stole a quick glance on stage, catching Kol’s attention for a split second. Taking half a step closer he whispered softly. “Did you know he cracked three of my ribs?”

“Damon broke your ribs?” Her brows rose into her hair line.

“No, not Damon, Kol,” he held her gaze, “a few days after you and I broke up. It was at that start of summer party and everyone was drinking. I think I was flirting with someone, might have been Valerie, and suddenly Kol was there. Didn’t say anything. Punched me once, hard, right here,” he gestured to his side.

“You never said anything,” her brows lowered.

“I always thought you knew,” he shrugged. “I got the sense he did it because of you.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned a little closer.

“I mean,” Stefan whispered, “that anybody who dated you learned quickly to never break your heart, especially when he was around.”

“Still, opposition would have loved to get their hands on that scoop,” she ducked her head, feeling a slight flush stain her neck.

“Who hasn’t gotten in a fight in high school?” Stefan chuckled. “Besides if I’d come forward with that it would have come out why he did it, and then I never would have heard the end of breaking up with you two days before your birthday through a text message.”

“My birthday cake tasted like tears,” she pushed her tongue between her teeth.

“I knew we weren’t working out and I didn’t handle it very well,” he said by way of apology. “I assume you told Rebekah all about what a jackass I was, and then she told her brother, or he overheard, but somehow he found out about it and took revenge on your behalf.”

“You probably got off easy,” she huffed a laugh, “if I’d found you flirting with Valerie a couple of days after dumping me I probably would have kicked and ensured the Salvatore line ended.”

“You’re forgetting Damon,” he winced.

“What woman in her right mind is gonna have kids with him?”

“Fair enough.” Stefan nodded, smiling as he turned around. “Anyway, I just wanted to come and say hello, since I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“If I absolutely had to converse with a Salvatore today, I’m glad it was you,” she frowned towards the stage.

“What exactly happened with you and Damon?”

“It’s not what happened with me,” her eyes narrowed, “and it’s not my story to tell.” She turned fully to face him. “It was nice to see you.”

“Likewise,” he nodded.

The air thickened with awkward tension then and Elena resisted the urge to fidget.

How were you supposed to say goodbye to the person that took your virginity? A handshake felt too informal, and a hug way too intimate.

Luckily Stefan felt it too and kept his departure to a short nod and kind smile.

As the debate wound down she stepped back from the crowd of people coming forwards to offer congratulations. She had her own celebration in mind that had absolutely nothing to do with a crowd of people. That was one fantasy she never felt the need to experience.

Plus a sex scandal less than two weeks before the election would not be good.

She could wait.

Slipping down a side hall she stepped into a restroom and examined her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick had worn down, so she reached into her handbag for the tube. After replenishing the dark red she pulled the hairpins so the pinned locks tumbled around her shoulders and went about pulling them into a loose ponytail she could already feel him wrapping around his hand.

The restroom door opened behind her. She thought nothing of it until she heard the click of a lock and caught the reflection in the mirror.

“I’m pretty sure this it the ladies room,” she caught his smouldering eyes in the mirror.

He was on her in a second, spinning her around and crashing his lips to hers in a kiss so punishing and hot that she felt a rush of arousal and feared there would be a dark stain on the crotch of her skinny jeans. It only got worse when his tongue forced its way into her mouth.

Not that she had a thought to stop him.

She was too busy trying to keep up with every bite and suck. And what exactly had she done to finally draw the rough side out?

She kind of liked it.

She felt him push her sweater down. It caught at her elbows.

That was when he had to breathe.

“You’ll really do it anywhere won’t you?” She panted.

“Stop talking,” he growled, ripping open her white blouse.

She might have protested then, because dammit she liked that blouse and now it was in tatters, but he yanked down her bra cups and savagely sucked her nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck, Kol,” she arched, pushing her breast further into his mouth. His teeth nipped down and she cried out grasping the back of his head.

“That’s right,” he growled, switching breasts, “say my name.”

“Kol,” she whimpered, gladly obliging.

He popped open her jeans and shoved his hand into her underwear, rubbing hard at her little nub.

She moaned, clutching at his suit jacket, scrabbling at the fabric, wanting it off, not wanting to be the only one half naked and going crazy. He refused to oblige her desperate attempts so she settled for palming his bulge, squeezing him through his trousers.

He pushed at her hands.

She got the message and set them on the bathroom sink. Her breasts glistened with his saliva when he leaned back to stare at her.

“Moan for me, Elena,” he moved his hand further. The tightness of her jeans meant when he pushed a finger into her wet cunt his palm pressed down on her clit.

She wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow his palm rubbed her perfectly while his finger fucked her.

“Kol,” she moaned his name, “more, please?”

“You want more?” He growled, pinching her right nipple with his free hand.

“Yes,” she gasped. His rough treatment had her so close to the edge. She was ready to tumble over it and he had only begun touching her.

He tugged hard, twisting her nipple so her entire breast rose. She came with a scream that he muffled with his mouth. She whimpered, slumping against the counter.

Her body shuddered with her release.

Thank goodness her jeans were dark and her sweater long.

“We’re not done yet,” Kol pulled his hand from her pants. He spun her quickly, smearing her juices over her hip.

A hand on her throat forced her chin up so she could see his reflection. The lust in his eyes held her in place when he bit at her ear.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard right here, over this sink, until you’re writhing with pleasure.” He released her throat and ripped her jeans down her legs until they caught on her knee high boots. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he tore her thong from her body, dropping it on the counter, “and so good, that you forget everyone else because they could never bring you the ecstasy that comes from our coupling.”

Metal clinked as he removed his belt.

She looked back when his pants hit the floor, watching as he pushed his boxers down to his knees and fisted his hard cock.

A hand on the small of her back pushed her down.

She braced her hands on the mirror for balance.

“You might feel the need to scream your pleasure,” he bent slightly and bit her shoulder.

Her breath caught. She pushed her ass back into his hands, desperate for friction.

“Someone will hear me,” she whimpered, closing her eyes.

“Then I shall have to gag you,” he snatched up her discarded panties, shoving them into her open mouth.

Her own arousal coated the dark material and she moaned at the taste, sucking to get as much of it as possible.

Kol flipped the end of her sweater and ruined blouse up, exposing her to his gaze. With the fabric in one hand and his cock in the other he pushed forward, sheathing himself in one hard thrust that months of near constant intercourse made possible.

The sudden intrusion made her scream into the gag.

He set a punishing pace, pushing in and out with every ounce of strength he had.

Elena tried to keep her eyes open, but it was difficult when he was fucking her so hard. With every deep thrust his balls slapped her clit and her thighs hit the counter.

He hooked his arms around her front, bringing one hand up to further muffle her screams as the other palmed her bouncing breasts.

“That’s it love,” he sucked at her throat. “Moan for me. Scream into my hand. Because you’re mine.”

The possessiveness of his growl went straight to her cunt; she throbbed around him, tightening until he hissed.

“Damn,” he pushed in and out, groaning when she gripped him like a vice. “You’re so bloody tight like this. So bloody tight,” he shut his eyes, rotating his hips when he was seated inside of her. “So bloody tight, and all mine.”

Unexpectedly he ripped the panties from her mouth and curled his fingers lightly around his throat.

“Who’s are you?” He snarled, squeezing gently.

She arched into him as her vision started to blur and her body shook.

“Who’s are you?” He repeated.

“Y…” she wheezed for breath. “Yours,” she choked out. “I’m yours.”

“That’s right.” He released her throat. He could feel a layer of sweat adhering the back of his shirt to his damp skin. “You’re mine, darling, only mine…”

Stars exploded behind her eyes, turning her vision to a blinding white as blood rushed in her ears, blocking out all but the possessive growl of ‘mine’.

Her forehead rested against the cool glass.

She felt the first spurt of his release hit her cervix before he pulled his cock from her body. Warm seed streaked across her ass and lower back while her juices rolled down her legs.

He took her shoulders and moved her, dropping her until cold linoleum hit her butt and hot cunt. The floor ground the mess into her skin.

She lifted her eyes and saw his erection in line with her face. Her fingers shook, closing around his length and pumping.

“Who’s are you?” He grabbed her ponytail, forcing her to lift her eyes up and meet him.

“I’m yours,” she swore breathlessly, suspecting she had a drunken expression on her face. “Mark me.”

He swore as the last of his release coated her breasts.

He sank to his knees when he was spent and just stared at her as he caught his breath. And she was sure she made quite a sight in her torn clothes with pants around her knees and his cum covering her chest.

She scooped up some of his cum form her nipple and popped her thumb into her mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” his hand curled around her ankle. “Stop.”

“Why?” She sighed, letting her eyes drop to his soft cock. The sight of him coated in her made her heart flutter; he had marked her, but she marked him in turn.

“I want you to leave it all,” he crawled up her body. “I want you to button up that sweater and hide the ripped blouse, and then I want you to go to dinner with my cum on your tits and ass. I want you to feel it on your skin whenever some man or woman flirts with you tonight. I want you to remember who you belong to.” He hovered over her body, staying clear so he kept his shirt clean. “Because you are mine darling. And when Stefan or Damon look to you in that restaurant and you feel me clinging to you, you’ll remember that I alone can bring you pleasure so great you’re reduced to a quivering mess in a public restroom.”

And then just to prove what a mess she was he pushed a finger between her legs. The quick contact with her clit brought her a mini orgasm that made her melt after the way he took her.

After a moment she managed to grasp at a train of thought.

“Wait a minute,” she pushed at his chest. “Are you freaking kidding me? I’ve been trying for months, tormenting you at every corner, to make you bend me over and take me like that. For months I’ve done everything I could think of to illicit the kind of desperate fucking that leaves me like, well,” she waved a hand to her loose body, “like this. And you’re telling me all that I had to do was have a discussion with an ex?”

“If you still remember him,” Kol growled playfully, pushing on her clavicle to make her lay down, “then we’re clearly not done.”

“Oh we’re nowhere near done,” her eyes glittered, “but we are done in here. People are bound to notice we’re missing and I don’t even want to think about how many people have walked on this floor today.”

“I’ll just have to banish him from your mind after dinner,” he smirked, “or maybe in the restaurant bathroom when I follow you to admire this handiwork,” he trailed his fingernail between the valley of her breasts.

“I won’t wash off your claiming mark until we get back to the hotel,” she promised, “but you can’t wash off mine either.”

“Counter offer,” he cocked an eyebrow. “When we get to the hotel you and I will take a nice hot bath in the suite’s garden tub I know you’ve had your eyes on, and we’ll wash each other. Maybe enjoy some wine and a second round while we’re at it.”

“Mm,” she nodded, “that sounds like a plan. Oh, and uh, if I smile at anyone while we’re out feel free to construe it as flirting.” She kissed his cheek. “Cause I think I like jealous Kol,” she winked as she stood, “the sex is hot as hell.”

@kol-and-elena-fanfiction @elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @cry-btch @geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling @bellemorte180 @iw1shiknew @blndbandt

#kol mikaelson #Elena gilbert #kolena #kol x elena #stefan salvatore #Damon salvatore #Camille O'Connell #marcel gerard #national anthem fanfic

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illdesigns · 4 years

Note

3 H ☁ for mags/pickle? 8)

fic prompts - (jail cell, blackout, lipstick)

It hadn’t been Pickles’ first time in a cell. Or the first time he woke up in one completely unaware of how he had gotten there in the first place. It had just been the first time in a while. The fact that he hadn’t experienced that level of disorientation in a while threw him off. And the realization that he didn’t exactly have a ton of Snakes ‘n’ Barrels money or fame for possible bail set him on edge. He hoped that it was for something minor, just a regular public intoxication, not resisting arrest or armed robbery or some horseshit that might actually take him to court or prison. Again, the money that could help clear this up in a good out of court settlement was far, far from his fingertips at this point.

The sound of a different cell door opening had woken him up. Pickles rubbed his eyes and inhaled sharply. The conversation and lights and smells all flew around like little cartoon birds around his head before settling in his skull to nest painfully. The feeling of nausea and sluggishness associated with a hangover-inducing migraine made him lurch forward for a second, rub his face and smack dry lips.

He sat there for a moment, face in his hands, trying to focus. Phones rang. The distant sound of crying bounced off tile. Muted conversations he heard two words of at best. And right next to him, at his side, a snore. A thin, high one that ended in a click. A snore that was oddly comforting in its immediate familiarity - considering how Pickles would usually wake up to it at three in the morning. Usually accompanied by a nightmare of being eaten alive by a snake, or strangled by vines, only to find long limbs wrapped around him and hair that was not his in his face and mouth. And the source of the snore’s face pressed against him, breathing hotly on his skin and whining at any attempt Pickles made at prying himself free.

Pickles looked down next to him and saw the source in the flesh. Right now, it was a lump of curls with long legs stretched out the length of the bench, boot-clad feet dangling off the edge. He groaned and sat up against the concrete wall before reaching a hand out to shake the lump’s shoulder.

“Magnus,” Pickles muttered. “Magnus. Magnus? Magnus!”

“Five more minutes,” was the muffled response, Magnus’ face buried in the jacket bunched under his head in a makeshift pillow. A hand reached out from under his body to swat Pickles’ away in annoyance.

“Five fuckin’ nothin’, dude, wake your ass up,” he hissed in annoyance. “We’re in jail, dipshit.”

“What?” Magnus jolted awake, legs kicking out, head lifting up to look around at their surroundings. At the realization they were, in fact, in jail, he groaned. “Ohhh, fuck…”

“Yeah, oh fuck!” Pickles replied incredulously. “You know what happened?”

“No? You...don’t?” Magnus heaved himself up with a grunt, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. “Shit.”

Pickles inspected him for clues. He couldn’t see himself, but if he saw his apparent partner in crime, there might be a hint as to how they got here. A vivid bruise was forming on Magnus’ cheek but beyond that, he looked normal. His hair was wild and puffed out like an annoyed cat, his shirt was annoyingly unbuttoned three buttons too far and-

“The fuck’s this?” Pickles asked suddenly, jabbing an accusing finger at his chest.

Black lipstick. Everywhere. On his face, on his neck, leading down into his shirt. Magnus looked down at himself, rubbed one of the marks and looked at his fingers. Pickles rubbed his own lips and saw the back of his hand come back clean. That wasn’t his.

“Lipstick?” said Magnus with a cautious tone. Pickles crossed his arms and sucked his teeth, making Magnus roll his eyes. “We’re not arguing about this of all fuckin’ things right now! And you, you’re covered in the shit too!”

He dragged another finger across Pickles’ face and showed it to him. Red. Okay, fine. What’s good for the goose was good for the...other...goose. But that doesn’t negate the fact that there was an implication of two missing people in this equation. One of whom was wearing black lipstick and was going to get a thorough fucking talking to if Pickles got his hands on them. Pickles looked around at the slumped over drunks and surly faces that were their new roommates. None of them struck Pickles as his type and while Magnus had lower standards, their faces were bare too.

“Mag. Don’t fuck with me. If you remember anything, tell me, dude!” Pickles begged. He didn’t even care about the lipstick at this point. He just wanted some kind of answer. “Even if it involves you new lil’ girlfriend or whatever-”

“Man, if you don’t shut the fuck up about this I’m kicking a drum in when we get home,” snapped Magnus in turn. “Like, what if we had a foursome, lucky us! So drop it. We need to...call...someone…”

Pickles decided he was going to pout. That was an easier solution than trying to figure out how they got into this mess, or how they would get out. A hand found his knee, which he jerked away pettily, pulling a heavy sigh from Magnus. They sat like that in silence for a moment. For a long moment, it seemed, as Pickles found himself blinking and opening his eyes to someone being escorted out of the cell. It was cold. He still had a headache. He was sore. And now he was cold on top of everything.

The cold was okay. But the chills that his hangover gave him on top of everything was almost embarrassing, feelings as if everyone could hear his teeth chatter over the commotion going around them. But he sat and suffered and wondered where his jacket went. It was October, so he had to have worn it out. That was his good jacket with the fun patches. He was going to be so mad if he couldn’t fucking find it again. It was probably already lost forever.

The shivering was offset by the feeling of denim being tucked around his shoulders. Pickled was jerked out of his thinking and he slipped his arms inside the sleeves. They fell over his hands like a kid playing dress up, but it was warm. And smelled like cigarettes and sandalwood and sweat and...Magnus.

“Thanks,” Pickles said softly, cowed by the simple gesture into dropping his anger. Magnus grunted in response. “Thank youuuu.”

“Welcome,” was the reply. Magnus looked over at Pickles and cocked a brow. “You still pissed off at me for something you did too?”

Pickles blinked.

“No,” he grumbled. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Magnus chuckled as he spoke, nudging Pickles’ foot with his own. Pickles nudged in turn. Jail footsies wasn’t what he pictured when he said yes to the offer of dropping acid and watching Star Wars as a date a few months ago, but it somehow felt fitting. “Very grown of you, Pickles.”

Before Pickles could say something back, the cell door rolled up.

“Hammersmith? And…” the officer sighed. “Drummer? Bail’s posted.”

“Oh, thank fuck! Me! Us!” Pickles yelped, jumping up and waving awkwardly like it was a roll call.

“You call someone?” asked Magnus as they walked out. Pickles shook his head, slipping his arm in Magnus’ to draw him close. “I didn’t. Who the hell-”

“Me,” a voice rumbled next to them, making them both jump. “You uh...you called me. For some reason.”

The source and their savior was a very displeased, very sleepy Nathan Explosion. Who was standing trying to look stern despite his grogginess in a stained hoodie and pajama pants. Pickles started in surprise, looking up at Magnus for an answer, who shrugged.

“So, you thought drowing in a goddamn fountain was gonna go well, Pickles? Or spitting at a fuckin’ cop, Magnus?” scolded Nathan. “And don’t you two have any other friends? Shit, we’ve hung out three times, y’all.”

So that’s what happened. Why the kid they knew through their dealer was the first number in either of their brains was yet another question they didn’t have the answers for. Or why he posted their bail. Or why they both felt properly reprimanded by someone who was probably in middle school when they were graduating. But things just happen.

“We do, but! Thanks man!” Pickles said happily, reaching out to pat Nathan on the shoulder. “You’re a good one. Our new best friend.”

Nathan rolled his eyes, trying to tug the smile on his face back into a frown. Pickles chuckled to himself as he reached inside of Magnus’ jacket to steal his cigarettes, if he still had them, pulling out a piece of paper instead.

Had a real fun time. Call us. Staci and Luna. XOXOXO.

“Hey!” the call jolted Pickles from his thoughts before he could even process what he was looking at.

The three turned their heads to the source of the sound. Faces pressed against the bars of the next to where Magnus and Pickles had been, two women peered out at them with wide grins. And smeared red and black lipstick on their mouths. One shook her extended thumb and pinky against her head and mouthed “Call me!” while the other blew a kiss. Nathan whistled a sharp note, nodding his approval when Magnus and Pickles looked back at him.

“Good job,” he said before patting Magnus’ arm. “Let’s get you guys home.”

The cold night air was more than welcome when they stepped out into it. The smell of falling leaves, crisp autumn and freedom. Nathan jerked his head at the beat up pickup parked in front of the station and popped the seat back for one of them. Pickles climbed in the back, immediately regretting the decision when both seats were crammed against him to make room for two sets of long legs. But it didn’t matter. If he remembered right, their apartment wasn’t too far away, and it was made alright when a hand reached into the back and found his knee. He smiled and set his own hand on top of it. Nathan gazed into the backseat for a second, eyes scanning Pickles’ face before looking down at the obvious affection, and cocked his head before starting the truck.

“Ohhh!” he said after a few minutes of silence, making both Magnus and Pickles turn tired gazes at him. “Your apartment only has one room!”

They really shouldn’t have laughed. He did drive out in the middle of the night and bust them out. But it couldn’t be helped.

#rowan's mtl tag #mine #did this run away from me? a lil but idc <3 #thank you for the prompt murphyyyy <33333

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

Hi! Not sure if you’re taking prompts atm but if you are: a canon divergent where jake and Amy don’t end up having sex on their first date, and they have sex for the first time few months into their relationship instead

Hey there, Anon!

This took a little longer than expected (life is vv crazy at the mo!) but I totally loved your idea, and this is the result … I hope this lives up to your idea! 🤞🏼🙈

*NSFW* (Also on AO3, coz it’s kinda long.) Special thanks to @amyscascadingtabs and @kamekamelea for your help on this one! 🙌🏼😊

rule number three

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

There have been only a few times in Jake Peralta’s life that he’s experienced total euphoria. One: walking out the cinema he’d snuck into a couple of hours earlier, the Die Hard credits still leaking out from the half closed theatre doors. Two: standing tall while perfectly dressed in his blues, smiling back at his proud mother who was wiping back tears as he approached the NYPD commissioner and received his shiny new detective’s badge.

Three belonged to tonight. Pressed against his couch cushions with Amy Santiago on his lap; her perfect, perfect lips pushing against his own.

For the longest time, a moment like this had seemed so far from Jake’s grasp that even now he was struggling to believe tonight was not merely a figment of his imagination. Amy was easily one of the best people he knew - if not the best - and so strikingly beautiful he’s a little amazed that it took him so long to realise how he felt about her.

But after undercover-bound revelations and forced time apart; take backs, admissions and exes on both ends, two impromptu kisses and one moment of tenderness in a room filled with evidence, the two of them had finally acknowledged that maybe what they had together was more than just an excellent partnership.

Tonight had started awkwardly, but turned out to be really fun in a way that only the two of them together can be, but Jake’s favourite moment, hands down, would have to be right now.

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

His hands are on Amy’s thighs, fingers toying with the edge of her red dress as she straddles him. Regulation short and perfectly manicured fingernails are scraping against his scalp, sending a cavalcade of shivers running down his spine, and when she breaks their kiss to start a trail along his jawline, Jake genuinely begins to forget his own name.

This was greater than euphoria. It had to be paradise. In fact, he was certain that if you flipped open a dictionary right now and searched for the definition, it would give an accurate description of tonight, and the feeling of Amy Santiago on his lap.

(Okay so maybe it would be Urban Dictionary, but the sentiment remained. Everything about this moment was perfect, and he wouldn’t change a thing.)

Except for the six little words that are running on a loop inside his brain.

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

Her kisses taste like lime juice - kamikaze remnants that he cannot get enough of. Her tongue, the same sharp tongue that has reprimanded him so many times in the past, is moving against his in perfect unison. Exploring his mouth with gentle sweeps and pushing him further into the cushions in an action that is so seamless it makes his slacks feel uncomfortably tight.

Her body feels incredible like this, moving so sinfully slow and gentle as her hands begin to wander along the outline of his shirt. The subtle grind of her hips as she whispers his name into his ear makes his heart beat wildly against his ribcage, the scent of her perfume invades his senses when her incredibly soft lips leave a gentle kiss against the edge of his jaw. But still, he can hear her voice from this afternoon, and her simple stipulation for rule number three.

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

For what it’s worth, they were doing exceedingly well at the other two rules. Neither of them had said a single thing about what they were doing to their colleagues - which was especially impressive on Jake’s end, given the overwhelming urge to scream out in joy whenever he remembered that he and Amy had finally kissed. FOR REALZ. And they definitely hadn’t put labels on anything, dodging the server’s curious gaze when she told them they made a really sweet couple. And really - when you think about it, when it comes to rules, two out of three really isn’t all that bad. (After all, Meatloaf made a song about it; and songs don’t lie, and that’s facts.)

But this particular rule had come from Amy, a firm believer that rules weren’t made to be broken. And even though Jake doesn’t want any part of this to end, there’s something he needs to check on first. His hands move from Amy’s thighs, taking their time sliding up along her ribcage before heading towards her arms because he can do that now, and before he can fully comprehend what he’s about to say, Jake clears his throat and pulls his mouth away from Amy’s.

The words still come out mumbled, his lungs a little breathless because the most beautiful woman he’s ever known is still straddling his waist, but he speaks anyway. “The rules.”

Her eyebrows lift, the surprise that of the two people in the room, it is Jake Peralta who is pointing out the rules obvious as she smiles down at him. It turns wry as she shrugs her shoulders slightly, the fingertips of the hand on his chest pushing downwards with the movement. It’s such a simple response, but he finds it so sexy, and his hands are tugging her back down towards him without hesitation; the sensation of her lips against his already taking first place in the Greatest Feeling Ever award shelf in his mind.

She moans into his mouth, a sound that he already knows he would willingly die to hear more of (okay maybe not die, because if he dies then he can’t do more of this, and he really, REALLY wants more of this), and his hands move back down over her body, fingers gliding over the fabric of her dress, resisting the urge to pull on the zipper as he passes the jagged teeth. She moans softly when she pulls away, her desire obvious as her hips grind against his just that little bit harder, breath hot on his cheek as her kisses make a trail towards his earlobe.

They both want this. They’ve been leading towards this moment all night. There were eight empty shot glasses and three empty plates (they shared dessert) at the restaurant that told them they both wanted this. There had been a definitely non-G rated cab ride back to Jake’s apartment, countless minutes pressed against front doors before keys were properly utilised, lipstick stains on collars and shoes thrown in the direction of doorways bringing them to this.

Amy whispers his name again, louder this time as her teeth scrape against that spot at the side of his neck, and lawd how he wants this, but maybe they needed to stop. Because try as he might, all he can think about is: this is how every new relationship of his has ever begun.

The story of Jake’s childhood, and the lack of stability he had grown up with, was a tale as old as time. He knew that Amy knew the most of it - probably more than others, if he really thought about it. And she had watched, over the years, as he had jumped in and out of relationships with the fervour of somebody who genuinely didn’t know better. He was, after all, Jake Peralta - eyes closed, head first, can’t lose.

He loved the thrill of it all - the rush of clicking with a stranger, of testing the waters until the spark ignited. Though he might deny it, his heart lived permanently on his sleeve, and it was always on offer - forever hoping that this one might be the right one. But they never stayed, because all that glitters is rarely gold, and somewhere along the line Jake had adjusted his expectations to the minimum. To quick and fleeting relationships that never lasted, but were always fun.

But even now, as his hands roam along Amy’s body and his lips travel up and down her neck, Jake knows that there’s no way he could ever be able to give this up. What they had was different, and so very valuable to him. She was his partner, his closest friend, and the only voice of reason he was willing to hear at any given moment. The thought that he could lose all of that with one wrong move terrified him, and even though he knew he was probably going to regret it in the morning, Jake still lifts his lips away from Amy, bringing his hands back to her shoulders and pushing gently.

“Jake?”

God, she was beautiful. Straddling his waist, dress rucked up dangerously high, lungs fighting to regain control as she looks down at him in confusion. Her voice is breathy as she speaks, and he’s thankful to notice that he’s not the only one struggling to get their heart rate back from overdrive. “Is everything okay?”

His hands move up and down her arms in comfort, resisting the urge to return to their previously favourable position on her bare upper leg, and he smiles before answering. “Everything’s amazing, Amy. I just think that … maybe that third rule of yours wasn’t such a bad idea.”

The hands that had been skirting the buttons of his shirt pause in place, and Amy rears back slightly. “You don’t want this?”

“Trust me, I want this. I’m pretty sure every time you move your hips, you can feel how much I want this.”

She lets out a tiny giggle, shifting her weight just so, and Jake sucks in his breath in response. Yeah, he definitely wants this. Her face grows serious, left hand reaching up to cup his cheek as she leans back down towards him. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Jake.”

Jake hesitates, gnawing on his lower lip for a moment. He’s never been great with emotions, and is suddenly very aware of the fact that he could blurt out the wrong thing and ruin it all. But right now, with just the two of them together in his apartment, the words didn’t seem to be as difficult as he would normally expect. “It’s just … I don’t have the best track record when it comes to this. And while I’m pretty sure that what we have is different, I’m also a little scared that if we move too quickly it might all come crashing down.” He moves one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, stroking the edge of her cheek as he goes. “I don’t want to lose this, Amy. You mean too much to me.”

“You want to wait a little?”

“I think we owe it to ourselves to see where this is going before we dive too deep.”

Amy’s ribs expand and contract as she begins to control her breathing, her right hand still toying absentmindedly with a button on Jake’s shirt. She’s watching him with those careful eyes of hers, and if Jake listened hard enough he’s certain he would be able to hear the cogs of her mind turning. Slowly, a smile creeps onto her face, and she nods. “You’re right.”

Try as he might, Jake cannot help himself, and he feigns a quick search for his mobile phone - patting nearby cushions and lifting throw pillows while explaining, “Hold on a second, Amy Santiago just said I’m right. I’ve gotta record this.”

Her laughter echoes across his tiny apartment, and it’s the greatest thing Jake’s ever heard between these four walls, so when she leans in for another soft kiss he’s quick to deepen it, sighing against her lips as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. Holding her closer now that the fear of her slipping through his fingers has been lost for at least one night.

She’s still smiling when they pull apart, resting her forehead against his while she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I know that I made the rule and I probably should have stuck to it, but there was something about being out with you tonight, sharing drinks; and you looking like you do, and knowing that I can finally do this - ” she punctuates the sentence with a kiss, lingering against his lips for a moment before pulling away, “that just made everything else seem a little more hazy.” One hand moves to the back of his neck, toying with his freshly cut hair, and her smile turns shy. “You’re important to me too, Jake. This is important to me.”

And just like that, Jake knows that he is absolutely going to fall for Amy Santiago.

She stays over that night, because neither of them are ready for the night to be over just yet, and when she comes out of the bathroom wearing an (on her) oversized NYPD sweatshirt of his, Jake wonders if he’s ever going to be able to go to sleep. But the next morning, when he wakes up with a mess of wavy brown hair spilling over onto his pillow and the sweetest smile wishing him good morning, he knows that he’d wait forever for a lifetime of mornings just like this.

After that first night, Jake realised that the adrenalin-coursing-through-your-veins feeling of a quick start relationship was nothing compared to the kind of slow burn that sizzled between he and Amy now. Because now, there was the aspect of discovery.

They both learned, for example, the importance of not making out in secret locations at work. Because doing so will only startle new bosses born with heart conditions, and will almost certainly lead to a fatal heart attack. Hiding their new relationship from a room full of detectives had proved next to impossible - especially if said relationship leads to the demise of a superior - but once the mortification of revelations had passed, they were pleasantly surprised by how little most seemed to care about what happened outside of work. Charles excluded.

(Also - and purely for research purposes - they learned that if they were to sneak away for secret kisses in evidence lockers, ducking behind that next corner of shelving always bought them a little bit of extra time for recovery.)

Jake learned that he actually wanted to put labels on what they were and not just keep things vague, the word girlfriend slipping out one afternoon so smoothly it would have seemed natural, if it hadn’t been followed by a beet red face and the slapping of his hand against his mouth. The soft smile that stretched across Amy’s features as she sat across from him at her desk made it all seem a little less terrifying. Without a second thought, they were no longer mrrrmzeep or benjinglebin.

She never seemed to be far from his thoughts, and each work day served as a countdown to when he could kiss Amy again, and Jake had never felt more content.

Without actually speaking about it, Jake and Amy both decide that their second date probably needs to be somewhere relatively public (and, just to be safe, with minimal alcohol content).

Amy’s smile is secretive as she ushers Jake through the streets of Brooklyn, and he’s itching to hold her hand in his but he’s not sure if that’s something she likes, so he follows her faithfully until they reach her destination of choice. He recognises it fairly quickly as McCarren Park, although the giant screen stretched out at the bottom of the hill was definitely a new addition, and when his curious eyes meet Amy she smiles, stretching out her hand to lead him to the top of the hill.

It was a moonlight cinema, she explained, reaching into the large tote bag that Jake had carried from the car, pulling out a blanket and spreading it out onto the grass. They were early, because he was here with Amy after all, but it turns out being early has its advantages as they now lay claim to prime position, up high amongst the tree line with a perfect view of the screen below.

From the bag Amy pulls out orange soda, followed by reusable cups, littering the rest of the blanket with crackers and gummy worms and water (the latter of which Jake assumes is for her), glancing quickly in Jake’s direction as she pulls out a small bag of nuts and hands them directly to him. He raises his eyebrows settling down onto the blanket, smiling brightly when Amy sits down close to him, and she points at the bag and says “Why don’t you go ahead and throw me one of those nuts, Peralta?”

The memory of Amy’s disastrous attempts at catching food with her mouth on the rooftop has never really faded from Jake’s memory (that entire night often plays on repeat), and he casts a dubious look in her direction. She raises her chin in confidence, giving him the do you doubt me? stare-down that he loves to see, and with a quick shrug of his shoulders Jake rips open the bag, holding the nut up high to make sure she sees it before throwing softly in her direction.

And she catches it. So cleanly - so quick and seamless he almost misses it. But her triumphant grin as she chews proves her victory, and he narrows his eyes. “Lucky shot.”

Amy swallows, raising a single eyebrow and responding cooly, “Throw another one, then.”

He does, and she catches it again. And another, and another, before finally Jake has to admit that Amy has finally mastered the art of catching food with her mouth. There’s not a doubt in his mind that his impressed reaction is written cleanly across his face, and when Amy finally admits that she’s been practising for months, he can’t help but close the small distance between them and kiss her, soft and gentle and completely full of awe. His finger rests underneath her chin, tipping her face ever so slightly upward to meet his, and she sighs softly against his lips.

She’s blushing when he pulls away, the softest and most adorable shade of pink creeping onto her cheeks as she tucks her hair behind both ears and Jake cannot help but pull her in for another kiss. This one lasts longer, each wrapping an arm around the other as it deepens, and in all honesty Jake could have spent the entire night doing just this and he’d be happy.

But they don’t, because they are most definitely in public, and as the melting sun casts the sky in a shade of tangerine and more people begin to settle onto the grass around them, Amy and Jake work their way through the snacks, peppering the comfortable silence with easy conversation.

The night comes earlier in the cooler months, and as the stars fight through the smog of a busy city skyline Amy stretches out on the blanket, resting her head against Jake’s stomach, smiling up at him when he begins to run his fingers through her hair. After a beat she stretches an arm up, pointing out the structure of a constellation in the sky that, despite the high-rises surrounding them, still managed to shine bright enough for him to notice. With his neck craned towards the universe Jake listens in silent wonderment as Amy begins to tell him about the mythological legends that explained their existence, pulling off the hoodie under his jacket and draping over Amy’s middle as a chill begins to fill the air. At the base of the hill the movie screen flashes with ads and previews, but neither of them notice.

She shifts when the movie starts, stretching out her legs next to his, and it’s only a short while before her head is resting against Jake’s shoulder. An even shorter while, it turns out, before the two of them are making out, any movie turning boring when they realise there’s an option to take advantage of the coverage from the trees surrounding them.

It was so new - and incredibly invigorating - to be able to kiss Amy like this, to hold her soft frame inside his arms as their legs tangle together, alternating between kisses both sweet and borderline passionate. It’s only when a loud crescendo booms from the direction of the makeshift movie screen that either of them break away, and after a beat Amy wriggles on the picnic rug until her back is resting against Jake’s chest. Their fingers tangle together where their hands meet at her waist, and in the intimacy of it all this moment right here is all he’s ever hoped for.

Every time he opened up a little more to someone he was dating, part of Jake felt like he was giving them a complete list of instructions on How To Break His Heart. And he could write it all on a proverbial piece of paper, and mark it as handle with care, but he could never control what happened once they knew (he’d started to show parts of this list to Sophia once, and she’d inspected it briefly before handing it back to him with a vague but polite smile).

But as the movie came to an end and he linked his fingers with Amy, walking back towards his car, Jake realised that all of the details he would normally have on the list - all the things that have hurt him and shaped him as he’s gotten older - are things that Amy already knew. And she never used it as a reason to walk away, or to keep her distance. She knew more than most about him, and wanted to be with him anyway.

He presses her against the car when he kisses her goodnight outside her apartment, both of their hands wandering over each other’s bodies with a curiosity emboldened by the growing tension between them. He wants to go upstairs - to be with her and stay the night, more than he’s ever wanted to be with someone before. But they needed time - he needed to know this isn’t going to wither before it has the chance grow, and it’s time that he is beginning to hope they will have a lifetime of.

He keeps the radio low on the drive home, trying his best not to notice how every single love song seemed to tie back to Amy.

At work, it was like they’d both become characters out of some Georgian-era novel.

(Which, okay, doesn’t sound like something that Jake would say, but he totally thought of it all on his own.)

(Alright, he’d called them a Jenny Austen novel. Amy had corrected him on the name, and then told him the era, rattling off a few different titles for reference, because she’s so smart and oh god he really really likes her, SO. MUCH.)

And maybe it was a strange label, but it was true. They’d become all about long glances, gazes holding from the side of computer monitors as they both fail terribly to look like they were doing any work at all. The subtle brushing of feet under tables, lingering touches when they were left alone. Hovering at the coffee station as one would make their coffees, leaning just that little bit closer but never quite close enough. Quiet whispers of admiration when favourite items of clothing were worn, furtive glances through windows when they weren’t in the same room … fingers hooking around ties when the gentle hands of Detective Santiago pulls her partner in for a kiss once they are finally off the clock.

To everybody else, they came across as just another pair of colleagues who had started dating, doing their very best to maintain a professional appearance in the workplace. But to Jake and Amy, every moment was bringing another pile of sand to the beach - another friction filled strike of the match, calling out for the flame of desire to finally be ignited.

Amy takes a long sip from her soda, her lips curling around the paper straw as she watches her boyfriend dominate Dance Dance Revolution one last time. She can’t help the small shiver of excitement that runs down her spine as she repeats to herself once again that Jake Peralta is her boyfriend.

His feet stomp against the coloured arrows in perfect symmetry to the flashing lights, eyes focused solely on the screen in front of him as the digital music reaches its fast paced climax. The teenager beside him, who had been so cocky in challenging Jake to a showdown five minutes earlier, stumbles over their own two feet and stomps away in frustration before the game has even officially finished.

Thrusting his fists into the air triumphantly, Jake turns to face Amy with the widest grin on his face, one that Amy cannot help but match, and this is truly the happiest she’s ever been. While she knows that there was a whole bunch of reasons why she and Jake hadn’t gotten together before now (fear and doubt being two very big ones), it’s in moments like these that she wishes the world had pushed them together earlier.

Dating Jake has been so fun - so exciting and different and comfortable all at the same time. He made her laugh so much her sides hurt, and he always, always wanted to hear about her day. The way he looks out for her (and supports her admittedly nerdy hobbies) is incredible, and she could happily spend the rest of her days showing Jake just how beautiful he was, inside and out. Plus, good lord was he sexy. Perfectly toned, strong arms for her to wrap her hand around while they walked down the street; intoxicating cologne that washed over her when she tucked her face into his neck, and a butt that she could not take her eyes off. Especially tonight, while he danced in those jeans.

It had been so sweet of him to suggest they should take things slow, to give each other the chance to get used to the idea of being together before throwing sex into the mix. And while she totally got all the reasons he had put forward (it was her rule after all), there was also a very large part of Amy that was absolutely ready to fuck Jake Peralta.

(Okay, make love.)

(Then fuck.)

A week ago, Amy had been away at her parents, for a vacation that she’d organised long before the notion of dating Jake was anything more than a quiet hope she held tucked away in her heart. And during that week, the distance between them had felt unbearable - and thank goodness for the existence of texting and FaceTime, because without it Amy’s not certain she would have survived the week.

The separation, however, had lifted their resolve a little, and as the days wore on their texts grew from simple miss you’s to I think about you all the time and I really want to do things to you. Lines that made her blush - not from embarrassment, but excitement that Jake felt the same way she did about him, and that maybe the time for waiting was over.

They’d shared so many conversations and calls via their cellphones that by the time Amy was finally knocking on Jake’s apartment door a week later for their third date, she could literally feel the pull of his energy dragging her through the doorway.

His lips were on hers within seconds of the door slamming shut, kisses turning heated because it had been a week, but the week had felt like a lifetime, and a lifetime without kissing each other was something that neither of them seemed interested in considering.

Her fingers had unbuttoned Jake’s shirt before they’re even made it to the living room, her floral blouse untucked from her skirt as his warm hands wandered up the expanse of her back. It was better than she could have imagined, the electric feeling of his skin against hers, and as he gently pushed her into the couch cushions their first night together came back to Amy in vivid flashbacks. And then his hands moved lower, grazing against the bare skin of her upper thighs, and her skin shivered in its wake.

Like the gentleman that he is, his hand had hovered over the edge of her underwear, waiting until Amy had broken their kiss before touching the fabric again, silently asking for permission to continue. Her consent had come in the form of his name coming out in a breathless burst, hips lifting slightly in encouragement as her own hands gripped his biceps, and when his fingers rubbed against her centre Amy genuinely thought she was going to melt into his couch. She had been wanting this for so long, and it was definitely going to happen tonight.

His lips had slid back over hers as his hand moved her panties to the side, slender fingers seeking out her heat and touching her with such reverence that Amy would have cried if she hadn’t been so damn turned on. Too many times she had watched Jake’s hands from her position at the desk opposite, fantasising about how good he could be at making her come apart at his touch. And now she knew that she’d been right - he was amazing.

Then his kisses forged a path down her body before reaching where she wanted him the most, his breath hot against her folds as his tongue went to work, and soon her eyes were squeezing shut while her nails scraped his scalp and the only words she could say were Jake and yes. Her orgasm was quick, but lingered in waves as her legs shook underneath him, and the taste of her on his tongue was everything.

He was so good at making her feel good, in a way that she’d instinctively known that he would be, and if the garlic bread that he’d been baking in the oven hadn’t chosen that very moment to start billowing smoke and set off the fire alarm, Amy is absolutely certain they would have had sex once she’d caught her breath.

It had very still much been on the cards, in fact, as the stale smell of charred bread filled the apartment and an embarrassed Jake found comfort in her kisses from her new position on his kitchen countertop. And then his phone had started vibrating in his back pocket, a sensation Amy felt against her hands as they roamed over his ass, his impressive bulge rubbing against her thigh. He ignored it for as long as he could, but the caller kept ringing, and eventually Jake had pulled back in anger, answering the phone with a snap before mumbling “Oh, hey Rosa.”

There had been a break in a case that he and Diaz were working, and his presence was being requested (well, being Rosa, more likely demanded). Swiftly, their date was over - and Jake had given her an apologetic kiss as he’d bid her goodbye, the promise of a rain check keeping the flame between them burning hot long after they’d separated.

And now it was just over twenty-four hours later, with date number four starting at a local restaurant before the walk back to her place led to them stumbling upon a new arcade. One look from Jake, throwing the gauntlet by declaring that he could beat her at any game, and Amy was absolutely committed to kicking his butt. And kicked she had, an overwhelmingly large pile of prize tickets stuffed into her purse awaiting redemption. There’s a buzz of victory running through her veins, and her boyfriend’s smile is so contagious as he gathers up his winning tickets and heads towards her, and the memory of the two of them on his couch last night is the only thing on Amy’s mind.

Then he pulls her over to the prize counter, swapping all of his tickets for a book of brain teasers that he gives her with a shy smile, and Amy Santiago is 100% falling for Jake Peralta.

Tonight was the end of date number four, and Jake genuinely believed he was in danger of combusting.

They have been officially dating for four weeks now, and he could honestly say that they have been the best four weeks of his life. With Amy, he felt worthy - of her time, of her attention, and most certainly of her affection. And affection was something she had in spades.

There were so many little things about the two of them being a couple that, when bundled together, made Jake feel complete in a way he’d never known. Dating Amy was like swimming in the rain - like you already knew what it was like to be wet, and then the raindrops hit your skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks and you realise that this whole time you were wrong. That things could be different. And that different could be better.

He could offer her his arm now, as they walked along the sidewalks of Brooklyn after dates. Grip her hand in his own when he helped her up out of her seat and link their fingers together, holding them so close it was hard to tell which were his and which were hers. Go to dinner with her - actual dinner, not just street meat in an unmarked car on the way to a case. Talk to her, about little things and big things and everything in between.

And kiss her. Oh, how he could kiss her. It still made his heart soar up to the very top of his chest, every single time they did. But he could have that feeling forever (and was starting to think that maybe he wanted that feeling forever), if that’s the feeling that came with kissing Amy.

It would seem that all along, this is what he had been craving. And to think that now he got to have it, and that it was with Amy Santiago, put a spring in his step and an obnoxiously happy smile that never seemed to leave his face. Not even when Rosa would punch him on the shoulder, or Gina would threaten the dissolution of their friendship. He was happy. Finally happy - from the tips of his fingers to the edge of his toes - and he wasn’t interested in anything that could take that away from him.

They’d had such fun tonight at the arcade, and had quickly made their way back to Amy’s apartment (or as she called it, ‘taking a victory lap’ - his girlfriend had kicked his ass tonight, and he was totally okay with that). She’d listened, in her non-judgemental way, as Jake told her about a problematic phone call he’d shared with his less than impressive father earlier that day. The advice she offered up was gentle and perfect, just like her, and when she climbed up to the top of a park bench to rest her feet (these sneakers are cute but they pinch my toes she had muttered), Jake couldn’t resist the opportunity to rests his hands on either side of her, gripping the rails as he leant in for a kiss that just kept getting deeper.

It had felt so perfect, with her knees bracketed either side of him and her soft lips pressed against his, that they could have stayed together like that for hours - and probably would have, if another couple hadn’t loudly cleared their throats in Jake and Amy’s direction as they passed, reminding them that they were still in a public place.

And now they stand on the landing of Amy’s apartment, wrapped tight in each other’s arms as their goodnight kiss simply refuses to end.

Their bodies are pressed together, and he knows that she can feel how much her kisses are affecting him, but he just can’t bring himself to pull away. He remembers how she tastes, how it felt to have her fingers scrape against his scalp while she shuddered above him, and he was dying to feel it again. Everything about her was intoxicating, and judging by the way one of her lower legs were wrapped around his, Amy was feeling exactly the same.

“Come upstairs, Peralta” she whispers in that husky voice that he’d never really heard until recently, but always managed to hot-wire his groin. Her eyes are heavy lidded, and her lips are so swollen from the intensity of their kisses, one hand trailing down his chest until it reaches the bulge in his jeans. He nods, pulling her in for another kiss, grabbing her keys out of hand to help speed up the process.

And then her phone rings.

The sound is so grating against the quiet bubble of intimacy that the two of them had made in this corner of her doorway, and they pull apart at the completely unwelcome sound. He wants to tell her to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t ringing at all, but that wouldn’t be Amy. Still, it’s satisfying to see her head fall back against the rendered brick wall, groaning as her hands dig through her purse.

“That’s my ringtone for the captain.” she mutters apologetically.

Jake blinks. There’s a part of him that’s still trying to understand what happened, let alone what Amy just said, and to be perfectly honest there wasn’t a lot of blood in his brain right now. “You have a specific ringtone for the captain?”

“You don’t?”

He can’t contain the smile that crosses over his face as he shakes his head, stepping back as Amy takes the call. Her hand on his chest tightens as he moves, fingers digging in slightly in a silent request for him to stay, and he covers her hand with his own.

“Captain Pembroke? No, it’s .. I mean - ” her eyes fall to Jake, and she stammers. “Uh, what’s going on?”

The streetlight catches her face as she turns slightly, and Jake can’t help but stare at her beauty, even as she frowns in concentration. Amy nods, murmuring her assent to their superior before looking over at Jake, regret clear in her eyes as she states “I’ll be there soon.” The hand on his chest falls, and he tries his very best not to cry out in frustration.

Looks like it was Amy’s turn to get called away for work.

Slumping against the smooth brick of her building’s exterior, Amy shakes her head. “I know that guy is our captain now, but … he’s just the worst.” Jake nods, and she looks at him with sad eyes. “There’s a catfish case Boyle and I have been working on. This guy has conned seven women out of their savings so far, totalling more than $50,000. The night shift got notice that he’s just used one of his fake IDs to get into some hipster bar in Bedford called ..” she pauses, tapping the screen of her phone to read out the name. “Ugh. Industrialisationism.”

“Industrialisationism? Is that even a word? If it is, it’s gotta be the longest, right?”

Amy dips her head, tucking her phone back into her purse as she speaks. “Actually, the world’s longest word is floccinaucinihilipilification. Well, non-mechanical anyway. If you wanted to talk medicinal - ” her eyes are wide when she looks back at him, as though in fear that this is it, this might be the ultra nerdy thing she does that makes him realise she’s too weird for him to date. His smile is warm, and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her that he’s pretty sure that no such thing could ever happen. That it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that being with her feels more right than anyone he’s ever been with.

But he’s jumped in too soon before, and ended up with a broken heart. So instead he smiles, and tells her “You should probably head upstairs and get changed. Gotta catch the bad guy, right?”

She smiles, taking her keys back from his outstretched hand and gesturing towards the building. “Do you wanna come up?”

“I really do, Ames. But I’ve gotta confess …” he winces, glancing down. “With the state I’m in right now, the thought of you getting changed with only a bedroom door between us? Just might kill me.”

Amy laughs, and he grabs her hand one last time, squeezing her fingers quickly before walking backwards and stumbling onto a lower step. She laughs again, the sound echoing through down the quiet street, and the move wasn’t deliberate but he’ll take it, because any day where he can make Amy Santiago laugh is a great day to him. Make her laugh twice, and it becomes transcendent.

He takes another step down, facing the street because that’s definitely a smarter way to walk down a staircase, then pauses, the soles of his shoes scraping against the concrete as he swivels on the step to bring his eyes back to Amy. She’s waiting, standing on her landing with keys in one hand and his hand still in her other, and he’s barely touching her but his heart is absolutely racing. With a gentle tug she’s pulling him back up the landing to meet her, wrapping her arms around Jake’s waist with such desire that there are now only two things that Jake knows for absolute certain:

The NYPD are there to serve, protect, and cock block him and Amy; and

Tonight’s forecast at home definitely included a cold shower.

Jake grips his towel with one hand as he swipes it across the fogged mirror of the precinct’s shower room, forcing away the condensation and allowing his tired reflection to peek through. Today has been a particularly long day.

A prolific drug dealer known as Chase Mandeville had been on the radar of several neighbouring precincts for months now, all sides working to share information in the hopes of finally capturing him. Mid-morning, Captain Pembroke had announced to the bullpen that a stakeout the 9-7 had been carrying out had been interrupted by Mandeville’s men, and that several officers were now being held hostage in an old warehouse downtown. They’d moved quickly, strapping on tactical gear and arriving at the meeting point within the hour - but hostage situations are rarely quick, and they’d sat in wait through hours of negotiations and multiple plans of attack before ESU finally called them into action.

The intense shoot-out that followed resulted in three officers and five of Mandeville’s henchmen being taken away by the paramedics, all safe but in various degrees of pain. Jake stood watching as the kingpin was dragged away from the scene in handcuffs, unable to resist a smirk of victory that was quickly wiped off his face as a passing truck hit a particularly large pothole and drenched him, head to toe, in a mixture of dirt, day old rain and floating cigarette butts.

Rosa had shoved him in the direction of the men’s locker room when they’d finally returned to the precinct, telling him with her usual gentle manner that he ‘smelled like butt and nobody should have to endure it.’ So not only had Jake not had the chance to pull Amy aside and play the ‘Super Supportive Boyfriend’ role (one that he was clearly born to play), he’d missed out on the team debriefing where they would obviously be hailed as heroes for saving their colleagues.

(Although in hindsight, The Vulture was their captain now. So there was a very good chance that any credit his team deserved had already been stolen.)

Pulling out a spare work shirt from his locker and quickly looping a tie around his neck, Jake shuffles back towards his desk, noticing with surprise that everyone has already left. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes as Pembroke approaches him from his office, Jake listens as his ‘captain’ retells the day’s events, putting himself into the victor’s position; paying attention only when his superior tells him that he is not to return for 12 hours (or, as Pembroke put it - “The bosses don’t want you to show your pasty white ass here for a solid half a day, capooch?”). He’s halfway to the elevator before another word is spoken, mind already trying to calculate if he’s still got time to call Amy.

Still in the process of pulling the tie away from his collar when he gets to his car, Jake raises his eyebrows in surprise when he realises Amy is leaning against the hood, waiting patiently for his arrival. He greets her with a happy kiss, shoving the necktie into his satchel before standing back. “Need a ride home, Ames?”

She smiles, reaching a hand out to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, and oh - how she makes his heart skip a beat. Even when he’s tired, and ready to go home, she could ask him to fly to the moon and he’d run back in to strap on a spacesuit. “It’s been a pretty long day, huh?” she asks, flattening her hand against his chest, and he’s pretty sure she can feel the thrumming of his heart.

“Yeah. Totally worth it though, to get Mandeville off the streets. Even if things got a little messy at the end there.”

Amy nods, fingers tracing the lines of a square on his signature checkered shirt before looking up at him through her lashes, and wow, she’s beautiful.

“So. Thanks to sub-section 47a of the Worker’s Rights Bill, we now get a mandatory rest period.”

Jake nods in agreement. “Yeah, the Vulture told me I can’t come back for twelve hours. Which is good to know is more because of the law, and not because he literally doesn’t want to see me.”

“Legally, it’s ten. But knowing your inability to start work on time, twelve seems fair.”

He can’t argue with that. Instead, Jake nods his head slightly, sensing that Amy is going somewhere with this. The hand that had been resting against his shirt moves slowly towards the buttons in the middle, toying with them gently. “Do you know what that means, Peralta?”

With his girlfriend (girlfriend!) playing - and pushing - his buttons like that, there isn’t a lot of cohesive thought in Jake’s head, and so he shakes it quickly.

She smiles, using the beaded chain that keeps his badge around his neck to tug him closer for a heated kiss. “It means that the NYPD legally isn’t allowed to interrupt us, Jake. For ten. hours.”

“Ames, are you …?”

“Take me home, Jake Peralta.”

He’s always been incredibly good at taking orders.

Amy’s fingers run down the middle of Jake’s shirt, using her thumb to release the buttons one by one as she yanks the fabric free. His hands feel heavy as they roam across her ass, fingertips digging in as he follows the curve and holds Amy tight against him.

She’d felt his eyes on her all afternoon, watching her from his position and hesitating to move until he knew that she wasn’t going to end up compromised. It was the well-worn action of a long known partner in the field, but there’s a difference in his gaze now - as though him looking out for her is no longer an act of duty, but more because he needs her to be safe. That her safety means more than his own. And although she didn’t want to use the word love just yet, she may just love him a little bit for it.

Her mind had tuned out fifteen second’s into Pembroke’s debrief as he (yet again) twisted their hard work into his own, instead choosing to spend the time devising a way to excuse herself from this sorry excuse of a meeting and sneaking her way into the men’s locker room. She just didn’t have enough of a working knowledge about all the cameras that ran along the hallway there, and as much as she wanted to join Jake in the shower, it wasn’t worth being busted at their workplace. (Again).

And so she had packed up her belongings as quickly as she could the moment they were dismissed, giving off the illusion of walking towards the subway before changing paths and heading to the parking garage, leaning against Jake’s car and waiting impatiently for him to arrive. Thankfully, he hadn’t been far behind the rest of them - and as she watched him walk towards her, tugging off his necktie as he moved, Amy had made a mental note to introduce said garment into the bedroom sometime soon.

He lets out a breathless version of her name as she grinds her body against his, seeking the friction of his jeans against her work slacks and returning for more. His erection is pushing through the denim, and as she places her right hand on the back of Jake’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss, her left dips below the waistband to feel him underneath. The moan he lets out in response spurs her on, and when he moves one hand away from her body to pop open the button that was holding his jeans closed Amy takes advantage of the increase in moving space, cupping Jake’s cock in her palm as she moves up and down. She never would have expected him to go commando, but right now she was thankful for one less barrier between them.

This night, this moment, was what they had been waiting for - what years of bickering and frank conversations and seeing each other at their best and worst had led to. The four weeks that they had been together had held more passion and excitement, without even involving sex, than her entire relationship with Teddy. But the crackle between them was too strong to ignore, desire growing past the point of containment, and Amy’s positive that if she doesn’t feel Jake’s hands soon, her version of the world will absolutely stop spinning.

Her own pants become unbuttoned, a thousand goose bumps rising along her skin when Jake’s hands begin to roam against the small of her back and Amy kisses him again, letting their tongues hint at what their bodies will soon be doing.

A flash of inspiration strikes her when the tip of Jake’s fingertips toy with the top of her underwear, and while Amy really doesn’t want to break the kiss, she also really wants to seduce the hell out of her boyfriend, and so reluctantly she pulls away, face softening into a reassuring smile when Jake looks at her in mild panic.

“I’m just going to freshen up a little bit … wait right here, okay?”

The desire is obvious in his eyes, and he licks his lower lip before responding. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from this, Ames.” His earnestness pulls her back to him for another kiss - soft and quick, just enough to keep both wanting more as she winks and moves quickly towards her bedroom.

Jake can still hear the blood pulsing in his ears as Amy disappears down her apartment hallway, and he rests his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath in a substandard attempt to regulate his heartbeat.

It was a relatively common knowledge that Amy Santiago was a little bit of a nerd. In all honesty, her ability to absorb information was one of his favourite things about her, and he could happily listen to her talk about pretty much anything. But what he had loved discovering in these past few weeks, was that underneath all the love for binders and organisation lay a red blooded woman who knew what she wanted, and knew exactly how she was going to get it. A turned on Amy kissed him like it was necessary for her survival, and kept him so close to her they almost melded into one. It was all incredibly sexy, and it kinda felt amazing that she entrusted him to know this side of her - the side that most of the people would never know. Perhaps, if he was really lucky, nobody but him would ever have the chance to find out again.

She doesn’t take too long to freshen up, in the way that only a well-practised Type A person could, and when he hears the door to her bathroom swing open and the soft sound of her footsteps drawing closer he looks in her direction, throat turning completely dry.

He’s always had a secret theory that Amy Santiago was actually a goddess, and this moment proved that he is absolutely correct. She looks stunning.

Her hair has been pulled out of its work appropriate bun, falling in gentle waves and scraping along her shoulders. Whatever makeup she had worn today has been scrubbed off, allowing her natural beauty to shine - and shine it did. Her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks a little flushed, and a nervous smile is stretched across her face. Gone was the grey pantsuit she had worn to the precinct, and in it’s place she wore a silk robe - red as the kiss-bitten lips that were stretched in a nervous smile across her face. His erection, already throbbing before Amy had even stepped into the bathroom, is now begging to be released.

Her voice is soft, and she toys with her fingers briefly. “I thought this might be a better look than my grey pantsuit.”

Jake takes in her nerves - a surprising change in demeanour, considering Sexpot Amy had been in front of him only moments before - and takes a step towards her, speaking from the heart when he responds. “Amy Santiago, you could literally wear anything and I will find you sexy. Your grey pantsuits are amazing. You in a paper sack would be amazing.”

She takes in the awed look on his face and her smile grows brighter, and it’s so beautiful to watch the confidence return to her features. How she could ever doubt how incredible she is, Jake will never know, but in a millisecond he vows to himself to never let her question it again.

He makes short work of the section of hallway that still separates them, arms already reaching for Amy before he can even get to her because the pull is just too great. It’s been seven weeks of dating, but four years of knowing her and a solid year or more of wishing for something he truly didn’t believe he would ever have. Tonight was more than just sex. It was so much more than that. They were so much more than that.

His hands dip lower until they’re gripping the back of her thighs, and with a quick tug he lifts Amy into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist without hesitation. She lets out an appreciative moan as he pulls her in for a kiss, tongues tangling sweetly, and all Jake can think about is how wonderful it is to feel Amy’s bare skin under his fingertips again. The silk feels cool against his hand - a welcome reprieve from their rising body heat - and everything about this moment is so soft (well … not everything), so warm and perfect. Amy Santiago was literal perfection.

The shirt that she had already unbuttoned earlier is pushed from Jake’s shoulders as they make their way down the hall, falling to the floor already forgotten as Jake moves them towards Amy’s bedroom. His shoulder bumps into the doorframe as he passes, barely registering as he stumbles towards her bed, lowering the two of them gently onto the mattress. His arms are still wrapped around her as they slide upwards toward the perfectly placed pillows at the top of the frame, and when Jake finally breaks their kiss he can’t help but stare.

Amy’s lips are swollen from all the kissing, stretched wide across her face as she looks up at him, the tiny gold stud earrings in each ear catching the light of her bedroom lamp as her eyes turn soft, her gentle hands running along his arms until they join at the nape of his neck. Her robe has shifted slightly since the hallway, gaping open at her chest and revealing the hint of a lace beneath.

“You’re so beautiful” Jake whispers, craning his neck down for a soft kiss. She lets out a soft sigh as his lips travel along her cheek, forging an intrepid path of tiny dotted kisses that lead along her jawline, teeth scraping against her earlobe before kissing the spot on her neck that, since date number two, he knows will make her moan. He can feel her breath wash across his cheek as she does, one hand delving further into his hair and gripping at the roots in a silent request for more.

His right hand slides down Amy’s side, thumb tracing the outline of her breast through the fabric before settling on the loose knot in her coverup, toying with the twisted material until her free hand joins his and yanks it all free. The curiosity is too great and Jake’s lips leave Amy’s neck, raising himself onto his elbows as he gazes down at his girlfriend, taking it all in.

Her chest rises with each deep breath, breasts covered in a lacy red bra that works in perfect contrast to her skin. As his eyes travel down they take in a matching set of underwear, the delicate edges tapering out to a thin strip that he cannot wait to tug downwards. It was all incredibly arousing, but to be fair that probably had more to do with the person wearing the items than the set itself. The hand that had stayed in his hair the whole time tightens slightly, and Jake looks up at Amy and smiles. “You are so gorgeous, Santiago.”

She blushes, her voice soft as she moves underneath him, one foot trailing up and down the outside of his leg. “I wore the same set on our first date. It just felt right to wear it now as well.”

Jake gulps, nodding quickly because the ability to form any more words seems to have disappeared completely. Quickly, he thanks all the stars that he hadn’t seen Amy in this that first night, because it would have made the resolve to wait all the more harder (double entendre intended). She smiles at his response, pushing her pelvis upwards so that it rubs against Jake’s and they both let out a moan, quietened only by Amy’s lips returning to his. The entire world could set itself on fire right now, and it still wouldn’t stop this from happening.

His undershirt is removed quickly as he lifts Amy from the mattress, releasing her arms from the robe before resting her back down, covering her body with his own. With the top button of his jeans still open from earlier Amy takes advantage of the ease of access, pulling down the zipper and cupping his ass with both hands, squeezing as she raises her hips to meet his again.

Jake kisses the lace cups of Amy’s bra, tongue marking out the edges of the material before dipping underneath, pushing the fabric away with his nose and taking one nipple into his mouth as Amy shivers. He repeats the action on the other side, sighing against her skin as she thrusts her chest towards him, making quick work of the hooks at the back and casting the bra to the floor. Free from barriers, Jake sucks gently on Amy’s breasts, teeth scraping the underside of her boob gently before heading lower.

This was better than any fantasy he could have ever imagined.

Amy’s right hand moves around to Jake’s front, gripping his erection in her gentle hand and jerking her wrist while his own hands travel down her waist, circling his thumbs against her hips. He’s reluctant to pull away, because Amy’s hands on him is everything, but the memory of making her come underneath his tongue hasn’t left his mind for a second since it happened four days ago, and he was dying to do it again.

She whispers his name, lifting her hips to help him pull her panties down, one leg hitching over Jake’s shoulder as her underwear falls to the floor. He begins a trail of kisses along her body, leaving a series of gentle bites that make Amy hitch her breath every time, pausing to suck harder against her inner thigh until he’s left a mark before continuing to her centre. He flicks his tongue briefly against her clit, pulling away at Amy’s gasp before returning to her labia; tasting her arousal, kissing and sucking as her fingers dive into his hair. She shifts, tugging his head to where she needs him the most, and when Jake dips his tongue inside her Amy drops her head to the mattress, letting out a moan that sends shivers down his spine. Then he adds his fingers to the mix, and she raises her hips completely off the bed.

All of her words tangle together, a garbled mix of encouragement and gratification as she shudders above him, legs trembling and fingernails scraping against his scalp, holding him exactly where she wants him as she comes apart with a quiet scream. He continues to kiss her skin as her breathing slows, hands releasing their vice grip and body returning to the sheets below. “Jake,” she whispers again, cupping her hand under his chin and beckoning him upwards for a passionate kiss, and oh, he could do this every day for the rest of his life.

Her legs tighten around him as she breaks the kiss, using the heels of her feet to begin pushing his jeans away and Jake follows her lead, shoving the denim until it’s on the floor alongside her panties and robe. Wrapping his arms around her, Jake revels in the feeling of finally being skin to skin with the woman of his dreams, sighing into her mouth as her hands roam over his body before returning to his erection and pulling gently.

His teeth sink into the curve of her shoulder, scraping against her skin and kissing a tiny mole he finds there, moaning at the sensation of Detective Santiago’s hands going to work on his cock. Her free hand returns to the base of his neck, delving up into his hairline as her movements speed up, and he’s really going to need to start thinking about something incredibly unsexy if he doesn’t want to come into her hand.

“Jake,” she whispers into his ear, breath tickling his cheek, fingernails dragging against his scalp. “Please. I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.” His eyebrows raise and he moves up to kiss her again, relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one who was barely holding on. When he pulls away, Amy looks at him with such tenderness that Jake’s heart stutters a little in his chest, moving into place until the tip of his cock is rubbing against her clit, shifting again until he’s hovering above her opening.

He enters her, keeping his movement slow and steady, watching her carefully as he goes. Her eyes are on fire, brown embers stoking his own flames as they become one, Amy letting out a heavy breath as he moves. Finally, their pelvises are hard against each other, and Jake has a new contender for the Greatest Feeling Ever award.

She pulls him in for a kiss, twisting her tongue alongside her own and biting down on his lower lip when she pulls away, the defiance in her eyes mixing with her desire. Her name comes out as a venerable moan and she cups his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone as she wraps her legs around his waist, and just like that, it’s on. Jake pulls out slightly before returning a little faster, repeating the motion and working the two of their bodies into a rhythm both can enjoy.

It’s as though the fireworks that have been building up inside them have finally snapped, the continuous friction leading to an outpouring of sparks so bright and mind-blowing they can barely keep up. Her legs grip tightly around his hips, shifting her weight onto one shoulder as she flips them over, rising up and sinking down low as their movements gain speed. His hands follow the curve of her waist, tracing the dip of her ribcage and palming one of her breasts as she lets out a moan of pleasure above him. Her skin, slick with sweat, looks so perfect as it glistens in the low light of her bedroom, and the sight of her now is something Jake will remember for years to come.

All the years of bickering, of stubborn silences and quiet conversations during overnight stakeouts have boiled over, culminating in the two of them tonight as they move together. This was the best sex he’s ever had, and it had everything to do with it being with Amy Santiago.

Amy twists her hips slightly, rising and falling on his cock with breathless huffs of her chest, and as he feels himself creep closer and closer to the edge Jake reaches out to touch her clit, rubbing his thumb in slow circles as she keens above him. She leans forward, squeezing her knees into his waist as she pulls him in for a kiss and the change of angle makes them sigh in unison. Jake begins to increase his thrusts, tenting his knees and pushing himself into her in rapid succession, thumb playing harder with Amy’s clit until she’s shaking above him, tucking her head into his shoulder and calling out his name as she climaxes.

Jake’s hands wrap around Amy’s back, holding her close to his body as his movements turn erratic, and it’s only a few short moments later that he finds his own release, tightening his grip around her as he lets out a satisfied moan.

Her head rests against his shoulder as they lay together panting, the feeling of togetherness too great for either of them to be interested in moving just yet. Moving one hand from her back, Jake grips Amy’s hand inside his own, noticing for the first time just how small her palm is compared to his own. She is tiny, but she is fierce. And he’s fairly certain that he’s falling in love with her.

It’s another few minutes before either of them can speak, and even then it’s only after Amy has finished peppering tiny kisses onto Jake’s bare chest.

“That was … amazing.”

Jake smiles, using his free hand to wipe a few stray hairs away from Amy’s sweaty brow. “It really, really was.”

She smiles, leaning up slightly to capture his lips in a chaste kiss. “To think we could have done this years ago, if we’d actually paid attention to our feelings instead of ignoring them.”

He lets out a snort of laughter. “But … worth the wait, right?”

Amy’s arms fold out onto Jake’s chest as she rests her entire body on top of him, legs sliding alongside his, resting her chin onto her forearms and looking up with those beautiful eyes. “Oh, absolutely. But … for the record, everything about you is worth the wait.”

She leans forward again for another kiss, only this time Jake holds her there, tangling his fingers in her hair as he deepens it. They’re both breathless by the time he pulls away, and she rests her forehead against his for a spell, taking everything in. “Smooth talking, Santiago.”

Sliding off of his body and resting on the mattress next to him, Amy shuffles until one whole side of her is pressed against Jake before responding. “Every bit of it is true, Peralta. Now let me catch my breath, because we are totally doing that again.”

“We are totally doing that again, title of my sextape.” Jake gasps, turning to face Amy as an ecstatic grin takes over his face.

“Title of OUR sextape!”

#mine #myfic #thank you for this prompt!#peraltiago fic #peraltiago smut #jake x amy fic #smutfic #oh how I've missed writing this #kinda nervous posting this #hope it reads okay!#b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #b99 fic

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heroes-writing · 4 years

Note

Can I have a headcanon/scenario (whichever you prefer)of Iaian proposing to his female SO please. Thank you!

Ahhh!~~ Iaian!! I loved this prompt so much!!

Please enjoy! It was fun to write! <3

Holly

Word Count: 1678

The Cherry Blossom branches were heavy from fresh flower blooms.

Iaian’s pocket was heavy from a boxed diamond ring.

Every time the breeze blew, the long limbs nodded along the dirt path.

Every time (Name) looked at him and smiled, he’d rub a thumb over the box.

With each motion, the path was filled with falling petals and the scent of pollen. (Name) sent him a curious expression with a tilted head, but shrugged when he gave her a shy smile.

It was early in the morning, and the only sources of sound were the winds of spring and the chirping of birds.

It was the perfect location and all Iaian had to do was find the right time.

On either side of the swordsman, the beautiful but fleeting Sakura blossoms were in full bloom. Then a few steps ahead, the love of his life was chatting idly away, talking to him about everything she could think of. He hung onto every word she said: about how it was a shame the blossoms didn’t last long, about how happy she was to spend the day with him and finally about what they would get for breakfast.

Perhaps because there was no one else around but him, (Name) played with the blossoms as they fell, her dress flared out and she laughed when she caught one. The stray cherry blossoms floating in the wind circled around her as she spun to show him, and Iaian couldn’t help but stare in awe.

As always she caught him red-handed gawking at her. Just like he had when he first saw her, and she quickly closed the distance pull at his wrist.

With so much on his mind, the action brought him back to his old self. The shier one in the relationship, the one that blushed at any sign of her interest. The sight only seemed to make (Name) sigh in happiness.

“Come on, I want to see what’s next!” She tugged him and laughed when he held his ground. Iaian couldn’t help but smirk and gave a slow pull of his arm, reeling her back in. Suddenly she was walking back towards him and she giggled and half-heartedly struggled against his grip.

“Oh no nono! Iai! I know what that look says—”

With one last tug (Name) fell into him, all warm and softer than anything. He had forgone his chest plate and her body was so welcome as he pulled her into a squirming hug. Their breaths intermingled, her own a mix of mint and tea, and her face close enough to kiss.

“So unfair.” She protested with a thick voice, filled with affection. She was the one to kiss him first, however, despite how quick Iaian claimed to be. She slipped both of her hands over his ears, muffling out the sounds of the world and pulling him down to her height. Iaian’s face was peppered with kisses both big and small, fleeting and pressing. His stomach clenched at the heady rush of adoration that ran through him.

When she disconnected with a wet sound, (Name) looked up at him with a startled expression.

“What is it?”

“Oops…?”

“Oops?!”

And she began rubbing at his face with both hands.

“Did you —” He began incredulously, before being silenced with a peck on the lips.

“...Guess I have too much lipstick on...”

He jolted, “Really?”

“Don’t worry it’s wiping off! Hehe sorry!”

Iaian couldn’t help but roll his eyes and laugh. He found he really didn’t mind. Her focused attention always made him feel strange. Her (color) eyes glittered as if she was staring at something precious, but it was only him. That was the only part of her he felt he might never completely understand...

“I think I got it all. Don’t worry about it.” She promised in that playful way of hers.

With a delayed smirk, Iaian rubbed at his lips with his sleeve for good measure.

“It’s not like we’re meeting up with Master later or anything.” His light blue eyes narrowed.

“Oh you know he thinks I’m a good match for you, what's a little proof of that gonna hurt?” Her voice was smug, but Iaian couldn’t tell her just how right she was. Receiving his master’s blessing on his intentions to marry had been an honor. She didn’t know how much she was liked by him, and by everyone, he thought that mattered...

With a pause he tried to keep his face playful, “Still, being covered in lipstick stains will get me months worth of goading from Bushi and Kama.” He cleared his throat as her inquisitive stare seemed to narrow its focus.

“...Hey, are you okay today? You’ve been kinda…” (Name) looked at him with raised brows, and didn’t finish her sentence.

“Well I —” Did he want to say it now?

He looked around him for a moment as if lost, the scenery was quite beautiful here, but maybe there was someplace better?

“Are you actually tired? Even after getting me up so early?”

His lips twisted into a begrudging smile at that. “No, I don’t think so. I’m just feeling...sentimental.” That was honest enough and seemed to bring a blush to her cheeks.

...In contrast to the petals that arrived two weeks ago and would leave just as quickly, (Name) had been in his life for three years. They had met in the Spring, had kissed by the Summer… Iaian hoped that today she would agree to be his forever.

“Well, when do you think we’re going to see the canal? We’ve been walking for a while.” (Name) muttered as she stepped out of the way of a low hanging branch.

After meeting yet another limb of a great Cherry Blossom tree Iaian stepped in front of his love and lifted up the blushing pink branch. As usual, (Name)’s smile widened as she hurried to duck beneath it.

“Thank you, Iaian~” One of her hands couldn’t seem to resist skimming over the black material of his sweater. In comparison, her dress just so happened to be a lovely white. A few petals of pink fell in the wind, and his love looked like something out of a dream…

And the weight of the red velvet box in his pocket seemed to be getting heavier.

“Oh Iaian…” She said as if she didn’t know what to do with him.

He was staring at her again, but with a bashful smile, he offered her his arm for her to take. She slipped beside him, her body warm to the touch, and her favorite perfume sweet in his nose.

“My apologies,” he whispered near her ear, “I want to stare at you forever.”

He was looking at her as he said it, loving how it made her whole being seemed to light up at his words.

“I’ll love you forever.” She whispered with her chin tucked down, and her cheek rubbing into his arm.

He paused for a beat and repositioned his arm a little to slip his hand into his pocket.

“Do you mean that?” His tone was gentle.

“(Name)...” and it suddenly sounded strange and less like her name, but more like a promise.

She caught it immediately, her eyes growing wide and her lips parting with a tinge of worry.

“Yes? Of course, I mean it!”

She continued, “Don’t doubt it for a second!”

“I’m not...I just —”

They stopped walking, and seemingly unsure of how to proceed, (Name) fidgeted under his stare, and held his arm a little tighter. Then she was doubly confused when Iaian slipped his arm out of her grasp and took a calm step backward. Then another.

Then he kneeled slowly before her.

The reaction was immediate — (Name)’s back went ramrod straight and her hands flew up to her mouth.

“Iaian!” She exclaimed with her feet dancing and her whole body unable to keep still. He couldn’t help but chuckle and pull out the box ever so slowly.

“Iaian!!” She exclaimed her brows to her hairline when she removed her hands from her mouth.

“Oh my god! —” Her smile was squirming between ecstatic and emotional, and he wasn’t mistaken when he saw tears sparkling at the edge of her eyes. His heart almost cracked in two at the sight, but his voice deepened from the feeling in his words.

“(Name). I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He flipped the box open with his pointer finger, revealing an elegant silver ring studded with a single teardrop diamond. He held it up and felt his skin flush with heat as he watched tears slip down her face.

“(Name).” He repeated to soothe her, and she nodded her head wordlessly before inhaling sharply.

“Yes!” She gasped.

(Name) took a skidding step forward, her hands opening and closing rapidly as if wanting to move, but not certain if she should. “I want — I want to spend the rest of my life with you too! Can I hug you yet?! I love you! I love—”

The rest of her words were a blur, muffled in the skin of his collar as (Name) rushed into his body. Her arms slipped around his shoulders as she planted a hard kiss on his lips.

And just like that, they molded together, the heat familiar, but the feeling behind it brand new. Iaian held a groan in the back of his throat when he squeezed her closer.

When they disconnected, Iaian let her kiss him all over again, and when she was done he did the same to her. He kissed her forehead, each cheek, her nose, her lips over and over and over— He wanted to remind her that he would always love her. Always want her. He would do anything for her.

Then he drew back, breathless, “Wait! I need to—” he cleared his throat, “I need to ask properly!”

She laughed, her breath hiccupping from emotion as she waited.

“(Name), will you marry me!”

And she grinned, “Yes! I will!”

#one punch man #fluffy #opm #opm scenario #Iaian #one punch man scenario #AAHHH I love Iaian! I'll marry ya~~#Anonymous

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stevesnailbat · 4 years

Text

were you ever mine to begin with? | steve harrington

summary: Was Steve ever really in love with the girl he called his girlfriend, or was it all a game?

warnings: pure angst

word count: 1.0K

a/n: I saw a quote/prompt somewhere on tumblr that said “Were you ever mine to begin with?” and wanted to write about it. So, here it is! It’s pretty short but very angsty, enjoy!

She was alone in the corner of the gym, all dressed up for no reason. There was a stain of red lipstick on the right sleeve of her baby blue dress, a smudge of mascara underneath her right eye. She watched as every other teen in the room seemed to be having the time of the life, dancing the night away to Queen and ABBA. Prom was supposed to be a magical night, but not for her.

She had told herself that she would still come, still act strong, still seem unbothered. When she got her heart shattered by Steve Harrington a week before prom, she promised that she wouldn’t let it get to her, but it did. Coming to the gym, she acted strong; she came with Nancy and Jonathan, acted like she was having fun for a while. Her act kept strong until she locked eyes with Steve from across the room. The boy she was supposed to be with, the boy who she loved so dearly, the boy who ripped her heart out of her chest and stomped it into the ground. When she saw him with another girl, she felt like it was happening all over again. She rushed to the bathroom, flashbacks to the week before running through her mind.

Seeing him again made her nauseous, seeing him again made her cry. It was like she got punched in the gut over and over again until she couldn’t breathe anymore. All she could think about was the way he threw everything that he had with her out the window, all for something as stupid as a one night stand.

Blinking back some tears, she made her way from the bathroom to the dance floor to tell Nancy goodbye. She didn’t want to see him anymore, she didn’t want to be reminded of what he had done. Searching the room ceased when the song changed, Leo Sayer’s voice coming across the loud speaker singing More Than I Can Say, their song. Memories of Steve poorly singing the words to the song flooded her mind and tears threatened to flood her eyes. Before she could make it to the couple, someone’s shoulder bumped into her shoulder. She mumbled an apology before her eyes met with the big brown eyes that were oh-so-familiar to her.

Steve noticed the bags under her puffy eyes, the lipstick smeared on her sleeve, the mascara under her eye. She was a mess and it was all his fault. Before she could walk away from him, he reached to her wrist to pull her back to him as gently as he could. His eyes were pleading as he asked her to dance, saying he just wanted to talk to her. She didn’t know if she was too exhausted to deny or if she really wanted to, but she obliged. It wasn’t like her to start a scene in public, but she knew Steve might if she gave him reason to.

A light peeking from underneath the door, Steve’s. A panting that didn’t waiver when she opened the door, Steve’s. A sweater strewn across the floor, Steve’s. A pair of rough hands roaming another girl’s waist, Steve’s. A pair of lips smashed against lips that weren’t hers, Steve’s.

All Y/N could think about was the moaning girl she found straddling Steve, touching him in places only Y/N was allowed to. It’s as all that was on her mind as his hands snaked around her waist on the dance floor. The way he gripped the girl’s hips in ways he promised he was only supposed to do to her flashed in her mind and Y/N flinched under his touch.

“I don’t want you to try to explain anything to me, Steve. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” she said in an exhausted tone when she saw Steve open his mouth.

“Can we just...talk outside?” he said, not really waiting for a reply before he pulled her out of the gym doors. “Listen. I don’t want to make excuses for myself. I just want to say that I’m sorry. I messed up, I know I did. I lost you, the one good thing in my life. I know I can’t win you back after what you saw...I was just caught up in the moment.”

“You broke my fucking heart, Harrington.” she spat, using the name she hadn’t called him since they first met hurt, but she didn’t think he deserved to be called anything else. “I was yours, your girl. I wore that shit like a badge of honor. I was proud to call you my boyfriend.”

He said nothing, staring at the ground as he stood speechless for the first time in a conversation with her. He didn’t know what to say as she poured what was left of her heart out in front of him.

“Just answer this for me.” she said sternly, wiping a rogue tear from her eye. “Were you ever mine to begin with? Did you ever see the future that I saw for us? Were you really mine?”

“Of course. I was yours, our love was real and I was proudly your boyfriend. It still is, Y/N.” he whispered as she scoffed, shaking her head. He cupped her face in his hands to wipe some tears but she pulled away as if his hands were made of ice. “I’m being serious.”

“I don’t believe anything coming from your mouth. Don’t act like you’re hurting like I am, Steve.” she snarled, anger pouring from her voice.

“Even if I am, I deserve it. I don’t care if you accept my apology, but I am sorry.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she had a chance to pull away. “Just know that I love you and none of this is your fault.”

“I know.” she said, not replying to the first part.

Sure, she still loved him. But could she ever forgive him? No. The image of the girl on his lap would replay in her mind forever, the thought of his lips on another girl’s breaking her heart slowly, over and over again. She didn’t believe the words he said at the high school that day, always second guessing herself. Every day she questioned, was he ever really hers to begin with?

#stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things 1 #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things fanfiction #joe keery fanfic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things angst #joe keery #joe keery angst #stranger things x reader

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greenglasslov3 · 5 years

Text

Rewrite The Stars

A/N: This is my contribution to One Quote/One Shot Book 2! Many thanks to @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for organizing this event yet again - you two are rock stars. My quote is included in the story below in bold.

As for the story, it’s been in my head for quite some time to write a very specific high school au - a One Tree Hill/Outlander crossover. While the idea of writing another full-fledge story with a complex plot seemed very daunting, writing a series of one shots felt a little less so. This fic is the first one shot in this crossover series, which I’ve titled Always & Forever. Shout out to my awesome betas/cheerleaders @anoutlandishidea, @notameeksassenach, and @walkinginland for pushing me to get back in the saddle and write this story. If you want some background music while reading, soundtracks for this fic include Style by Taylor Swift and Rewrite The Stars from The Greatest Showman. I hope you all enjoy it!

Rewrite The Stars

Midnight

Pebbles skip across the panes of my bedroom window, cracking like a whip, loud and sharp. Once… then two more times… then once more. The steady staccato of their barrage beats against glass, matching his persistence, his stubbornness. He knows he could just text me - which would be far more discreet than pegging my house with tiny rocks - but he prefers the old-fashioned gesture, says it reminds him of simpler times and grand declarations made with boomboxes raised above one’s head. He doesn’t worry about waking anyone with his racket because he knows I’m alone. Uncle Lamb is gone once again on some fantastical adventure in search of ancient artifacts, and the rest of the street slumbers, blissfully unaware of any impending mischief.

He lobs another pebble, which ricochets off of a shutter and skitters across the roof line below my window. Beneath the waves of bed linen, I roll onto my hip and flip on my bedside lamp, a shining beacon calling out to my lover below…

He’s not actually yours.

I chide myself, hissing at the pain that not only blossoms in my chest from my own cruel reality check but also from my big toe, which finds the corner of a forgotten textbook. I’m a tangle of limbs, all sharp edges and knobby knees. I shimmy into a pair of jeans and slip on my Keds in a completely uncoordinated ballet. A blush creeps up my neck when I realize that he can see the shadows of my not-at-all graceful extremities behind my closed window curtains. With no time for make-up, I bite my lip in hopes it stains the flesh just red enough to give the illusion of lipstick.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I inhale deeply in a feeble attempt to calm my rattled nerves. I’m shaken to my core before I even step outside. My eyelids slide close as I swallow against the hard lump of self-doubt at the back of my throat.

Buck up, Beauchamp.

With my chin held high, I dramatically toss back the drapes and flick open the locks. The heels of my hands press into the wooden ledge. Whispered curses pepper my tongue when a stray splinter catches the fleshy bit of my palm, but I carry on in spite of the pain. I duck through the narrow opening and push the window sash back into place, all while balancing precariously on my tiptoes. Half sitting, half crouching, I crab-walk down the angled porch roof. When I reach the end, I slide onto my belly and catch the column below with my legs before scampering down the taper with the agile reflexes of a cat. Swaying slightly as I steady myself against the porch railing, I find my footing in the grass below until a low chuckle catches me off guard.

“I didna ken ye were part wee cheetie, Sassenach.”

I swivel quickly on one heel, and the world continues to spin around me even though I’ve stopped moving.

Jamie.

He’s waiting for me, leaning against his black Ford Mustang with his arms folded across his chest and his cock-sure confidence tucked behind his stupid (yet horribly attractive) smirk. His windswept curls are nearly black at night, but the streetlights tinge the tips rose gold, framing his in an angelic halo like some deity (though he’s definitely more devil than god at times). Not one for high fashion, he’s dressed simply in his signature trainers, jeans, and a white T-shirt… the sleeves of which capped the bugle of his bicep just perfectly.

Damn him.

A breeze filters in and lifts the stray curls from my neck, but I still feel warm.

“Hi,” I say weakly. My chin is tucked downward as I watch my own toes scuff the earth, but I peek through my eyelashes, hoping to catch Jamie’s eye. My pulse thunders to life when I realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. Not once.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I think I might faint.

“I didn’t see Lamb’s car…” he asks as he pushes himself off of his car.

“You wouldn’t,” I interrupt, taking three steps forward before I stop myself from seeming to eager. “He’s not here. Arizona.”

He glances up at my bedroom window and then back at me, his brow furrowing while his question takes form. “But you...”

Pride floods my body, warming me to the tips of my fingers. A small giggle bubbles from my lips as I trot towards him, shaking my head in slight disbelief that I’d actually pulled one over on him. When we meet in the middle of the brick path in front of my house, we pause - a little awkward and mostly unsure of ourselves and the newness of whatever this is exactly. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the fingers of his left hand twitch, fluttering against his thigh. I press my hands to his chest and silence his nerves with a small peck on his cheek before I whisper in his ear.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, Fraser.”

~*~

We speed off into the night with only the moon and the stars to light our way. Hurtling down back roads in Jamie’s convertible reminds me of a rollercoaster as we peel around hairpin curves and crest mountainous hills before flying down the incline. The radio plays music softly in the background, low enough for us to easily converse over the dulcet melodies but neither one of us speaks. We ride along in silence, with Jamie’s hand resting on the seat mere inches from mine. When he taps his fingers along to the beat, his pinky occasionally brushes mine, and each time, my belly clenches before melting into molten silver.

“Where to?” He asks, breaking through the quietness but keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

His words reach my ears and my brain stutters to start and then suddenly launches ahead like a speeding train. I hadn’t thought about where’d we go. Jamie always randomly picked a place for us to meet - the River Court, Moira’s Cafe after my shift, or one of our houses depending on who’s legal guardian was around (a phrase in which we found both humor and sympathy). Tonight, I blindly dressed and tossed myself out the window without a single question, let alone as where’d we go.

“Anywhere…” I sigh as I shrug my shoulders. The leather beneath me squeaks loudly, emitting a sound that could dissolve only us into a fit of immature laughter.

“Laoghaire is throwing a party,” Jamie suggests casually.

Laoghaire MacKenzie.

The very mention of her name turns my stomach sour. We whip around another turn, and I’m caught off guard. My knuckles turn white from gripping the door handle as I try to swallow back the bile that’s flooded my mouth. Memories flood my vision of the last party I attended with Laoghaire MacKenzie in attendance: special trinkets and secret letters revealed for all to see… Jamie and I further divided by the cruel hierarchy of the high school caste system… my tears masked by a steaming shower later that night while I sobbed from the embarrassment of it all.

I wouldn’t dare be caught in her presence unguarded again.

“Anywhere but there,” I request, my voice as sharp as the turn Jamie takes down a hidden, one lane road before I can even finish speaking.

~*~

“What is this place?” I ask as we roll to a stop, half afraid Jamie’s brought me up here to fulfill some psychopathic, horror movie fantasy, half in awe of the beautiful sight before me.

The thick forest gave way to a clearing, jagged branches breaking off to reveal a small, wooden structure and a sky of winking stars overhead. As I slam the heavy metal car door behind me, a breeze rustles the leaves, making me shiver in its cool wake. I know we are somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains from the way the once flat roads rose to startlingly steep hills, but I didn’t have the foresight to grab a jacket. Completely unphased, Jamie jogs ahead of me and takes the steps at the front porch two at a time.

“My grandfather’s,” he explains as he jimmies open the first lock. The screeching of ancient metal tumblers echoes throughout the clearing, disturbing the peaceful night and doing little to sway my mind from more macabre paranoia.

Rubbing warmth into my arms with my palms, I say through chattering teeth, “I didn’t realize you were so close with him that you’d have a key.”

Every shred of confidence I had before is gone, leaving me a shaking and stuttering nervous wreck.

“I doubt he’ll mind…” he grumbles as he negotiates the second lock to open and the heavy, timber door swings open on creaking hinges. “He’s dead.”

Well, that’s comforting.

“You know, this is how most scary movies start…” I rock back on my heels as I nervously ramble. “Guy takes girl up to his cabin far from civilization… lulls her into a false sense of security… and BAM! He turns out to be a serial killer or a werewolf or...something!”

In the moonlight, Jamie’s blue eyes twinkle with mirth as the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a slight smirk.

“No werewolves here, Sassenach,” he promises as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and ushers me inside. “But I might just have to take a bite out of you.”

He tucks his head into the crook of neck and nips at the sensitive flesh there. My half-delighted, half-terrified squeals peal through the night air, and suddenly, I’m not so cold anymore.

~*~

We’re not inside long. Jamie quickly gathers supplies and deposits them into a basket for easy carrying: a thick, plaid blanket, a bottle of whisky, and a flashlight.

While he’s preoccupied, I acquaint myself with my surroundings. I take note of the wide, hand-scraped floor boards and the large boulders stacked tall to form the fireplace. The entire space smells faintly of wood smoke from long forgotten fires and greasy lanolin from well loved sweaters. Above the raw timber mantel rests a hand-carved sign, the words Fraser’s Ridge etched into the marker.

As my hand lifts to trace the letters with my fingertips, Jamie materializes beside me and beckons me to join him outside. We walk out into the night with his fingers intertwined with mine.

Fifty yards behind the cabin, the earth suddenly drops into oblivion. I’m sure the views are spectacular in daylight, but tonight the night sky steals the breath from my lungs. The inky shadows of the geography below layer the scenery in varying shades of purple. Wine-stained hills roll down the ravine and eggplant colored silhouettes of tree tops dot the horizon. Above us, the heavens explode with starlight, thousands sparkling crystals spattered across a velvety indigo canvas.

Lost in the beauty of this place, I hardly notice Jamie, who has brought a roaring fire to life with little else but his bare hands and some kindling. The warmth of the flames draws me back from the cliff’s edge as I wander closer to the hearth. Halved-logs surround the fire pit in a circle, the make-shift benches just wide enough for two to share. I sink into the empty space besides Jamie, and he wraps us both in the thick, woolen tartan before offering me a tin cup. In comfortable silence, we casually sip our whisky as we lose ourselves in the glistening nightscape above our heads.

“See that grouping of stars just to the west?” Jamie whispers. His lips graze the outer shell of my ear, and my skin erupts into goosebumps at the sensation. I nestle closer into the crook of his arm as he continues.

The low hum of his voice lulls me into sleepy complacency. His Scottish burr rumbles deep in his chest and vibrates against my ribs like a purring kitten. Despite the chill of the autumn air, warmth tingles throughout my entire body to the very tips of my toes. My head is thick and fuzzy partially from the late hour, but mostly from the nearly empty cup in my lap (my third helping of whisky).

Jamie’s voice carries on steadily, never once wavering as he teaches me about the constellations - a twist on our normal tutor/student relationship. With each formation, he explains the mythology behind them. Canis Major and Canis Minor. Hercules and Hydra. Orion and Scorpius. Like most Scots, he’s a born storyteller with a gift to color any tale with vivid language and dramatic pauses, and I’m completely captivated. As he speaks of the lovers Perseus and Andromeda, his hand cups my cheek and tilts my face towards his. I blink, my eyelids fluttering open and close as I lean towards him. His lips hover inches from mine, when my brain decides to intervene.

What exactly are you doing, Beauchamp?!

I press my hands against Jamie’s chest, pushing him away and pressing myself backwards as I mumble “Not so fast, soldier.”

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asks, but I’m untangle my limbs from the blanket and stand up before I can stop to answer him.

Propelled by doubt, my legs stumble over the bench and march back towards the cabin. Fear settles into a lead pit in my stomach. Its icy fingers trace frost-laden trails down my spine, and before long I’m shaking… from the cold… from the bone-weary uneasiness that has never left the back of my mind.

What on earth does Jamie Fraser - the most popular guy in school - want with me?

“Claire!” He shouts over the crunching of leaves beneath his feet as he chases after me. “Will ye even tell me what I did to offend ye?”

I spin on my heel and charge towards him, ignoring the loose curls that sharply smack against my face.

“What you did?” I scream back. “The rumor mill is churning with all sorts of stories about you, Fraser.”

I’m bluffing for the most part. Sure, everyone talks about Jamie Fraser - star point guard and hottest boy in the junior class. Who wouldn’t? But no one is exactly sharing these stories with me. I am now a part of these stories, a starring role at times even. The clumsy nerd Jamie’s taken to his bed. To most, I’m a charity case or the unfortunate consequence of a lost bet. To all, I could never be worthy of the title girlfriend.

Jamie stops and sighs, his head dropping to his chest. He clutches the blanket wrapped around his shoulders a little tighter as he asks, “What have ye heard?”

What had I heard?

Very little, truth be told. I caught the tale end of a story when I was waiting for Jamie after practice one afternoon. The cheerleaders never thought much of me anyway to consider stopping their mindless chatter as the exited the gym, though I’m certain they meant for me to hear this particular story.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat.

Do you really want to do this?

When our tutoring arrangement turned into something more, we allowed our relationship to develop naturally, albeit secretly. We never once agreed on titles or labels; we never even stopped to have the conversation. It crossed my mind plenty of times - when we’d search for a new secret spot to meet or when we passed each other in the halls without nothing more than a quick glance. And yet, each time I stopped myself, my inner cheerleader chastising me for being less than cool. It was easier this way… or so I thought.

“That you’ve been out with some other girl…” I admit quietly, my voice cracking along with my heart as I finally allow myself to feel the bitter sting of betrayal.

Jamie reaches for me, his own voice shaking as he speaks. “It’s no’ what ye think…”

“Oh it isn’t, is it?” I scoff as I shuffle backwards. My heels collide with something solid and rough behind me as my palms find the lip of a concrete ledge.

“Damn it, Claire, d’ye have to do this all the time?” he demands.

“In a word - yes,” I say, sinking exhaustedly onto the rim of an ornamental fountain.

From my perch, I watch Jamie seethe before me. Tempered rage boils beneath his flushed cheeks, and I imagine steam billowing from his ears. The fingers of his left hand drum a steady tattoo against his thigh as he chews his bottom lip. The tempo matches the beat of my racing heart.

Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release.

“Who?” He asks after an eternity passes.

“Laoghaire.”

Her name blooms on my tongue like poison, sickeningly sweet before turning to bitter ash. The languid L coats my tongue with a thick, syrupy medicine for my own grand delusions; the long E whistles through my gritted teeth, the melody for my own funeral (cause of death - social suicide). My eyelids narrow and I cross my arms over my chest as I wait - for the lie that will grant me sweet relief even if it’s just for one night… for the truth that will certainly destroy me…

Tracing some invisible path on the ground, Jamie’s gaze darts back and forth, but it doesn’t once meet mine.

“Oh…” I choke back a sob that bubbles at the back of my throat. Pushing myself off to the ledge, I rise to leave - the back door to the cabin in my sites.

“It’s no like that!” He roars. His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls me back, drawing me close to him. His strong arms clasp me tight to his chest, iron bands holding me firmly in place as I struggle to break free.

“Explain it to me then!” I loudly screech into his face, continuing to fight his embrace. “What’s it like, hmm?”

Slowly, Jamie softens. The muscles in his arms relax and his gripping fingers release until his hands are gently palming my hips. The tension in his furrowed brow melts. His shoulders sag, rounding gently inward until his curving around me like the delicate shell of a caterpillar’s cocoon, the tartan blanket protecting us both from the chilly night air.

“What you’ve heard is true,” he whispers, releasing his secret to the universe. “I’ve been out wi’ the lass once or twice but it’s not… I can’t…”

His words stutter and stammer until his finally silent, rendered speechless by a myriad of emotions I watch flash across his eyes. In his own face, I see my own fear and doubt mirrored back at me. I hear a small cracking sound from deep within my chest - my own heart breaking for him… for us...

I brush a stray curl from his temple as I ask him, prompting him where he left off. “Can’t what?”

Suddenly, he looks up at me - eyes wild and bright.

“I can’t stop thinking about this.”

Jamie’s lips are on mine before my subconscious can put up a fight, allowing my heart to fully give in. We are no longer shy or awkward. We are hungry. Dizzy with lust, I steady myself, gripping his shoulders as his tongue laps at my lower lip, begging entrance. Arching into him, I moan against his mouth while my hands palm the muscular planes of his chest. He hooks his thumbs into my belt loops and jerks me forward, our hips colliding in delicious friction. As I press into him once more, our uncoordinated efforts to climb inside the other’s skin knock the tartan loose from our bodies. Jamie shouts at the sudden shock to his system, and I whimper in the cold.

While he gathers the discarded blanket from the ground, I shyly whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it either… us… I mean.”

Once he’s fully upright, Jamie pauses. He stands before me. He holds the blanket bunched in his palms, and the flesh of his low belly is bare, the hem of his shirt rucked up over his hip. Perfectly disheveled, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful in my whole life… and I think I could maybe love this boy.

Gently, he wraps the tartan around my shoulders. When he steps towards me, I return the favor and nestle us both beneath the thick wool.

He presses a kiss to my forehead as he mumbles into my hair.

“We best get ye inside, Sassenach. Yer shiverin.”

~*~

Daylight catches us by surprise, even though we sleep well past noon. Well, at least I do. When I finally untangle myself from the mountains of bed sheets and stumble my way out into the land of the living, I find Jamie outside once more.

“That looks like a nutritious breakfast,” I comment as I walk towards him, noting the red and blue box of Cracker Jack clutched in his fist.

“S’all I could find,” he mutters between bites.

I sit down next to him, and he tilts the box towards me, sharing his meager meal. We sit quietly munching on the crispy snacks. In the daylight, I can now see the brilliant shades of autumn across the valley below. Deep burgundy, brilliant copper, and shining gold all merge together as one against the forget-me-not blue sky. There’s not a cloud in sight, and the warm sun replaces the bitter chill from the night before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jamie as we eat. He’s comfortable up here in the mountains, relaxed and naturally himself - for someone I thought of as a true city boy. He’s at peace as the ruler of his own domain with no one for miles.

This is my Jamie - the real Jamie.

It doesn’t take long to finish our breakfast. A small box of Cracker Jack is no match for two hungry and hung-over teens. Jamie’s fingers dive in once more, reaching for the bottom in search of crumbs. Instead, he unearths a bracelet. It’s clearly meant for a child with its mismatched, brightly colored beads strung along an elastic band. He doesn’t hesitate. He takes my hand and gently threads the bracelet onto my wrist before pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Fin.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #one book one shot book 2 #rewrite the stars #witchie words #jamie x claire #outlander/one tree hill cross over #always & forever au

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

Text

Off Day: Twelve

Bucky pressed the ice pack Steve handed him against his eye and sighed. He wasn’t exactly sure of the series of events that lead him here. Sitting in the clubhouse with all his friends worrying and no one is sure where you’d gone.

Nat cuddled Salem and tried to comfort the desolate little creature and glared at Bucky, “You’re really fucking dumb, Barnes,” she snarled.

“Nat,” he groaned, “I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

The redhead practically hissed at him and walked away leaving Bucky to play it all back again in his head. It hurt. You being gone felt like missing a limb. Like part of his soul had been torn out.

Somehow, he knew that where ever you’d gone it was worse for you.

In his mind’s eye, he could see three days ago.

You’d staggered into his arms and burst into helpless sobs. The kind that didn’t even make noise. Deadweight against his chest. He didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to explain. He tucked you into his bed and held you while your heart had shattered.

Your best friend was gone and nothing would ever feel right again.

“I couldn’t watch them carry her out,” you murmur, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“I know,” he soothed, rubbing the back of your neck. He didn’t try and feed you. He knew you wouldn’t eat. Or be able to sleep. He put something soothing on in the background. Disney, something you don’t need to pay attention to. And when you hide your face in his chest, he holds you closer. Tears keep falling and Bucky can’t help but take mental stock of where the sharp things are in his house.

The next few days, as you struggle with your aunt to plan a funeral and help them keep body and soul together, watching you shove your pain aside to be a rock. An anchor. That hurts him worse than seeing you cry. You’ve detached yourself from the pain so far that you’re numb. Dissociated. There’s nothing there but painted on smiles and unobtrusive helpfulness.

“Aunt Judy,” he hears you say, “don’t worry about me. You and Uncle Jack need to go. Get out of here for a while and rest. Take your trip. Kaity would want you to go. She always wanted to see San Francisco.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked chucking you under the chin.

“Hold down the fort,” you answer smiling, “Do what I promised Kaity I’d do.”

She’d kissed your cheeks and hugged you hard. You’d walked into the living room and flopped face-first on the couch, studiously avoiding looking at the room Kaity had occupied at the end. Avoided looking at Bucky who knew there were cracks in your careful veneer.

The funeral had been a trial.

It was well attended. Half the town turned out. Friends of Kaity’s. People who had no idea who you were when you stood up to give the Eulogy.

“My whole life, I had two constants,” you start, taking a deep breath, “My life was a mess and Kaity. God love her. Was going to try and fix it.” You smile, taking a second to wipe tears away. “Kaity was, without a doubt, one of the kindest, most selfless people you could ever find. But. If I tell you about all of that, Kaity is gonna haunt me forever. She made me promise not to tell you about all of that, and, for those of you who don’t know, if I can do one thing reliably, it’s keep a promise to Kaity.” Jack snorts behind you and Judy smiles just a little. “I made a lot of promises to Kaity over the years. About a lot of things. But, before she passed, I got permission to break this one in exchange for giving a Eulogy that wouldn’t bore you all to death. Kaity informed me that as much as she loves you all, she doesn’t really want to play casket Tetris.” That brings surprised laughter from a few people and a few damp chuckles. “Kaity gave me permission to finally tell the story of the mysterious brown stain on the ceiling in Aunt Judy’s kitchen.” More laughter, less shocked this time. Bucky knows this hurts. He can see you struggling to keep the promise you made.

“So,” you finish, smiling a little. “I told you that story to tell you this. Because this is the one thing Kaity wanted you all to walk away knowing. Love, much like Dr. Pepper, is meant to be shared. So let's take the love we have for her and spread it around. Love recklessly. Spread kindness like glitter. And for the love of God, just eat the garlic bread.”

Bucky wants to hug you. You’re trying so hard to hold it together. To keep your voice from cracking. To hold it together for the assembled mass of people that have now started to cry.

That had been a day. The worst day. And Bucky still. Still couldn’t figure out how it had happened exactly.

He was aware that he had gone to the clubhouse. He’d been trying to set up a nice little dinner. He’d borrowed a backroom and set a table all pretty with candles and had his ma make something you might be able to eat.

He was just doing some last little things, making it pretty and making sure the room was a good temperature. Not because he expected to get you naked but because you’d now lost enough weight just from the stress that you were always shivering. Sometimes, even with him wrapped around you. It was how you always were as a kid. He realized now that not eating when you were stressed had probably started as a way to exert control over your life and now it was just ingrained behavior. That bothered him.

When he heard the footsteps behind him, he’d thought for a moment it was you, that Nat had just sent you back.

He turned, ready to kiss you, hello and Char lounged in the doorway, arms folded, surveying the scene like she was hunting and had just spotted her prey. “Well. Isn’t this cute,” she hummed.

“And none of it’s for you,” Bucky said calmly.

“Aww, Buckaroo,” she sighed, “I really hoped we could put this aside for the baby.”

“Char, you’re not even pregnant. Or at least I hope you’re not after I watched you pound shot’s with one of Rumlow’s guys at the Time Out.”

She pouted, “Well, we could make a baby,” she purred, stepping closer.

“No thanks,” Bucky snorted, “I’ve got a girl, remember?”

Char rolled her eyes and stalked a little closer, making Bucky realize with a start that this was a back room and his back was to the wall. He tried to resituate himself but there was a table in the way and Char was faster than he gave her credit for. She pinned him uncomfortably between herself and the table, kissing him, hard, forcing her tongue artlessly into his mouth and leaving him struggling to get her off of him without hurting her but her grip was too strong for him to do anything without taking an action that would lead to it being her word against his.

“Bucky, I-”

The voice from the door way makes Char jump back, leaving Bucky with lipstick smeared on his face and looking confused and startled. You stand frozen on the threshold, a look on your face that makes his heart almost stop.

You don’t say a word, you just bolt through the nearest door. Desperate to get away from both of them before either of them see you cry.

“Oops,” Char had said, adjusting her lipstick in a compact mirror.

Bucky can’t even speak. He follows after you, watching from the doorway as your jeep pulls out of the drive.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Nat said angrily, appearing next to him, holding the basket that Salem liked to travel in.

“I- I just-” He doesn’t get a chance to finish.

Char walks up out of the back and it takes Natasha all of a millisecond to piece together that somebody got caught kissing someone who wasn’t their girl.

To be honest, Bucky isn’t even mad Nat punched him.

It was nice to know she apparently felt the need to look after you. That she considered you a friend enough to hit him for being an asshole.

_________

It had been 24 hours and no one but your Aunt and Uncle had heard from you. They were tight-lipped as to your whereabouts. Careful to only say you were safe. That it was okay and you were thinking clearly.

Sam took a seat on Bucky’s other side with a sigh, “Well, I heard from a cop friend of mine,” he said.

“And?” Nat asked anxiously, stroking the little cat.

“The good news is, Y/N is very much alive. The bad news is she’s on a 72 hour psychiatric hold.”

Bucky turned quickly and his head throbbed, “What?” he barked.

Sam sighed, “A precautionary measure,” he said, “I guess she got home, tore her studio apart and was just generally enough of a mess that they had them come take her to the hospital BEFORE she tried to go play in traffic or something.”

“This is all my fault,” he groaned.

Steve squeezed the back of his neck, “It’ll be okay, Buck. Once her head clears and they let her loose just go explain. You didn’t do anything.”

“I know but-”

“If I ever get a hold of that blonde tramp, I’m gonna kill her,” Nat growled.

“There are no kitties in jail, Nat,” Sam hummed, gesturing to the black cat she was holding like a baby in the crook of one arm.

_______________

“Baby?” Bucky said softly, stopping at the door of the shop. You were on a ladder behind the desk, shelving a book. You half turn and jump down carefully.

You look pale and tired. You look like you need a week on the beach and several good meals. You look sick. Bucky supposes you are and crosses the floor quietly.

“I know you’re probably still pissed at me but-”

You shake your head, “Who hit you in the face?” You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering and he closes the shop door to block the draft, “Nat,” he answers.

“Why’d you do it, Bucky?” you ask softly.

“I didn’t-” he started, reaching for you, stopping when you back up. “I- I would never do that,” he murmured, “But when I was in the back, trying to set up dinner, Char came back and. Well, darlin’ she set me up.”

You look up at him, still shivering and bite your lip.

“She wanted you to find us like that,” he murmured, “She wanted to hurt you, knowing that would hurt me.”

You nod and take a tentative step forward.

“I was so afraid when you wouldn’t answer your phone, doll,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice quiet. Careful to remember that you hadn’t been in your right mind when you saw them. That your reaction was all emotion. You’d just buried your best friend. Everything was raw and too real.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, “You were safe. You went someplace safe when you needed it. And you gave Nat a reason to stay out of jail leaving Salem with her. Otherwise, Char’d be dead right now.”

He held out his arms again and wrapped you up slowly when you walk into them, hiding your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry I ran away. I should have known better,” you murmur, “She assaulted you and then I just ran off. And Nat punched you in the face.”

Bucky rests his cheek against your hair and hugs you tighter, “Shh, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he scolds gently. “You weren’t thinking clearly, sweetheart. No one was. I’m just glad you’re home. And safe. It makes it a lot easier for me to take care of you.”

You look up at him and he kisses your nose, “Baby girl, when’s the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday some time,” you murmur.

He tuts softly, “It’s no good, Y/N,” he says, “Baby girl, let’s get you food okay? You need to put something in your belly. How about you close up early and I take you home? I’ll cook dinner and you can get a kitty cuddle.”

“I’d like that. I missed my kitty.”

He smiles a little, “Then let's get you home, huh? if you talk real nice I’ll even run you a bath.”

“With bubbles?” you ask, nuzzling his chest, cuddling closer, seeking comfort.

“With bubbles, princess,” he chuckles, basking in the feeling. It soothed the fear that had gnawed at him. That his one chance had ended. That you wouldn’t believe him. He couldn’t help it, he thought a quiet thank you to Kaity, wherever she was. Thanking her for keeping you safe, even now. If her parents hadn’t come by the house when they did, Char’s little stunt might have been the last straw. And that, Bucky reflected, was an unbearable thought.

Tags: @lancsnerd @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess @stevieang @wellfucksorrymum

#Bucky Barnes #soft bucky #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #Steve Rogers #Bucky x reader #fluff #angst #death #hurt/comfort #assault #jumping to conclusions

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witharsenicsauce · 4 years

Text

A Wedding in Black (XCOM, Moxrider)

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

Pratal Mox looked up with a smile. He recognized that voice, but after all who else would come looking for him when he disappeared from a party?

“I needed some air.”

“Too crowded?”

He grunted. “The Commander loves her...shindigs...a bit too much.”

Elena sat down beside him, pulling down her hood so her short hair could ruffle in the breeze. It was late May, and the evening was warm and smelled of sweetness. It almost calmed his nerves. Almost.

“The view is beautiful.” She said as they stared out over the vacant city, a soft red glow on the skyline where the sun had just set.

“The rooftops give a view nearly unlike any other.” He looked at Elena and she smiled at him. There was no view quite as beautiful as she was.

“Do you know what day it is?” Mox asked her.

Elena’s lip twitched. “Wednesday?”

He sighed.

“Of course I know.” She met his eyes. “Three years ago today, was the day we met face to face.”

“Not as enemies, but…” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “As friends.”

“Feeling sentimental?” Elena asked.

“I often reminisce on that day.” He looked away, avoiding her gaze. “...It was, as of yet, the best I’d had.”

“Except when the Lady Assassin took you captive.”

“Yes well...that was a fluke.”

Elena chuckled and felt Mox shift beside her, letting go of her hand. “Pratal?”

“Elena, after this last mission...I’ve been thinking.”

Oh no. That was never a good sign. “We did well. Hardly any injuries.”

“Yes...But you and I both came close. That blast could have claimed us.”

“And yet it didn’t.” She swallowed in order to steady her voice.

“But it still got me thinking. About us.” He laid his hands in his lap, fiddling with his coat pocket. “I’m afraid that one day, one of us might not come back.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Elena spat. “Nothing will happen to us. I love you, and that should be enough.”

“I love you too, Elena, and the more I think about the idea of us being seperated…” He took a deep breath. “The more I want us to be together. Really, together .”

Elena blinked. “...What are you saying?”

Mox pulled his hand from his coat pocket, and held a glittering ring in his fingers. “Elena, will you be my wife? Will you marry me?”

Elena let loose a sob, clutching a hand over her mouth as she let flow the tears of joy and relief.

“Elena?!”

She grabbed Mox by the lapels and kissed him, and he struggled to keep from dropping the ring off the roof. She pulled away as quickly as she’d come and held out her hand.

“Does this answer your question?”

Mox beamed as he pulled off her glove and slid the ring onto her finger, the interlocking gold bands glittering in the faint streetlights. He kissed her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

“Thank you…”

“Of course! Here you had me worried you were breaking up with me!” Elena laughed and kissed him again. “Married...it feels strange to say.”

“As it will feel strange to call you my fiancée.” Mox smiled. “But it does feel right.”

. .

“Like hell you are!” Volk threw his mug of ale down. Elena held her ground though, she’d expected this.

“I’m not asking for your blessing, Volk.” She accentuated every word. “I’m telling you what’s happening.”

“It’s not happening, Outrider. Not on my watch.” He picked up his mug. It was empty. “Not with him.”

“I love him.”

“What are you, a fucking teenager?” Volk refilled his mug spilling a bit of the brandy. “He’s one of them. The enemy.”

“He and the Skirmishers have done more than enough to prove themselves.” Elena protested. “He’s as much an ally to you as XCOM is.”

“FUCK XCOM.” Volk stood up on unsteady legs. “Fuck the whole lot of ‘em, they’ve gotten into that head of yours and got you thinking-”

“Ah yes, how dare a woman think in your presence.” Elena snarked.

“That’s not what I meant, Outrider. I knew that Commander lady was batshit when I first saw her, but I went along with her crazy-ass scheme. And I did it for the Reapers, Outrider.”

Elena stayed silent.

“I knew joining up with those hybrids was a bad idea, but I kept my mouth shut. And now look what it’s led to.” He jabbed at her with his pointer finger. “I won’t have you fucking him on my watch.”

“It won’t be on your watch.” Elena smiled, but it looked more like a scowl. “We like our privacy.”

“Outrider!” He grabbed his mug of ale and by the time he looked back, Elena was halfway to the door. “I didn’t dismiss you!”

“I’m not taking orders from you any longer, Volk. Especially when you’re drunk.” She looked back once. “...I was going to invite you to the wedding.”

“There won’t be a wedding, Outrider.”

“Yes, there will.” Then she pulled up her hood, flipped him the bird, and stormed out the door.

. .

The church was old, half toppled and all but abandoned by ADVENT. Betos and about five or six other Skirmishers were clearing rubble away from the altar, brushing dust and pebbles off the seats. A few of Elena’s Reaper brothers and sisters had arrived, including two volunteered to hunt something for the later wedding feast. Mox looked around at the the chapel and smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Huh.” Bradford nodded slightly. “Well it does have a weird charm to it.”

“And no one patrols here.” Mox added. “Now all that’s needed is Elena…”

“The Commander wanted to escort her personally.” Bradford sat down one one of the old pews. “Solid oak. This must’ve been hella expensive pre-ADVENT. And you get the venue for free.”

Mox sat beside Bradford and looked up at the various stained glass windows, all surprisingly still intact, showing the various saints and angels of the old faiths.

“Nervous?”

Mox hesitated. “No. Simply...contemplating.” He smiled. “In ADVENT, I would never have had this chance. They did not allow for such...compassion. For love. Now…” He clasped his hands in his lap. “All I can dream of is my life with her.”

“You’re one lucky guy.” Bradford patted him on the back. “And you’re gonna make her really happy, I can promise you that.”

. .

When Commander Senuna opened the door, Elena still found herself taken aback by the sight of her, even though it had been nearly three years of seeing her everyday. But with her icy white hair and insistence on dressing in either very light pastels or pure white, the Commander seemed to glow in the dark, even more so now that she was beaming at Elena.

“There’s the blushing bride!” Senuna grabbed Elena by the hand and pulled her into the spacious quarters. “So I got the clothes you requested, and a skirt just in case. Are you sure you want the slacks?”

“I’m sure.” Elena said.

“Well it’s your wedding. I also got permission from the Resistance Council to officiate; they said it’s legal as long as we send them the right paperwork.”

“Good.” Elena grabbed the pile of black clothes from the bed. “Is there a...more private place I can change?”

“Bathroom is over there.” Senuna pointed to it. “Though If you want I can just look away.”

“Thanks but no.” She took her clothes and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

As Elena stripped completely naked, it hit her how...unorthodox this all was. There hadn’t been a wedding in this torn-up facsimile of their society for...a very long time. Romance was short lived here, and people simply fucked and moved on. Even her “friendship” with Mox had surprised her with its longevity. She’d expected them to metaphorically part ways after they’d first slept together but...He stayed. And so did she.

And now she was going to stay with him forever, she thought as she buttoned up her collar. It fit perfectly, which she thanked her lucky stars for. This had been a rushed job after all, but it looked so beautiful. Her top was draped in layers of black cloth with white lace outlining each layer, buttoning at the neck. The sleeves were white, a good contrast to the black blouse and leggings she donned as well. It fit her like a glove.

Elena stepped out and Commander Senuna clasped her hands. “Oh, you look beautiful!” She sniffled. “Now, makeup? Hair?”

“A little.” Elena consented. “Some lipstick and eye shadow would be fine.”

“Oh, that’ll be perfect!” Senuna went to her dresser and grabbed a little clutch-bag, and Elena sat down on the Commander’s large, luxurious bed. She saw the Commander look through the different colors, pulling out two lipsticks. “Which one?”

“...The one in your left hand. The cherry.”

“Oh.” Senuna looked surprised. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s a special occasion.”

Senuna smiled. “It is!” She knelt in front of Elena and began using a small brush to paint the red color onto her lips.

There was a frantic knock at the door. “Busy!” The Commander shouted.

The knocking continued accompanied by the voice of Lily Shen. “It’s urgent!”

Senuna growled. “One moment.” She flung the door open, and Elena looked over at Shen who stood, panting, in the doorway.

“Volk’s here.”

Senuna blinked. “So? He’s always welcome on the Avenger.”

“He’s also drunk. And angry.”

The Commander pursed her lips. “And let me guess.”

“He’s looking for Outrider.” Shen waved at Elena. “Hi. You look really pretty. Congrats on the big day!”

“If Volk doesn’t ruin it…” Elena sighed.

Senuna turned to Shen. “Is he violent?”

“He flipped a table and punched the barman.”

“Hm.” Senuna rubbed her chin. “...Try and distract him as long as you can. Give him more beer if you must.”

“Is that safe?”

“For us, maybe. I’m going to try and sneak our black-veiled bride past you two. I’ll let you know when we’re clear of the area, after that you can drop everything and run. Or call backup.”

“What if he comes at me?”

“Take a weapon. Try and aim for the leg.”

“Gotcha.” Shen nodded and waved at Elena. “Good luck!”

“And you.”

Senuna closed and locked the door, kneeling in front of Elena again and dipping into a soft pink eye shadow with a fluffy brush. “I’m sorry. We won’t let Volk get in the way.”

Elena nodded, but a heavy sorrow sat in the pit of her stomach. She thought back to her years as a teenager when she had looked up to this man, and couldn’t help but feel let down…

Senuna finally took a black lace headband, adorned with black roses, and pressed it into Elena’s hair. “Look at you. You already look like a bride.” . .

As they ran from the Avenger, sharp heels clicking against broken cement, Senuna reached down and ran her hand across a field of overgrown flowers, ripping them out as she went. Elena had taken out her earpiece, but she could still practically hear Shen calling for backup when she realized Volk held his liquor better than she thought.

They reached the old Orthodox chapel and finally slowed their pace, panting. Elena turned to Senuna and asked “I think that run smeared the makeup.”

“Actually it’s still perfect!” Senuna winked. “A good primer and some setting spray can really do the trick.” She held out the handful of flowers. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Your bouquet, silly.” The Commander laughed. “A bride has to have a bouquet.”

Elena took it from her slowly. There was no rhyme or reason to the flowers. A lavender here, a chrysanthemum there, some roses, Queen-Anne’s-Lace, delphinium…

She smiled. “Very diverse.”

“Yes.” Senuna said, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Fitting.”

“Yes.” Elena pressed the bouquet to her chest and took a breath. “I’m ready.”

“Let’s marry you.” Senuna took Elena by the arm and threw open the chapel doors, which creaked loudly as though to announce their presence.

Elena was...shocked. While not a large crowd, a good dozen of her Reaper brothers and sisters were seated in the pews, waiting for her. Waiting to see her be married to someone they had thought of as an enemy.

And speaking of, Betos was there as well, and about six or so other Skirmishers. And to her shock, and she passed down the aisle, they smiled warmly at her.

She lifted her head, and before she knew it, she was face to face with him.

. .

Volk was hot on the trail. Outrider was getting sloppy.

He clicked his pistol in his hand, nothing in his mind but bad ideas and liquid courage. A small part of him hoped the little Asian girl was okay, he’d decked her pretty hard after all.

Volk saw a trail of flower petals down the road and scoffed. “I told you, Outrider. Whatever happens next, you deserve it for jumping ship.”

. .

“We gather today to celebrate something not often remembered in the battlefield.” Senuna said, standing over the couple who held each other’s hands before her. “Today, we remember love, and by the union of two souls, we recognize that their love is eternal.”

Senuna paused for dramatic effect, but really she was craning her ears for any nearby sounds that could indicate Volk’s approach. She heard rustling all around the church, but with a wave of relief, it turned into a light breeze.

She continued. “You are all here today to witness these two pledge themselves in marriage to each other, that they shall stand by each other in good times and in bad, and remain ever faithful to their love and commitment to one another. As partners, on the battlefield and in life.”

Senuna swore she saw Betos wipe a tear away.

“Tonight, you all bear witness to the union of Lieutenant Elena Dragunova, and Sergeant Pratal Mox.”

The whole church was transfixed by the two, but their eyes were on each other alone. Elena met the golden gaze of her lover and felt her eyes grow misty, her cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide she smiled.

Mox lifted a hand to her cheek. “You’re crying.” He whispered.

She nodded. “I’m very, very happy.”

. .

This was it. This was his shot, pun intended.

Volk peaked around the church door and scanned the room. He cursed under his breath. 12, maybe 13 of his own Reapers were sitting in the audience, watching this happen. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought, but with a lucky shot maybe he could still nail the Monster-Groom in the head. And then…

And…

And then Elena would give this up. And things would go...back to normal.

He blinked, his gun arm dangling. Everyone would see him from here. Every one of those Reapers would see him murder Pratal Mox on a day they all seemed to deem sacrosanct.

Maybe he was finally sobering up, but it finally hit him just how bad an idea this was. What did he expect from Elena? To come back to her old post after witnessing the murder of her lover? He wanted things to return to their basal state, with her, his sister, practically his daughter, as his second in command once again.

He bit back bile. This was jealousy, nothing more. And it had nearly cost them everything.

Volk looked back into the church hall. In the dim light of the candles, he saw Elena’s eyes shine as she smiled up at Mox. Not once had he ever seen her smile like that.

. .

“Sergeant Pratal Mox, do you take Elena to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death do you part?”

“I do.” Mox said, his voice trembling. Elena could see tears in his eyes.

“Lieutenant Elena Dragunova, do you take Pratal to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death do you part?”

Elena nodded. “I do.”

“Then under the authority of the Resistance Council, and the blessing of your peers, I declare this couple to be wed!” Senuna clapped. “You may now-”

She didn’t have time to finish. The two collided like magnets, Mox grabbing Elena by the waist and Elena wrapping her arms around his neck. They grasped at each other as though they would be washed away should either let go. The crowd cheered and whistled and there they stayed, lost in their kiss of union.

Volk turned away from the door, taking a deep breath of the warm spring air. He owed Elena an apology tomorrow, and he considered even getting the two a wedding gift. For a moment he thought about sticking around, but the sober part of his brain reminded him that that was a bad idea. He had spent the better part of the evening threatening them, after all.

He began making his way back to the ship, intending to check up on Shen and give her a hearty apology as well.

. .

Elena had no idea where Misha and Tomas had managed to find a moose, but she welcomed the smell of cooking venison in comparison to the easily burnt Chryssalid she was used to.

The church graveyard was lit up with candles and bonfires in celebration, with the Skirmishers and Reapers dancing and singing side by side, eating at the same table, drinking from the same cups…

“In all my years, I never could have dreamed of such harmony.” Mox said beside her. Elena pressed her hand to his open palm and moved in a circle, mimicking his slow movements. The sound of the flute and drums carried them in dance.

“I could. In a distant dream.” Elena said. “But now, it’s real…”

From ahead of them, she heard her sisters Ludy and Slava sing, strongly, the lyrics of an old folk song she recognized. She smiled and mouthed the words along with them.

Oj, ružice rumena, što si se rano razvila? Oj, ružice rumena, što si se rano razvila? Rano si se razvila, što si mi glavu spustila? Rano si se razvila, što si mi glavu spustila?

The tune sped up, and Elena felt her husband grab her waist and pull her close into a dance more akin to the waltz. She spun away as he lifted his arm over her head, and he took her hand and pulled her back into his embrace.

Dragi mi je otiš'o, otiš'o mi je daleko. Dragi mi je otiš'o, otiš'o mi je daleko.

Mox took Elena by the waist and dipped her, and as she came back up, he kissed her forehead softly. She scoffed playfully and brought his head down towards hers, embracing him in a kiss.

“Pratal.” She whispered. “I want to go somewhere...private.”

“It’s a bit early to leave.” He raised a brow. “People will wonder where we are.”

“It’s no concern of theirs.” She nibbled his ear and whispered “Let us have our wedding night.”

. .

Za tri gore visoke, za tri vode duboke. Neće mi se vratiti, za dve, za tri godine.

Elena’s short hair ruffled in the breeze as she laid her head against Mox’s bare chest. He snored quietly, his chest rising and falling in a gentle sway that was beginning to rock her to sleep. They were bare under the trees and the open sky, covered from the waist down only by Mox’s coat. On the falling wind, the music from the party drifted over them, the warm spring air tickling Elena’s naked body. She took a deep breath in.

Oj, ružice rumena, što si se rano razvila?

“‘Till death do us part.” She whispered, but with it she was steadfast in her conviction. There would be no death to part them.

Titles did not matter. Wars did not matter. Human or alien, it somewhere in between, none of it mattered.

He loved her, and she loved him, and that was enough.

. . . . . . . . (Song: Oj, Ružice Rumena, Serbian Folk Song.

Since Moxrider is basically canon now, I figured it’s time to tie the knot~

Edit: Fixed a bunch of spelling mistakes. Get an editor kids.

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#moxrider #elena dragunova #pratal mox #xcom #xcom 2 #xcom2 #xcom 2 war of the chosen #skirmisher #reaper #romance #wedding #oneshot #side story

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k0gamis · 4 years

Text

Nightmares ➝Shinkane Week Day 3 ➝WC: 7203 / Rating: M (gore mentions/themes) / AU

Trapped in an apocalyptic world falling apart at the gruesome, decaying hands of a governmental experiment gone completely abysmal, Akane and Kogami take shelter in an abandoned apartment to wait for help.

***

She had to keep them moving.

His coughs were getting worse by the hour, growing more loud and guttural each time. He insisted he was fine. Occasionally he dry heaved, producing nothing except small pools of stomach acid once there was nothing left of their morning rations to expel. Every time it happened, he was left gasping for breath, and then the sharp intake of air only triggered more coughing. Then he would be left doubled over, unable to stand up entirely on his own by the violent force of his chest, and she was stuck trying to hold him up and clap him on the back until the fit passed.

Eventually, she decided he wasn’t in any shape to keep searching with her. By no fault of his, his coughs were too loud and attracting too much attention, and his condition wasn’t suitable for fighting by any means. She couldn’t help him if she was busy trying to protect him while killing them off, especially if they came in too high of numbers for her to handle on her own.

Not only that, but the sun was starting to sink dangerously near the horizon, so if they didn’t felt shelter soon, they would be utterly fucked when night fell.

They took refuge in an abandoned apartment above what looked like an old crafting store. There were shelves of unpainted wooden figures left untouched, and below them small, dusty bottles of paint. Though it held some sentimental semblance of a life they used to live, like a ghost wandering aimlessly near its grave, Akane wasn’t too preoccupied with observing all the small details as her eyes darted from corner to corner, listening quietly for any stray movements that were not theirs. She supported him under his shoulder as they approached the stairs in the back, which creaked under their weight. Nothing was out of the ordinary downstairs, and the upstairs, a small studio with an attached bathroom, was clear as well.

Short of breath after the trek up the steps, Kogami dropped his backpack to the ground and fell back against the wall, letting himself slide down until he sat on the floorboards, which were caked with dust. He fished out a bottle of water from his pack and took small sips while he struggled to catch his breath.

Akane, in the meantime, secured the door with the deadbolt and the lock on the knob, then made her way to the single window on the other side of the room, covered by a translucent drape that did very little to keep out the light. She could tell it was originally white in color but held a stain of sunlight, a dim yellow layer etched into the material. The fabric was dingy and any excessive force would tear it instantly. She wondered how long it had been since it was touched by human hands.

She pulled back the curtain and surveyed the area in front of the store. Nothing lurked in the streets, and there was no sign of their friends or a rescue party. The window slid open, secured only by a single latch in between the two panes. On the outside, placed next to the window, was a base to mount a flag pole. Perfect.

Using a broom, a sheet from the set of drawers in the corner she sliced up using a knife, and an old tube of lipstick found in the medicine cabinet, Akane put together a makeshift SOS flag and stuck it to the base outside, then locked the window. If their friends happened to search this area, surely they would see the flag and at least investigate. At the very least they would check to see if there were other survivors, regardless of if it turned out to be the two of them.

When she put her attention back on Kogami, she noticed he was trembling, and his forehead was covered in sweat. His eyes were closed but snapped open when she put the back of her hand to his skin, which felt starkly cold in comparison. She knelt in front of him, her eyebrows knit together worriedly.

“You feel warm,” she said. “I’d say you have a fever.” She handed him his bottle of water and told him to drink some more, so he did. Then she gestured to the dingy bed in the corner with an old-fashioned brass headboard and frayed quilt, and before she could even suggest it, he outright declined.

“I’m not sleeping on that filthy thing,” Kogami muttered. His voice came out worn, and much huskier than usual.

“Oh come on,” Akane argued. “It’s better than this filthy floor. At least a bed is comfortable.”

“I’m fine right here,” he insisted. She stood up, sighing in frustrated defeat. He was always so stubborn about the most ridiculous things.

She took another sheet from the drawer and laid it on the ground between him and the bathroom so he was at least protected from the floor’s grime, then tossed a thicker blanket at him to cover up with. He caught it, and she went to investigate the kitchenette on the other side of the room.

Thankfully, there was still running water, so she was able to refill their water bottles. That much relieved her considerably, since she was worried about Kogami getting dehydrated. She didn’t find much in the cupboards except for some crackers, an expired box of pancake mix, and a few cans of non-perishables.

Even more thankfully, she found that the electricity still worked, though there were only two lights in the entire studio; one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom. In the hospital where she and her friends had initially taken refuge, there was a generator that kicked on to still power the building. Anywhere outside of it, there was no telling if there was power of not.

She supposed that when the disaster initially struck, whoever was working utilities must have had some foresight and an overwhelming sense of empathy, deciding to keep everything on until the resources available drained themselves. It’s what she would have done.

In the bathroom, she found a bottle of ibuprofen. She wasn’t sure if it would help his cough, but it could reduce his fever at the very least.

When she returned to him, he’d moved over to the sheet but still sat up against the wall, the blanket lying in a crumple on his thighs. While he swallowed the pills she spread the blanket out over his legs, then handed him the sleeve of crackers from the cupboard.

“They’re probably stale,” she said apologetically, “but hopefully you’ll be able to keep them down.” He hadn’t had anything to eat since very early that morning, and he’d already vomited his stomach of everything in it multiple times throughout the day.

“I’m not hungry,” he said. Then he fell into another coughing fit. She knelt by his side, holding his shoulder while he doubled over and struggled to breathe amidst the coughing. She could tell he was resisting the urge to vomit again. Ultimately he succeeded, and the fit passed. She handed him more water and the crackers.

“You need to eat something.” Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation. So he succumbed to her wishes and nibbled on the edge of a cracker in between frequent sips of water. While he ate, Akane sat down in front of him, crossing her legs, watching him eat absentmindedly while she thought.

“Do you think it’s contagious?” she asked finally.

“I think it’s pneumonia,” he said quietly. “Which usually is.”

“Do you remember what medicines treat it?”

Kogami had to think back a bit, to the days where he studied medicine before opting for a drastic career change as a detective, and came up with an answer.

“Antibacterials,” he said. “There are a lot of types of pneumonia so there are lots of treatment options.”

“What are they?” she asked. “I’ll bring back whatever I can find, but it would help to know what I’m looking for.”

“What, right now?”

“Well yeah. The sooner, the better.”

“Are you crazy?” he argued. “It’s getting dark out. And you haven’t eaten anything either.”

Almost as if on cue, her stomach growled. He gave her a sharp, knowing look that dared her to lie about not being hungry, because she almost did.

She studied him with a torn look. Although he looked less sweaty, his face was pale and his body still quivered. And his last coughing fit worried her. He didn’t go very long without breaking into another one, so she was desperate to find him the medicine he needed. She really did not want to wait another day. But still, she knew he was right. Going out in the dark was infinitely more dangerous than during the day, and the only thing that kept her strength going until now was adrenaline and the duty she felt to protect him.

“I’m going first thing in the morning,” she declared. That much was not up for debate. He wasn’t keen on the idea of her going out by herself, and he hated sitting on the sidelines being utterly useless for help, but they didn’t have many options.

Akane offered to take the first watch so he could sleep, which he desperately needed. She pried open a can of fruit and ate from it periodically until she figured they should switch, then scarfed the rest of it down once he woke her after the sun came up.

In the early morning hours, Kogami had been overcome with nausea and relocated to the bathroom floor, giving him easier access to the toilet to vomit into. That was where she left him, handing him his gun and a refilled bottle of water, then told him to lock the door behind her, promising she’d be back before sundown.

He never did bother getting up to lock it, mostly because he couldn’t find the strength to.

He waited for what felt like forever, dozing here and there for incomprehensible amounts of time; it could have been an hour, maybe only a few minutes. He really couldn’t tell the difference. He would wake when his head started to fall to the side, which would jolt him upright, or he would wake when his stomach felt the need to empty itself despite having nothing to rid, and he’d hover over the toilet bowl and let his stomach convulse needlessly until the wave of nausea passed, and then he’d sit back against the wall and stare at the ceiling until he dozed off again.

The last time he woke wasn’t due to either of those things. It was a door slamming downstairs that jolted him awake, quickly followed by a scream. It belonged to Akane, and he could tell she was in pain.

That fact alone was enough to make him fly to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest as he moved, grabbing his gun and throwing the door open to leap down the stairs. On the way down he heard a crash, a struggle, and the sound of banging on glass, and his head started to spin as he raced down the steps multiple at a time, around the landing and making his way to the first floor.

Akane was backed against the wall, holding a crowbar against her thigh with arm, and gripping the top of that arm with her other hand, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. Approaching her was one of them, staggering on one good leg and dragging the other behind it, slashed at the knee.

Instinctively, Kogami raised his gun, preparing to shoot it, but then noted the glass door and windows behind it, and the two bodies trying to claw their way through on the other side. If he shot and missed, he could shatter the glass and give them a way in.

So instead, ignoring the shooting pain in his chest and the spinning sensation, he charged for it, shoving his boot into its torso and kicking it away from her, causing it to tumble to the floor. He snatched the crowbar from her hand and raised it over his head, then brought it down on its skull, smashing it to slimy pieces until the body was still.

He stood over it for a moment, breathing heavily, fighting off the urge to start coughing. For now it seemed the other two bodies were trapped outside, but he didn’t feel right leaving the door unguarded. The one he’d just killed had gotten in somehow, and though he didn’t have time to survey the whole floor to see if there were any other openings to secure, he felt better sliding one of the shelves in front of the door to ensure it wasn’t going to open anytime soon.

The adrenaline pounding in his ears was starting to wear off, but skyrocketed a second time once he turned back to Akane, who’d sunk to her knees and was doubled over in pain, gripping her upper arm with icy knuckles. She kept her mouth shut with clenched teeth and wouldn’t respond to him, wouldn’t tell him what happened, nor would she let him remove her hand to inspect her wound. So he settled for hoisting her over his shoulder and running back up the stairs to deal with it instead, grabbing her discarded backpack that had dropped to the floor on the way up.

When the door was locked both ways and he brought her to the bathroom, finally out of the immediate threat of danger, his legs gave out on him. He collapsed to his knees and hurriedly set her on the ground on her side. He had to take a minute to rest his head, as he felt the threat of fainting dance around his vision, until a coughing spell came and brought with it another session of dry heaving, which was the worst possible timing imaginable. He could hear her breathing grow heavier and more vocal, until she was just groaning in one long drag of pain, only taking breaks to inhale and repeat.

When his symptoms finally passed over and he didn’t feel like he was about to black out, Kogami turned his attention back to Akane, who still laid on her side, curled into a fetal position. Her hair clung to her forehead, covered in sweat, and her skin felt hot to the touch.

“What happened? Did you get scratched?” he asked, but he still couldn’t get a response out of her, probably because she was in too much pain to form words, let alone coherent sentences. She still clung to her arm.

He noticed her fingers covered in blood, so he retrieved one of the first aid kits from the backpack nearest to him. With careful force, he rolled her onto her stomach to straddle her and wrenched her hand away from the wound, pinning her wrist to the floor and leaning down to inspect the damage.

She nearly screamed when it was exposed to the air and writhed in pain when he tried to pull away the torn fabric of her shirt, which stuck to her skin. What he saw underneath was nauseating, as was the smell. It was too deep and too wide to be just a scratch.

When he noticed what looked like teeth marks, his spine stiffened, his eyes widened, and his stomach sank through the floor.

Akane had been bitten.

He had to force himself to stay calm.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened to someone he knew. He hadn’t been there when his best friend was bitten; he’d only heard stories after the fact, which was gruesome all on its own. He never imagined he’d have to experience something like it himself.

“Cut it off,” she pleaded suddenly through gritted teeth. Her voice was strained and it cracked when she spoke. Kogami was visibly taken aback.

“What?” he asked, even though he’d heard her just fine, knew what the words meant, and knew it was the most logical course of action. But there was something terrifyingly raw about her words that prevented him from connecting them to reality.

Cut it...off? Was he even capable of doing that? There was no anesthesia, no way to numb her, and all he had for means of cutting was an old kitchen knife. Just the thought of hurting Akane, by any means, made his stomach churn. And she was asking him to...cut her off arm?

“Hurry!” she yelled. “Before it spreads more!” That was all she managed to get out before her words melted into a sharp cry that made him jump. He watched as her hands balled into white fists on the floor. He knew he had to do something.

When Ginoza had been bitten, he had required an impromptu amputation. Kogami hadn’t been there when it happened, so he didn’t have a clue as to how he should do this, though he doubted Masaoka knew any better than he did, and he’d succeeded. Ginoza had survived an amputation with essentially the same tools Kogami had. Now he was alive and well, surely out there searching for them right in that moment. If Gino could survive, Akane could survive, too.

He had to do this, or else she would die. Or she would turn. Although to him, they were essentially the same thing.

Kogami left her on the floor temporarily, and returned shortly with everything he needed that they had available. His hands trembled at the thought of what he was about to do.

A sheet was laid on the floor, and he set her atop it. Her sleeve was rolled up to her shoulder where he disinfected the skin as best as he could. He sat on her back, holding her down with his weight, trapping her free arm between her torso and his leg. He gave her a cloth to bite down on. Like it was going to help anything.

He was really going to do it.

He held the knife tightly in hand, pressing the blade against her skin. He focused on breathing slowly, calming himself. He had to do this, and to do it, he had to be focused. He had to ignore her cries, ignore the way her body would thrash against him, and he had to be quick.

He swallowed thickly. She yelled at him in desperation, crying around the cloth for him to hurry, for him to just do it and get it over with.

So he did. And Kogami swore he would never forget the sound of pure, anguished agony as she screamed while he did.

Even after it was over, after he wrapped what was left of her arm in tight bandages, after collecting the mess and her dismembered limb in the sheet and throwing it down the stairs, she groaned in agony as she drifted in and out of consciousness behind the bathroom door.

It killed him to sit there and listen, unable to do anything about it.

But he figured it was best to separate himself until she regained enough strength to do anything other than lay on the floor and sob, until his infection passed or was no longer contagious, whichever came first. Either way, it was a waiting game. He found himself counting the minutes it took for her to regain consciousness every time she fell silent. He hated listening to her cry but the sound relieved him immensely despite that. It meant she was still her, still alive.

In her backpack, he found a number of small, labeled bottles that all contained various types of medicine. Her venture had been successful, it seemed. At least there was that.

Among the pill bottles Kogami found a familiar name, levofloxacin. He was pretty sure that was one of the antibacterials used to treat pneumonia. There were tons of variations of the illness and subsequently there existed a wide variety of medications to treat it, and he couldn’t be sure which would be the most effective without knowing which strain he carried in his lungs.

But what he held in his hand was the only thing she’d brought back that had a chance of helping, so he took two pills anyway, then moved on to look through the rest of the bottles, taking a mental inventory.

A few minutes later, his stomach convulsed. The pills did not want to stay down, just like everything else he swallowed. He tried to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth and clenched the muscles of his abdomen, gripping the pill bottles in his hand tightly, as if focusing all of his energy on straining his body to keep still would fight off the urge to vomit. He had to keep these pills down. He had to.

Time seemed to pass slowly as he sat there, his whole body rigid to fight it off, and eventually the urge passed, and he let himself breathe, his head relaxing against the door in exhaustion.

On the other side of the door, Kogami heard Akane stir again. This time, she seemed a little more alert than before. Though, by the severity of her crying, she sounded as if she was in just as much pain.

Then he realized what he was holding in his hands, what he was sifting through in her backpack. They had ibuprofen on hand but he wasn’t sure that would do anything substantial to help her. But if there was an opioid among these…

He thought hard for the names he could remember… there was morphine, fentanyl, hydrocodone, oxycodone--wait, he remembered reading that on one of the bottle labels.

“Kogami,” her aching voice said through the door. It was breathy and quiet, hardly above a whisper, and it sounded more like a question than anything. As though she were searching for him. Her breathing seemed heavy, like the act of saying his name alone was an exhausting task all on its own. He could hear the tears on her face.

“I’m here,” he said, rummaging through the bottles as quickly as he could. He could hear her sigh of relief in between labored breaths. She didn’t say anything else; she was probably too exhausted to, or she just passed out again. When he found the bottle of oxycodone, he decided to risk it, and checked on her so that he could change her bandages and offer the pain reliever. If she was still awake, that is.

And she was. She was staring at the floor when he entered, and her body was angled awkwardly, as though she’d been laying on one side for too long but was unable to switch to the other. Her bangs clung to her forehead, her cheeks were dirty and stained with tears, and her shirt felt damp in some places when he removed it to tend to her bandages.

She seemed aware of his presence, evidenced by the slow, focused movements of her eyes following him, but she didn’t say anything. She laid completely still while he unwrapped the gauze and replaced it, other than a few involuntary spasms of pain.

The only response he could get from her was a nod of approval when he asked if she wanted to try taking the oxycodone he’d found, and he held up the back of her head while she sipped some water to swallow the dosage. With his thumb he wiped away her tears before they were replaced with a seemingly endless, silent stream.

He wanted to hold her for longer, to cradle her in his arms while they...did what? Wait? What else were they able to do?

He was sick, growing weaker by the minute, attempting to fight off an infection with a medication that only had a small chance of being effective, and she was recovering from an amputation without a sliver of proper medical care. Neither of them were in any shape to continue their search for transportation to get back to the others, or any sort of help, for that matter. Their options were pretty much limited to sitting around and waiting for help to come to them, and to stay alive in the meantime.

Against his desires, Kogami decided it was best to let her rest without further risk of infection from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit anywhere else in the room besides the bathroom door. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and after awhile his ass had gone numb, but he refused to leave her alone.

Outside the window, he could see the shadow cast from the lowering sun on the makeshift SOS flag Akane had posted billowing in the wind. He smiled, internally praising her for her quick thinking. At this point, it was the only thing they could rely on for help. If he survived long enough for Ginoza and the others to come searching for them and finding the flag, he would owe her his life.

As the sun sank further, leaving the room a dull orange, Kogami found his eyes begging him to let them close. He could feel the skin beneath them visibly sagging the longer he forced himself to stay awake. It wasn’t safe to sleep without someone staying on guard, so he couldn’t. He refused to further jeopardize her safety. He’d already been the cause in what lead to her passed out on the floor. He’d already been the cause of her screaming.

In the silence of the evening it was hard to keep it from coming back to mind. If he wasn’t actively trying to think of something else, it would catch him off guard, and he would be tormented to the memory of holding the knife while she struggled to hold herself still underneath him, and he would find himself on the verge of hyperventilating.

To distract himself, he thought of his mother. He wondered if she had survived this long, if at all. The cold realist in him knew without a doubt that she hadn’t, and she had likely died a painful death at the hands of them. Still, he pictured her smile, warm and bright and unforgettable, like the way Akane’s face looked when she told him for the first time that she loved him. He wondered what his mother would have thought of Akane, meeting her with the knowledge of their relationship rather than the pretext of just being a coworker. Back then it was so much more complicated.

Life as a whole had been so much more complicated. Even he, a quiet man who liked to live comfortably and simply, could admit that he missed a life like that,.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Akane stirring inside the bathroom. He’d counted nineteen minutes, almost exactly on the dot, which was shorter than before, and she didn’t seem to be crying. Was that a good sign?

Almost immediately, he retracted that thought as a particularly low sound could be heard from behind the door, one that made his spine rigid and his blood run cold.

She growled. And it was not unlike theirs.

He waited, frozen. His breath was held tight in his lungs, while his ears listened in high alert for something more.

It didn’t happen a second time. Instead, she fell silent. He didn’t exhale until his lungs were screaming at him to breathe, and even then, he continued to listen intently for the next noise, the next anything, be it a cry, a shuffling of her clothes, he didn’t care what it was. But nothing happened.

A few uneventful minutes passed. Kogami was almost able to relax by the end of them, until he heard her stir once more.

“Akane,” he dared to say, his tense voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Hm?” she hummed, sounding confused and pained. But, she was conscious. No crying, and no growling. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Maybe in his exhausted stupor he had just imagined it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. He felt stupid asking it, seeing as how he had a pretty fucking good idea of how she was feeling, but he didn’t know what else to say or ask.

“I don’t know,” was her whiny, mumbled answer. He still didn’t hear any crying at the very least.

“Did the medicine help?”

She answered through hefty breaths, “What medicine?”

“I gave you some a little while ago when I changed your bandages,” he explained.

“My what?”

She must have forgotten, or maybe she blacked out the memory, not that he blamed her. He wished he had that luxury. He could hear the beginnings of panic as her breathing rapidly picked up, and he guessed she’d just re-discovered her missing limb.

He started to move, as fast and as carefully as his weary body would let him, to let himself into the bathroom and console her, but she fell silent again before he could get all the way up.

It was dark outside when she woke once more. Thirty-three minutes and thirty-nine seconds. Her cries were mixed strangely with a bone-chilling growling sound that was different than before, but just as terrifying.

He hadn’t imagined it.

And when she stirred again a few minutes later, it was the same, and she didn’t respond to her name. He felt inexplicably cold.

His hopes were stretched thin when the next time she woke, when she called out for him repeatedly, and he called back to her saying things like “I’m here,” and “you’re okay,” but she didn’t seem to understand him. It was as though she could hear the sound of his voice, could hear his presence, but she couldn’t hear the words he said nor could she tell where his voice came from. She couldn’t form words of her own outside of screaming his name as her volume escalated in panic.

He desperately wanted to open the door. His hand wrapped around the knob, but his entire arm trembled so hard he couldn’t keep a grip on it. Just like her screaming, he couldn’t un-hear the growling. It was inhuman. And he was scared of what he might see if he opened the door.

She didn’t stay awake for longer than two minutes, anyway. As he let his arm fall from the knob once silence took over, he scolded himself for his act of cowardice.

He promised himself he would move to the bathroom the next time she regained consciousness, the next time he heard her voice, but he never did.

Whatever noises were coming from inside the room were not from Akane, not from his Akane, and he felt his heart harden each time she passed out again without responding to her name.

It seemed to be around midnight--although what did it matter anymore, really--when she woke for the sixth time. His eyes were surely a deep scarlet, and he could feel the skin beneath them throbbing, from his general unwellness and from lack of sleep.

That same, cold realist knew there wasn’t a point in continuing to try, but he did it anyway.

“Akane,” he said, in a voice that didn’t sound like his. It was cold and without emotion, something he’d never felt when saying her name before. Perhaps it was because he knew, deep down, that he wasn’t speaking to her anymore.

As expected, she didn’t respond.

Kogami sighed, then grit his teeth and stood to his feet.

Strangely, his hand didn’t tremble, even when he picked up the knife from the floor, the very same he’d used on her earlier. He doesn’t hesitate either, when he entered the bathroom, or even when he saw her form on the floor lying helplessly in a pathetic, growling heap.

She was facing the wall, and her clothes were drenched in sweat. He closed the door behind him, and for a minute, he just stood there, watching her.

Her body twitched, as though various nerves all over the surface of her skin were being prodded at random. When he finally knelt, and put his hand on her, he almost retracted it immediately from how hot her skin was.

She seemed to notice his presence then, turning her head, her mouth open with teeth jarringly barred. She growled at him.

Kogami swallowed the lump forming quickly in his throat. He set the knife to the floor so that he could maneuver her into a sitting position in front of him, pushing her back against the wall. She struggled with him a little, but her efforts were laughably weak and futile. He easily subdued her, even in his own weakened state, by trapping her thighs between his feet and shoving her arm behind her back. He held her in place with one hand pressed tightly against the center of her chest.

Beneath his palm, he could feel how rapidly her heart raced. It was alarming. But her eyes were what frightened him the most.

They were red around the rims and fogged over with a blanket of milky white, leaving zero trace of her lively brown behind. He stared at them with disdain, ignoring the incessant growling, while he picked up the knife.

He held it to her neck, angling the sharp end of the blade against her skin.

The utter hatred he’d reserved for himself earlier bubbled in his stomach, crushing him, weighing him down. If only he hadn’t hesitated earlier when she told him to cut her arm off, screaming at him in desperation while he sat there like a coward, scared of hurting her. Those precious seconds he wasted could have saved her. She was the braver one of the two, the one who knew what to do, the one who made the decision, the one who forced herself to lie still and endure the agony of it, while he took his sweet fucking time getting to it, all because he was scared. He had no right to be scared, not while she bravely made the ultimate sacrifice.

He was scared, and he failed her. And now he sat here, holding a knife to her throat, unable to hold back tears as he prepared to end her life because she was turning, because he hadn’t stopped it sooner when he could have. It was his fault.

He was the reason she went out on her own in the first place, and he could have helped her properly barricade the abandoned shop downstairs. It was his fault she’d been bitten and it was his fault she was turning, that she was dying, and that he had to kill her.

‘I’m sorry,” he said, his voice small and cold and pathetic, like it made any difference.

His fingers on pushed the knife, breaking through her skin, staring into eyes that didn’t belong to her anymore.

And then something made him stop, just as a small trickle of blood pooled onto the blade.

Tears formed on the crusty, scarlet rims of her eyes. Her chapped lips came together to form a word, but nothing came out that wasn’t gargled with low growls, like she was choking on them somewhere in her throat.

He sat frozen in place, watching as her body shuddered violently, and then the growling ceased, replaced by shaky, labored breaths, and a single word she somehow managed, with visible difficulty, to force out.

“Wait.”

Her blood dripped onto his fingers, and he dropped the knife to the floor.

Slowly, like stray beams of sunlight shining through a thick layer of clouds, the milky fog gave way to hints of brown, as though the tears spilling over onto her cheeks were washing it away. He could see them clearly, the traces peeking out from underneath, even through his own wet eyes.

She continued to shake in uncontrollable spasms, even as she pulled her arm from behind her back, bringing her hand to his cheek for a long moment. It was as hot, but he didn’t flinch away, even when it started to burn. Then she brought her hand to her neck, where blood was trickling from her wound.

That broke through his trance. The cut wasn’t deep, he knew, but the bleeding needed to be stopped immediately. He glanced around himself frantically, searching for something to absorb the blood, and when he found nothing in the immediate vicinity, he yanked his shirt over his head, ignoring his aching body’s shivering protest. He bundled the fabric up and shoved it to her neck, pushing her hand aside.

When her fingers came to rest on top of his, Kogami dared to look up, finding her eyes staring at his. His heart hammered in his chest. They were her eyes. The fog had faded from satin white to a dull gray glaze, but beneath it her could see her. It was unmistakable.

She was fighting it. She was coming back to him.

The realization was unbelievably overwhelming, and he found himself falling forward, the top of his head smacking into the wall as he curled his face into her shoulder, and he wrapped a trembling arm around her back, his hand clenching around her fingers that snaked into the spaces between his. He sobbed, and she sobbed into him, with him.

It wasn’t long before he fell into a coughing fit. He turned his head sharply to the side to avoid coughing on her, and she held him feebly while they waited for it to pass, but by then, she lost consciousness again.

The bleeding from her neck had slowed enough for him to bandage it properly. While he was at it, he checked the gauze on her arm and changed that too, and as the minutes passed he found it harder to keep his eyes open. In the dresser drawers he found two replacement shirts for both of them; the smallest one he could find was loose-fitting on her frame, but considering how terribly coated her body was with sweat, it was for the best.

After all of that, he didn’t feel right leaving her alone anymore, so he decided to hole up with her in the bathroom. It happened to be the warmest section of the apartment, and since he’d subjected himself to being exposed half naked to the air, even with a new shirt he couldn’t stop shaking. Her temperature helped considerably once he pulled her against him, her back to his front, while she lay sprawled between his legs.

Though she was small, her weight was heavy enough to make it harder for him to breathe, but he couldn’t care less. He refused to be separated from her.

Part of him, the rational part, recalled exactly why he’d kept the door between them in the first place. That same part of him was sensible enough to grab the various medicines, along with water, the sleeve of crackers she’d forced on him, and their weapons before he resigned himself to the bathroom.

The part of him that felt like iron, debilitated and in desperate need of sleep, couldn’t remember if he’d locked the door or not. From where they sat he could see it clearly, but he pulled the gun to rest closer to him, just in case.

Her warmth called to him, lulling him to let his eyes close, but he refused to sleep until she woke again. This time there was no growling, not anything remotely inhuman, and her eyes were almost back to normal. Despite how heavy he felt all over, that much made his chest feel considerably lighter.

He had her drink some water and gave her another dose of pain medicine. He tried to get her to eat something, to at least nibble on some crackers, but she fluctuated between full consciousness and a half-asleep state too frequently for her to make much progress with eating. He, himself, was starting to slip, his body giving out on him. He knew he couldn’t force himself to stay awake forever.

It came down to waiting from there, as neither of them had the strength to move from that spot. Survival depended on the flag she’d hung outside. His arms clung to her, wrapped tightly around her front, while he let his gnawing eyes finally close.

If they were going to survive, it would be because of her.

He must have fallen asleep, because his eyes flashed open suddenly, and sunlight now filled the room. The sun had come up. For a moment, he sat there, confused; he felt like he’d been woken by something. It couldn’t have been Akane because she lied still against him, sleeping quietly. He didn’t see anything in the room before them, and the door was still closed.

Then he heard it. There was something moving downstairs.

His hand moved for the gun sitting beside him, while his arm screamed at him in the process. His entire body was stiff, throbbing with a dull ache. He ignored it, releasing the safety on the gun and securing the soles of his boots into the tiled floor, pinning himself in place in case he needed to shoot. He stared at the door intently, waiting with his breath drawn.

Voices could be heard, though they were muffled through the floor between them. Then he could hear footsteps up the stairs, and a voice he recognized yelled in horror at something gruesome on the middle landing.

His heart started racing. He listened on, his eyes fixed on the doorknob.

The voice grew louder, and Kogami quickly realized it was accompanied by others. There were three, and he recognized two of them. Whoever the third belonged to, they were a stranger to him.

For a second he was worried he was hallucinating, until the footsteps stopped just outside the door and were replaced by banging when the doorknob wouldn’t turn, which made Akane stir. Though she didn’t wake all the way, he was relieved to know he wasn’t the only one hearing things.

A voice called out their names from behind the door, and Kogami swore he could have started crying right then and there when, in his near-delirium, he put a name to the voice. He attempted to call back, but his voice came out raspy and quiet, and then he started coughing before he could clear his throat and try again. It still did the trick, at least.

“I hear Kogami in there,” he heard Ginoza say urgently. “Where’s the ax?” Moments later someone was smashing the door apart near the knob, until a hand reached through the wreckage and unlocked it, and then the door opened.

He could have felt more relieved if he wasn’t busy trying to keep his stomach from violently dispelling its contents. His head turned to the side to keep from coughing directly on Akane, he couldn’t see who broke down the door.

“Oh my god,” he heard, this time a female’s voice. Kunizuka. Guess they didn’t look to be in that great of shape.

“We have to move quickly,” said the third person Kogami didn’t recognize. “Before more of them wander this way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ginoza enter the bathroom and kneel in front of them. He didn’t say anything, probably staring at the horror that was Akane’s missing limb evidenced by the empty sleeve hanging from her shoulder. If anyone knew the pain of dismemberment like she did, it was him.

The coughing subsided moments later, and by then Ginoza was starting to lift her semi-conscious body from Kogami’s arms. She stirred some more as her head fell against his chest, and she mumbled something incoherent, which Ginoza ignored, passing her to the newcomer with bright orange hair.

That made him alert. He trusted Ginoza to handle her, but a complete stranger?

“Who’s this?” he asked, his tone overprotective and bitter. He started to move to get up, but then his legs, weak and trembling, gave out on him, and he fell back on his ass. His head began to spin, and the edges of his vision started to cloud with black around the edges.

“There’s no time to explain,” Ginoza said, kneeling back down to help Kogami up. “You can trust him. Kunizuka, take the front.” Yayoi, who’d busied herself with recollecting all the supplies strewn on the floor and shoving them into their discarded backpacks, stood and nodded, shouldering the packs and picking up the ax. She temporarily erased the look of deep concern her face to lead the way back down the stairs, followed closely by the newcomer holding Akane, and then by Ginoza carrying Kogami on his back.

He must have lost consciousness on the way down, because the next time he woke he was seated in the back of a car. Akane, still asleep, was strapped in next to him, and Kunizuka sat beside her, gripping her hand. Ginoza was driving and the stranger with odd hair sat in the passenger seat, positioning a rifle out of the cracked window, ready to shoot. Though from what Kogami could see out the windshield, there were no immediate targets in sight.

“You’re awake,” Kunizuka announced.

“What the hell happened?” Ginoza asked. Kogami grabbed his throbbing forehead. The memories of the past twenty-four hours suddenly felt blurry, now that he was no longer trapped in the bathroom, and he could breathe knowing proper medical attention waited in their near future.

A lot had happened, emotionally and physically. His stomach quivered at the thought of recounting the nightmare of it all, so he said nothing. That in itself seemed to say everything.

#my fics #shinkaneweek #shinkane #psycho pass #akane tsunemori #shinya kogami

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happyyunho · 4 years

Text

you are in love

choi sanxreader. a/n: this is based off the bop “you are in love” by taylor swift so it would help if you listened to the song before/while reading the fic.

it never says “y/n” bc idk i don’t like y/n but it’s obviously readers perspective so it’s definitely y/n :!.&.!,!.

thanks taylor for writing this song that makes me think of san every time i listen to it :’)

you couldn’t hear your thoughts over the sound of the music being played in the club. it was well past 11:30 and you were totally wasted, but that didn’t stop you from dancing to the beat, casually grinding on the unknown bodies around you. your friend dragged you to this joint and, at first, you didn’t want to be there for after a few shots you were ready to let lose.

the attractive boys around you made it very hard to resist the music. you felt a hand on your hip and you leaned your head back to get a look of who it was. a tall, dark haired boy stood above you and his lips grew into a smirk. you mirrored his facial expression as you continued to dance sloppily, swaying your hips with your hands in your hair. as you danced against the boy he lowered his lips to your neck and began to kiss you. being as drunk as you were you didn’t even notice and continued to dance in bliss.

a few moments went by and you soon noticed a pair of eyes on you. one look. the boy you were dancing with was attractive, of course, but the boy, or man you caught staring at you was on another level. he wasn’t boyish, he looked mature with a glass in his hand and a suit on. dark room. not your typical club-goer. nonetheless you locked eyes with him and smiled slyly. he visibly chuckled and walked off to the bar. you were suddenly intrigued and ripped your body away from the boy to follow the strange man. men just, for you.

you found him sitting at the bar, ordering what looked like a glass of water. you took a seat next to him and stayed silent, waiting for him to notice you.

“so.... you gonna tell me why you were staring?” you asked, a quirk in your eyebrow.

the man continued to stare forward as he handed you a glass of water, “Drink this, come with me.”

you took the glass and stared at him, confused.

“my mommy told me not to go with strangers.” you quipped sarcastically as you downed the water.

“since when do you listen to your mommy?” he finally looked at you. his eyes were beautiful, brown and deep. you felt your soul getting sucked in and that’s when you made the decision that would change your life.

it was about six months since you met san, your boyfriend, at the club. time moved, too fast. your romance was a whirlwind, some of your friends said. they all praised your relationship and you always said you were flattered but you knew it was true. your relationship with san was the best one you’ve ever had and you hadn’t even known him for that long.

“ready, doll?” san said as he walked into the kitchen.

you nodded eagerly and looked at your boyfriend. he was the most handsome person you’d ever met and you asked him to pinch you every day, just to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

“can you-“

“i’m not pinching you, goofball.” he said chuckling as he grabbed his keys and reached for your hand.

the smiled and rolled your eyes as you took it and walked out the door with him.

you were at dinner for your six month anniversary and san was really treating you, not that he doesn’t normally. he ordered his favorite, beef ramen and you had a simple vegetarian dish since you were on a cleanse. you had since finished your dinner but san was still scarfing down his food. he was talking about his upcoming tour with his band and how excited he was to see the fans again. you played, it back.

you listened to him intently as you watched him eat with fervor. the little noises he made when he ate were so endearing. as he shoved the noodles into his mouth sloppily you giggled, and he heard.

“what?” he said, mouth full of food.

you giggled again and waved your hand, “nothing. continue please.”

san resumed his munching and you continued to watch him eat.

“oh my gosh!” you whined. buttons, on a coat.

you and san were walking down the street laughing as a button fell off of your favorite coat. you pouted and reached down to pick it up before you tripped over your feet nearly tumbling to the ground. luckily, san was your knight and shining armor once again and he caught you.

you placed your hand on his chest as you laughed so hard you couldn’t breath.

“it’s not funny! you almost fell!” he yelled playfully, bending down to pick up the button.

you steadied yourself as san held the button out in front of him.

“kiss it.” he said smiling stupidly.

you blinked in amusement, “what?”

“kiss. it. kiss the button!” he shoved it in your face and you had no choice but to kiss it.

lipstick stained the button as you kissed it and san dropped it into his own pocket.

“there. now i’ll always have you with me wherever i go.” lighthearted joke.

you felt your heart swell and you giggled at your adorable boyfriend. placing a kiss on his lips you smiled at him, “you’re cute.”

you linked arms with your boyfriend as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. you noticed how the moonlight hit his face and caused his eyes to twinkle. the reflection of the light making them appear a galaxy larger than the milky way. before you could look away san caught you staring.

he raised an eyebrow. “do i have food on my face?”

you smiled fondly, “no.”

“then what is it?” he asked, pouting.

“nothing.” it was everything.

no proof, not much. but you saw enough.

you two decided it was getting late and headed back to the car. however the night was still young so you decided to drive wherever the wind took you that night. you talked about your parents and summer plans. you shared embarssing stories from high school. you two talked for hours, driving to no where. small talk, he drives.

“there! finally!” you gasp, pointing to a small cafe that seemed to be open at midnight.

coffee at midnight.

“are you sure? it’s really late.” san said.

“i want coffee...” you pleaded while tugging on his shirt sleeve as he drove.

san rolled his eyes and pulled into the empty parking lot.

you finally got the coffee you’d be craving all night and the two of you decided to walk across the street to the lookout point. you were in the hills, far from home, in a nice dress, but neither of you cared.

you sat on the railing as there was on immediate drop off and looked at the stars. san pointed out his favorite constellations and you listened even thought you didn’t know shit about astronomy. the light reflects the chain on your neck.

the air was cold against your skin and san has offered you his jacket but you refused. he gets cold easily and you didn’t want to be a burden even though you knew he wanted you to be comfortable. you looked down at your fingers and played with the ring you had on. you thought about life and how mysterious it was that you’d found san when you needed him the most.

you didn’t notice when san had gone silent but he had. you continued to look down at your empty coffee cup resting in your hands when you hear your boyfriend inhale.

he says, “look up.”

and your shoulders brush.

you look up at him and he stares back at you with his clear brown eyes and smiles.

no proof, one touch. but you felt enough.

as soon as he smiled at you, you felt it. that same feeling you’e felt for weeks.

you drove home in tranquil silence with nothing but the radio playing and the sound of the wind coming in through the windows. your chest tightened but you felt freer than you ever had before.

you can hear it in the silence. you can feel it on the way home. you can see it with the lights out.

you’re in love. true love.

that feeling was love. you hadn’t realized it before but when san looked at you, that’s what you felt. that feeling. that aching feeling deep inside your chest, begging to be let out. it was love. you were in love.

the next morning you woke up at san’s place to the smell of burnt toast. morning, his place.

“morning sleepy head.” san said as he placed a plate of burnt toast in front of you. burnt toast, sunday. “i tried my best...” he smiled sheepishly.

“it’s okay, it looks.... yummy.” you faked a smile and giggled, biting into the charred piece of toast.

“i was thinking we could go to the park today? there’s a new lookout i wanna go see...” san suggested.

you nodded with you mouth full. “mhph... sowunds goodf...”

san smiled at you, “chew first, talk second clown.”

you swatted at his arm and he playfully returned it. this action resulted in a 10 minutes game of tag around the house that left both of you breathless.

“truce... t-truce...” san breathed heavily.

you nodded, wiping sweat off your forehead.

you were wearing san’s shirt but he insisted you keep it because he kept your button, so you did just that.

you keep his shirt.

“only! only if you promise to keep my button forever and ever.” you said kissing his cheek.

“of course. forever and ever my love.” he replied and turned his head to catch your lips in his.

you smiled into the sweet kiss and pet his soft hair.

he keeps his word.

you felt your worries and insecurities melt away whenever he kissed you. it’s like nothing else mattered, like you were the only two people in the world.

and for once you let go, of your fears and your ghosts. one step, not much. but it said enough.

you neared the park and you felt the cool breeze hit your skin. it was a very blue, peaceful day outside and your favorite thing to do with san was just walk. you two walked everywhere together. the store, the shops, the bookstore, everywhere within walking distance. there was something personal about walking on the sidewalk. it was calming.

you and san passed a tree with initals carved into it and he suggested you do the same.

“san, what if we get arrest for vandilization of wildlife!” you said playfully.

san picked up a sharp looking stick, “don’t worry, i’ll be subtle.

san carved your intials into the tree followed by the date and a heart.

“perfect. look.” san stepped back proudly and you both admired his work.

“lovely, it’s cute.” you said, admiring the tree initals along with your curly haired boyfriend.

san stepped towards you and grabbed your hips, pulling you into a swift kiss. your hands wrapped around his neck instinctively and he smiled. you were too short to reach otherwise so you had to step on your tip-toes to reach his lips. it wasn’t a chore and san thought it was adorable. you nudged his nose and he looked down at you with a twinkle in his eye. it was your turned to smile at him as you pulled away and simply hugged him in the middle of the sidewalk. never wanting to let go.

you kissed on sidewalks.

it had been a particularly long and hard day and if it couldn’t get any worse a text from san pops up on your phone.

love: hey, i’m gonna have to cancel tonight. something came up :(

you: oh.. what is it?

love: it’s nothing. don’t worry about it

you: great. okay.

love: i told you it’s nothing, stop being like that.

you: san. you cancel every other weekend because “something came up.” if you’re cheating, just fucking tell me.

san: are you kidding me?!? i cant believe you. i’d never do that and you know it. you KNOW IT.

you: whatever san. go fuck her, i dont care.

san: fine.

you fight.

it had been days since either you or san had spoken to or seen each other. you laid in your bed and began to cry for the second time that day. the same question replaying over and over in your mind: was he really cheating on you? your last relationship had ended the same way and you were devastated, your heart couldn’t take any more. you were tired of being lied to and decided to go to san’s apartment to get to the bottom of it.

just as you grabbed the handle of your door and opened it, a tired looking san was standing in front of you, poised to knock.

“what are you doing here?” you asked.

“same reason you were leaving. i wanted to talk.” he said and pushed past you into the apartment.

“san wh-“

he cut you off. “please let me talk... please.”

he looked tired and you nodded.

“the reason why i keep flaking lately is because... my mom is sick....” san said, tears threatening to spill.

you instantly felt regret for everything you said. you rushed over to him and wrapped him in a hug. you began to cry yourself as you mumbled apologies.

“oh baby i’m so sorry.... i feel like a horrible person.” you cried into his shoulder as he rubbed your back. “w-why didn’t you tell me? i want to help, sannie, please.”

he wiped a tear off your cheek and smiled sadly at yoy, “i didn’t want to bother you, you already had so much going on with work... i’m the one who’s sorry.”

you smiled at him and kissed his lips, closing your eyes and sighing. “i missed you so much.”

san kissed you again, deeper this time, and reiterated your words. “i missed you too.”

and you talk.

you were sleeping soundly next to san but he couldn’t say the same. he laid in bed, playing with your soft hair. for some reason he couldn’t shake the feeling that you meant more to him then he realized. it wasn’t until your fight that it was confirmed. he hated being away from you, he cared for you too much to be apart for more than a few days. almost losing you proved that he needed you. he needed you for survival.

san laid there eyes glued to your bare back and he contemplated whether or not he should wake you. but he did.

you felt a tap on your back and turned over sleepily to face a very awake san staring at you. his eyebrows were knitted together, almost like he was in deep thought.

one night, he wakes. strange look on his face.

“sannie...?” you said, sleep coursing through your voice.

san says nothing, he only reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

he opens his mouth to speak, pauses, then says, “you’re my best friend.”

and you knew what it was, he is in love.

“you felt it too...” you say, reaching up grab his hand that rested on your cheek.

he nods.

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

you both smile happily and fall asleep again facing each other.

#ateez #kpop #san #ateez san #choi san #fluff #ateez dirty whispers #kpop smut ateez

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bohorhap · 5 years

Text

DAMN ROGER TAYLOR AND HIS PRETTY FACE (PART FIVE)

(part one - part two - part three - part four)

“Oh my God, how I love you.”

You froze. Your heart stopped. You swear your vision became blurry to the fact that he had just took your breath away, literally. It was not an 'I love you', which would've made you have a bug just the same. It was even more than that. It was a 'how I love you'. You couldn't move so you just stared in his eyes.

Roger took a step back, removing his hand from your face before grabbing his pack of cigarettes in the front pocket of his high-waisted jeans. You watched him do so. You watched him light his cigarette while looking at the horizon.

“Come on, let's go to sleep.”

All night long you had been thinking. You couldn't sleep, of course not. Not with what Roger had said to you. Some part of you wanted to believe that he meant it like he truly loved you but the other part knew that he only meant it like when he said it to Brian or his mother. In a friendly but still caring way.

Well shit.

The morning went as usual, you all three woke up aproximatively at the same time, all sobered up and all looking like shit. You chatted on the road, as Brian was driving you back to your place. Nothing seemed different. That's when you understood that it meant nothing. That they were just words.

You heard your phone ring. It had been two months since the new singer of Smile took its place and the band had never been so recognized. Of course the boys had their little success but with Freddie and their new bassist John, the band was reaching gradually the top.

You grabbed the phone next to your bed, stopping the annoying ringing.

“Hello?”

“Darling!” Freddie. Darling was his favorite word.

You cracked up a smile. “Hello Freddie!”

“How are you my love?” You hadn't had the time to answer that he was already talking to someone else that must've been next to him. You heard some jabber and noises before he finally came to the realization that you were on the other end of the line. “Oh dear, I forgot you sweetie, I'm sorry. There's just so much going on in here!” he laughed.

The boys were on their bus, going from town to town to organize their first little tour in England. They had been on the road for one week or so but it felt like forever. They were really close friends of yours now and you craved to see them again. You missed them badly.

“When are you guys coming back? It's boring in here without you,” you said pouting.

Your roomate Charlie threw a dirty sock at your face, saying: “Oh well thank you very much!” You stuck your tongue out at her and snickered with an oh so pretty double chin.

“Soon my darling! Speaking of this, we actually go back in town tonight and do a little gig to celebrate. Nothing too fancy, just a little gig in a pub. We will expect you.”

“Of course! Why haven't you said it sooner?”

“I'm sorry honey, I have to hang up but meet us at the Tavern tonight, no excuse will be accepted. See you soon!” And with that he hung up, without letting you answer anything.

You were so excited to see the boys again after what felt like an eternity. You put your phone back on the hook and began to search through your wardrobe what you were going to wear for tonight. Charlie was watching you from her bed where she was studying for an upcoming exam.

“The boys are coming back?” she asked while chewing on the end of her pen.

You nodded furiously in response, biting your lip in concentration. “Yes, gotta dress up!”

The blonde girl arched an eyebrow. “Why though? These boys have seen you in your worsts states.”

You turned around, making a face at her. “Hum, thank you for reminding me that?” you scoffed. “Plus I can dress up for someone else. Who knows who'll be there tonight? Maybe some gentle, pretty prince charming?”

“Ugh, yeah yeah, whatever,” she answered, making an impression of puking at your excess of cheesiness.

You shrugged and returned your attention on chosing your outfit, knowing deep down who you were actually dressing up for.

It was seven thirty in the afternoon and you hadn't chose yet what you were going to wear. You heard that the gig started at eight. You had thirty minutes left to look drop dead gorgeous but everything you tried on seemed to bore you. Charlie had left two hours ago, saying that she'll be back soon, she said she was meeting friends and that it wouldn't take long.

You sighed for the hundredth time, eyeing your reflection in the mirror before removing what you were wearing to be left in only your underwear.

“Oh my God, you're such an idiot! Just put on some clothes, they won't even notice you've put so much effort on your outfit!” you told yourself, looking in the mirror.

The front door to your bedroom opened and it took you a fraction of second to take a towel to cover yourself up.

Charlie closed the door behind her and stopped in the small corridor at the entrance of your bedroom.

“Damn guuurl! Lookin' hot tonight, I swear you'll find the one!”

You let out an annoyed sigh and tightened the towel around your body. “It pisses me off! Nothing fits for tonight! I swear I'll end up staying my bed, eating ice cream while reading a book.”

“Sounds great, mind if I join?”

You looked at your roomate with puppy eyes, putting on the most cute face you had in store.

“What?” she asked, already sniffing something coming.

You didn't reply anything, just went further on trying to make a cute face.

“What?” she asked a little louder, putting her hand on her hip.

“Pretty please can you lend me some of your clothes?” you replied, jutting out your lower lip.

Charlie looked at you without saying anything. After a beat she rolled her eyes and made her way to her wardrobe, murtering something about you being lucky you're cute. You jumped in joy and followed every move she made with your gaze, nodding or shaking your head to whatever attire she was getting out of the cupboard.

“Here,” she finally said, throwing a pile of clothes in your direction. “Now put some of these on and get out, the gig starts in ten minutes.”

You stripped from your super sexy towel before getting dressed with some of what Charlie just gave you. Taking quick steps to set yourself in front of the mirror, you looked satisfied with what you were wearing. Charlie and you both had the same tastes for clothing. Nothing too extravagant.

So there you stood, wearing black tighs with brown big boots and a summer dress with flowers and long sleeves. A hat found its place on your head and you were ready, wearing as many necklaces as you could, like you always did. This habit maybe came from Roger, he and his necklaces.

You turned your head right to see Charlie absolutely approving your outfit, giving you thumbs up. “Yes, this is so you.”

In no time you were on your way, Charlie had kicked you out of your small flat before you could possibly be even later. You were rushing down the great alley near your place, knowing the way to the Tavern by heart. The small breeze was running through you hair and nearly made your hat be blown away. You were holding it on your head by pushing it on your crane. You heard music play a little farther and you ran even faster.

Arriving at the pub, you took a minute to catch your breath before going in. The gig had obviously already started and the boys were rocking it. All of them seemed to look even better. Without you realizing it, as soon as your eyes landed on the band, a smile appeared on your face. There were so much people in here, you couldn't go closer to the stage. You therefore decided to head to the bar where you ordered yourself a beer while enjoying the show.

The concert finished too soon for your liking but you loved it anyways. As usual, Smile thanked the audience and got out of the stage before going straight to the bar. John was the first to spot you, he tapped Brian's shoulder and pointed where you were at. You raised your almost empty glass in their direction and they both approched you. They hugged you tight and catched up with you, saying how their small tour in bus was so cool and how they were looking forward to do it. They were soon interrupted by Freddie who passed in between them to greet you.

“Oh my God, darling, I love your dress! Turn around a bit?” he motioned you by circling his finger.

You did as commanded and blushed a bit. Freddie was always really giving when it came to compliments and it never failed to make you blush or smile uncontrollably. But as you steadied yourself and that Freddie had begun a conversation with John and Brian, you frowned a little. Where was Roger and why wasn't he here?

You excused yourself to the boys to go the loo, setting your now empty glass of beer on the counter. You were going to push the door open when a girl pulled it before you could. She had her hair going in different directions, even though she was trying to smooth them. Her lipstick was spread all around her mouth and she was wiping some of it with the back of her hand. She quickly looked at you before pushing your shoulder with hers to pass by you. You scoffed and watched her make herself a way through the crowd in direction of the bar.

Setting your eyes back on the door of the toilets, you froze. No other than the blonde drummer you were looking for came out of the bathroom from where the girl came out with the exact same hair. His long hair seemed snarled, sticking out in all directions. He had lipstick stains on his neck right next to a hickey.

A hickey.

You looked up catching Roger's eyes which were smiling at you.

“Hello, love. I've missed you so much,” he spoke casually, as if nothing had happened right before in this very bathroom. Noticing your lack of reaction, his smile faded a little as he stepped aside. “Oh you maybe wanted to use the bathroom?”

You couldn't reply anything. Images of Roger and this woman were clouding your head and your eyes were blank.

“Are you sure you're alright?” he asked a bit worried as he lowered his face to yours, searching for your eyes.

His voice sent you back to reality and you opened your mouth a short moment before answering: “Uh, yeah yeah, I've just missed you guys so much.” You put on a fake smile and that was enough to make Roger smile as well.

“I'm heading to the bar, want anything?”

“The usual, y'know.” You couldn't quite say anything else.

Roger came closer to you and took your face in both hands before kissing the top of your head. His then looked in your eyes once again. “I've missed you so much.”

And with that he went to command beers. You sighed. He really had no clue about what was going on in your mind when you looked at him. Of course he didn't see anything wrong about you catching him just after he banged some groupie in the toilets. That was part of the routine. You were like one of his bandmates. You were a close mate of his. And you didn't like that.

After staying before the toilets' door for five more minutes like a creep, you decided to join the guys minus Freddie who had suddenly disappeared. They were teasing Roger about the purple mark he had on his neck, to what you rolled your eyes.

Seeing you arriving, Roger put an arm around your shoulders and handed you your glass.

“Hello sunshine,” he started, “would you help me convince Deaky and Brian to go to a club tonight?”

Deaky waved him off and Brian snickered.

“They're lame and, to be honest, not really my scene,” stated Brian.

“You know I don't dance in clubs, I only dance to rock 'n' roll when I'm on stage,” added John.

“Come on, we don't call you Disco Deaky for nothing!” you piped in, in the mood for dancing.

John made a face, shaking his head from right to left. “Look, I'm tired, I had enough energy for this gig but not much more. I'd like to head home.”

Roger shrugged, taking a gulp of his beer. “Well then, we'll go without you boring guys.”

“Freddie could tag along?” you asked, looking at the drummer.

He took a look around the room but the singer was nowhere to be seen. “He vanished, I haven't seen him since I came back.”

“Well that leaves us both to go to that club.”

Brian left not long after the small conversation and Deaky bed goodbye as well, claiming he had something on the stove. Freddie still didn't come back so you guys gathered your stuff before heading out of the pub.

“Come on, Rog! Get your ass off of this couch and dance!” you screamed over the loud music playing in the room.

Roger raised an eyebrow, not moving an inch. He took his beer in hand and shook his head no.

“No, love. I don't dance. I'd rather sit here, don't worry about me and go have some fun,” he said, taking a sip of the bottle.

You shrugged, deciding to let go and went back in the crowd of sweaty moving bodies. There were a lot of people in the place but not enough for you all to be really close. You still got some space to move to the rythmn of the songs.

Roger, leaning against the counter, kept an eye on you. After a moment, he spotted that some guy was getting closer to you with you not realizing. The guy got closer and closer until his hands were on your hips, your back against his chest and the both of you moving together. Your lack of reaction took Roger aback but he blamed the alcohol for that.

He whistled loudly towards the man, catching his attention. Roger lifted his right hand and moved his index finger from right to left, mouthing 'no' while shaking his head negatively. The man raised an eyebrow and a smirk crept up his mouth while he only pulled you closer to him.

Roger frowned. What the hell didn't that man understand?

You were completely lost in the surroundings, the music, the heat of the moment and the alcohol in your blood didn't help. You clearly didn't see anything wrong with some random guy pressing his growing bulge against your butt. You even started grinding your ass on his lower body, dancing to the rhythm.

That was too much. Roger got up from his seat and pushed some people out of his way to reach you two.

He grabbed your wrist, what sent you out of your trance. You shot your head up to him with wide open eyes. You immediately stopped any movement before Roger pulled you in direction of the exit. Since he led the way quite quickly, you stumbled a few times, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his rapid walk.

He pushed the doors open and pulled your arm again but this time in front of him.

You were both outside of the club, in the chilly night, when he let go of your wrist.

“What the fuck?” he snapped at you, “What the bloody fuck was that, you tell me?”

You lifted your head to catch a glimpse of his eyes. He looked furious. You've never seen him like that. Roger was always pissed for some reason but right now he was out of his mind.

His eyes didn't leave yours, they were wide open. His lips were slightly parted, leaving place for his breath to go out at a quick pace. It was cold outside so you both could see your breaths. He looked at you insistantly.

“What the fuck was what?” you asked. You knew it was not the answer he was expecting.

“You were grinding on some guy you didn't even know! What had gotten into you?! Christ, he could've fucked you right there and you would've ask me what was wrong with that!” he yelled. His palm now rested on his forehead and he was looking at you in disbelief.

You were trying to understand the situation but you defenitely had drunk too much that night.

“Excuse me?” you asked, taking a step closer to him after a beat. “What the hell is that suppose to mean? You're the one who bangs strangers in pubs’ bathrooms and I don't even get the right to have a little fun? Because you decided so?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I'm an adult!”

“Yeah and you should act like one. You looked like a desperate slut out there.”

What did he say?

Your eyebrows raised on your forehead and your mouth opened widely.

“What did you just say?” you asked, furrowning your eyebrows.

Roger reached for a cigarette in the front pocket of his jeans along with his lighter. “I said,” he took the cig between his lips before lighting it up slowly. “That.” He took a long drag before returning his attention to you, pointing an accusive finger in your direction. “You looked like a desparate slut. Out. There.”

You slapped him. You slapped him so hard you swear he could've fallen on the ground.

Tears were building up in your eyes as you were looking at him.

His face had moved with the strength of the slap and he had put his hand on his reddening cheek before he looked at you.

“Don't you ever call me that again, you bastard. You're such a fucking-” you choked, trying to pull back the tears. You didn't want him to see you cry. Especially not now.

“Jesus Christ! I hate you Roger!” you hollered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your voice echoed in the empty street.

Roger looked at you and seemed hurt. He bit his lower lip lightly, avoiding your burning gaze on him. He turned his eyes left and sniffled. It hurt. It absolutely hurt him to hear you say those words.

“Well,” he said after a short moment of silence. “I think I'd better go, then.”

You looked straight at him, your gaze burning holes through him, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

“Oh yeah, fuck off. Since you're a coward who can't face situations. Fuck off like you always do.” Your voice was low even though you were boiling in anger.

His eyes focused on you once again, watery.

“Love-” he tried, his voice low and quiet, almost a whisper.

“Oh shut up with your 'love's...”

You turned your head, wiping away the single tear that had escaped your eye. “I thought...”, you began being cut short by a small laugh that got out in a whisper. “I thought that you liked girls who acted like desperate sluts, since you spend all your nights with them.”

Your calmness was killing him, he wanted you to beat him up instead of throwing words in his face that were sharper than knives. Your words hurt him more than any punch would've had.

“Funny that I wanted to catch your attention by doing this. Guess I just didn't get the attention I was looking for.” You locked your eyes with his once more. His green eyes were teary and even though you hated him with all of your soul at that moment, it made you feel guilty to see him in that state.

You sighed and took a step away from him to leave this uncomfortable situation. His hand was quick to catch your upper arm so you couldn't run away. He catched you with a “don't!” that escaped his mouth.

Your head snapped to face his. His red cheeks were covered in tears and his grip was strong on you. His nose was red as well and sniffling from time to time. He was clearly trying to calm himself down, to keep it together but to see you running away from him broke him.

“Don't go...” he whispered, his lower lip trembling before he catched it between his teeth to prevent the movement that made him seem vulnerable. “Please.”

And if he hadn't ad anything to this, you would've stayed. God, you would've thrown yourself in his arms right then and there. But he added something that made you cringe.

“You're my best friend.”

Fuck.

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