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reobsessed · 1 year

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Luis' Lab Partner

Pairing: Reader X Luis Content Warning: 18+, minors DNI, slight humour, protected sex, AFAB reader, Reader x Luis Sera fic. Special thanks to Suri for reads and edits!

Summary: You'd been working many long nights at Umbrella, with only your work and your smooth-talking lab partner to keep you company. One night during a particularly lengthy experiment, the two of you take a break to read some 'online smut'. One thing leads to another and you find yourself undressed, thrown over the top of Luis' desk.

Fic under the cut!

“Senorita, I have to ask, what does it mean by ‘he thrust deep into me, his cock battering my cervix relentlessly’?”

“Luis, I’m gonna be completely honest, I have no fucking clue,” you stated, pinching the cigarette from Luis’ mouth and inhaling deeply.

“It’s rather abstract…” Luis scratched the back of his head in confusion. The two of you were currently hunched over Luis’ work computer. The only source of lighting in the room came from the painfully bright light of the CRT monitor, casting your faces in an ominous white glow.

Time always passed slowly in the lab whilst you were waiting for results. Today had been a particularly gruelling experiment and despite it very rapidly turning to the early hours of the morning, you both still had a long wait ahead of you.

“It’s just like porn but with words.”

Luis laughed and did his best to sound shocked. “A lady such as yourself watching porn?? How scandalous,” he remarked with a glint in his eye, or perhaps it was the light playing tricks.

You tapped the shared cigarette on the side of Luis’ mug, watching as the powdered ash dropped into the remainder of his coffee.

The pair of you had been working together for quite some time now, the pleasant small talk you exchanged towards the beginning had quickly grown stale given that neither of you really did anything outside of work. Whilst you were happy to sit in silence like you’d done previously with other colleagues, Luis wouldn’t allow it. He was by no means annoying or obtrusive but he always made an effort to engage with you, small things like, how did you sleep last night? Have you ever read Don Quixote? What food do you like? Would you like to read Don Quixote? By all rights you should have found him annoying but there was something quite charming about him.

“You know what we’re doing right now is basically the same as watching porn together.” You paid close attention to Luis’ expression, fully intending to get as much amusement out of his reaction as possible.

Luis choked on air. “Th-that’s not- it’s not the- I have to go check on some vials,” he announced, springing to the floor in a rigid stance. You suppressed a giggle, watching as he ran behind one of the desks and pretended to look for something.

Reading together in the dark lab had become a tradition for the two of you, it first began when Luis had brought along a heavily worn copy of Don Quixote to read. Unfortunately your busy work schedule didn’t leave much time for reading and so Luis had read it aloud for you while you worked. He managed several chapters a night depending on how late you were working and surprisingly he’d breezed through the entire novel in a matter of weeks. Luis had given it his all and you deeply appreciated how he brought the characters to life, giving each a distinctive voice, you enjoyed it so much in fact that once it was over you were unable to hide your sadness.

You’d both agreed to find more things to read, these came in the form of: every single magazine in the break room, the umbrella health and safety pamphlet and finally, each of Harold’s work diaries that he’d left scattered throughout the labs (that was when they found out he really didn’t like Luis.) You cursed yourselves for not bringing along more books. That was when you had an idea, why not go online for some ‘fine literature’. And that’s where you found yourselves tonight, sat in a darkened room reading online smut.

“You coming back or should I find another one?” you called out, mouse already skimming over various links in the forum.

“I’ll just be a second,” came the stammered response from across the room.

“We can read something else. I just thought it would be funny.” You stood up, making your way over to where Luis was. “Sorry if I made things awkward…” you trailed off, your eyes studying Luis carefully. “What are you doing?”

“I just needed a moment to… catch my breath.” His back was turned to you but the embarrassment in his voice was clear.

“You know,” you began, edging closer as you spoke. “It gets lonely being cooped up in a lab all day.” Luis’ head spun round and he flinched back slightly when he noticed you were standing directly in front of him.

“I’m always here to keep you company, senorita.”

“I know,” you replied, reaching out a hand towards his chest, Luis stopped you, clasping your hand gently in his.

“Perhaps we get to work, ey?”

“I don’t want to and clearly you don’t either,” you said pointing your gaze downwards.

Luis attempted to cover himself but it was too late, even in the dark of the room his growing lust was painfully obvious.

“Ah that’s not very gentlemanly of me,” Luis laughed nervously.

“I like your carefree side better.”

You stepped forward once again, closing the gap between you. Instinctively, Luis reached out his hands and put them either side of your hips, eliciting a gasp in response. Despite being the one to initiate you were still taken aback by the sudden contact. You’d spent many days and nights together but you’d rarely touched, there was the occasional brushing of fingertips when exchanging coffee, a pat on the shoulder followed by an earnest ‘well done,’ and of course, your most intimate act so far, a shared cigarette passed back and forth between your lips.

Your arms reached upwards, looping around Luis’ neck, you pulled his head down towards you and planted a long awaited kiss on his lips. It only lasted a second but you felt as though a current were running throughout your entire body even after pulling away. Luis stared at you momentarily, mouth agape, until it widened into one of his signature grins.

“Dios Mios,” he exclaimed softly. “It would be rude not to follow the lady’s example.” He brought his lips back down to yours and kissed you passionately, threading a hand through your hair as he did so.

Delighted, you leaned into his touch, lapping desperately at his tongue, only ever having tasted him through cigarettes you were desperate to get your fill. The kiss intensified and so did your grip on the back of Luis’ shirt. The two of you stumbled backwards with Luis steadying himself with one hand.

“Perhaps a change of position is in order,” he announced, picking you up by the waist and setting you down on one of the desks.

“Stuff’s in the way,” you said, swiping your hand across various notes and test tubes. Luis winced as the glass shattered on the floor. “It’s okay, Umbrella’ll pay for it.” You’d already discarded your lab coat and were halfway through undoing your blouse.

Luis looked conflicted for a moment, that was until his gaze landed on your now exposed cleavage.

“Mi amor.” He let out a breathy sigh before burying his head in the ripened fruits. His hands fumbled with the back of your bra. His mind was clouded in a lustful haze, impairing his ability to complete simple tasks. “Mierda,” he muttered impatiently, hands still grappling with the metal hook of your bra.

Both amused and agitated you began pulling off Luis’ lab coat and then quickly moved to his jeans. In the time it took you to remove both articles of clothing, he was still trying in vain to remove your bra.

“Can’t be good at everything,” you giggled. Luis laughed in return, unclipping your bra in an instant.

“You’ll pay for such hurtful remarks,” Luis threatened light-heartedly. He dragged down your trousers and underwear, dropping them to the floor along with his jeans. Without another word he nestled his tongue between your legs, eliciting a high pitched moan from his lab partner. He gave extra care and attention to your clit, lapping at it firmly and greedily. You wiggled your hips in pleasure, grasping fistfuls of Luis’ hair in your hands, as you pushed his head further into your throbbing clit.

The force of your fingers pulling on his hair caused Luis to let out a stifled groan, despite the pain he continued to lap at you until his mouth and stubble were fully wetted with your dripping contentment.

“Luis- fuck- just stick it in already,” you cried out between gasps.

Luis pulled away, dabbing at the side of his mouth with his thumb. “If you insist,” he smirked, pulling open one of the desk drawers and retrieving a condom from inside. Printed on the front of the pack was a stark red and white umbrella logo, along with the slogan ‘Our Business is Life Itself’, Luis couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

“Seriously, Luis? You keep those in your desk?”

“What?? They’re company issued,” Luis explained innocently.

“Oh, right, so they just hand out a condom with every beaker or something?”

“Err they do for me,” he gave a half shrug, half laugh as he tore open the packet and slid the condom over his awaiting dick. He turned to look at you, before shaking his head. “Ah, this won’t do, that looks a little uncomfortable.” He grabbed the clothing from the floor, bundling it into a makeshift pillow that he slid underneath your head. You smiled at his attentiveness, reaching up to peck him on the lips once more.

Luis positioned himself on top of you, sliding in with ease. You both moaned as he settled himself inside of you. “Are you feeling alright?” He cupped one side of your face in his hand as he waited for an answer.

“Doing just fine,” you grinned in response, bucking your hips against Luis.

Luis responded by matching your rhythm, pushing in and out, the room was filled with the sounds of your heavy panting along with the clatter of the remaining items left on the desk.

Luis fought hard to suppress his overflowing pleasure. He gripped the edge of the table with one hand and used the other to pull one of your legs up over his shoulder. The new position gave him a better angle to pound into your most sensitive parts.

“Ah, more,” you gasped. Your rising contentment threatened to boil over as you felt your head swim. “Luis,” you called out in desperation. You gripped onto his arms, your eyes watering and pleading.

He peppered kisses down your neck.

“It’s okay mi amor.” The gentle caress of his voice gave your aching body permission.

Like a flash of lightning your mind went blank, all thoughts emptied as you sought only satisfaction. An electrifying pulse coursed through you as your entire body trembled as you writhed against Luis.

“Ah, ah fuck,” you cried out as you collapsed in bliss.

Luis followed soon after, crumpling beside you. You both laid in silence besides the occasional panting of breath. Luis carefully slid out of you and grabbed his lab coat from the floor, throwing it over the two of you.

“Hey, Luis?”

“What is it,” he mumbled as he dug through his pockets searching for his lighter.

“Did you hit my cervix or not?”

“Hmm maybe, maybe not. Perhaps we can try again another time?” he quirked an eyebrow in sync with his cigarette lighting up.

You struggled to suppress the blush that burned across your cheeks, holding his hand closely in yours.

Umbrella was really going to have to start issuing more condoms.

#resident evil 4 #luis sera #luis serra #reader x luis #luis sera x reader #luis serra x reader #re4make #re4 remake #fic #re fic #luis serra navarro #resident evil #resident evil fic #my fic

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yoimix · 2 years

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genshin men + a clumsy s/o

ft. kazuha, zhongli, venti

[ requested by @jewelscara ] [ tw: alcohol, kazuha lightweight :-) ]

✽ kazuha is used to a life of wandering, dangers and unconventionality—and that means his senses are heightened above the capabilities of a normal man. as such, he finds your motions bizarre by instinct, but he also finds your ditzy steps strangely adorable. he supposes it’s because it’s you that he finds even your oddities heartwarming. as long as you’re not falling into pits or anything. he will also hold you by reflex if you trip or walk into something or slip on a particularly dewy patch of grass. to be fair, the last one is tricky. he’s always smiling so endearingly when you’re around too, and you can blame him for distracting you on most occasions. kazuha would never hold it against you either if you break something on accident or knock things over. all in all, he’s very concerned about you gravely injuring yourself traveling with him in particular, while still letting you stand up on your own two feet (even if they’re both left).

although, his movement mimics yours with the tiniest bit of alcohol.

“more, more, more... more,” he drabbles on, as you try your best to drag him out of the tavern.

“goodness, kazuha, we both know i’m not cut out for this job,” you heave, as he finally takes a step in your direction only for you to lose balance and land on your knees. mondstadt cobblestones aren’t the softest to land on but your battered knees are used to a little bit of beating.

he looks down at you with a slight pout and furrowed eyebrows. “my love, did you fall again? are you hurt? oh dear.”

he stumbles onto the floor beside you, his outstretched hand meant for you to take breaking his fall instead. how could one fruity cocktail reduce him to this? to be fair, you don’t need even that to be as bad at keeping balance.

“kazuha, we have to get up,” you tell him, brushing your knees as you get back on your feet.

“i’m up,” he says confidently while still sat on the ground. “you’re looking so blurry, maple, are you falling?”

“i’m afraid that’s not the case, sweetheart.” you shake your head, grabbing both his hands to lift him up.

your efforts do get him off the ground. however, instead of standing, he leans over onto you till his entire bodyweight is on you. of course. what else did you expect? he’s still so cute, you think. when did babbling, drunk men start looking cute to you? but then again, it’s only kazuha. you love every little detail of his.

“you’re gripping me too tight,” you say, trying to loosen his grip around your waist.

“of course i am, (name). i don’t want you falling,” he mumbles, finally standing up straight. his arms don’t move. “do you know much it worries me to see the bandages?”

“i’m alright, kazuha. you don’t put me in any trouble more than i put myself in.” you press your hand against his cherry-red cheek, revelling in the warmth. “you can- you can let go...”

“i’d rather not let go of you,” he refuses, face as golden as the setting sun.

you furrow your eyebrows. met with his deep autumn eyes, what more can you do?

his grip around your waist isn’t getting any looser and the blood flows into your cheeks as he refuses to lower his stare.

“you will always worry me, (name).” kazuha sighs, but it soon turns into a smile. “so don’t wander too far off from me.”

✽ zhongli, ever observant, incorporates your tendencies into his habits. he can never be too careless with you around. in your defense, you couldn’t look at the man without your heart doing flips and somersaults. even as lovers, it’s ridiculous how you struggle to keep your balance around him. the number of walls you’ve walked into as a result of his smile is ridiculous. in fact, zhongli reflexively stretches out his arms before you can bump into anything. he will pull you by the waist if you walk a little close to the docks, place his arm between you and any solid surface that might hurt your shoulder, take your hand every time you step over the puddles after liyue’s much needed rain. it’s deeply evident how he cares for you. sometimes, though, he will just let you do your thing and look at you fascinated. he always carries bandages and antiseptic creams on him, even if he forgets his wallet.

“dear?”

“yes, zhongli?”

“did you fall into the pool or were you planning to take a swim fully clothed?”

you lower yourself into the waist-level water, fully drenching yourself. there’s a large scrape on your thigh and you’d rather not let your lover take note of it. partly because you’re embarrassed and partly because you don’t want him to fuss over you later.

“i’m fine down here, honey,” you mumble, looking away from him. you can still feel his intense gaze, regardless.

when you stormed out of the house, annoyed with his lecturing on your habits, you should’ve expected some bad luck. (luck referring to your muscle coordination.) you know he only spoke out of concern but you took it a bit too personal. he knows you too well—and familiarity breeds contempt. soon, your little quirks will be burdens to bear. you didn’t want him to worry when you waked off, you just wanted some fresh air. to be fair, you did get some fresh air before plunging into freshwater too.

“i don’t want you catching a cold, love.”

zhongli gets down on his knee beside the clear pool of water, extending a hand for you take. after a moment of hesitation, you give your hand and he gets you out effortlessly.

the thing is, you expected him to let go after you’re up. instead, you’re pulled into his chest, his arms settling at your back and waist, a deep chuckle leaving the man. you’re sure the water’s soaking through his clothes and yet there is no notion of his discomfort. is he made of rock?

“zhongli! why’d you do that? now both of us are drenched...”

“does it upset you, my dear?”

“no. but... you don’t have to go so far to coddle me,” you grumbling.

“hah...” he sighs. “one moment, you believe i’m angry with you and the next you think i’m coddling you? you’re as bewildering as ever.”

“you’re teasing me again,” you huff as you pull away and cross your arms.

“you know my adoration for you. i never meant to preach.” he presses his lips together and hums a sigh. “i should’ve worded it better. i don’t mean to coddle you and neither do i want to show you tougher love.”

his hand at your waist wavers and finally moves to rest against your cheek.

“now let’s get you fixed up. blood is not a nice color on you,” he speaks grimly, but not as a reprimand. if there’s anyone who wouldn’t either baby you or treat you with indifference, ire even, it’s your ever-steady lover.

“how did you...” you shake your head, a smile growing. everyone needs someone to lean on. “thank you, my love.”

✽ venti is quite mischievous with you, though he makes sure you’re alright in his own way. he sometimes blows a particularly strong wind in your direction just to see you flail, and follow up by grabbing your hands and pulling you towards him in a funny little dance. even if you step on his foot more times than you can count, he always finds a way around it—making fun of the mistakes you make till you’re forced into a rebuttal by pointing out his own. he just enjoys the way you move, as far as graceful as you can get, and yet as animated and lovely as windwheel asters. he also jokes often about how you don’t need alcohol to act silly. you say it’s the same for him; he’s not the most serious of men. venti also gets more affectionate when he’s drunk, much like a cat on catnip, and will show you off with the weirdest titles. (“my s/o can trip three times on a hike and still be okay!” “venti stfu”)

“oh thank barbatos,” you heave, as soon as you reach the tip of starsnatch cliff.

“you called?”

you shriek, your fists flying up to fend the source of your momentary fright off. however, instead of getting into a defence stance, you stumble backward and land on your butt right at the edge of the cliff.

“you’re going to kill me, you idiot!” you scream while venti snickers, landing softly beside you. oh, to be as nimble as wind. you’ve got to say you’re a little jealous of the bard.

you scoot away from the edge to a much safer spot, while venti shrugs and lays his head on your lap.

“who said you could do that?” you quip, though you don’t move his head away.

“aww, didn’t you come here to meet me?”

“i meet you if i want to add more injuries to my body. every time i fall, you make me fall harder.”

venti’s eyes go wide. “my, that’s quite the romantic thing to say.”

you sputter out a half-assed denial. “y- you know that’s not what i meant.”

“well, do you want me to sing your bruises better?” he sits up giggling, the tune of his laughter playful.

“very funny, venti- oh dear archons, you don’t have to whip out your lyre harp.”

he strikes a familiar chord, a song of love and mischief, and you cave. it’s so easy for him to quieten you. then again, his melody always calls for attention. it’s so easy to lose track of time with him, and you’re glad you do. life can get hard, even in the city of freedom, and what’s better than the archon himself lifting your spirits? he’s quite good at that, even if he doesn’t realize it.

venti clicks his tongue when he notices you zoned out.

“c’mon now, i’m pouring my heart out for you!”

you roll your eyes. “oh lord barbatos, i don’t believe you could ever surpass the admiration i hold for you already.”

“unimpressive.”

you shake your head, huffing loudly.

“shall we dance then?”

“here?” you look around, furrowing your eyebrows at the steep ledges. no way. but of course, why would the anemo archon ever listen to you? he does as he pleases. you’re pulled to your feet and you take the tiniest of steps in his direction. the motion makes venti laugh, eyes closing. it really is a wonder how he makes the breeze howl in your chest.

“you don’t have to worry, (name),” he grins wider, taking your hands in his. “you can always trust the wind to catch you.”

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xiaojunsmintchoco · 1 year

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Taste of love - Kim Mingyu

Pairing: food science student!yn x food science student!mingyu

Genre: fluff, angst; enemies to lovers, polytechnic au

Synopsis: You and Mingyu have always been in competition for the top spot at everything since secondary school and the cycle doesn't end even after graduation, because you both end up in the same polytechnic AND the same food science course. Until one day, the professor puts both of you together for a year end project, and you both have to knock your heads together if you want to maintain your top GPAs.

CW: mentions of food (a lot because they’re studying food science)

wc: about 6.9k

a/n: this fic is dedicated to @bangchan-fairy! bee, I hope you like your (belated) christmas gift, and thank you so much for being one of the first moots to see me through my days as a beginning writer starting out on shaky steps — I truly appreciate the support 🧡 I hope you had a great christmas, and i wish you an amazing 2023 ahead!

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“Finally, we’re back in the kitchen!” You exclaim to your best friend, Minho as you follow your polytechnic class to the food laboratory. “God, when I left the house this morning, I swore that if we had to attend another lecture today, I’m officially dropping out of this course,” you add, with a dramatic sigh and a hand on your forehead, as if you were about to faint.

Minho gasps in mock horror, and puts a hand to his chest. “So you were planning to leave me to take this course alone? Just because of the lectures?” he asks incredulously.

You flick his forehead jokingly. “Of course not,” you laugh. “We promised we’d graduate from this polytechnic and obtain our diploma together, didn’t we?”

“Glad you didn’t forget, else into the air fryer you go,” he replies. "180 degrees for 20 minutes," he adds with a smirk as you both put on your aprons and caps before turning back to the front to wait for the teacher’s instructions.

The sound of a chair being dragged out from the work desk beside you startles you, and you wish you didn't turn your head to find out who it was. You exchange dirty looks with said person – Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu had been your sworn rival ever since you both started secondary school. From grades to leadership positions to competition results, you were always nearly neck and neck with each other at everything – except that one of you would end up on top in the end. The arrogant glances and smug smirks Mingyu would send you whenever he beat you to the first place in anything never failed to make you bristle with anger. You thought the competition would end when you finished your final exam and graduated from secondary school, but to your dismay, he picked the same polytechnic course as you. So, here you both are, continuing your long-term rivalry in Nanyang Polytechnic's Food and Nutrition course.

"Alright, class," your professor announces as she makes her way into the classroom. "Listen up! As you know, we've been studying Asian food this week, so today we're going to try our hand at making popiah. On your work benches you should see the recipe as well as the ingredients you'll need. Feel free to add anything else you'd like to the fillings. Work on it with your partner, and by the end of the lesson we'll give them a try. If you need any help, I'll be around".

You and Minho quickly skim over the recipe for the Teochew-style spring rolls. "I'll make the filling, while you can make the wrappers?" Minho suggests.

And just like that, both of you are ready to start work. Throwing open the cupboard doors, both of you successfully locate the grater, mixing bowl, frying pans and other utensils. You begin by combining flour, salt and water in the bowl, then straining the batter to remove the extra lumps. After that, you set the stove to low heat and place the pan on it. "Good thing I brought my pastry brush today," you offhandedly remark to Minho as you pull the brush out of your apron pocket. Dipping the brush into the batter, you proceed to brush the batter onto the pan, brushing several times to ensure the wrapper would not have holes in it. When the first wrapper is done, you peel it off and set it aside on a clean plate, and repeat the process again until you have five wrappers complete. "I'm done with the wrappers, are you almost done with the fillings?" you ask Minho as he's busy frying an omelette.

"Yes, I just need to cut this into long strips after and then we can wrap the popiah," Minho replies, removing the omelette from the pan and placing it on a plate to cool. "In the meantime, what about you grind some peanuts? There should be a mortar and pestle in the cupboard and some peanuts in the drawer," he suggests.

"Sure! That's a great idea," you compliment your friend and get the peanuts, as well as the mortar and pestle. Pouring the peanuts into the mortar, you pound them with the pestle until they're finely ground up. At the same time, Minho is done with the omelette strips, so you both get round to wrapping the popiahs. It doesn't take that long, and soon both of you have three plates of popiah, all cut into pieces that are one inch in breadth.

"Cheers," Minho declares as you each pick up a piece of popiah with chopsticks, gently bringing his piece to yours before you both pop them in your mouth. The flavours in the popiah explode in your mouth, the savoury flavours of the omelette strips and dried shrimps and sweet flavours of grated vegetables and jicama blending together perfectly like a match made in heaven, enhanced further by the sweet-spicy notes of the chili sauce.

“I think we did a great job!” You remark to your partner, eyes wide in amazement. Minho simply nods, too enraptured by the tasty creation both of you had made together.

Turns out, the teacher agrees with both of you. “The skin is not too thick or thin, and overall, your popiah is very flavourful. I also really like the addition of omelette strips and ground peanuts for extra protein,” the teacher comments after sampling a piece of the popiah you and Minho had made. “Well done, y/n and Minho! Also, the use of the pastry brush for the popiah skin was smart”.

You both give the teacher a small bow and thank her as she moves to the next table, giving Minho a discreet high-five. “Hmm, it’s not bad, but the popiah skin is a bit lumpy and a bit too thick. How did you prepare it?” The teacher asks Mingyu and his partner, Junhui.

“I just spooned the batter onto the pan and spread it out,” Mingyu answers.

“Did you strain the batter before doing so?” The teacher fires another question at them. You watch on, mildly amused, as both of them exchange glances and shake their heads.

“Ah, so that is why the batter did not turn out that well. In the future, strain the batter before cooking it, and try to use a pastry brush like y/n and Minho have done,” the teacher remarks to both boys before moving on to the next table, and you don’t miss the glance of disdain Mingyu sends in your direction, which for some reason causes the sweet feelings of a small victory to bloom in your heart. Hey, it was only the first practical cooking session your class had had in a long time, but you felt good that you were able to cook up a better dish than him this time. You can’t resist the urge to send him a smirk and mouth “watch and learn” to him, and that gleeful feeling only grows as his scowl intensifies as well.

“Okay class, as you all know, we’ll be starting our year-end projects soon, so I’ll be giving out some details today,” your teacher declares, bringing your attention back to the front of the kitchen. “I’ve paired all of you up, and in your pairs you will pick a dish to do a macronutrient and micronutrient analysis of. After which, both of you will need to recreate the dish, but make it healthier by changing up the cooking methods or ingredients. Your choice of dish is up to you, you can even create your own fusion dishes. Just make sure to do a macronutrient and micronutrient comparison of the original and the one you both recreated, and write a report on how you made it healthier,” she instructs. “I’ve emailed the instructions to all of you, and right now I’ll be flashing the pairings on the screen”.

You fix your eyes on the screen, hoping that you would be paired with Minho. Unfortunately, your anticipation soon fades to dismay as you see the name next to yours: Kim Mingyu. Oh God, why?

“These pairings are final, so I expect all of you to cooperate with your partners to obtain optimum results, and I will not be entertaining any requests to switch partners. I wish all of you all the best!” Your teacher finishes, dashing the last of your hopes to request to be paired up with another person. “You may go look for your partners now, and discuss arrangements to work on the project”.

Begrudgingly, you push in your chair and drag your feet to where Mingyu is. “So, we’re gonna have to work together for our final project, huh,” you huff, making no attempt to hide your displeasure.

“Obviously so. Now, I don’t like this any better than you do, so we’ll just make this as quick and painless as possible, then we can get this over and done with and hopefully never have to work together again. Okay?” Mingyu asserts, looking down at you with the same haughty glare you hated so much.

You narrow your eyes into slits, glaring daggers at him. “Deal”.

“Okay then. Meet me at the subway station after school, we can go to my house to do our research first,” Mingyu instructs, before hurrying off to catch up with Junhui.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

As agreed, you meet him at the subway station to go to his house. "It's only 2 stops away and then a five minute walk, so it won't take long," Mingyu informs you as you both board the train. Not willing to engage in a proper conversation with your enemy just yet, you simply acknowledge with a grunt.

Before you know it, you've reached his apartment block and are already in the lift to his fifth floor flat. Upon entering, the first thing that greets you is the row of medals hanging on the walls, right above the glass cupboard which houses all of his trophies and certificates. Immediately you feel slight bitter feelings rise in you, but you push them down, reminding yourself that you were here to focus on your year end project, and you'd also had your fair share of times when you'd successfully beat Mingyu to attain first place or top scores.

"You can put your bag down, and I’ll get you some water," Mingyu states. Though his tone was flat, you were mildly surprised that your enemy still treated you with basic hospitality. “Sit down at the table and we can start”.

Now, you weren’t expecting working on a project with your nemesis to be a walk in the park, but you weren’t expecting it to be this difficult and unpleasant either. It’s been more than one hour, and both of you are still arguing about which dish to pick.

“Goddammit, just pick something already!” Mingyu finally explodes, sick of the endless back-and-forth that both of you had been engaging in.

“Oh if it’s that easy, why don’t you pick then?” you snap, the last wisp of your patience vanishing as well.

“I don’t know, you keep refuting every one of my suggestions. You got a better idea then?” Mingyu shoots back, eyeing you with a challenging glint in his eye.

“No I don’t, your ideas were simply trash, and you weren’t listening to any of my suggestions either,” you state flatly. “You’re in the debate club, I thought you’d be more logical than this. Don’t waste my time. You’re my fucking rival but I still have to cooperate with you”.

Though you’re enemies with him, you regret your earlier words as a look of clear hurt crosses his features for a split second. Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut, draws in a deep breath, and then slowly lets it out again. “You know what, we’ve spent more than an hour here, but all we’ve done is bicker. Since today’s so unproductive and I don’t think we’ll accomplish anything, you can just pack and leave. We’ll continue another day”.

With that, you pick up your bag and brush past him in a huff.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“He’s so freaking insufferable! He didn’t agree to anything I suggested and still complained I was the one being picky, ugh. I can’t believe I’m doing my year-end project with him”.

You’re ranting to Minho over breakfast the next day before school starts, the unpleasant project work session with Mingyu still fresh in your mind. “Gosh dammit, I bet I could finish this project alone and get a much better GPA than this guy can. Lucky you, you got paired with Jaehyun”.

Minho patiently listens to your every word as you vent your frustrations to him, before finally offering his advice. “You know, y/n, both of you are in the wrong here”.

Your head snaps towards Minho. “What? You’re my friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Y/n, I’m just being real here. Did you both tell each other what you found lacking in the other’s suggestions, or did you guys just shoot down each others’ suggestions?” Minho asks.

You go quiet for a minute, sipping on your coffee as you reflect on yesterday’s events. “I think the latter”.

“There you have it. It’s understandable if you guys didn’t like each others’ suggestions, but at the very least you guys should say why, and do it in a civilized manner. From what I’m hearing, you said some pretty harsh stuff to Mingyu,” Minho continues, explaining his thoughts on the situation.

“You’re not wrong”.

“And besides,” Minho continues, chewing on his food, “you’ve got to cooperate with him, no matter what. I know he was your rival and you both were competing throughout the year for a better GPA, but here your GPA is at stake. If you don’t cooperate with him, I don’t wanna imagine the drop in your own GPA. You’ve gotta accept that this time you can’t be fighting him. After this project, compete with him all you want, that’s no one’s business. But for now, you’ve gotta put aside your differences and work together, unless you wanna risk repeating year one again”.

You sip on your coffee, quietly reflecting on Minho’s words. “You’re right. I should have chosen my words more carefully before speaking to Mingyu,” you admit, a twinge of embarrassment pricking in your chest as you remember the harsh words both of you exchanged yesterday. “Maybe I do owe him an apology. Thanks, Min”.

Minho nods, happy that he was able to help you know how to move forward from the argument and figure out your next steps. “No problem. You can always catch him after class later to say what you need to. If you’re done, shall we go? I don’t wanna be late”.

“Of course”. With that, both of you clear your table and head off to polytechnic again.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“Mingyu! Mingyu!”

You call for Mingyu as he’s leaving the lecture hall, a puzzled look on his face when he sees you hurtling towards him at the speed of light calling his name. You’d just fought yesterday, so why were you looking for him now?

“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have thought before I spoke and gave your suggestions more consideration before shutting them down”. You pant out your apology, out of breath from running after him. “Sorry for wasting our time yesterday and speaking thoughtlessly to you”.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have snapped at you first, I’m in the wrong too,” Mingyu says, reciprocating your apology.

“Apology accepted. Can we get along properly and cooperate with each other from now on, at least until our project is over? I know both of us have been in competition for top grades ever since sec 1, but both our GPAs are on the line here. If we want to do well, we must work together,” you request, reaching out your hand to offer him a true truce this time.

Mingyu’s eyes glaze over with a thoughtful expression as he processes your words. For a moment you worried that he would let his ego get in the way and reject your proposition. “I agree with you. I don’t think any of us want to be retained, so let’s call a truce, at least until this project is over,” he answers, shaking your hand firmly.

“Good. Well then, I guess we can get to work on this project again. Since you offered your house last time round, shall we go to mine today?” you suggest. "It's not that far from here, just a few bus stops away".

"That'd be great. The last time you were over, we squabbled so much, my mum was worried we'd get a noise complaint from the neighbours," he chuckles, and to your surprise you find it in yourself to get out a small laugh in response.

"No more of that this time," you laugh. "Okay, after school today let's meet at the coffee shop nearby, I'd like to get coffee first".

"Okay. See you then!" Mingyu shoots you a small smile and a wave, and walks away.

He’s actually pretty nice when he’s not in his competitive mode, you think to yourself, happy that for once, you were able to talk to Mingyu in a much friendlier manner than usual, with no hateful or malicious undertones.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

Mingyu: y/n

Mingyu: I'll be a bit late, Ms Lim wants to speak to me

Mingyu: sorry about it! you can buy your coffee first

Upon reaching the coffee shop, you open your phone to receive these three notifications from Mingyu, informing you that he wouldn't be able to make it on time.

You: no problem! would you like something too?

You figured you'd try to do something nice for him this time to make up for the last argument you'd both had. Besides, he did offer you a drink when you went to his house the other day, so one good turn deserves another.

Mingyu: yes please, I'll pay you later

You: alright, what would you like?

Five minutes goes by with no reply from Mingyu. Oh well, you'd take your chances with his order. He probably was already speaking to Ms Lim and wouldn't be able to reply to you for a while.

Making your way to the counter, you prepare to place your order. "Hi, can I have…" you tell the barista your order, before hesitating over Mingyu's order. What does he like?

You end up ordering him an iced Americano. Just as you collect your orders, Mingyu comes running in, panting heavily. "Y/n! I'm sorry I'm late".

"No problem. In fact, you seem a bit too excited to work on a project with your rival," you joke, completely missing the way his cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink.

"I mean, it wouldn't be nice to keep you waiting," he reasons.

"By the way, you didn't tell me what you wanted, so I got you an iced Americano," you inform, passing him the drink.

Mingyu takes the drink from you gratefully and sips on it. "Thanks y/n! How did you know I like this?" he asks, surprise crossing his features.

"I've seen you bring this into the lecture hall so many times, and I may have overheard Junhui joking about your Americano addiction yesterday," you explain, motioning to him to follow you. "Anyway, let's get going".

You both board the bus to your house and settle in the living room to do research. "I think that instead of trying to settle on one dish at once, we can just do our research today and make a list of possible dishes. After we come to a decision, we can get round to thinking of ways to make it healthier and drafting our report. Next we'll make a list of ingredients and possible equipment we'll need, edit our report, and try to find ways to make our practical session as efficient as possible. Sound good to you?” Mingyu fleshes out his plan to you.

You’ve got to give credit where credit is due, it was impressive that Mingyu was able to think up a sensible plan so quickly. “I guess we can do that. I’ll make a google document for us to list down our ideas, and then we can start doing our research”.

With that, both of you get down to doing the research again, listing out possible dishes as you go. “Jeez, there’s so many options. Now I understand why we had such a hard time picking the last time,” Mingyu mutters, scrolling through the document for what seems to be the millionth time.

You’re not having an easier time as well, simply staring blankly at the document on your computer while struggling to come to a conclusion. “Me too. I don’t know how we’re going to pick,” you grumble. At that moment, an idea hits you. “Why don’t we pick a dish that’s seemingly innocent and healthy, but is actually the opposite?”

“I was thinking of that too,” Mingyu agrees, considering all the options again. “In that case, it would probably be chicken rice? I mean, it’s rice, chicken, and cucumbers, which would be healthy in most cases, but in this dish the rice is swimming in chicken fat”.

“You’re right!” you exclaim, smacking your hand on the table in excitement as you swivel your head towards him. “Okay, let’s do chicken rice then. When shall we meet next to do our nutrient analyses?”

Mingyu swipes through his phone, looking at his schedule. “My next available day would be Friday after school, right after our practical session. Would that be okay? We can go to my house this time”.

You nod, approving the suggested date and noting it down in your own phone. “That’s fine by me. Okay, I guess that’s settled. See you on Friday”.

“We’ll be seeing each other tomorrow for class. Did you forget?” Mingyu points out, bursting into laughter at your expression of sudden realisation. “So I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mingyu chuckles, picking up his bag and preparing to leave.

“You’re right. Bye then, see you tomorrow,” you chuckle as Mingyu exits your house, pleasantly surprised at how well both of you were able to get along once you both put all forms of competition aside, and simply treated each other with respect and kindness. You hoped above all else, your future interactions with him would be more like today’s meeting, rather than all the other times that both of you ended up fighting like cat and dog.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“So…what I’m gathering here is, chicken rice is a great source of protein, but too high in fat, especially saturated fat, and lacking in fiber,” you mumble, looking through the information you and Mingyu had compiled in the google document. “So we should find ways to reduce the fat content and boost the fiber content of this dish”.

“In terms of micronutrients, it’s sorely lacking in vitamins A, C, D, E and K, and has sky-high sodium levels, which we should work to bring down,” Mingyu concludes, looking through the nutrient analysis you’d both done together. “I’m thinking of adding more cucumber slices, which are rich in vitamin B, C and K, as well as some tomato because they’re an excellent source of vitamins A, C, E and K. In addition, we could add in mushroom slices to boost the vitamin D content,” he adds, getting the ball rolling on your discussion by throwing in the first few ideas.

“Those are great ideas!” You give Mingyu a genuine compliment, and add your own ideas as well. “Boosting the fiber content won’t be much of a problem — switching the white rice for brown rice and adding more vegetables as you’ve suggested should do the trick. It will be tricky to get the brown rice to have that nice, fluffy texture, but it should be doable. As for the fat content, most of it comes from the chicken fat that’s used to cook the rice, which is what gives the rice its delicious flavour. So the challenge here is to find a way to find a substitute for the chicken fat so the rice retains its signature flavour,” you muse, hard at work thinking of ways to do as you just said. “What if we steam the rice with chicken stock?”

“The sodium content is a concern, though,” Mingyu points out.

“Many supermarkets offer low-sodium varieties now,” you remind him. “We can always just look for one”.

“Mm, that’s true,” Mingyu grunts, signalling his approval. “Should we just take these ideas for now and begin working on our report? If we have any other ideas we can always add them in later,” he suggests.

With that, both of you get busy, drafting out your report and working on the nutrient analysis for the improved version of the dish together. Though it takes about two hours, both of you eventually get it done as you put your heads together. After that comes the task of compiling a shopping list, which you’d have to send to the professor so that the school could help you buy the ingredients you’d need.

“Brown rice, chicken, chicken stock, cucumber…” you read off the list you’ve both compiled so far. “Anything we missed out?”

“Wait! We forgot to specify that we need a low-sodium type of stock,” Mingyu exclaims, jumping in to correct the minor mistake on the list and scanning through it again. “Okay, this should be it. We can send it to professor Lim now,” he decides, and presses “send” on the email. “Now we can split the work for the actual practical session. It’s actually not that hard to cook — what if we just chop up the vegetables and prepare the seasoning together?”

“Sounds good to me,” you utter. It’s in times like these you’re grateful for Mingyu’s natural leadership skills, it definitely helped both of you get things done in a more organised way.

“Okay then, we’re done for today”.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“Alright class, as all of you know, today we’re here to create the dishes you've picked for your year end project in your pairs. You have two and a half hours to complete your dishes. After the time's up, I'll sample your dishes and evaluate them accordingly. Don't forget to submit the final draft of your reports by the end of today".

You're back in the polytechnic kitchen with Mingyu, listening to Ms Lim prattle on about instructions which the whole class already knew about. Nevertheless, you and Mingyu still give her your full attention, worried that you'll miss out on some important instructions. After all, this project would contribute to your final grade for the year – none of you wanted to mess it up.

"Your time starts now, you may begin". Upon hearing that sentence, you and Mingyu spring into action, with you preparing the chicken while Mingyu slices up ginger and grates garlic and shallot. Once the chicken is safely in the pot of boiling water with the seasonings, it's your turn to chop up the vegetables while Mingyu cooks the rice. As you're chopping up the vegetables, the tantalizing aroma of stir-fried ginger wafts into your nose, signalling to you that all was going well.

Or so you think.

Out of the blue, a sharp pain stings your finger, making you cry out in pain. Holding up your finger, you're greeted by the sight of a red patch that's about the size of a five-cent coin. In your carelessness, you'd cut your finger rather badly.

In a flash, you hear the stove go silent, and Mingyu's hands are no longer holding the spatula, but rather cupping your hands gently and examining the cut, expression of fierce concentration having softened into one of concern. "Quick, wash it," he instructs, guiding you to the sink and turning on the tap, letting you wash the cut under the running water. "Ms Lim! May I bring y/n to the nurse? She's cut herself!" he calls out, raising his hand to get the teacher's attention.

"Go ahead, I'll give you both extra time. Y/n, be careful next time". Ms Lim gives you both the green light, and Mingyu hurriedly brings you out of the kitchen and to the general office.

"Oh snap, the nurse isn't in," Mingyu groans under his breath as he passes by the empty sick bay. "Nevermind".

He sits you down on a chair, before rummaging through the cupboard where the nurse kept her supplies and pulling out some cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic. Pouring out some antiseptic onto a cotton ball, he gently dabs at your wound. "It may sting," he warns.

But you barely feel it. You're more distracted by your surprise at the genuine worry he showed when you'd cut yourself, as well as the sensation of electric sparks coursing through your whole being with every swipe of the cotton ball he made on your finger.

Electric waves continue to flow through you, and your pulse rate quickens the slightest bit as Mingyu maintains his firm grip on your finger while looking through a drawer for a plaster. Unwrapping it, he quickly wraps it around your wound. "All done. Jeez, be careful y/n! That was a nasty cut!" He exclaims, gently running his thumb over the wound, which was now nicely bandaged up.

"I will. T-thanks, Gyu". You mentally slap yourself as you catch the tiny stutter that slipped out of your mouth.

Mingyu raises his eyebrow at you, and his lips curve into a smirk. "Gyu? A week ago we were at each other's throats like there was no tomorrow, and now you're calling me by a nickname that only my close friends use on me?"

Shit.

You definitely did not intend for that to happen.

"What? You got a problem with that?" You reply with the boldest tone you can muster to cover up your flustered state.

Mingyu shrugs as if nothing happened earlier. "Nope. Just surprised. Continue calling me that if you want. Anyway, we should really get going – we've still got a dish to cook," he decides, switching the light off and making his way back to the kitchen with you.

Luckily the rest of the cooking session goes on without a hitch, and you both successfully complete preparing the chicken rice, all within the original amount of time the teacher had given the class. When she began inspecting each pair's work, thick tension was palpable in the air. "I feel like we're on an episode of Hell's Kitchen, with Ms Lim as Gordon Ramsay," you mutter to Mingyu.

Mingyu chortles in response. "That's actually a great comparison".

Both of you are stiff as boards when Ms Lim's shadow falls on your workbench, thanks to the apprehension that is plaguing you both. She scruntinises the food in front of both of you, then picks up the utensils you put beside the plate and proceeds to sample each component of the dish, starting with the rice, the chicken, and finally the vegetables.

With bated breath, you watch as her expression softens into one of approval and begins making notes on her clipboard, and mutters a "good" before heading to the next table. Palpable relief washes over you, and you know Mingyu felt the same way as he lets out the breath he's been holding for God-knows-how-long, and the subtle frown on his face disappears from sight.

Little did you both know, a week later both your relief would become joy as Ms Lim announces that you and Mingyu's project had scored the highest in the class with a distinction, allowing him to maintain his solid 4.0 GPA and raising yours to a 3.9. A few weeks ago you would have given him a glare laced with venomous jealousy, but this time, for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, you're satisfied with your own GPA and finishing second in class – happy for Mingyu even.

"You're not mad or jealous?" Mingyu questions, audible suspicion in his tone after you congratulate him.

"Nope," you answer, popping the "p" as you firmly shake your head. "I mean, now that I think about it, second place isn't that bad. Hey, I still got a decent GPA and can move on to year 2".

"Funny you say this, because I know for a fact that if this happened a week ago you wouldn't have taken this so well". Mingyu points out as you're both leaving the school compounds. "Anyway, congratulations to you too! 3.9 is an amazing GPA as well". He finishes his sentence by offering you a handshake, which you gladly accept while trying to ignore the mild frenzy of butterflies in your stomach.

Outside the school gate, the sight of a shimmering pastel rainbow greets both of you, as if to signal that the animosity and hostility between you and Mingyu had been dissolved and replaced with genuine friendliness and harmony, just like how storm clouds clear to make way for rainbows. Looking up at the rainbow, a happy, warm feeling filled your heart, so much so that you felt like it would spill out of you.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

After the project, though you and Mingyu remained friendly with each other, you both didn’t interact much, aside from a few comments on each others’ instagram posts.

Hence why it came as a surprise when Mingyu slid into your instagram DMs with this message one day:

Gyu: hey y/n! would you like to come to my house on the 24th for a Christmas potluck dinner party? it’s for all the fn course students!

y/n: sure! I think i can make it

Gyu: alright that’s great, thank you!

You chuckle as you shut off your phone, thinking back to last year when Mingyu hosted a post-exams party for your whole class. You had also gotten the invite, but because you and Mingyu had such bad blood between both of you, he had refused to personally invite you, opting instead to relay the message to Minho who sent you the details of the party. This was really the first time he’d personally invited you to any class gatherings, a sign that your relationship had improved significantly.

A potluck dinner filled with food and nutrition course students can only mean one thing — every single course will be mouth-wateringly delicious, while not compromising on nutrition. From the air-fryer chicken you’d prepared, to Minho’s greek pasta salad, to Kun’s steamed fish, everything was tasty and healthy — truly a gastronomical heaven.

But the most unique dish of all would’ve been Mingyu’s fortune cookies. They would have been rather ordinary, if not for the fact that he’d infused them with peppermint flavour and stuffed each cookie with Christmas messages he’d handwritten. If there was one thing the whole class was in agreement on, it was that Mingyu’s fortune cookies were the sweetest thing at the party, both taste-wise and thought-wise. You'd already eaten a couple of them and uncovered messages wishing you a Christmas filled with light and love.

"Ha! Slowpoke!" you announce gleefully, gathering up the remaining Halli-Galli cards as Kevin groans.

“Damn, I was hoping to beat her winning streak,” he huffs, though a smile still remains on his face to indicate he wasn’t being a sore loser. “Let’s rematch!” he declares, shuffling the cards again.

“Um actually, I wanted to steal y/n aside for a moment, if that’s alright”. Mingyu’s voice sounds from behind, startling you slightly.

“No problem! You guys go ahead without me,” you answer, excusing yourself from the group and following Mingyu into his kitchen, with their arguments about who will win the next round fading into the background along with the Christmas music.

“I wanted to tell you something, but before I do, please have this,” Mingyu whispers, handing you a fortune cookie. Thanks to the dim light entering from the living hall, you’re able to pick up on the slight tint of pink on his cheeks.

Biting into the cookie, you remove the piece of paper from the inside and unfurl it, squinting as you try to make out the words. y/n, I really like you a lot. This Christmas, would you be mine? ♡

As you read the note, you feel as if the butterflies in your stomach are having their own Christmas party in full swing as well. You look up at Mingyu, mouth slightly agape as you’re still processing the words that he’d written.

“Actually y/n…I’ve liked you since secondary one, when we were in the same class. You were constantly topping the cohort in so many subjects, and you were acing all of the cello competitions you represented the school in. I was in awe of how smart you were, not just academically but musically as well, and I found that so attractive — though I admit I was always slightly envious of you. I thought that I should learn from you if I wanted to pull up my own grades. But when I came to ask you for help with Mathematics homework, I think you were having a bad day, which caused you to lose your cool with me and tell me to figure out the question myself, and I snapped back at you in response. It fuelled my jealousy even further, and I began competing with you all the time, which pretty much kickstarted our long-lasting feud,” Mingyu explains while shifting his weight from foot to foot, the words tumbling out of his mouth so quickly that you could barely make sense of what he was saying. “Even though you’ve been my supposed rival since secondary school, I’ve had a crush on you throughout. But I suppose I felt that there wasn’t any way to fix things between us, since we were constantly at war with each other over grades and shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have flung those harsh words at you that day”.

The memory of that first interaction you ever had with Mingyu replays in your head as you try to put yourself in his shoes. If someone you asked for help had lashed out at you for not understanding a question in front of the whole class, you’d be wishing the ground could swallow you. Yes, maybe he shouldn’t have retaliated so fiercely, but you shouldn’t have let your negative feelings take control of you that day as well and just offered him the assistance he needed — maybe then you’d both have had a much more pleasant relationship for the past four years you’d known each other.

“Oh, Gyu, I’m so sorry. I really was having a bad day then, but it wasn’t an excuse to lash out at you when you simply asked me for help with a question. I’m sorry for causing you so much embarrassment back then,” you offer Mingyu a sincere apology. “And I have to admit, I looked up to you a lot as well. You did a great job as the class chairperson, through the ways you maintained order in class, settled class disputes and also brought everyone together. I was also amazed at how you never forgot to check in on everyone from time to time, and how you showed such genuine care for any struggling classmate in any way you could, even if you were bogged down by your own school work. I was slightly jealous of your leadership capabilities and how the teachers found you so trustworthy, but I thought that those qualities made you very attractive”. Taking one of his hands in yours, you continue to speak. “Don’t worry. It’s not too late. I think I’ve always harboured feelings for you, even throughout our time as academic rivals, and those feelings haven’t faded after we began getting along — if anything, they’ve only grown”. You catch the way his eyes crinkle into an adorable eye smile, and you feel your heart rate begin accelerating.

“Really? So…I take that as a yes?” Mingyu asks, gesturing to the slightly crumpled note that’s still in your hand.

“I mean…since we’ve both had feelings for each other for so long, why not?” you reason, a shy giggle escaping your lips. “Of course, we shouldn’t rush into things given the previous tension between us, but we could always see where things go. If we’re both happy, I would really love to be with you”.

Mingyu immediately pulls you into a bear hug, pressing a quick peck to your cheek. “Of course, y/n. I’m so glad you’re willing to give us a chance”.

Both of you remain like this for a few moments, soaking up the warmth of each others’ embrace. You marvel about how one single polytechnic year-end project had not only dissolved the tension between you and your previous rival, but also given you your first taste of love, one so sweet that even Jaehyun’s air fryer peach pies could never come close.

“Noooo! I was hoping they’d kiss!” A whine from Jeonghan suddenly punctuates the air, and you turn your head around in surprise.

“Gosh dammit, you idiot! You ruined their moment!” Minghao scolds, smacking Jeonghan on the head gently.

“Hey hey, be nice now,” Kun chides them both gently, but you see that he’s giving the both of you a happy smile. “Congratulations, y/n and Mingyu”.

“Thank you, Kun,” Mingyu replies, returning the smile. “Wait- why’s the whole class here?”

“Um so…I may or may not have been a bit of a big mouth and told all of them about your plan to confess to y/n”. Junhui blurts out in a tiny voice, but Mingyu picks up on it, and before you know it he’s torn himself out of your hold and is dashing out of the kitchen, to the amusement of all of you.

“WEN JUNHUI I’M GONNA FREAKING DEEP FRY YOU!”

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liaa--qb · 8 months

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'The Viper and nightingale game'

[ Dark mean Aemond x strong niece ]

Warning : it's gonna be quite dark coming chapters, mean Aemond, dark Aemond, violence, non con/dub con, incest, uncle x niece

(would appreciate likes, comments N sharing❤️)

Intro -

Last time Prince Aemond saw her he wanted to hurt her so bad, scar her, rut her delicate soft skin with his favourite dagger badly. How can he forget that day when he was mutilated for life all thanks to his fucking cousin and specially his fucking bloody little niece and nephews.

The way she was using that good for nothing mouth to speak against him to defend her cousins like he isn't her cousin just like them. She was there scared lowering her eyes while speaking hiding behind her mother again and again. Oh how badly Aemond wanted to grab her and cut that fucking tongue of her. He can, for exchange of lost his eye his can ! She wasn't even able to look at him.

He was in too much pain, too much for a kid like him, but anger became Aemond's best friend for that time. Anger rose to it's highest peak inside him. Things went through Aemond's mind. Is it allowed to enter the chamber of a bastard in the Driftmark at night just because he wanted to? How much would she hide.

During night he will catch her while sleeping and take his revenge with her properly. He will mutilate her whole face, so that nobody will be able to look at her. Someday she has to face him.

Later in the stillness of the night, while everyone else slept, Aemond made his way to his young niece's chamber. He couldn't explain why he wasn't being cautious, avoiding detection. Perhaps anger was clouding his judgment, rendering him indifferent to guards and consequences. His sole desire was to exact a vengeful retribution. Clenching his fists and clutching a small dagger, he approached Rhaewina's room.

Aemond marveled at the absence of guards or protective measures. The fact that this little girl seemed so assured about her safety surprised him. Given recent events, one would expect her to be fearful for her life. No matter, she would come to understand her vulnerability soon enough. A sly smirk played on his battered face.

Upon entering her chamber, Aemond halted in his tracks, witnessing Rhaenyra by Rhaewina's side. She cradled the young girl's head in her lap, offering a gentle massage and recounting what appeared to be a tale. Aemond's disdain grew as he interpreted Rhaenyra's actions as an attempt to find solace while his own life lay in ruins. The simmering anger fueled his impatience.

Rhaenyra spun a story about a viper and a nightingale – the hungry viper's relentless pursuit of the elusive nightingale. Despite the viper's cunning and attempts to manipulate, the nightingale always eluded capture. Aemond had heard this tale countless times and found it tiresome. He remained, biding his time for the right moment. As Rhaewina drifted into slumber, Rhaenyra finally departed.

Within minutes, Aemond seized his niece roughly, jolting her awake with a harsh shake. Her fear-stricken eyes met the sight of her uncle's furious countenance. She attempted to scream, but Aemond swiftly covered her mouth with his hand. Her eyes were wide with terror.

"Listen closely, you little bastard bitch. I intend to reclaim my vengeance, mirroring the pain you all caused me. You will suffer just as you made me suffer, my dear little niece. Let us return to King's Landing and witness what fate has in store for you," Aemond seethed. In a desperate bid, Rhaewina bit down on his finger, seizing the chance to scream. However, Aemond forcefully grasped her chin, silencing her attempts.

"You possess a sharp tongue, indeed. Consider that your punishment for my eye. Your tounge for my eye, right ? Remember this threat, and know that any further noise will result in me disfiguring your face on the spot, afterall you do deserve a punishment" Aemond warned. With that, he left her chamber knowing his sister can return anytime, leaving his young niece traumatized by the ordeal. In that moment, Rhaewina resolved never to return to King's Landing.

#aemond targaryen #house of dragons #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #dark aemond targaryen #possessive #obessive love #hotd fanfic #the greens

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 2 years

Text

Chemical Imbalance | Reader x Bucky Barnes

I think this is the longest thing I've ever written (aside from my series). It's 9.2k words lol

Disclaimer: I am, shockingly, not a doctor! or a neuroscientist! so when / if you discover a scientific inaccuracy, look the other way.

Warnings: Violence against reader / reader injury, PTSD, medical things, Bucky being very sad

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With his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, Bucky slumped against the wall of the hangar. Fatigue seeped into his every cell, and he could’ve sworn that his newest stab wound was bleeding yet again. Sam, Steve, and Nat joined him, discussing the sticky situation they’d faced while taking down yet another ruthless Hydra holdout. But Bucky tuned them out. He wasn’t interested in rehashing the violence and gore he’d face just hours earlier; he was finally home, and didn’t want to focus on anything but you.

His body was battered and bruised, his muscles throbbing with each breath- but he didn’t care. The deep aches and sharp pains that accompanied each and every mission couldn’t compare to the agony of being away from you. He was utterly empty without you, missing you more and more as the days crept by. Life just wasn’t the same without you around. For Bucky, returning home to you was like being rescued from a sinking ship; he no longer had to fear the dark, cold water when he had you as his life preserver.

FRIDAY’s voice caught you off guard, startling you as she alerted you to Bucky’s long-awaited return. Spending days upon days without Bucky was a cruel and unusual form of torture. When he was away on a mission, everything felt wrong- the bed wasn’t as cozy, your hot showers not nearly as comforting. And the anxiety threatened to eat you alive; it was almost as if you couldn’t breathe until you saw him return in one piece. Being sent on missions without each other always resulted in unchecked anxiety and catastrophic thinking. And since you’d been the one forced to stay home, the dread and worry was all yours.

Without hesitation, you dropped the laundry you’d been folding and hightailed it in the direction of the elevator, not wanting to waste a second. The excitement of seeing Bucky again sent an electric current buzzing through your body, almost as though you’d been touched by a live wire. When you finally arrived downstairs, you spotted Bucky near the end of the hall- and finally exhaled. His shoulders were slumped, and the back of his hair matted with blood, but he was alive- and that’s all that mattered. Without thinking, you broke into a sprint in his direction, desperate to wrap your arms around him as soon as humanly possible.

Just as you reached for Bucky, something knocked the air from your chest. In an instant, your face was pressed against the cold, hard surface of the wall with so much force that you feared your cheekbone might crack. Something cold and metallic pressed firmly against your neck while the tip of a knife danced dangerously over your jugular. With each frantic beat of your heart, the blade grew that much closer to piercing your skin. The edges of your vision grew hazy as Bucky increased the force on your neck, preventing adequate oxygen from getting to your brain.

“B-Bucky,” you rasped, “I can’t- it’s me…”

A rush of warmth spread across your skin as the knife finally dug a few millimeters into your flesh. It carved its way down your neck, dragging through your tissue with startling ease. A trail of scarlet trickled down the blade of the knife, staining Bucky’s skin and dripping onto the stone floor. Fear flashed through you for only an instant- something you’d never felt around Bucky before.

“Please…s-stop”, you struggled against the hold Bucky had on you, but your years of training couldn’t save you from a super soldier. Bucky watched as your eyes began to slowly roll back in your head, and you prepared for this to be the last moment you’d ever see him- but he didn’t look like the Bucky you knew. His eyes were different somehow- darker, void of their familiar warmth.

Before you could succumb to the encroaching darkness, Bucky collapsed. His body turned to dead weight as he crumbled to the floor, his knife skidding across the ground and leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Oxygen rushed into your lungs, but it wasn’t enough to keep you upright. Your knees buckled, leaving you limp and lifeless like an abandoned ragdoll.

Just in the nick of time, Nat swooped in, saving you from crashing to the ground. “Okay- hey, look at me”, she lowered you slowly to the floor and quickly assessed your condition, forcing you to focus regardless your impossibly heavy eyelids. The world around you was hazy and unstable. Voices swirled around you, faces blurred- but one thing kept you focused.

Bucky.

Between greedy inhales, you managed to finally ask, “Did Bucky- is…is he okay?” You let your eyes fall upon Bucky’s still form, “what happened to him?”

It surprised no one that, even though you lay on the floor covered in blood, your only concern was for Bucky. Even after he’d attacked you, held a knife to your throat, and almost suffocated you, you still thought of him first. Nat pressed a piece of clean gauze to your neck, hoping to stem the bleeding. “He’s okay. I shot him up with the sedative from my med bag-” she pulled back the gauze and gave your bloody gash another look, “you should be worried about yourself…” Her gentle hand held pressure to your overflowing knife wound as you stared at Bucky’s unconscious body.

“What the fuck was that about?” Sam shot a look at Steve, but found no explanation. He couldn’t wrap his brain around what he’d just witnessed. The two of them stared down at their friend Bucky, the same man who’d gone on and on about you the entire time they were gone. He spoke about you endlessly, telling the team just how miserable he was without you and how he couldn’t wait to hold you again. Sam and Steve knew how much he loved you, how he put your safety above all else- including his own life. He’d rather die than hurt you- or so they’d thought.

“I’m sure it’s just…” Against Nat’s wishes, you sat up, “It’s probably just, um, excess adrenaline from the mission. I shouldn’t have come up behind him like that- I know better. I probably scared him…he acted on instinct. It’s not his fault.” A cloud of darkness dragged you into a dizzy spell, but you couldn’t let it drag you under- not before you cleared Bucky’s name. “It’s just- it’s okay. Not a big deal.”

But neither Sam, Steve, nor Nat could be convinced of your theory. They communicated without words, exchanging apprehensive looks with one another.

“Alright, um…get her upstairs, Nat. We’re gonna take care of Buck…” Steve motioned for Sam to help him scoop Bucky’s lifeless form from the floor. Together, they shuffled down the hall with the love of your life slung between them, his head lolling as they dragged him along. In your eyes, they didn’t need to take him away somewhere- you wanted Bucky by your side. He was physically and mentally exhausted, relying on his killer instinct to protect him in such a state of fatigue. And when he woke up, you wanted him to see you first. He’d need you to hold his hand and reassure him that it was okay, that you weren’t afraid of him.

Bucky woke with a start, much like he did every night- but he wasn’t in bed next to you. He, instead, found himself slumped in a chair in the briefing room, fighting his way through a sedative-induced fog. Sam and Steve stood just a few feet away, eyeing him with suspicious glances.

“Um…hey, guys,” Bucky blinked a few times, banishing the stupor, “what’s um, what’s going on? Did I fall asleep during a briefing?” He surveyed the empty room, the long table completely void of case files. Something wasn’t right. “What’s the deal? Why are-” a splash of red caught Bucky’s eye, halting his words in his throat. A smattering of dried blood stained his nails and smudged his palm, sending a pang of anxiety ripping through him, “Did I- whose blood is this?”

Sam simply hung his head, declining to speak.

“What do you remember?” Steve tested the waters, hoping he wouldn’t have to spell out what Bucky had done to you. But Bucky remembered almost nothing.

“I remember…coming back from the mission, getting off the jet-” Bucky wracked his brain for anything else, a morsel of a memory- but came up empty “…that’s it”.

Steve joined Sam in hanging his head. He didn’t want to tell his best friend how he’d attacked you, how he’d thrown you against a wall and threatened your life. But as the silent seconds passed, Bucky’s anxiety only multiplied. With each moment that dragged by, millions of increasingly horrible scenarios bred in his brain until he thought he might scream.

“Just tell me what happened,” Bucky begged, “I need to know. Just-”

“You attacked her”, Steve’s voice was cold and hollow. Bucky simply stared at his friend, waiting for context. But anguish overtook him completely as the need for context vanished. Memories violently flooded his psyche, showing him just what he’d done:

The sound of your body crashing into the wall. His metal arm holding bruising pressure against your neck. His knife pressed to your throat- the tip of the blade digging into your skin. Your blood oozing from the wound and dripping down his hand. The breathless way you begged him for mercy. The light leaving your eyes as they disappeared into your skull.

Tears immediately pooled along Bucky’s lash line, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was too distraught, too utterly horrified by what he’d done- what he’d done to you. He’d promised that he’d never hurt you, that he’d never put you in harm’s way. And he’d broken that promise.

He fought, struggled endlessly to get the words out, but couldn’t seem to make himself speak. Steve held up a hand, pausing Bucky’s efforts. “She’s okay- she’s gonna be fine. There’s a knife wound on her neck, and a cut on her cheek from where she hit the wall- but she’s alright.” The vice grip holding Bucky’s words hostage slowly relaxed as Steve assured him that you’d make a full recovery. You were alive, you were going to be absolutely fine- but Bucky couldn’t get past the images that played in his head on an endless loop.

“I don’t- why did I do this?” The sheer panic forced Bucky to his feet, forbidding him to sit any longer. He paced the length of the room, putting both Steve and Sam on edge. They each stiffened their shoulders and prepared for a fight, just in case Bucky’s switch flipped once again.

“We don’t know…” Steve took a cautious step in Bucky’s direction, “we’re hoping it was just excess adrenaline- she thinks she startled you by grabbing you from behind. But we can’t be sure yet.”

“Yeah, Tony wanted you in a holding cell-” Sam chimed in, “he left with Pepper and Morgan, said he didn’t want ‘history repeating itself’…but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. As far as he’s concerned, you’re locked up”.

Bucky raked a hand violently through his hair, “wait, why am I- why didn’t you put me in a cell? I shouldn’t be around people, I-”

“She didn’t want you locked away…” Steve took a few more steps toward Bucky, closing the gap between them. He trusted Bucky, even after everything. With a gentle hand, he stopped his friend’s anxious pacing, “I went and checked on her, told her what Tony said- but she said she’d kick my ass and Sam’s if we put you in a cell. And I didn’t wanna upset her even more, so…”

An involuntary smile made Bucky’s lips twitch upward ever so slightly. Of course you hadn’t wanted him locked up. Even after what he’d done, you still cared about him, still loved him- even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Can I…am I allowed to see her?” Bucky knew the answer to his question, but still needed to ask. The desperation rising in his chest threatened to boil over and drive him crazy if he didn’t at least check on you. He needed to see with his own two eyes that you were, in fact, okay.

Sam and Steve exchanged a long glance. They knew it wasn’t a good idea to allow Bucky to see you after what he’d done, but what if you were right? What if this entire nightmare was simply the unfortunate combination of leftover adrenaline and a surprise hug? And if that were the case, keeping Bucky away from you would do nothing but make both of you completely and utterly miserable.

“Please, guys-” Bucky’s voice shook with need, “I’m so- I need to see her- to see that she’s okay. I need to tell her I’m sorry…I need to tell her I love her. Please. Just let me-”

“Okay, um…” Steve threw a shrug Sam’s way, “what do you think?”

Sam shrugged right back, “I don’t know man… this isn’t really our area of expertise.”

Steve turned back to Bucky and eyed him for a long, quiet moment. He could see the worry, the desperation pooling in his best friend’s eyes. He knew Bucky would never hurt you on purpose.

“You can see her- but we’re coming with you. Sam and I gonna stand right outside the door, deal?”

Bucky agreed in an instant, favoring a supervised visit over no visit at all.

Together, Bucky, Sam, and Steve piled into the elevator. Bucky’s heart pounded in his ears and anxiety twisted his stomach into harsh, uncomfortable knots. He held an internal argument with himself over his decision to visit you. When it came to your safety, Bucky never wanted to take even the smallest risk. He knew logically that being near you was most likely the wrong choice, but his heart strongly contested his head. He never allowed himself to be selfish. He never let himself have anything- he’d barely allowed himself to accept your love. And maybe seeing you after he’d just held a knife to your throat was the selfish option, but just this once, Bucky caved to his needs.

His heart stopped when a streak of red caught his eye. With frantic hands, he swiped at your dried blood that lay lodged in every crevasse of his nails. He picked and picked at his skin until he was sure his own blood would soon pour out, but he didn’t care- he couldn’t visit you with bloody reminders of his attack splattered across his skin. The evidence of what he’d done to you finally flaked away completely just as the elevator doors opened onto the floor you shared with Bucky.

“We’re gonna be right out here. Sam has sedatives in case…” Steve gave Bucky a small nod, “you can go in”. It struck Bucky as odd that he needed to be given permission to enter his own bedroom. He couldn’t believe how messy things had gotten, how severely he’d fucked up. And as he gently knocked on the bedroom door, he swore that he’d make things up to you if you’d let him.

Part of him feared that you wouldn’t want to see him- and if that were the case, he’d understand. It made perfect sense that you’d be scared of Bucky, that you’d want to keep him at a safe distance. But the moment his metal fist made contact with the door, you practically begged him to come in.

Your body slammed into Bucky’s the instant he made it past the threshold. If it weren’t for his quick reflexes, your eagerness to see him would’ve sent you both crashing to the floor. Holding Bucky was like a balm for the soul. Since the moment Nat rushed you upstairs, you’d been aching to see him. You needed to know he was alright, that he wasn’t spiraling into a dark rabbit hole of guilt and self-hatred. You needed him to know that you didn’t blame him- that he was forgiven. You didn’t care that he had a little slip up, that his leftover adrenaline had forced him into defense mode. He was still your Bucky, and you loved him all the same.

Bucky almost couldn’t let himself hug you. To him, you were fragile, you were glass. But as you wriggled your way into his arms, he couldn’t resist. He needed to feel you, to hold you close. He needed to know that you were okay. His heart dropped as he stole glances at the gauze taped to your neck and the matching bandage that adorned your cheek. He hated himself for causing you pain, for scaring you, for making you bleed. All he ever wanted was to make you feel safe. His shaky voice whispered apology after apology against your neck, promising you that he’d never hurt you again.

He was wrong.

Without warning, something sinister crept up his spine. It’s as if he were possessed, his body taken over by the ghost of his past. His eyes darkened as his grip around you grew tighter, tighter, tighter. The strong arms that provided you safety and warmth each night wound around you, restricting your ability to breathe. Your lungs burned, ached for oxygen that you couldn’t grant them.

“H-hey, Buck…I-” you gasped, hoping his emotion had simply gotten the best of him. But it wasn’t his love for you that held you in a vice grip.

A sharp snap suddenly rang out as one of your ribs lost its battle against Bucky’s strength.

Pain eclipsed your every thought as yet another rib snapped. You prayed for release, for oxygen. A small ray of hope broke through the agonizing fog as Bucky’s bruising grip left your body. But only one breath made its way into your chest before his cold vibranium hand wound around your neck. His suffocating hold grew tighter, more vicious, as he shoved you into the nearest wall. Framed photos of the two of you crashed to the floor, sending glass shattering at your feet and embedding itself into your skin.

It was happening again.

And as a fuzzy black border colored the edges of your vision, you gave Bucky one last look. This wasn’t your Bucky. This person was cold. He stood before you with a rigid intensity, his gaze hollow and unflinching. This wasn’t excess adrenaline or self-defense; this was a choice.

As you once again slipped into unconsciousness at the hands of your boyfriend, the bedroom door crashed open. The sound of a struggle accompanied your violent collapse to the ground, Bucky’s hand finally leaving your throat. A ragged, sharp inhale forced itself into your aching chest as the darkness consumed you for the second time that day.

It wasn’t clear why, but Bucky wanted you dead.

A familiar fog left Bucky disoriented. It seemed as if his head had been filled with cotton, muffling the world around him. Everything felt fuzzy, but it only took a moment for the violent flashbacks to snake their way into his consciousness. He remembered visiting you in the bedroom you shared, holding you gently and whispering tender apologies. But the serene moment didn’t last.

He felt the creaking of your bones under his strength. Your ragged breathing. The way your chest struggled to expand beneath his grasp. Your pulse pounding under his fingertips as he crushed your windpipe.

Goosebumps broke out over the surface of his skin as he tried to shake the memories loose. It took everything in him to drag his hand up to his face in an attempt to rub the haze from his eyes- but a sharp metallic clanging sound stopped his arm in its tracks. A vibranium cuff encircled his right wrist, securing him to the concrete wall. He was a prisoner.

Visions of your wide, horrified eyes plagued Bucky. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence the voice in his head that called him a monster. An all-encompassing panic set in as he wondered if you were okay, if you were even alive. He struggled to breath, to think.

It was then that he noticed that his cell was too quiet- something was missing. He couldn’t quite put a finger on why the air around him felt so empty, so eerily silent. And then it hit him. The constant whirring of his arm no longer vibrated through the air; the tiny sound that filled his every waking second was gone- as was his arm.

“It’s just a precaution…” Steve stood in the doorway, watching his friend come to terms with the situation. “It wasn’t my idea to take it from you…or to put you in here. It- it’s messed up, I know. I’m sorry.”

It didn’t seem fair to Steve, forcing Bucky into a cold, lonely cell for something he had no control over. But if you ended up dead, he knew Bucky would never forgive himself. And so he’d dragged his friend’s limp body to the holding cell and cuffed him to the wall, apologizing even though he knew Bucky couldn’t hear him. Taking the arm was the hardest part. It was dehumanizing, cruel, undoubtedly wrong to remove the prosthesis Bucky had worked so hard to grow comfortable with.

Steve’s apology, while kind, was unnecessary. Bucky knew it wasn’t Steve who’d put these “precautions” in place- it was Tony.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” A despondent emptiness rendered Bucky’s words nearly inaudible. Part of him hoped that the memory of his vibranium hand crushing your throat was simply a nightmare, an ugly image concocted by his psyche. But Steve’s subtle nod crushed that hope.

“Oh my god, is she-”

“She’s okay. They have her in the med bay now. She’s got two broken ribs, and a lot of bruising around her throat…she’s gonna be alright, though”. Steve took a few more steps into Bucky’s small cell, prompting Bucky to scramble as far away as his cuffs would allow. He met the wall after only two steps, his shoulder pressing into the cold concrete with a bruising intensity.

“Don’t. It’s not safe- I can’t control it”.

But Bucky’s warning did nothing to stop Steve, and he took a seat right next to his friend without fear. No murderous rage eclipsed Bucky’s consciousness, no unbridled violence took control of his body. He was just Bucky. There was no bloodlust, no fury, no homicidal tendencies. Bucky braced himself for a switch to flip, waiting for the telltale cold creeping up his spine - but it never came. He remained cognizant, coherent, in control. Relief eased the tension in Bucky’s shoulders as he realized he wasn’t going to try and kill his best friend. But the respite was short lived.

“I don’t understand what’s going on…” Bucky’s voice came out a hollow whisper, “Why would I hurt her?” He remained slumped against the wall, his head falling against the concrete with a solid thud. You were the one he felt safest with, the person who brought him the most comfort. He was utterly at peace with you around. And yet, the very sight of you had thrown him into a violent, bloody rampage- twice in one day.

“I wish I had better news, but…we have no idea”, Steve sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall, his skull making an identical thud. For the hundredth time that day, he thought back over the course of the mission. He wondered what he’d missed, what went wrong in order to trigger the conditional reemergence of the Winter Soldier. And yet again, he found himself at a loss.

“We’re gonna figure it out, though,”, Steve righted his posture and looked Bucky dead in the eye, “I promise you, Buck. We’ve already got everyone working on it. Bruce, Shuri, Dr. Cho- they’re all making calls and working together to find a solution. You’re gonna be okay”.

But Bucky wasn’t worried about being okay. He didn’t care about the uncomfortable cot or the cuffs or even his missing arm- he just wanted to be with you. He wanted to be there for you. He wanted to hold you and take care of you as you healed from the injuries he’d caused. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even be in the same room as you without wanting to end your life. He knew how hard it was for you to get a good night’s sleep without him in bed next to you, how worried you’d be about him. It seemed like a cruel joke that, somehow, being around Bucky was both better and worse for you, all at the same time.

And as Steve stalked out of the room, hell bent on finding a solution to this hellish problem, Bucky wondered when and if he’d ever get to see you again.

Every passing day left Bucky emptier than the last. He needed you. He’d never gone this long without talking to you, and would rather endure torture at the hands of Hydra than be without you any longer. But it wasn’t up to him. Doctors filtered in and out on the daily, carrying out tests and assessments that concluded with absolutely zero progress.

Visits from the team acted like a band-aid on a bullet wound. Even though he knew it was impossible, he always secretly hoped that it would be you walking through the door- but those hopes were dashed every time. He appreciated the time Steve, Sam, Nat, and Wanda spent sitting with him, bringing him food, and giving him new books- but all he ever wanted was news about you. Steve tried his best to keep things optimistic, telling Bucky that you were a “trooper” and “hanging in there”, but Nat was far more honest.

“She’s miserable. Complete and utter agony,” Nat stole a fry from Bucky’s dinner and dunked it in his ketchup, “All she ever does is ask about you- that is, when she’s not begging me to bring her down here for a secret visit.”

A pang of anxiety ripped through Bucky, “Nat, you can’t. I might-”

“I know.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped forward and he rested his head in his hands, “would you tell her I love her?”

“I always do, Barnes”, Nat stood from her spot on Bucky’s small cot and made her way toward the door, only stopping when Bucky called out to her.

“And tell her I’m sorry…”

Shuri’s arrival set the building abuzz with a renewed sense of hope; she’d debugged Bucky’s brain once, and she could do it again. Bucky told himself not to expect anything, not to get his hopes up. But managing his optimism grew difficult the moment he saw Shuri. She’d saved him when no one else could, deprogrammed decades of Hydra brainwashing- surely she could get to the bottom of his latest predicament. But a frown dragged her features downward as she analyzed his latest test results.

“So…not looking good, huh?” Bucky manufactured a small smile; even in his time of need, he didn’t want to make Shuri feel bad. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way here just for this, but I really appreciate it. If you can’t-”

“Oh, I can”, Shuri flicked her eyes up to meet Bucky’s, “It’s just going to take a bit of time to figure out what’s going on- I need you to be patient. Can you do that?”

“I’ll do whatever you say. I just…I need to see my girl. As soon as possible”.

“Who knew he was such a romantic?” Shuri leaned in for a one-armed hug from Bucky, much like she did during his days in Wakanda. They’d grown close, almost as though she were his much, much younger, brilliant sister. She knew him well enough to be able to recognize the fear in his eyes. He was scared and confused, and she wanted to fix it. She hated that he was experiencing something so unexpected, something so unsettling- and that he was dealing with it alone. Bucky had actually found someone he loved, someone who loved him back. Shuri knew in her heart that Bucky didn’t deserve yet another dose of suffering, he deserved to be happy.

“I will take care of this, Barnes. I promise”.

A solemn quiet filled the room. The last time Shuri had seen Bucky, he was a newly freed man. Her tireless work had proven successful, and he left Wakanda with a thousand thank you’s and a renewed sense of hope. But the man sitting in front of Shuri now wasn’t the same Bucky who left Wakanda with a smile on his face and a levity in his heart. This Bucky resembled the one who’d come to her for help when he couldn’t trust his own mind. He was a shell of himself, and it broke her heart.

“So, they took your arm from you…” Shuri’s eyes flicked toward Bucky’s left side, “that’s rude. Don’t they know I made that arm? It was a gift- an expensive gift!” She nudged her shoulder against Bucky’s, and he let a tiny smile crack through his downtrodden demeanor. Maybe Shuri couldn’t fix Bucky’s brain right then and there, but at least she could make him laugh.

Days turned into weeks with what felt like no progress, and Bucky swore he was being turned into a lab rat. MRIs, CT scans, vials upon vials of blood, spit tests, urine samples, PET scans, and EEGs left Bucky overwhelmed and afraid. During his time spent in captivity at Hydra, he’d endured decades of non-consensual medical experimentation that saddled him with a healthy distrust of medical personnel. And the myriad of testing just reignited his trauma. His anxiety spiked any time someone in a pair of scrubs or a white coat needed to poke him with a needle or take imaging of his brain.

And he knew that if this were happening to him under any other circumstances, you’d be by his side- you’d hold his hand and help him through. But he was alone. And every night, he suffered by himself. Brutal nightmares reared their ugly heads, forcing him to relive every horrifying instance of medical abuse he’d ever experienced. His screams resounded through the holding cell, bouncing off the cold concrete walls and launching themselves back at Bucky as though he were living in a haunted house. The phenomenon was bone-chilling, and even though he experienced it ever night without fail, he simply couldn’t get used to it.

His new surroundings felt eerily similar to his holding cell under Hydra: cold, claustrophobic, no touched of comfort. Simply waking up in such an environment threw him into a panic attack almost every night. From the moment he opened his eyes, he swore that he was somehow in their clutches once again, being held against his will and punished for escaping.

He missed your gentle hands that comforted him after every nightmare, your soothing voice that promised him he was safe. He desperately needed to wrap his body around yours and rest his head on your chest while you played with his hair. He needed you.

“I feel like an animal in a zoo,” Bucky told Sam one day as he dove into the piece of cake Sam brought him. His eyes flicked to the small mirror on the far side of the room, “don’t they know I can hear them?” Sam had a split second decision to make: gaslight Bucky into believing it was just a normal mirror, or own up to the fact that it was actually two-way glass. He chose the latter.

“I don’t wanna lie, man, so I’ll just be straight with you: they use it to check up on you”. Sam gave the fake mirror a sly glance before turning his attention back to Bucky, “it’s just Shuri, Bruce, and some doctors- well, sometimes Steve goes in there, too. But they’re not trying to spy on you. It’s just for observation”.

“Eh, feels like spying,” Bucky threw his friend a shrug, “if they would’ve told me about it, I’d call it observation. But they’re doing it secretly, so that makes it spying.”

“So it’s only spying if they don’t tell you-”

“Yeah, that’s like the definition of spying,” Bucky laughed, “that’s how it works”.

“Is it still spying if I’m the one who told you? What’s the ruling on that?”

Bucky shook his head as another small laugh bubbled up to the surface. He appreciated Sam’s company. Not being able to spend time with the team left him feeling more isolated than he had when he first joined. He knew that, if this whole ordeal ever ended, he’d be out of the loop yet again. He’d be a stranger. He was being forced into alienation, and had no one to blame but himself.

He took another bite of the cake Sam brought, “Well, clearly none of the geniuses in that room remembered that I’m a super soldier- that I have enhanced senses”. He swiped a smudge of frosting from his lip and sucked it off his finger, “I can hear everything they say”. Sam rolled his eyes. Some of the brightest minds in the world populated the Avengers compound, and somehow none of them took Bucky’s abilities into consideration. He thought they might never solve his problem if they couldn’t remember that Bucky was a super soldier.

Sam was wrong, however. Only two days later, Shuri made a discovery. She cross referenced Bucky’s blood work and his brain scans, and after doing some digging into his last mission, she finally arrived at a diagnosis- and a possible solution.

“What we’re dealing with is an incredibly specific- and unheard of- neurotransmitter disorder brought on by blunt force trauma”, Shuri pulled up imaging of Bucky’s brain, “According to Captain Rogers, you took a nasty blow to the head during your last mission”.

Bucky nodded.

“It seems as though, somehow, your wires got crossed. See, when the brain perceives danger, or enters ‘fight’ mode, the amygdala produces catecholamines.” Shuri stared at Bucky, waiting for him to indicate that he was following. He offered her a small shrug.

“Catecholamines are neurotransmitters- chemicals- like dopamine, epinephrine, and norepinephrine. And even though Hydra had full control of your mind during your Winter Soldier days, these chemical responses to perceived danger were still occurring- they’re innate.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Shuri as the gears in his brain struggled to turn, “Okay, right. Yeah.” He was following Shuri’s explanation so far- mostly. It took him a moment and a few quiet repetitions of Shuri’s words until the concepts were cemented in his brain, but Shuri didn’t mind. And when the dots finally connected, Bucky was ready to move on.

“Okay, so…why am I-”

“I’m getting there,” Shuri held up a hand, assuring Bucky that there was a solution to come. “When someone is in love, their hypothalamus usually produces a chemical called oxytocin. I say ‘usually’, because right now, yours isn’t.” Shuri zoomed in on Bucky’s CT scan and pointed to a vague shape that meant absolutely nothing to Bucky.

“Your amygdala is working double shifts. Not only is it producing those ‘fight’ chemicals when you’re on a dangerous mission, it’s also making them when you see your girlfriend. It’s completely taking over the hypothalamus’s job.”

Shuri clocked Bucky’s furrowed brow, and the lost expression he wore. She searched for the right words for a moment before rephrasing, “Your amygdala has fired your hypothalamus. So now, instead of getting a rush of oxytocin, AKA ‘the love drug’, when you see your girlfriend, your amygdala gives you a dose of your ‘fight’ chemicals.”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He always feared that the Winter Soldier would return one way or another, and it seemed as though his fear was now his reality. A hopeless abyss ripped open in his brain, and left him wondering if he’d ever see you again, if the last time he hurt you would be the last interaction the two of you would ever have. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to spend the rest of his life by your side, loving you until his heart stopped beating. His hands balled into tight fists that he pressed up against his eyes as the soul-crushing despair pulled him deeper and deeper.

“The Winter Soldier programming is no longer in place,” Shuri took a seat next to Bucky and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her heart broke for him, the white wolf she’d come to know so well. “The training, however, is still there- and your combative reactions are linked to those ‘fight’ chemicals. So, when your amygdala sends them into your bloodstream, you go after whatever perceived threat is present- and right now, that ‘threat’ is your girl.”

A long moment passed as Bucky processed the information. He didn’t care about the names of his neurotransmitters or the functions of the structures in his brain, he just wanted to see you.

“I can fix this. It’s going to mean more bloodwork, more scans, and probably something I’ve been working on back home. But it is possible. I promise.”

“Do whatever you have to do”.

Bucky sounded empty and emotionally drained, but Shuri could’ve sworn she heard something resembling hope in his voice. With Bucky’s blessing, she left for the lab with a sworn promise to return Bucky back to normal as soon as she possibly could. Bucky knew he was in good hands, knew that Shuri was a certified genius with access to better tech than anyone on the planet- but anxiety still gnawed at the edges of his soul.

He endured more needle punctures and brain scans, all the while worrying about you. He wondered if you were doing alright, if you were sleeping or eating enough. He knew how you tended to hole up in bed when you were upset, and could almost see you watching the Twilight movies on an endless loop. He knew Wanda and Nat were checking in on you, but it wasn’t right. It should’ve been him sitting there with you, watching Edward trying to sacrifice himself to the Volturi. And with every hellish appointment Shuri put him through, the only thing keeping him going was the promise that he’d see you once again.

“It’s not going to hurt-” Shuri paused for a moment, reconsidering her words, “it’s not going to be comfortable, though.” She aligned the last few sensors to the base of Bucky’s skull before taking a step back and appraising her work. “It’s going to feel strange, like someone’s putting their hand inside your skull and poking around-” She clocked Bucky’s horrified expression, “I should really find a better way to describe the sensation…anyway, think of this as brain surgery without the scalpel. It’s going to take a good amount of sessions before the damage is reversed and your neurotransmitters are firing properly again, but I promise it’s going to work.”

“Uh-huh, and when exactly did you come up with this gizmo?”

Shuri rolled her eyes, “relax, Barnes. You’re not the first test subject…” Her hand hovered above a blinking blue button, “I tried it on a baby goat first and it fixed his paralysis- I’ve got a one hundred percent success rate!” With that, Shuri initiated the system.

A deep groan resonated through Bucky’s chest as a strange pressure filled his head. He could’ve sworn that his skull had been cracked open and his brain sliced clean in half. He was sure that a neurosurgeon was elbow deep inside his cranium, pulling and poking at the various structures of his brian. It was, as Shuri had vastly understated, ‘strange’. He wished more than anything to have you there by his side to hold his hand, to keep him calm as his anxiety tried to drown him. But Bucky would’ve undergone this procedure countless times for even the chance to see you again.

A sharp shaking left your hands unsteady as you waited for Shuri. She was late- why was she late? A crushing dread gripped you by the throat. The worst possible scenarios forced their way into your consciousness, and a nagging feeling that something had gone wrong cute you to the core. This was a new treatment- some form of tech that Shuri had whipped up in her lab back home. It was entirely possible that Bucky wasn’t responding well, and if that were the case, his violent outbursts against you would never subside.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Nat assured you, “she’s only six minutes late. Breathe. You know how long medical shit takes.”

You did your best to manufacture a smile, and threw a nod Nat’s way- but it was less than convincing. You knew better than anyone how scared Bucky must’ve been, how much he hated being poked and prodded by doctors. Just imagining him going through all of this alone was enough to make you sick. But he was strong, and you forced yourself to be strong for him.

The door flew open without warning. Updates on Bucky’s condition fell from Shuri’s lips as soon she swept through the door; she didn’t sit down, didn’t even say hello before the excitement got the better of her.

“It went well! We did more bloodwork and another scan- the procedure works,” Shuri almost shouted. “Like I said, it will take several rounds to completely fix the damage, but I think we-” Before she could finish her sentence, you had her wrapped in a bear hug. Your tears dampened her shirt and an almost overwhelming flood of gratitude threatened to knock the two of you to the floor.

“When can I see him? When do we test this out?”

Shuri broke the tearful embrace and placed her hands firmly on your shoulders, “we don’t. We’ll do everyround of the procedure, the scans, the bloodwork– all before we even consider letting him see you again.”

“But what if he doesn’t need every round? What if he’s fine now? What if-”

Nat gave you an almost harsh look, “you know she’s right. It’s too dangerous. He could hurt you again-”

“But what if he doesn’t!” Anguish and anxiety grew into a hard lump in your throat, and it suddenly seemed as though everyone wanted to pretend that you didn’t engage in dangerous behavior as part of your every day job. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t want this to last any longer than it has to! If we don’t at least try, how will we know if it works?”

“We’ll know. The scans, the bloodwork- they’ll tell us.” Shuri remained calm and collected, even as you fell to pieces in front of her.

“But you said it could take fifteen sessions- what if he’s healed at 8? Or 6? What if he’s back to normal before his brain is completely ‘fixed’?”

“You’ll have to be patient. We’ll do the fifteen sessions like I planned and go from there. I know it’s not ideal, but I need you to trust me”. Shuri gave Nat a quick nod and excused herself as a hurricane of emotion dragged you to the floor. No one seemed to grasp your desperation, your soul-crushing need to be with Bucky. It was almost as if ship after ship passed you by, watching you drown without offering a life preserver. Shuri’s work and dedication was more than appreciated, but she viewed things from a logical, scientific perspective. And you were feeling less than logical.

And after another week of treatments, scans, and bloodwork, an unrelenting agony threatened to force you out of your skin. You were done with the shitty hand you and Bucky had been dealt. And as 2am rolled around, you found yourself digging in Nat’s jacket pocket for her card key to Bucky’s cell. She slept soundly in Bucky’s spot in your bed, having dozed off while the two of you watched an entire season of Ted Lasso. She didn’t even stir as you hastily slipped out the door, fueled by your overwhelming need to see Bucky.

The elevator ride seemed to take almost five times as long as you remembered- or maybe you were just frantic and impatient. It was startling how much you missed him, how deeply he’d become engrained in your life. You never knew you could love someone so deeply or need them as much as you needed Bucky. Even after his attempts on your life, you still wanted to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep by his side each night. And if he tried to kill you yet again, you wouldn’t fault him. You were choosing to put yourself in harm’s way, to tempt fate. But you weren’t scared. You could never be scared of Bucky.

Nat’s key card gained you entrance to the restricted floor that housed the holding cells. It was empty and quiet, almost eerie. You hated knowing that Bucky was locked up behind one of the large, heavy doors that dotted the off-putting hallway. He deserved better. He deserved warmth and comfort and light. He deserved to be in his own bed. He deserved to be home- with you.

Resting in a hanging organizer was a large file with Steve’s messy handwriting scrawled on the front: ‘J. B. Barnes’. A sharp uptick in the beating of your heart sent a flash of heat flooding your body. After what felt like an eternity, you were only feet away from the love of your life. You reached outward with the access key in your hand before a sharp recoil made you pause.

Suddenly, this felt wrong- almost like an invasion of privacy. What if Bucky didn’t want to see you? What if your presence only added to his stress? Riptides of guilt took hold of you and threatened to drag you under, but you refused to succumb to their weight.

Almost on autopilot, you dragged the key card through the slot and pushed Bucky’s door open.

Under any other circumstances, a visitor at two in the morning would’ve given Bucky a good startle, but he was used to it by now. Doctors and nurses came to check on him seemingly every hour, even in the middle of the night. Just like everything else in his life, he’d lost any and all privacy. He didn’t even bother to look up when his door swung open, and instead kept his eyes on the book Sam had brought him a few days earlier. If they needed to take his blood, they could do so while he read.

But the book fell from his hand when he heard your voice.

“Buck?” you took a few steps into his cell, letting the door fall closed behind you.

Tears instantly welled in your eyes as you got your first glimpse at Bucky in over a month. His beard was a bit scruffy, and you were certain he was dying for a haircut by now as his shaggy locks fell in his eyes. In all the time you’d known him, you’d never seen the circles under his eyes so dark- or maybe he was just extra pale from the lack of sunlight, you weren’t sure. But he looked exhausted.

And even with his unkempt beard and tired eyes, he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

“Baby-”

Bucky’s heart almost exploded. His first instinct threw him to his feet and sent him flying in your direction, but his second forced him to a screeching halt. He backpedaled until his shoulder crashed into the wall farthest from you, “stop”. Tears glided down Bucky’s cheeks as he watched your expression fall. “I’m sorry, doll, I’m sosorry- you have to go. You can’t be here”, he hated himself for saying the words, for hurting you yet again. He ached to hold you, but he couldn’t let himself be selfish. He couldn’t put you in danger again.

“I- I needed to…to see you”, you struggled to get the words out, “I miss you, Buck”.

Bucky only nodded, unable to fight through the emotion that had him in a chokehold. He wanted to tell you how miserable he’d been, how soul-crushing it was to spend time without you. But he couldn’t speak- he could barely breathe.

But as you took a few more steps in his direction, he panicked. His shoulders protested against the harsh pressure as he pushed himself harder and harder into the concrete wall. He needed to get away from you. He needed to keep his distance.

“Baby, don’t. Please. You can’t. I might-”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck, where’s your arm?”

Bucky let his eyes drift down to his left shoulder for only a second, fearing that a break in his focus would flip his switch. “They um, they took it from me,” he muttered through gritted teeth. As much as he hated the fact that he’d been robbed of his prosthesis all those weeks ago, he was grateful for it now. At least he wouldn’t be able to use it against you, at least you’d maybe have a fighting chance. “That doesn’t matter right now- you have to leave, doll”.

“But, Buck, I just-”

Bucky thought he’d never feel a deeper, more agonizing sadness than he had over the last month. But as he told you to leave time and time again after not seeing you for weeks, he knew he’d been wrong. All he wanted was to be with you again, to hold you and tell you how much he missed you. But he couldn’t.

“I don’t want you to go. But I’m- this isn’t safe. I love you…I don’t want to hurt you again”.

It had been over a month since the last time you heard Bucky say ‘I love you’. And as the words left his lips, all seemed right in the world once again. It felt like you’d been fixed, like whatever hollow, empty void had opened in your chest was finally healed. You knew he was right, that he still posed a considerable risk to your safety. But you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“You won’t hurt me-”

“I already have. And it could happen again.” He forced his eyes closed, willing himself to stay focused on his breathing. If you weren’t going to listen to his pleas for you to leave, all he could do was try and remain in control.

“I don’t care. I’m not scared-”

“But you should be.”

Bucky’s breathing picked up in pace, and a deep pit formed in his stomach. He knew it didn’t matter if he focused on his breathing or whether or not he stayed present- he couldn’t outrun his own mind.

“I’ll never be scared of you, Buck. I trust you. I love you…” You took a few steps in his direction, “I’ll always love you.”

A tardy doctor swiped his key through the slot to Bucky’s observation room, hating that he’d been given the late-night rotation. Watching Bucky read a book at two in the morning simply didn’t seem that important. So what if he was a few minutes late? All he had to do was make a note that Bucky was still alive and well, and he’d be free to go. But his plans changed when he saw you in Bucky’s cell. His hands shook as he reached for his phone and frantically called Steve and Sam, hoping to any deity who’d listen that they’d arrive before Bucky could strangle you.

Sam and Steve burst through the door of the observation room only minutes later, both still clad in their pajamas. They threw a flurry of questions at the doctor who’d called and woken them with the unfortunate news, but he had no answers to offer.

“We gotta get in there, man. Let’s-” Sam tugged on Steve’s arm and made a move for the door, but Steve remained rooted in place.

Steve’s eyes never left the window, his stare never faltering from you and Bucky. “Hang on…” he held a hand up to Sam, “just wait a second”.

“We can’t wait a second- she could be dead in a second!”

But Steve refused to move. All he could do was watch as Bucky ventured in your direction. A small flicker of hope glowed inside him, telling him that maybe Bucky wouldn’t hurt you this time. Maybe everything was going to be okay.

Bucky couldn’t stop himself. He moved slowly in your direction, his heavy footsteps stalking toward you and echoing against the concrete walls. He’d been so strong, so careful since the moment you walked through the door, but his resolve faltered. He couldn’t resist having you so close.

Bucky moved toward you with a slow intensity you’d never seen, and sudden flashbacks of National Geographic documentaries about lions hunting gazelles filled your brain. But you weren’t scared. Your hands remained steady and your breathing calm, and even when Bucky extended a hand toward your face, you refused to flinch.

“We have to get her out- now!” Sam screamed at Steve, “what are you doing?”

“Just wait!”

Bucky’s hand found your cheek, and you couldn’t stop the sigh of relief brought on by his touch. Regardless of the circumstances, his touch brough you a peace you hadn’t felt in weeks. Even if these were to be your last moments, you didn’t regret spending them with Bucky. Part of you expected him to throw you to the ground and snap your neck, but it was Bucky who ended up on the floor.

His knees buckled beneath him, hitting the concrete with a painful intensity. Fierce sobs wracked his body and forced his shoulders forward as he struggled to breath.

“Buck, hey-” you sunk to the floor immediately, and took his face gently in your hands, “What’s going on, baby? What’s wrong?”

But he couldn’t respond. He leaned into you, resting his body against yours for the first time in over a month. He needed to be as close to you as possible. His hand stroked your cheek as gently as he could manage before his fingers ran slowly through your hair. He stared at you, refusing to blink for fear of waking up from such a wonderful dream. He’d never seen anyone or anything so perfect, so heartbreakingly beautiful. And while sobs still rattled his chest, he forced himself to speak.

“I didn’t- I didn’t hurt you. I didn’t lose control…” He wound his arm slowly around you, gently pulling your chest flush to his. A deep inhale filled his lungs, forcing fresh tears to the surface. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed your scent, or how much you smelled like home. His voice was low and soft in your ear, “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you again. I thought-”

“I wasn’t gonna let that happen”, you pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek and tightened your grip around him, “no matter how many people told me to stay away from you”.

Bucky broke the embrace and took your chin gently between his fingers, “You put yourself in danger, sweetheart. This wasn’t a good idea.”

“I think it was a great idea”.

Bucky hated that you almost willfully met your death, but couldn’t stay mad at you. He’d told you time and time again that he’d risk his life for you, and swore he’d keep that promise someday. But you’d risked your life for him. You’d walked headfirst into danger without even batting an eye- just to be with him. And he could never thank you enough.

————————————

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the-littlest-kojin · 1 year

Text

Pistol in hand, the Hrothgar sneers as the Miqo'te, bound in heavy chains, shuffles to the end of the gangplank. Slowly, the latticework of fresh gashes and cuts across the smaller feline's bare torso drip crimson liquid, running down his body and landing on the battered wood underfoot.

"And now, black cat, your time is done. I rule the sea, as you were always too weak to do," snarls the leonine figure. "The tides are mine to control, and cowards like you have no place in my domain."

Raising his head up to make eye contact with his captor, shaggy locks of hair falling over his face, Kuro spits a globule of blood onto the deck - and begins to laugh.

From a throat rough from years of salty air, the laugh is long, and loud, scornful and mocking. Even as the Hellion captain bares his fangs in anger, Kuro continues to laugh, until his breath runs out.

"Fool," the Miqo'te finally croaks, after his laughter has run out. "Ye think n' honest you own and control th' sea, well you and many others. But if you knew truth, the sea can never be owned, ever predicted. Doesn't matter the season of the sailor. The sea is an epitome of nature, an uncontrollable force ov' beauty and power, I'm no man ov' faith, but the seas has opened and awakened me to sheer belief. It offers salvation t' us damned and gives us opportunities, and freedom... Yet you seek to taint your vile into its profound waters..."

Having said his piece, standing at the end of the thin plank of wood, the tortured man leans back - letting himself fall into the water with no resistance. As the salty ocean bites at his open wounds, he hisses in pain - but smiles in feral pleasure as he sees the water around the ship start to churn, as if disturbed by some monstrous presence.

Rising from the waves, he sees the figure he loves, the figure he fears - the first face in his heart. Blue-skinned and horned in coral, a crown of leaves atop Her brow, the sea-spirit looks at him with eyes the colour of storms - and smiles, showing teeth like that of a shark.

As Her attention weighs on him like a boulder, it is almost a relief when the Hrothgar captain roars in fury, firing the pistol in his hand at the spirit - a splash of water the only result.

As Her attention turns to the mortal who claimed to control Her, anger comes across Her visage, the waves becoming choppy and rough as if in the pitch of the most violent typhoon.

The lion-man begins to bark commands to his crew, trying to weather the sea's wrath, even as She raises a hand - vast fingers of frothing seawater rising around the ship in parallel. In moments, the galleon, which only heartbeats before had seemed so powerful and majestic, looks like nothing more than a child's toy in Her grip - creaking as said grip tightens imperceptibly.

Feeling his eyes want to drift close from exhaustion, Kuro forces them to stay open - knowing that this is a lesson and reminder for him, just as much as it is a punishment for the Hrothgar. As his beloved Sea closes Her hand, the ship is reduced to so many splinters, the Captain and all crew falling into the water - and instantly vanishing below the waves into Her embrace.

A single plank - a section of the hull, he wouldn't wonder - rises under his chest, holding him atop the water, as She looks back at him, the smile that haunts his dreams and nightmares alike adorning her face once more before she dissolves into spray and foam.

~~~~~

I had a brainworm about my sea-goddess Saltsong and the wonderful captain, @captainkurosolaire

Please enjoy.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #shh secret character #saltsong

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seaphoam-writes · 1 year

Text

A Father's Duty (1/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Full Disclosure: A) This is 100% a "PIcard finds himself a father as a result of wacky quantum reality shenanigans and he learns to deal with it (with the help of his crew)" fic B) The target audience is me.

The first two chapters may be a bit heavy on the technical aspect just to establish what the actual hell is going on, but then it will settle into the human side of the story. I have no real plans beyond the first few chapters, I'm just going where the story takes me. This is something I dreamt up 15 years ago when I did a TNG re-watch in college, and my current TNG re-watch has me itching to finally write it down so I'm just gonna do it *shrug* Enjoy!

Chapter 1

There’s a shuttlecraft exploding on the view screen and a strange boy battering him with his fists, sobbing and screaming, “Send me back! Send me back!” and all Data can think to do is the Vulcan nerve pinch, rendering the boy unconscious.

That effectively solves one of his problems, but it immediately creates another.

Data looks at the boy lying crumpled on the floor, then up, at the skeleton crew of the night shift. They’re all staring back at him, perplexed, and Data finds that he shares their confusion.

Touching the comm badge on his chest, Data summons the one person who can help correct his error. “Dr. Crusher to the bridge.”

-/-

Jean-Luc Picard had only just fallen asleep when he’s hailed.

“Captain?”

Beverly’s voice jerks him from a nightmare, but it’s not until he hears her voice again that he’s certain he’s actually awake.

“Captain?”

“Go ahead,” he says quickly.

“Captain, I need you in sickbay.” After a brief pause, she adds, “It’s urgent.”

Picard allows himself only a moment of disappointment before he sits up and swings his legs off the bed. According to the computer, he slept for 5 hours, a fact which contradicts the ache in his bones and the pounding in his skull.

Dropping his head into his hands, he sighs.

He tried to tire himself out, put in a few extra hours during the swing shift, practiced with his flute, had a vigorous fencing session with Guinan, but it seems that the more exhausted he is, the more restless his dreams are—it’s been that way since Gul Madred, and lately his nightmares inspired by his time with the Cardassian have become twisted up with images from his assimilation into the Borg.

It's sheer force of will that has him in his uniform and walking from his quarters in three minutes flat, habit that guides his steps to sickbay. He walks more unsteadily that he cares to acknowledge, his limbs leaden, his mind firmly back in his quarters with a cup of earl grey.

Fortunately, it’s the middle of the night shift and there’s no one in the corridors.

Just before sickbay he pulls himself together, takes a deep breath and draws himself up, shoulders back, chin up—he doesn’t want Beverly concerned, doesn’t wish to have his physical or mental state questioned.

(Doesn’t wish to be assigned more hours with Deanna Troi, much as he appreciates what she does for his crew.)

The sickbay doors whoosh open and Picard enters. He’s surprised to find Data there, as well as three security officers. Beverly and Data are standing on either side of one of the beds, upon which lies a boy, fast asleep.

Picard can’t imagine what this has to do with him. Or why they’d seen fit to wake him. Or what could possibly be urgent about a sleeping child.

“Report,” he says gruffly. Perhaps there’s a chance this will be over swiftly and he can return to his quarters to snag a few more hours of sleep before the day shift.

“Captain—” Beverly begins, at the same moment Data says, “Sir—"

They look at each other, and it’s Beverly who cedes. “Go ahead, Data.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Data turns back to Picard. “Sir, at approximately 0300 hours, there was an incident.”

Already sensing that this will be no simple matter, Picard resigns himself to his duty—familiar, comforting duty—and steps away from the doors. “An incident?”

“Yes, sir. The sensors detected a minor subspace disturbance off the port bow. I ordered a full stop and an analysis, which concluded that the anomaly was a fissure in the space-time continuum.”

Here, Picard perks up. As far as he’s aware, a quantum fissure is only theoretical. There are no reports of one ever being encountered.

“Why wasn’t I alerted immediately?” he asks.

“At a distance, the fissure was not dangerous, and so I judged it prudent to conduct further research first before waking you, sir.”

Picard nods, accepting Data’s rationale.

“The anomaly was invisible to the naked eye,” Data continues, “but once enhanced with a warp field, it became visible. We were in the process of launching a probe to investigate the fissure when a shuttlecraft appeared.”

“A shuttlecraft?” Picard’s mind skips ahead. The boy on the bed must have been on the shuttlecraft. But he appears too young to have piloted a shuttlecraft on his own, a mere 8 or 9-years-old.

Suddenly, he feels Beverly’s gaze on him and looks to her. There’s an expression on her face that he can’t quite interpret, as if she’s watching him, waiting for something—he frowns and her eyes widen slightly, urgently, and then a crease appears between her brows.

What’s she worried about? What is he missing?

Data’s voice snaps Picard out of his thoughts, and he focuses on the remainder of the report: the shuttlecraft appeared to come from the fissure itself, but it was badly damaged and it exploded moments after its appearance. Before the explosion, however, the boy on the bed—the boy potentially from another quantum reality—materialized on the bridge, beamed onto the Enterprise by whoever else was on the shuttlecraft.

Beverly takes over the tale from there, relating how she attended to the boy on the bridge, tasked a small security team to help her carry him to sickbay—how the security team proved doubly useful when the boy came to and grew hysterical, begging to be sent back, attempting to fight his way to the doors and ended up unconscious again, this time by Beverly’s hand and a well-aimed hypospray.

Picard moves closer to the bed, his curiosity getting the better of him. The boy’s clothes are singed, and there’s a bruise coloring one of his cheeks, a scrape on his chin.

“Is he alright?”

“I assessed him for injuries,” Beverly replies. “There’s evidence of a few healed fractures, but nothing recent. I suspect he sustained that bruise during whatever incident caused his shuttle to explode.”

Picard nods, half to himself. The shuttle was very likely attacked, hit by phaser or torpedo fire.

This is shaping up to be a bit of a mystery, he thinks.

He assesses the boy from head to toe, searching for clues, as it were. Wavy, light brown hair, darker brows. Big ears and a dimpled chin. He seems thin. One of his hands lies draped over his hip, fingers curled loosely, but the other is at his side, a fist clenched tight.

Picard points. “Is he holding something?”

Beverly blinks—she was giving him that look from earlier again—and checks the boy’s hand, gently prying his fingers apart to reveal an isolinear chip. She holds it up to the light, and Picard squints at it as if he’s actually capable of deciphering its patterns.

“If I may, Doctor,” Data interjects politely, offering his hand. Beverly places the chip into his palm and he shuffles it neatly to his fingertips, then holds it to the light in a gesture identical to Beverly’s.

After several agonizingly long seconds pass, Picard prompts. “Data, do you recognize it?”

“I do, Captain. It appears to be one of my memory chips.”

-/-

They wake Geordi, who stumbles into sickbay 10 minutes later, holding his visor in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. He murmurs a greeting and goes directly to where Data is waiting, sitting on one of the vacant beds like a patient.

Picard stands at a distance, his arms crossed over his chest. His exhaustion has crept back up on him, the ache behind his eyes intensified, and there’s a new, uneasy sensation in his gut.

Additionally, Beverly’s angry with him for some reason. She’s running tests in the background, and although he can’t see her, he can track her based on the location of the daggers she’s glaring at him, little prickles against his skull. She clearly wishes to tell him something, and he wishes she’d just come right out and say it—he could ask her, of course, but he’s feeling stubborn.

While Geordi prepares Data to receive the memory chip, Picard’s attention strays back to the boy. There’s something vaguely familiar about him.

Who is he?

Picard imagines it’s possible—if the boy truly is from another quantum reality—that he’s seen him before. Does Picard know him? Is that why Beverly’s glowering?

“Alright,” Geordi mutters. “Here we go. Everyone ready?”

Data’s head jerks back, then cocks to the side. His eyes slide out of focus, then flick back and forth rapidly. His head twitches to the side once more, then he looks up, directly at Picard. He appears…speechless, and the uneasy sensation in Picard’s gut deepens, grows claws.

“What have you learned, Mr. Data?” he asks.

“A great deal, Captain.” His eyebrows reach for his hairline. “The boy’s name is Louis Picard.”

The uneasy feeling becomes a great, yawning pit. “Louis Picard?”

“Yes, Captain. He is your son.”

Your son.

He teeters at the edge of that pit inside of him, his heels slipping backwards, gravity pulling him down—

A sounds from behind makes Picard whirl, to see Beverly standing at one of the screens, a triumphant gleam in her eyes despite the sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “DNA analysis confirms it, Jean-Luc. That boy is biologically your son.”

#star trek #star trek: the next generation #star trek: tng #tng #captain picard #tng fic #picard fic

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cdmains · 2 years

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Swish analytics batter vs pitcher

#SWISH ANALYTICS BATTER VS PITCHER UPDATE#

#SWISH ANALYTICS BATTER VS PITCHER FULL#

#SWISH ANALYTICS BATTER VS PITCHER LICENSE#

(Photo by Jim McIsaac/Getty Images) MLB DFS – Early slate Overview: NEW YORK, NY – SEPTEMBER 20: Giancarlo Stanton #27 of the New York Yankees celebrates his fourth inning grand slam home run against the Boston Red Sox with teammates Aaron Judge #99, Andrew McCutchen #26 and Aaron Hicks #31 at Yankee Stadium on Septemin the Bronx borough of New York City. Without further ado, let’s get into today’s slate!

#SWISH ANALYTICS BATTER VS PITCHER UPDATE#

If you are looking to try out a new DFS site, head on over to FantasyDraft and enter my referral code for 10% rake back on your entries.Īs always, we will look to update our final lineup thoughts throughout the day on our twitter account make sure to give us a follow for all the late breaking lineup news. The goal of this article is to dig through the slate, highlight our top plays and help you identify the best slate strategy across your MLB DFS line-ups. Picks and Pivots is not a simple “best plays” column but rather it focuses on slate strategy and roster construction to help give you insight into how I will look to play this slate. Seasonal or DFS, any sport you want – get your voice heard and get paid for talking fantasy sports. We have some BIG news at Fantasy CPR as we are now looking for PAID writers to join our team to write about fantasy sports. All images are property the copyright holder and are displayed here for informational purposes only.Picks and Pivots is not a simple “best plays” column but rather it focuses on slate strategy and roster construction to help give you insight into how I will look to play this slate.įriday Night’s MLB DFS slate was dominated by pitching as three of the top four scorers on the night were high-end aces as Gerrit Cole, Jacob deGrom and German Marquez all put up 30+ fantasy points and if mixed and matched with the right mid-tier bats like slate leader Yuli Guriel (41 FPTS), then you likely had yourself a nice DFS start to the weekend! Many historical player head shots courtesy of David Davis. Some high school data is courtesy David McWater. Some defensive statistics Copyright © Baseball Info Solutions, 2010-2022. Total Zone Rating and initial framework for Wins above Replacement calculations provided by Sean Smith.įull-year historical Major League statistics provided by Pete Palmer and Gary Gillette of Hidden Game Sports. Win Expectancy, Run Expectancy, and Leverage Index calculations provided by Tom Tango of, and co-author of The Book: Playing the Percentages in Baseball. Much of the play-by-play, game results, and transaction information both shown and used to create certain data sets was obtained free of charge from and is copyrighted by RetroSheet.

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

Text

Every breath you take

You heard of Corpse husband, now get ready for corpse wife--

tw: female reader, necrophilia so non - con, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dirty talk, overall nasty shit that i needed to get out of my system, pls don't read if such stuff makes u uncomfortable

Jack couldn’t bear to look at you without feeling his stomach crumble and twist sharply and violently. You looked almost normal. Besides the empty stare in your now dark lightless eyes and the dead weight of your arms stilled tightly by your side. Besides the necklace of pretty sky - coloured bruises and purple bite marks around your delicate neck. If your boyfriend was to simply press his lips against yours in a desperate attempt to savour your final cries, he might just be able to feel their silky softness - the smooth edges of your tiny side smile against his cheek, the pure scarlet warmth of your slightly open mouth and the millions pained whispers falling out with each heartbeat of your very soul. And If the man was to hold your hand he could pretend it wasn’t colder than ice itself.

It was an accident. It had to be, otherwise Jack wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Just minutes ago you were safe and sound in his embrace, screaming, thrashing and fighting at every turn, but still safe none the less. Then you had told him you hated him. That you could never love someone as cruel and sick as him. He didn’t remember much from the resulting argument, other than him on top of you with his hand around your throat, your lips turning blue and your eyes closing slowly as you lost consciousness completely. Your boyfriend was ready to give everything for you to shout at him again, for you to squirm around like a battered animal like you used to, insead of watching you lay on the ground, motionless and still, peaceful like an angel. He wanted the old you back, the you who wasn’t quite living (since you always went on about how Jack had stolen your life away from you), but breathing and alive. You were quiet and obedient just like your captor had always wanted, such a good girl for him now that you were dead and unable to protest any of his sick, twisted desires.

A single tear ran down the man’s black charcoal eyes as he lowered his head and kissed you softly, careful and wary, like you would wake up any moment and push him away in horror. The graze was airy and almost sweet, so different from all the other rough invasive kisses he had forced upon you in the past as a reminder of your place beneath him. Yet this one tasted of nothing, but blood and ice. Your lips were cold, but your body was still warm somewhere under that flimsy blue sundress your boyfriend had helped you put on in the morning. It made you look so innocent, so childlike in your eternal sleep. Jack stared at you for what felt like an infinity, unable to look away, hypnotized. He ran a finger through your exposed collarbone, then laid his head on your chest, listening to the silence. You were dead, but your breasts were still so soft and squishy, the man decided. Jack’s hands were glued to your waist, admiring your curves as he dug his nails deep into the loose fabric, ripping it away from your figure, causing shivers down the delicate skin. Your back hit the ground, sinking into the soil and the mud, a couple of daisies forming a crown above your head. You were so beautiful all vulnerable like that, his sweet Persephone, queen of the underworld and of his heart, too.

“You’re so lovely, dear.“ The man spoke out as he positioned himself above you, his eyes hungry and sharp as he stroked your cheek, devoid of any colour. “No panties, huh?“ Jack whispered lustfully, his voice raspy and deranged, and cupped your sex. If you were still alive you would have turned red, stuttering as you explained that it was him who ordered you to go bare under the dress, but now you remained quiet like a blushing bride on her wedding day. The lack of protest only managed to stir the maniac up further, and he unbuckled his jeans to free his half - hard member. “LIttle minx.“ He cooed at you and ruffled your hair, fisting your locks to pull your head down, thus arching your back and exposing your neck to his sharp teeth. “I am going to use you, precious. You want to be useful to me, don’t you?“ Your boyfriend muttered against your throat as he covered it in harsh lovebites and hickeys, only growing satisfied when there wasn’t even an inch unmarked. “Because you are mine, baby. You are my good girl.“ He kept going, stroking himself in the process until his cock was practically oozing with pre - cum. Jack smirked when he didn’t hear the typical whimpers and cries of disgust you usually showered him in when he let himself act possessive of you. The man wasn’t sure why you always denied the truth - you were his and his alone, even after death did you part.

Your tormentor spent the next ten minutes squeezing and kneading your breasts, pinching the nipples, covering them in sticky white semen. Jack almost missed the way your chest would rise and fall with each soft breath escaping your rosy lips. When he was done playing with your body like you were nothing more than a rag doll your boyfriend spread your legs wide open, and his mouth watered at the godly sight. “You have such a pretty cunt, dear.” He commented lovingly, his fingers pushing and poking at your pink slit, abusing the nerve ending still functional despite its owner not being able to. “I am doing to force my cock deep inside your pussy, and there is nothing you can do about it, baby.” The man laughed manically, high off this new found power and control over your lifeless body. When you were alive you would beg him to stop by this point, crying and whimpering helplessly. Now he could pretend that you actually wanted him to ruin you. That you needed him as much as he needed you.

Your boyfriend entered your tight hole with a sharp deep thrust, his lenght reaching your cervix with each and every brutal move. In and out, in and out again and again. The man felt like he could fuck into you forever - there was no pressure to stop and your muscles were completely relaxed now so it was up to him to take his own pleasure from your unwilling uncooperative body. “You’re so loose, honey.” He growled, biting your earlobe and moaning into your ear. “Guess I really wore you out the past few months.” Jack suggested playfully, a hint of pride apparent in his thick voice. Soon enough he was groaning loudly and ruthlessly pounding into you, covering your whole body in mud and grass. The pale moonlight lit up your sweaty face, making you look lively and vibrant once again. Your captor claimed your lips hungrily, licking and biting them into a swollen bloody mess. “Fuck, take it, my love.” He commanded as he lifted your body in order to go even deeped into you. “Take all of me inside.” The man added quickly, thrusting one last time before the pleasure overtook his senses and he arched his back in delight. He inhaled deeply as he pulled out of your used up hole, dripping with his seed.

In that moment the man knew that he had to let go of you eventually. It wouldn’t be too long before your perfect little body decomposed and your beauty faded in the face of death, but there was some time between now and then. And he intended to make good use of it.

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere smut #yandere oc x reader #tw non con #tw necro

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lizzy-williams · 3 years

Text

❝𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 & 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜❞

ღWarnings: SMUT (18+ please!), language, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), sexual situations.

ღMasterlist

ღRequest: Can you do the most dirty hard good sexy lovely spanking doggy position french kiss smut EVER please PLEASE with tom 🙂🪓

ღSummary: You’re been in a mood almost all week, Tom having to leave right on Valentine’s Day for filming. The day before he has to leave, you’re the meanest you’ve been, and Tom’s had about enough.

ღA/n: ANON YOU DIRTY BEAN I LOVE YOU. This will be the first thing I’m posting since I came back, So I hope you guys enjoy, feel free to send in more requests.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 in a mood the entire week. More specifically at your boyfriend, who chose a job that somehow, someway got him taken away right on Valentine’s Day.

Even worse, this would be your 5th Valentine’s Day together, which you saw as a mile stone. You knew you were being irrational and a bit selfish, but you were too blinded by your anger to realize it.

For the time being, you were giving Tom hell, inside and outside your small flat. On Monday, you and Tom went out for coffee, but of course, being the little minx you are, you teased him right then and there, in public, and you managed to turn Tom into a needy, whiny child with only a few touches.

But when the two of you got home, you did a full 180, becoming completely distanced and untouchable, evading every advance Tom tried to make on you. You just kept all your attention on Tessa for a majority of that day.

At first, Tom was clueless, the sudden distancing confusing the hell out of him, but it only escalated from there.

On Tuesday, you had some things to do for work, and there you sat on the couch, typing away on your computer before Tom, still flustered and needy from yesterday, came waltzing into the living area and plopped down right next to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

Yet you sat there, still typing away, acting as if Tom wasn’t there at all. Tom adjusted himself a few times, seeing if his movements gained any attention or reaction from you. Still. Nothing.

Now he resulted to sighing loudly, and due to where his head was, it was right in your ear. It was erotic or teasing, it was just straight up annoying and childish.

You finally pried your eyes away from the screen and turned to look at him, “Do you want something?” was all the response he was going to get, and even then it was a grumble.

“I wanna cuddle.”

He sounded so much like a kid, and in any other circumstance, you would tend to his request. But no. You were mad at him.

“I’m working, Tom.”

That’s when Tom knew something was definitely wrong. No usual ‘bubba’ or ‘bub’. Not even honey. Just his first name. Not even his full first name. Just Tom.

You felt him recoil and slip away into the other room.

Tom: 0, You: 2

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Wednesday rolled around, and Tom was talking to Harrison on the phone. Once again, you had been giving him the bare minimum all day, but when you kissed him, it was long, passionate and lingering. And Tom was, to say the least, baffled.

“I dunno, man, she’s been like this all week.”

You happened to be in earshot, and slipped behind a doorframe, listening in on what Tom had to say.

“No, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. I’ve even been making an effort to put the toilet seat down, and somehow she keeps being so distant. I even tried hugging her from behind this morning and she just brushed me off.”

That one was true. You were making yourself lunch when Tom, who woke up late as usual, came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms lovingly around your waist, but staying true to your previous attitude, you brushed him off, using the stove as an excuse. But instead of reassuring him, like you normally would have, you turned and gave him a purple and red hickey on his sweet spot before turning back around and acting as if nothing had happened at all.

“No, it’s not that time of the month, she already had it. I kinda know these things.”

That was also true. Because you and Tom had such a frequent and vibrant sex life, he made it a personal mission to know when your period came so he could work around it and comfort you. All things aside, he truly was a good boyfriend.

“Ohhhhh,” he made a sound of realization and it made you perk up a little, wondering if he truly understood why you were so evasive.

Wait, did he?

The sound of his footsteps clamoring down the hall made you frantically look around for something to look busy with.

“Darling?” he called out.

“In here!” you called out, trying to sound unbothered.

“Ah, Darling,” he seemed giddy, as if he had just solved the worlds biggest mystery, “I know why your angry at me.”

“Oh?” you questioned, as you kept fiddling with whatever you were doing, acting as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You were upset about the paparazzi pictures. The ones with Ciara.”

“What?!” you seethed, now not caring about acting like you didn’t care.

“Th-The other day, when I went out to lunch, you knew about it...?” he was terrified by the look in your eyes.

He was being honest. He did say he was going out with the female co-star, and you were okay with it. You trusted him. But what you didn’t think about were the tabloids. The gossip sights that would no doubt leak into Twitter, causing an un-needed uprising in Hollanders and shippers.

Immediately you pushed passed him and went straight for your phone, looking up news sight after news sight.

Ciara Bravo and Tom Holland: New Hollywood Couple???

Tom & Ciara, A Valentine’s Day Miracle

Did Y/N and Tom SPLIT? Ciara and Tom Spotted!

At this point you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Tom. Despite him and you understanding there was nothing going on, the outside world put pressure on the both of you, and you needed to breathe.

Tom didn’t say a word when you got your coat and left with a ‘I’m going out. Don’t wait up.’

By time you got home, Tom slept on the couch, and you slept in the bed.

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Tuesday was quiet, nothing happened. The two of you didn’t speak to each other, a day going by silently, but when you were going to bed, that’s when things got interesting.

“It isn’t my fault.”

He stood in the bathroom as he spoke, and you were on the bed reading a book with Tessa at your side, sound asleep.

You gave a small, unbothered sigh, “I know.”

Tom perked up, “What do you mean, ‘you know’?” he asked irritably.

“I mean I know it isn’t your fault about the media. I don’t care, it’s fine.”

“Then why are you so mad at me?!” he was annoyed now, making you raise a brow.

“You really don’t know?” you hissed, closing your book, not caring if you lost your page or not.

“No, of course I don’t know!”

“You’re leaving me! On Valentines Day!” you snapped, standing up, Tessa’s ears going back.

“Are you serious??? That’s it?” he questioned with wide eyes.

You glared at him, giving him an expression that only meant one thing, slipping out of the room without a word.

Needless to say, you slept on the couch that night .

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Friday. The day before Tom leaves. The day before Valentine’s day.

And as always, you woke up before Tom, hearing Tessa scratch at the bedroom door from the inside. You walked down the hall, turning the bedroom door handle slowly and letting Tessa out the door, but not before catching a glimpse of your sleeping boyfriend in nothing but boxers, holding onto your pillow as he slept.

Thats when the idea popped into your head. You were going to make a lovely Valentine’s day themed breakfast. For yourself.

If there was any way to get Tom back, it was with food, your food more specifically.

You immediately got to work, prepping the veggies for the omelette, mixing the batter for waffles, and washing the strawberries, planning on using them for a garnish.

You worked for a good hour, almost everything done, the last thing being cutting the strawberries when you suddenly heard the bedroom door open.

Tom walked out, his curly hair all a mess on top of his head, purposefully not wearing anything except for his Calvin’s, and you shamelessly checked him out, in hopes that would get him going.

Before he got too close, you whipped back around and began slicing in the berries in front of you. Just like he did the many mornings ago, he let his arms wrap around you right before you felt him leave a small peck below your earlobe, and you had to bite back a smile.

“Good morning, darling.”

Fuck. His morning voice. It was rough, deep, and gravely, making your stomach do summersaults and slick glisten between your legs.

“Morning.”

The sexual tension was palpable, so thick you could cut it with the knife in your hand. But you needed to stay strong. You were mad. You were still mad....

Right?

“Are those for me?” he questioned, motioning to the breakfast platter you had spread on the kitchen island, complete with a glass of OJ.

You did a silent self-pat on the back.

“Nope,” you smirked, before popping a strawberry in your mouth.

His demeanor switched, “That’s it-”

You squeaked as he took the knife from your hands, throwing it into the sink before sweeping his hands across the counter, knocking the cutting board aside, roughly grabbing your hips and putting you on the counter.

“I’ve just about had it with your attitude,” he growled, pulling his semi-hard-on out of his boxers before grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy, lustful kiss, his tongue diving in the instant that his lips touched yours, making you whimper out, trying you best to regain control of the situation but failing quickly.

A sudden smack to your ass made you quit your pursuit of control, a whine finding it’s way out of your throat as you felt him smirk into the kiss. His tongue prodded around your mouth as you held onto him desperately. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, his member pressing right up against your clothed clit, daring him to do whatever he was going to do next.

Suddenly, he picked you up off the counter, breaking the kiss and pushing you down to your knees, harshly, shoving his member against your cheek.

“Suck. I’m not gonna ask nice again,” he grunted, and you knew that he would keep his word with this one.

You hesitantly took him in your hands before stocking him slightly, sticking your tongue out and licking a strip from his base to his tip, before taking it in your mouth, using your tongue to tease the angry veins and ridges on the underside of his cock.

“Oh - FUCK - you’re so fucking precious.” he hissed, his hand weaving in your hair before pulling you down on his cock, going so deep it touched the back of your throat, praying that your gag reflex was on your side.

Suddenly he pulled you back, before pulling you all the way back onto him, tears welling up in your eyes as he repeated his movements, using your face and whispering obscenities into the air around you, harshly fucking your mouth.

“My bratty girl, shit, you sound so much better choking on my cock,” he grunted, his pace suddenly faltering, cock twitching, signaling he was about to release.

He looked down and his eyes widened as he caught sight of your hips moving slowly and gently. You were so cute like that, humping the air like a little bunny, Tom taking immense pride in the fact that he made you like this.

Without another warning, you felt his cum fill the back of your throat, making you whine as you had no choice to swallow it all, knowing he wouldn’t take his cock out of your mouth until you did so.

Tom watched tentatively for the bobbing of your throat. The one indication that you swallowed. You shivered slightly as you felt the salty substance make it’s way down your throat, and he finally, finally, pulled himself out, and you gasped for air.

Tom admired your fucked out state, tears wetting your cheeks and your lips swollen, hair ruined from his grip. He could have you looking like that...

He used one hand to stroke and caress your cheek, the other smoothing out your hair the best he could before standing you back up, your eyes dazed as you looked at him with pleading eyes, your past angers forgotten as you were desperate for his touch.

“Go to the bedroom, strip, lay down, ass up darling. Wait. You touch yourself and I’ll leave you there for the rest of the night, understand?” he hissed before you nodded, scampering off down the hall.

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You waited on the bed as you were told, your back arched as you put your ass in the air, your head resting in your arms as you scowled slightly impatiently. It had been 5 minutes since Tom promised he’d be back, and yet there you were.

You began to play with the sheets between you fingers as you sighed quietly to yourself. But your head propped up slightly when you heard the sound of the door swinging open, a now completely nude Tom stepping through, a small box in his hands.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow, but now seems like a much more... fitting time,” his smile was devious as he opened the small box, pulling out a thick, bullet shaped piece of equipment.

Right as he twisted the bottom, you heard it buzz softly, and the realization hit you like a ton a bricks: the realization that this was going to be a long night. He stalked around you like a predator trying to catch pray, and you felt the bed dip behind you, and you heard him let out a sigh of content as he looked at your completely wet pussy, courtesy of the events earlier in the kitchen.

“Fuck, you look so pretty all wet like this for me... this is for me, right darling?” he kneaded your ass in his hands before you could answer, “Who am I kidding, of course it’s for me.”

You knew what was coming next, knowing how much Tom loved your ass, and jus as expected, you felt his tongue lick a long, rough lick from your clit to your rim, making you jolt forwards slightly.

Soon enough you felt two of his fingers plunge inside of your pussy, making you moan sweetly into the open air of the bedroom. His movements made the coil inside you tighten and spark, your need for release becoming more and more apparent.

But the sudden buzzing on your clit made you lose your mind, release coming sooner than expected, your cunt squeezing around Tom’s fingers like a vice as you moaned out, breathless as his pace never faltered, his speed, (if anything), increasing as your body shook.

Even after your high was ridden out, he continued, making you gasp.

“T-Tom, I can’t, I can’t I- AHHH!” your babbling was cut of by another sudden shock through your cunt, making you scream out in such quick pleasure.

“Holy fuck, so wet-” Tom was in awe of your actions, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what just happened.

You just squirted.

Tom wasted no time getting down there and sucking your clit harshly, his movements driving you crazy as you tried to collect your thoughts and make a complete sentence.

He was so high on you, so drunk on your taste as he continued to taste and tease every part of your most sensitive place.

“P-Please Tom,” you begged, shifting.

Please what? Please keep going? Please stop?

“Please fuck me,”

It was a soft whimper, oh so soft, but he heard it, and it drove him crazy. He sat up and positioned his newly hardened, throbbing member up to your entrance. Without a second thought, he pushed in the tip with ease.

You silently thanked god for the slick of your cunt as he drove in farther, and to your surprise, he waited. Waited until you were ready. He knew that no matter how many times he fucked you, you would always be tighter than hell. So he waited. He always did.

But as soon as you nodded, his demeanor flipped again like a light switch, drawing himself out and slamming himself back in. Soon enough he set a rough and punishing pace, throwing you back onto him like a rag-doll as your body went limp, letting him use you.

You jerked when you felt him land a slap on your ass, knowing he enjoyed the way it move after he did so, before kneading the flesh, planning on repeating his actions.

You were whimpering and keening at his movements and pants, the feeling of him pounding into you taking you over, and the only thing you could think about was him.

Him, him, him.

Not the fact that he had to leave the following morning, or the fact that the tabloids were a nuisance. Just that fact that you were completely fucked out and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Shit, darling, so. Fucking. Good,” he grunted, punctuating his final words with harsh, long, hard thrusts, accompanied with slaps to your already sensative ass.

His pace was faltering, dick twitching, his pants getting more frequent and louder. You knew he was getting close, the sight of you so out of it only spurring it on.

“C-Cum for me, Tommy,” you whimpered, making his thrusts almost come to a full halt, “Cum inside me, please,”

Tom knew you were on the pill, and it was always for other reasons, and he usually pulled out, more as a personal preference to you. But now that you wanted him to claim you, so intimately and so passionately, his movements went from 0 to 100, before he felt himself snap.

This of course made you plummet backwards off the cliff of ecstasy, the both of you coming together as a symphony of moans and whines and growls filled the air around you, your body feeling as if it were floating as your ears rang.

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You both fucked like rabbits till noon, the both of you feeling drunk off each other’s touch, just not getting enough. You were both starved all week after all. And it took it’s toll.

By time you two were done, your body was weak, your muscles completely spent and you heartbeat doing it’s best to settle down. You felt Tom’s arms help pull you up, laying you on your back and disappearing into the bathroom.

When he came back, it was with a warm, wet washcloth, and be began slowly wiping up his mess, whispering praise and words of admiration while doing so. You found your eyes closing as you basked in the attention and after-glow of orgasm. He was completely in love with you, he couldn’t stop if he tried.

Tossing the rag off the the side, you felt the area beside you dip before you were greeted with Tom’s arms, once again, finding home around your body, and you immediately leaned into his touch, laying your head softly on his chest as he played with your hair.

The both of you enjoyed the silence. His other hand drifted up and down your arm, making goosebumps erupt in its wake, the space to think being larger than life.

Finally, you spoke.

“I’m sorry.” you muttered, holding him just a little bit closer. But Tom being Tom, you knew he would milk it as much as he could.

“For?”

You sighed, embarrassed that you had to admit it out loud, “For being a bitch all week. I was just angry. It wasn’t fair to you. Ergo, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. But you’re buying me coffee on the way to the airport tomorrow morning,” he insisted.

That’s when your senses finally took in the fact that it was still light outside. The clock on your bedside table read a shocking 12:23 pm, and you let a small smirk creep across your face at the Valentine’s Day sex you were truly going to be missing out on.

Sure, it still made you sad that he was leaving. But knowing Tom, you knew he would do something special for you, no matter how far away you were. Besides, there was hours of Facetime sex to be had, and you couldn’t wait for that.

“Do you want lunch?” you questioned quietly, your hand gently gliding up and down Tom’s abs, which always felt like you were touching marble stone.

“Yeah. You’re buying though,” he contested, and you smirked.

“Nope. I’m making. I was thinking tomato soup and grilled cheese,”

You knew it was one of Tom’s favorites, one of the few things on this planet that Tom would die for, (besides you, of course).

“That would be lovely, darling.”

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“I’m gonna miss the fuck outta you,” you whined, standing at the gates, your doe eyes peering up at him as you held his hands.

“I’ll be back before you know it, love, and you can text me and call me at the end of every day. I can even fly you out to visit if you want.”

Tom was doing his best to soften the blow of him leaving; it was hard on both of you, and it was supposed to be for 2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days. You hated it.

“Love you,” you grumbled like a child, before hugging him with all your might, trying to remember this feeling to keep you company.

“I love you most,” he challenged, making you pull back to rest your chin on his chest before leaning up and giving him a kiss, but it turned heated quickly.

Before it could get any more hot and heavy (because the paparazzi are VULTURES), you pulled away.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you replied.

Suddenly the lady on the overhead speakers began to talk, “All first class passengers on flight 32-B to Atlanta, Georgia, is now boarding.”

“That’s me,” he sighed.

Tears pricked your eyes unexpectantly, and before Tom could see them, you gave him one last, rib crushing hug.

He pulled back with a smile, waving a wordless goodbye, walking away, but not without giving you one last look, mouthing the words:

‘Happy Valentine’s Day’

THANK YOU FOR 1K!!!!! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU!!!

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Come Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon

Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1

Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers

Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia

Word Count: 7611

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

He didn’t mean to.

It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—

He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—

The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.

And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.

The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…

Then fear.

———————————

One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.

But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.

Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.

Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.

His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”

The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.

Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.

Well, more than occasionally.

But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.

R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.

Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.

That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.

Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.

The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.

If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.

When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.

The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.

So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.

Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.

He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.

If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.

He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.

Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.

The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.

Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.

There is someone on their knees right outside his door.

Well.

That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.

“I’m certain that you must be…”

Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.

“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.

“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”

Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.

Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.

He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.

He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.

“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.

“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”

“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?

His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.

The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.

Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.

Janus’s eyes go wide.

Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.

The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.

“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.

How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.

“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”

Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.

“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”

It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.

Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.

He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”

“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”

Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”

“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”

“I was going to go get the stitches.”

Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”

And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”

“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”

He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.

“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”

Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”

Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”

“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”

There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.

Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”

Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.

“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.

“Oh.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”

“…no.”

Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.

“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.

Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.

“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”

They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.

“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“

They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.

“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”

It made them homicidal, they killed each other.

“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”

As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“

Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.

“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“

A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

Oh, this poor little prince…

Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”

Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”

“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”

The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.

“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”

He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.

Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.

The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.

There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.

The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.

“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”

Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.

“I thought—part of me thought you would.”

A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”

Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.

“…maybe.”

Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.

Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.

Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.

“…do you want me to kill you?”

There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.

“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you want to?”

…well.

Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.

Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.

But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.

“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.

Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve held on.”

“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”

“But I’ve been stabbed before.”

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”

“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.

“What is it, little prince?”

He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.

Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”

“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.

“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”

“Not of being stabbed.”

Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”

“I…”

“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.

“…I got scared of being outside.”

Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”

“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“

Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.

Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.

The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…

Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.

Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…

No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.

What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.

The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”

The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”

“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”

“You came to me for help, little prince.”

“But you…care?”

And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.

“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”

No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.

The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.

Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.

R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over

Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.

“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”

“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”

“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”

Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.

“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”

Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.

“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”

“Splendid.”

Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.

“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”

“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.

“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”

“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”

“You like me crass.”

Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.

“Well, if that’s all then?”

Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”

“Pardon?”

“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”

Then he spots the blood.

In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.

“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”

“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”

“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“

Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.

Janus catches him by the arm.

“Don’t.”

The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.

“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.

“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“

If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?

“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“

“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.

Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.

“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”

“And you’re certain it’s contained?”

“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”

He quirks his brow.

“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”

Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.

“So who the fuck is in that room?”

As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.

“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”

Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.

“The person who cut the head off.”

“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“

“Remus.”

Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.

And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.

A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.

“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.

Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.

He crosses the room and leans down.

“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”

Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.

“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”

“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“

“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”

Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.

“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.

Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.

There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.

Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.

And Roman is no match for the both of them.

“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”

Roman glances at the door again.

“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”

Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.

“R-Remus?”

Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”

“Remus Sanders?”

He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”

“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”

Not dead?

Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.

Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.

“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”

It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.

Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“

Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.

“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”

Roman jerks his head up and down.

“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”

Ah.

Janus must be getting rusty.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”

Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.

“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”

He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.

Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.

This could be a problem.

Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.

Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.

And still, that loyalty wavers.

The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.

This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.

Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.

It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”

“I can try.”

“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.

“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”

“Re?”

“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”

How adorable.

Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”

“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“

“The choppers saw him.”

“Shit.”

“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”

“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“…why’d he come here?”

Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”

Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”

“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”

Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”

Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.

“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.

There isn’t one.

Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.

“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”

Remus trails off into silence too.

“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”

This is dangerous.

The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.

But not anymore.

“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.

“Do you think that’s why he came?”

“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”

“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.

Remus regards him. “Would you have?”

“Killed him?”

“Yes.”

Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.

Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?

“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”

Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.

“So what now?”

Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”

“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”

“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”

“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”

“Good.”

Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Go. Get to work.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.

Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.

“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”

Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”

Roman nods.

“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”

There’s a pause.

“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”

“Still am.”

Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”

Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.

He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.

“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”

Roman just shakes his head.

“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”

“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”

“Before…?”

“Yeah. When we…when you…”

When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.

Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.

“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”

He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”

Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”

Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.

“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”

If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.

General:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #agoraphobia #tw agoraphobia #fic

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pet-genius · 2 years

Text

Oil and Sugar - Snolidays 2021

Here's my first contribution to the Snolidays 2021 fest, officially set to start on Dec 1! Happy Snolidays! As the one who picked the themes for the first week, I might have cheated a bit, heh heh. You can also read here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35410921

Thank you @dementedlollipop for beta-ing and helping me name Octavius!

[Imagine a picture of Sev in an apron and his adoring kid looking up, here]

"Measurements are important in baking, son," Severus said, looking down at his child. Octavius was unmistakably his son, yet if one were to compare a photo of Severus when he was Octavius’s age, one would scarcely believe them to be related. The child had a healthy glow about him, his clothes – first-hand, clean, and the right fit. Most importantly, Octavius held his head high, his chest out, his shoulders back, always confident and hopeful. Severus remembered very few moments in his childhood when he felt so free and so proud.

Free and proud, Octavius may be. But Severus was not about to raise a dunderhead.

“Before I even let you light a fire, let alone heat any oil, I want to see you measuring everything out properly. Measurements and timing!”

His son ran to the pantry and carried back two jars, one of sugar, one of flour; next, he got a bottle of oil. His father took the bottle from his outstretched hand, uncorked it, and took a long whiff. “Aaaah,” he exhaled. “Italian olives. Can't beat them.”

He thought for a moment.

“Measurements, timing, and ingredients!”

“Now what, daddy?” Octavius asked.

The kid was a wizard, yes, but not yet allowed to use magic outside of school. Severus sometimes pretended not to notice his son using a wand to cast minor spells, but he would not encourage rule-breaking (that was his mother’s job). Besides, the Muggle way was better for some things. In his experience, sloppy measurement spells produced results much inferior to sloppy measurements. Magic tended to amplify one’s innate stupidity, Severus always thought.

“Liquids are measured in volume and dry ingredients are measured in weight, typically,” he incantated. Octavius’s brows furrowed in concentration, and then his expression lit up. Severus told his son to look at the recipe and that he would be back to check soon, and then they'd light a fire, finally, and get to working on their batter. “I'll let you lick the spatula,” he promised, and left the room with quick steps. Perhaps too quick.

He didn't want Octavius to see him crying. Happy tears were tears all the same, and the child was too young to understand. Why ruin his holiday with talk of the endless days and nights in Cokeworth, in grandfather’s long-deserted house? Ever since his son had been born, Severus found himself increasingly unable to control his emotions like he used to. It was undignified, to cry in front of a child, so Severus left, always making sure to stay near enough to run back if he heard anything. He trusted Octavius not to blow up the kitchen until Severus sorted his cursed emotions out. Much more confident than Tobias, Severus’s own father, ever was of Severus. The old indignation came up, swelling bitter and tart against his throat. Everything that went bad in Cokeworth was Severus's fault.

Severus decided, leaning against the living room wall with the kitchen behind him, that even if Octavius would blow up the kitchen, he would be understanding, he would find it funny and endearing and take it in good humour. After all, the child could hardly cause damage his father or mother couldn't fix, and as for botched baked goods - they could afford more oil and more sugar, and Severus found that affluence and a child with a good head made for much more patience than he was used to.

If you looked, you could never guess Octavius was a Snape. “I got one over you, Toby,” Severus whispered and wiped his brow. He smiled - a forced smile at first, and then, as soon as he entered the kitchen, he felt the smile become real, stretching his cheeks out. The measurements were perfect, and the containers were placed right in the order in which they would need them. Flour, sugar, salt, and oil. “That's a relief. I couldn't bear having my own flesh and blood show up at Hogwarts unable to measure out potions ingredients!”

“Come on, dad! I want them to be ready in time for mommy!”

One could not help but to feel the holiday cheer while elbow-deep in dough, one’s son with his own smaller bowl kneading his own batch. Severus decided he would deliberately mix too much sugar into his batter. Octavius would be proud of having made the superior cookies.

#severus snape #snapedom #snolidays2021 #snapecelebration #dad sev #fluff #family fluff #snape fluff

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marsbutterfly · 3 years

Note

Hey ! How are you ? Can I request an imagine for Hanji x f!reader where they both get reincarnated in modern time ? They both died side by side during the rubbling and when they get reincarnated they both have memories of their past life (they were already lovers). Reader thought she was never going to see her girlfriend again but one day she finds her by chance.

Take care and have a nice day !

Note: Thank you so much for requesting this. I had fun writing it and the prompt was *chefs kiss* so I really hope you like it.

In Another Life

Summary: Reincarnation is the doctrine or belief that the soul reappears after death in another and different bodily form.

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version! |◁ II ▷|

Cold sweat drips down your face as you bolt awake, digging your nails into the bedsheets. The same nightmare has been waking you up in the middle of the night since you were a child.

In your dream, you are a soldier who battles to save humanity in the fight against titans. Somehow, you always manage to kill the gigantic beings and return safely to the world inside the walls.

Always by your side is a brown-haired woman with glasses, her left eye is missing in most of the dreams. In all honesty, you have never seen anyone so beautiful before and, somehow, you remember her name.

Hanji Zoe.

One day, you stood by her side as the world you’ve once known was being left behind, turned into dust. She held your face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks, the feeling of her lips against yours is vivid and you can even smell the apple she had earlier.

The scream of your comrades echoes through the plane and into your brain but all you can focus on is the image of Hanji’s body catching on fire as the same flames burn down your back.

She hits the ground seconds before you do and somehow you manage to land by her side, hand touching hand as her lifeless body begins to cool down. You don’t have much time to think before a titan’s massive foot squishes your bodies at the exact same time.

That’s usually when you wake up, when your lungs and heart explode inside your chest due to the pressure of the step. When every blood vessel in your body gives in to the pressure and bursts inside you.

You grab your phone, only to realize your alarm was about to go off anyway. So instead of trying to go back to sleep, you simply push the covers aside and begin to drag yourself to the bathroom in hopes of getting your day started.

Not every dream you have is a nightmare. Some of them are about a life you don’t remember living: The combination of joy and fear after joining the Survey Corps, the warmth of Hanji’s naked body against yours, the delicious smell of freshly made apple pie coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night.

At nights where you don’t dream about that life, you miss it. You miss being around your friends, being able to move around the trees as if you were flying, you miss her. Her deep, brown eyes are all you can think about and time slips away from you.

Once your morning routine is completed, you decide to go for a run in the park behind your house. Since the sun has been out for less than an hour, it shouldn’t be too busy and you’ll be able to enjoy some quiet time.

As the armband slides up your skin, a chilling sensation travels down your spine and nearly every particle of hair in your body rises, even though you can’t understand why. So you simply shake your head and push the feeling down.

Carefully, you select your favorite playlist and check to make sure your laces are tied but before you can actually look, your phone rings loudly in your ear nearly giving you a heart attack.

Without a second thought, you decline the call without even checking to see who it is and you make your way outside.

The cold breeze welcomes you and the sweet smell of the food cart in front of your house hits your nose. Usually after a run, you reward yourself with one of their delicious crepes and that is enough motivation for you to finish your jog.

At this time, the park is the most peaceful place in the city. No crying babies in their strollers or loud business men walking around on their phone, there is only you and maybe three more people.

Your favorite song comes on and you feel the energy pumping through your veins with every beat. It’s the perfect weather for a run and you silently enjoy the calm that washes over your body.

Your mind wanders back to your nightmares and you start to remember the better part of it. The times Hanji would take you to a secret picnic after she became commander or the makeout sessions in the janitors closet.

In some ways, you could even feel her warm skin against yours, her kiss-swollen lips attached to you by a string of saliva. It nearly feels as if you had lived throughout all of it, but it couldn’t be possible.

You’re so deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice the stick on the floor and, when you do, it’s too late and you’re already halfway towards the ground so all you can do is protect your face from the concrete.

The impact itself isn’t too painful but the humiliation is what stings the most. If only you hadn’t gotten that call before leaving your house, you would’ve remembered to tie your shoelaces and therefore they wouldn’t have gotten stuck on the stick on the floor.

This isn’t the first time the woman in your dreams has caused you trouble. In a few of your memories, she would make too much noise when you sneak out and the Commander would eventually catch you.

Ever since you were young and these dreams first started, you’ve been going to a therapist after the other in hopes of understanding what all of this means and why is it happening to you but all came to the same result: inconclusive.

No matter how many doctors you see, no one can understand why you have such vivid dreams about a war nobody has ever heard anything about or creatures that have never once been proven to exist.

With your ass on the ground, you notice you used the word “memories” instead of dreams and for a second you feel as if all air has been sucked out of your lungs by a massive vacuum.

You shake your head, pushing those feelings deep down inside of you and getting on your knee, preparing to tie your laces when a familiar perfume rushes by you.

It’s faint and quick, probably carried by the wind but enough for you to snap your head backwards. A comforting feeling settles in your chest, warm and fuzzy if you could describe it. That’s exactly how the woman from your dreams smelled like.

You notice a brunette in a bright yellow sports bra turning around a bush not too far away, but you can’t see if she’s wearing glasses or if she only has one eye, like Hanji did.

“Y/N don’t be ridiculous!” You say to yourself, standing up and brushing away the dirt from your clothes, “Hanji is not a real person, she’s like an imaginary friend.”

Forgetting all about your fall, you decide to resume your run. The pain in your foot forces you to go a bit slower than you are used to but nothing too serious.

Once you are done running your laps around the park and begin to make your way back home, a few drops of rain begin to fall on your skin, forcing you to rush home.

As you are eagerly awaiting for the crepe you’ve been dreaming about for hours, the owner of the small cart has a sad expression on his face.

“I’m fresh out of batter. My husband just went to grab some more, it should take a little longer than 45 minutes, I am so sorry Y/N.” He says and you sigh, a compassionate smile on your lips and you nod.

“You will save me the first one you make when he’s back right?” You ask and the man eagerly nods.

“Of course. With banana, strawberry and chocolate, right?”

And you laugh, knowing that the only reason why he knows your order so well is because his crepes have been your breakfast each morning since you first moved into this apartment.

Once you are done with the conversation, you rush up the stairs and immediately into the shower. With a washcloth you gently brush the dirt out of your bruised knee, quietly hissing as the burning sensation takes over.

Even though you know you aren’t supposed to do so, you pour hydrogen peroxide on top of the wound and a scream leaves your throat at every step of the way.

“Today really isn’t my day.” You say to yourself as you begin to wash your hair. A few specs of dirt fall to the ground and a prolonged sigh escapes your lips. Everything just seems to be going wrong: rain, no crepe, fell during a run, what’s next? Waiting in line at the coffee shop for over an hour?

As you stand in line, you realize you should have kept your mouth shut. Even though you ordered online, the amount of people surrounding the pick up area was beyond ridiculous and you were definitely getting late for work.

Once your turn finally comes, you thank silently in hopes that you will be able to actually make it in time. So with your chest out and happiness on your face, you loudly say over the many other voices, “Order for Y/N!”

The guy behind the counter looks confused as he checks every cup individually and you watch over him as he does so. He shoots you a sadden and a little annoyed look and you realize that the “Order” button never got pushed.

Your eyes fill with tears of frustration but you brush them away and take your phone out, repeating your online order to the barista on the register and they write it down perfectly.

Your eyes are glued to your phone’s screen while you wait for a message from your boss but the same comforting sensation you felt this morning is back again. Maybe it’s the smell of coffee that reminded you of the trips to Marley or the crowds of different people around, much like eldians and marleyans.

“I have to get this shit out of my brain.” You say, shaking your head and focusing on typing out a message to your friend, complaining and hoping that you won’t get fired today. You worked too hard to get this job and if they let you go over some 20 minute wait, you’ll raise hell on Earth.

“Order for Y/N?” A familiar voice says but you can’t identify from where.

So you walk to the counter, finally putting your phone away and counting the coffees. Your eyes land on the barista’s hand, who carries your regular order. You reach for it and in a split of a second, your hands touch.

The world around you seems to stop and so does your breathing. When you look at her, you realize she is the part of you that has been missing all along. She’s a real person and not a dream. You look at her nametag, just making sure you aren’t going insane and there it is. “Hanji Zoe”

In that minimal touch, you are bombarded by the emotions of a lifetime ago. The first day you met, the first titan experiment you had done together, the first kiss, the first time you’ve had to kill a titan because she would always get too damn close to being eaten alive.

But you are also reminded of the last meal you both ate, the last nose rub, the last time her lips touched yours, the last hand holding, the last breath you both took before you woke up where you are now.

And just like that, feelings you didn’t know were possible for you to have emerged from deep within your chest as if a box that has been sitting deep inside the closet has now just been opened. It even seems like the world has just gotten a bit more colorful.

Tears shine in your eyes as the coffee you just waited so long for hits the ground. With a smile on your face, you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her over the counter. It doesn’t take her more than a second to seal your lips together.

Her breath tastes like the hot chocolate she had earlier that day but it still manages to awaken butterflies that laid dormant in your stomach throughout your entire life. It’s not until your phone rings in your pocket that you are brought back to reality.

“I’m so late for work!” You smile at her and rush out of the store, the container with the other cups in your left hand.

“Wait!!” A voice screams from just outside the coffee shop and you immediately turn around to see Hanji, her hat in her hand as she comes closer to you. “I knew something was missing my entire life and….”

“And now I realize it was you.” You two say in perfect unison and she nods.

“Why don’t we start over? This time, without any titans around.” She asks and you smile.

“Hey, I’m Y/N.” You say, extending your hand.

“I’m Hanji Zoe and I would love to take you on a date sometime.” Hanji meets you in the middle, shaking your hand.

“I really have to go.” You say and a frown appears on her face, you have to fight the will to quit your job and start a nice, little life in the woods with her. Something you’ve always talked about but sadly never got to have.

“I’ll wait for you right here then.” She says, letting go of your hand slowly and you immediately touch the back of her head and bring her in for a long kiss while still managing to keep the cups in your hand still.

This time it was not a goodbye kiss. It was simply the second first kiss you’ve ever had with Hanji and hopefully, it will not be the last.

206 notes · View notes

jungshookz · 3 years

Text

cream a little dream of me; knj

➺ pairing; kim namjoon x reader

➺ genre; lveb!universe, you’ve been asking for this and i’m finally here to tell you that this is smut! nsfw! 18+! oral sex (receiving)! dirty talk! namjoon has a dirty mouth and y/n is into that!! y/n’s a great listener and namjoon is very into that!! also frosting is involved somewhere

➺ wordcount: 8.9k

➺ summary; y/n has a wet dream about namjoon and yoongi just wants to help his best friend get laid.

➺ what to expect; “it’s not a big deal or anything, but, uh... when were you planning on telling me about that nice little dream you had two weeks ago?”

➺ optional reading: here’s the link to la vie en bonsai if you haven’t read it yet or if you just want to experience the story all over again!

»»————-　☁️　————-««

to say the least, yoongi is… confused.

in the three years that he’s been friends with you, he likes to think that he’s seen every single one of your emotions

but this?

this is different somehow… yet he can’t quite put his finger on what’s so different about it...

he’s seen elated y/n

he’s seen devastated y/n

he’s seen infuriated y/n

he’s seen stressed out y/n

but this y/n?

the starry-eyed and constantly looking like you’re day dreaming y/n?

he can safely say he’s never seen this version of you before and it’s a little concerning because now he has no idea what the protocol is

even back when you guys were in university you practically never daydreamed during lectures

you were always focused on the professor and whatever powerpoint was playing on the screen with a concerning amount of intensity

one time, yoongi put his hand over your eyes just to be funny and you nearly snapped his wrist off

“okay, seriously?” yoongi waves his hand in front of your face for the fifth time in half an hour before shaking his head gently, “what’s gotten into you?”

you blink quickly when you snap out of your little daze, looking at him and setting the bowl of batter down on the counter before checking out the damage you’ve done

you’re supposed to fold this batter

not whIP it

now it’s ruined and you’re going to have to start all over!

“i don’t know what that batter ever did to you, but you might need to take it down a notch before you sprain your wrist…” yoongi trails off, leaning over a little and wondering if he can get away with dipping his finger in for a teeny tiny taste

sure, he might get salmonella or whatever from ingesting raw eggs, but it’ll be worth it

“also, what are you even making?” he frowns, gesturing to all the items splayed on the counter, “because there are like ten different things going on here-”

you look around the kitchen before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck

you... don’t really have an answer for him

there’s bread dough over here

three bowls of frosting (chocolate, cream cheese, buttercream) over there

some chopped up peaches on the cutting board

the puff pastry is de-frosting in the fridge

there’s a pie baking in the oven at the moment

you just finished greasing up a mini cupcake tin

and don’t forget about the bowl of batter you’re currently whipping the life out of

(let the record show that you have no idea what you’re making. you have no clue what this batter is for. and why’d you take out your set of food-colouring dye??)

you just needed to let off some steam and this is the only way you know hoW

“isn’t this great? working out in the comfort of my own personal gym…”

both you and yoongi look over towards the kitchen door when you hear jin’s voice ring through namjoon’s laptop from the living room

yoongi perks up in interest when you suddenly scurry over to spy at namjoon through the crack of the door before he gets up to follow you

“yeah, easy for you to say-” namjoon grunts as he pushes himself up off the ground so he can clap his hands together quickly before his palms land back on the ground in a solid thump

he thought push-ups were already awful as is so he wasn’t very pleased when jin told him to start doing them with claps in between each set

also, jin has access to a full-blown gym in his house, but namjoon doesn’t have any access to actual weights so he’s had to resort to using jugs of water instead

it’s actually working out pretty well!

he took the sweeper part of the broom off and then used a lot of duct tape (and patience) to tape the jugs to both sides of the pole

he felt like he was mulan from that one part of the movie except mulan is probably physically stronger than him

“you know, i’m surprised he hasn’t smashed his face against the floor yet...” yoongi snorts as he continues to peer at namjoon over your shoulder

he waits a couple seconds for you to respond but frowns when you let out a short little sigh while keeping your eyes glued on your sweaty boyfriend

...

see?!

you’re doing it again!!!!

you have your bottom lip tucked in between your teeth and your eyes have gone all lidded and hazy

your grip around the edge of the door is really tight and your knuckles are going kind of white

good god

yoongi narrows his eyes suspiciously before jabbing your shoulder roughly, “hey. what are you thinking about?”

you shake your head a little too quickly for his liking before turning back around and brushing past him to get back to the counter

huh

okay

something’s up for sure

he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad or whatever but he’s going to find out

your cheeks and the tips of your ears are a little flushed now which is even more interesting

what could possibly be going on in that little noggin of yours?

“tell me what you were thinking about.” yoongi sits back down on the stool as he stares you down across the counter, “y/n- look at me.”

“i’m not-” you glance up at yoongi for a quick second before looking back down, “nothing!” you mutter, your arm starting to move faster as you continue whipping the mystery batter

yoongi immediately points to the ball of dough sitting a couple feet away from him, “tell me what you were thinking about or i’ll eat that ball of raw dough right noW-”

“-!” you set the bowl down before scrambling to move the dough out of yoongi’s reach

he’s eaten raw dough before (it was raw cookie dough and he took bites of it every time you turned to face away from him) which resulted in him suffering for like 48 hours and you’re not taking any chances

“you can’t keep secrets from me.” yoongi deadpans, “aren’t we best friends? don’t you trust me?” he bats his lashes at you before pushing his bottom lip out in a pout, “because i certainly trust you… and you, out of all people, should know how hard it is for me to trust someone…”

your eye twitches

you know he’s only saying all of this to butter you up so that you’ll inevitably give in and tell him what’s going on... and you hate that it’s actually working...

look at that face!

those cheeks!!!

those eyes!!!!

“i…” you trail off, biting the inside of your cheek as you contemplate whether it’s a good idea or not to tell yoongi what exactly’s been going on with you lately

if you tell him, he’ll stop bugging you about it

then again, if you tell him, he might keep bugging you about it

but he’s already suspicious of you so it seems like you don’t really have a choice...

this is really a lose-lose situation, if you think about it

...damn.

“hey, do you remember that time you were crying really hard and i made you feel better by telling you that i kind of sort of loved you...?” yoongi mentions casually while inspecting his nail beds, his eyes flickering up towards your face for a quick second to see your reaction

he bites back a smirk of success when he hears you let out a sigh

ha HA

hook, line, and sinker bABY

“okay, fine, but-” you slam the bowl down on the counter before placing your hands on your hips, ”it’s a secret. between us!” you gesture for him to come over to you

“god, finally-!” yoongi nods enthusiastically and hops off the stool before scurrying over to join you at the other side of the counter

you lift your hand up so the side of your mouth is covered and yoongi reaches up to wrap his fingers around your wrist, grinning excitedly as you whisper something into his ear

…

yoongi’s jaw drops

holy shit

no wonder he hasn’t seen you act like this before!

this isn’t elated y/n or disappointed y/n or excited y/n

a new player has entered the ring

this is HORNY Y/N

“you… little… horndog!” yoongi cackles with glee as he claps his hands together wildly, “you, y/n y/l/n- you had a wet dream?!”

you feel your anxiety spike at how loud yoongi’s being and you make a gesture to try to get him to use his inside voice but he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to you at all right now

“wow...” yoongi laughs lightly, crossing his arms as he looks up towards the ceiling, “i mean, welcome to puberty, i guess. a bit of a late start if you ask me, but either way i’m actually pretty proud of you for basically creaming your-”

“shh!” you quickly shove a spoon into yoongi’s mouth and he spits it out immediately

it falls onto the counter with a clang

to be honest, you actually don’t remember too much of the dream

flashes of namjoon’s head in between your legs and his strong arms wrapped around your thighs pinning you down pop into your mind every now and again to taunt you

but other than that

nothing!

it’s just that joon’s been working out a lot lately (jin’s trying to get in better shape because of one photo where the shadow made it look like he had a double chin and it traumatised him) so it makes sense that he’s turning into an actual beefcake now

the other day you accidentally busted a bag of icing in your hands after squeezing it too hard because you were watching namjoon doing bicep curls with the milk jugs

his arms just….,,.

you want to bite into them

or dig your nails into them

or just look at them!

you would be perfectly content with just staring at them 24/7!

now, the issue here is that you...

you don’t really know…

you don’t know how to initiate things with namjoon

it’s awkward!

…on your end, that is

since getting together, you and namjoon have had plenty of heated make-out (and slight groping) sessions but you always end up chickening out as soon as you feel things starting to escalate

you just get nervous that you’re going to do something wrong and it’ll pop the love-bubble you guys are in right now!!

and you really don’t want to pop anything!!

and namjoon, being the sweet, kind, caring, considerate, wonderful, absolutely flawless boy he is, never has an issue with it because his number one priority is making sure that you’re comfortable

he’s totally okay with moving at your pace!

but after the last couple of times where you’ve left him high and dry, you notice that he either a) puts a pillow over his lap almost immediately and tries to change the subject or b) waddles off to the bathroom for a ‘pee break’

you feel awful knowing that you’re blue-balling him but you don’t want to take things further if there’s even a slight possibility of you ruining things

so... yeah!

your only stress reliever has been baking which isn’t new

you’ve stress baked before but this is a nEW type of stress baking

this is the most chaotic level of stress baking there is because everything’s just a disorganised MESS

“you know what, it actually makes sense now,” yoongi reaches up to stroke his chin in thought before nodding to himself, “you’ve been acting so weird lately that i thought i did something wrong- and it turns out you’ve just been excruciatingly horny this entire time-”

“lower your voice!” you hiss, hurrying over to the door to make sure namjoon’s not listening in to what should be a private conversation if yoongi wasn’t so damn loud

he may be in the living room but who knows how far your voices can travel??

you peek out to look at poor namjoon who looks like he’s just about ready to pass ouT from exhaustion

he lets out an almost animalistic growl as he pushes himself up off the ground one last time and you feel a tingle in your southern region

if you were a cartoon character there would be gigantic hearts pumping out of your eyes, your tongue would roll out of your mouth like a red carpet, and a horn would be blasting aooga in the background

“okay, well - you can’t not tell me about what happened in it.” you turn back around to face yoongi, “give me all the details!!!!” he wiggles his brows as he leans down and folds him arms atop the counter, “and get real nasty with it because i haven’t had sex in months-”

“no way!” you scoff before crossing one arm over the other to make an ‘x’ sign at yoongi, “no! i don’t remember anything.”

“you’re lying to me.” the smile on yoongi’s face drops and he scowls at you, “you totally are!”

“am not! it’s true.” you chirp, nodding satisfactorily when yoongi doesn’t respond

good

the topic has been dropped and now you can focus your attention back on this weird, runny batter you’re still beating the life out of

“...what about if i guess?”

you pause

oh no

you don’t like that idea at all

you don’t get a chance to shake your head nO before yoongi starts listing out all your possible wet-dream scenarios

“he was finger-fucking you.”

“you were sucking him off?”

“he was eating you out!”

“69? you on top? or was it him on top? …no, it was probably you on to-”

“a classy combination of tongue and fingers? ooh, quick question- how quickly did dreamjoon find your g-spo-”

“missionary! can’t go wrong with good ol’ fashioned missio-”

“doggystyle? cowgirl! reverse cowgirl? or was he kind of, like, spooning you from behi-”

“ooh! plot twist! you gave him the strap-”

“butt-stuff! butt-stuff?? butt-stuff but the plug had a tail on- oh-ho, it was butt-stuff, wasn’t it-”

“something with a belt? something with cuffs? something with leather?”

“roleplaying! he was a sexy gardener with a big ol’ hose and you were just an innocent wittle twree-”

“was he rawdogging you?”

your eyes immediately widen and you look up at yoongi for the first time since he started rambling, “wha- WHAT is that?!”

rawdogging??

that sounds like it’d give you carpet burn for some reason

“sex without a condom.” yoongi states as if it’s the most obvious fact in the entire world, “duh.”

god

boys are so

boyish!!!!

“why not just say that instead??” you ask incredulously, tilting your head

yoongi snorts, “well, because rawdogging sounds way hotter-”

your face screws up immediately, “does it really, though…?”

yoongi pauses before his face lights up, “aha! so dreamjoon WAS rawdogging y-”

“crude!” your entire face is bright red at this point and you hurry over to the fridge to grab a bag of frozen blueberries out of the freezer (for what purposes? you have no idea.)

“you think i’m being crude?” yoongi scoffs, “i think you’re being a prude. okay, lemme see what else i can think of-”

“yoongi, literally no one asked you to list-”

“were you grinding on his-” yoongi pauses again, “you know, like dry humping?” he hums before pushing himself up off the counter and placing both his palms flat on the surface of it, “i mean, i guess i can see why that’d be hot, you know, with clothes being restrictive and all- oh! were you getting off on his thigh? because a couple of girls have done that to me before and it was actually pretty hot AND since namjoon’s dna consists of 80% plant he basically has tree trunk thighs-”

“okay, i don’t remember too much-” you grab yoongi by the arm to yank him back in so you can whisper in his ear again

yoongi listens attentively

…

you clear your throat before shoving yoongi away to make it seem less suspicious if namjoon just so happens to come into the kitchen at this very moment

“surprisingly simple, but it does the trick, that’s for sure…” yoongi hums as he strokes his chin thoughtfully, “damn. i hyped it up way too much. that’s actually a pretty boring dream compared to what i’ve dreamt about, now that i think about it-”

you can’t help but roll your eyes as you open up the bag of blueberries

…what did you pull these out for again?

“well, what’s the problem?” yoongi frowns, “you guys are already dating. just go up to him and ask him if he wants to do stuff. if a girl told me that she creamed her panties because of me, i’d be ecstatic!”

“stop saying it like that-”

you feel a little weird talking about this with yoongi

he’s always been comfortable telling you about his sex life but you prefer to keep your intimate details private

it’s not that you don’t trust him or anything, because obviously you do, but… you’d feel more comfortable if you talked about this with a girl-friend, you know?

guys just don’t understand!

“i don’t know how to…” you shift in your spot, “ask.”

yoongi scoffs in response and crosses his arms, “y/n- namjoon is a man. men are simple. do you remember the other week when you invited me over for a breakfast and you dropped the spatula on the floor?”

you nod before tilting your head curiously, “…why?”

yoongi clears his throat

now he’S the one who looks slightly uncomfortable

“well...” he clears his throat, “namjoon was wearing sweats and i swear i wasn’t purposely looking- my eyes just happened to be looking downwards in that general direction naturally-”

“yoongi-”

“the man’s dick twitched in his sweats when you bent over, alright?” yoongi blurts out and your eyes immediately widen, “my point is: men are simple- painfully simple creatures. so... just ask him!”

you frown

just ask him??

was he even listening to you??

you just told yoongi you didn’t know how to ask namjoon and his advice was for you to ask namjoon

that’s like taking someone who doesn’t know how to swim and immediately tossing them into the OCEAN with a punctured life-ring

“god,” you roll your eyes before flicking your wrist at him, “just forget i told you!”

“hey!” yoongi gawks and shakes his head, “i can’t forget! now my only purpose in life is to get you some head-”

“jesus christ-!”

you jump ten feet into the air like a cat that’s just been sprayed by water when the kitchen door suddenly swings open and a sweaty namjoon stumbles in

“i think there’s sweat dripping into my contacts-”

“namjoon!” yoongi spins around in his stool and props his elbows up on the counter, “what a coincidence! we were just talking about you, my man…”

yoongi looks over at you with a cheeky grin and you shake your head stiffly before turning to get the jug of water from the fridge for namjoon

“oh yeah?” namjoon huffs as he places his hands on your hips from behind, sliding past you to grab a clean glass from the dish rack, “what about?”

“just about how…” yoongi looks back at you quickly and you shoot him a glare

he wouldn’t…

would he??

(he absolutely would.)

any word of your conversation and you’ll skin him alive

“-hard you’ve been working out lately!” yoongi chirps, “i mean, it looks like you were trapped in a washing machine-”

“oh, god. trust me, it’s so not worth it, i’m in so much pain-” namjoon winces and shakes his head, “you’re welcome to go and take my place if you want-”

“absolutely not-” yoongi snorts, “first of all, it’s the holidays, and everyone knows you don’t work out during december. also, you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to do a push-up. i’m perfectly happy with my somewhat doughy centre.” he pats his tummy with a happy hum and you can’t help but giggle

silly boy

namjoon laughs lightly before pausing to chug down some water, “i wish i could say the same. unfortunately, jin’s not giving me a choice-”

“sweaty!” you whine when namjoon suddenly wraps an arm around you from behind before kissing your cheek and he frowns playfully when you swat at his forearm, “and sticky…”

“relax, i’m about to hit the shower-” he nudges his nose against your cheek before pulling away, “and then i won’t be sticky and i’ll smell like peaches-”

“i should probably go, too.” yoongi gets up from his seat, “i just ordered my dinner and it’s going to arrive at my apartment in like half an hour.”

“wait!” you hold a finger out before turning to open up the cupboards for a tupperware box, “take some pie with you…”

»»————-　☁️　————-««

“still coming friday?” you ask as you watch yoongi put his shoes on

you asked yoongi if he would be interested in helping you decorate the apartment on friday (aka you told him he didn’t have a choice and that he had to come and help you whether he wanted to or not)

“mhm.” he glances up at you, “still ordering pizza?”

“mhm.”

you reach down to pat the top of yoongi’s head gently just because you want to and pauses in the middle of tying his laces to reach over and jab your stomach

“i know the main focus is decorating the place for christmas but i think you guys are going to love the nature documentary i picked for us to watch while-” namjoon chimes in but shuts up quickly when you and yoongi exchange knowing glances, “what?”

yoongi looks back up at you with a raised brow, “…does he really have to join us?”

“no choice.” you shrug casually and namjoon’s jaw drops

wha-

“oh, hold on-” yoongi gets up off the ground before patting his pockets down with a frown, “i think i left my keys in the kitchen… can you go and get them for me?”

you nod before turning to hurry to the kitchen

you don’t want him to get another parking ticket

it’s only after you disappear into the kitchen that yoongi swiftly pulls his keys out of his back pocket with a jingle

namjoon opens his mouth to say something but yoongi quickly holds his hand out to shut him up

“야 남준아- 어제 니 여친이 니 꿈 꿨데~ (y/n had a sex dream about you).” he chirps and gives namjoon two firm pats on his surprisingly firm chest before his eyes widen in surprise, “어우 딴딴해 운동 열심히 했나보네! (woah, you really have been working out! good man.)”

“yeah, i-” namjoon chokes, “wait, wha-”

“y/n, i found my keys! my bad!” yoongi calls out and gives you a thumbs up when you come out of the kitchen, “see you losers on friday!”

he gives namjoon a grin and a light punch to the arm before swiftly turning on his heel

namjoon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as yoongi shuts the front door behind him and he blinks rapidly before turning to look at you

you tilt your head at him curiously and namjoon swallows before offering you a sheepish smile

oh, boy.

»»————-　☁️　————-««

namjoon hasn’t been able to think straight since it was revealed to him that you had a sex dream about him.

it’s been an entire week that he’s learned this new piece of information and it’s been weighing verY heavily on his mind!!

when he wakes up his first thought is gee i wonder what y/n dreamt about

when seokjin’s rambling about god knows what the only thing in his mind is gee i wonder what y/n dreamt about

the last thing he thinks about before he goes to bed is gee i wonder what y/n dreamt about

and then his imagination conjures up what could’ve happened in your sex dream which is very dangerous because he has an overly-active imagination

it sucks that he doesn’t even know the details of the dream because stinky yoongi ziPPed off before he got a chance to squeeze the truth out of him!!!

and he hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about it because… how is he even supposed to ask you about it in a casual, non-confrontational way?!

he doesn’t want to embarrass you or anything like that!!

the only reason why he’s only slightly nervous about the whole situation because he doesn’t think he… oozes sex appeal?

so it was more than surprising to find out that you had a naughty dream about him

he’s like 90% leg and 10% dimple for crying out loud

and it’s not like he hasn’t done anything before, because he has, but it’s just different because it’s… you.

you’re his girlfriend and if he flubs this up the first time around then it’d be even more embarrassing than if you were just some random girl!

“말해줘여어 (you have to tell me).” namjoon whips around from where he’s standing by the tree, cradling the box of baubles to his chest, “you have to!”

“싫어 (nah).” yoongi shakes his head, tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth only for it to bounce off his cheek and onto the couch

he purses his lips before kicking it under the coffee table

it’s fine

the dust bunnies will get rid of it

“말해줘여어! (you have to tell me!)”

“야 안돼 (no way).”

namjoon clenches his jaw and sets the box down onto the floor promptly before balling his hands into fists and setting them on his hips, puffing his chest out

...

“아 왜여어어어~ (why not??)” he whines, deflating and resisting the urge to stamp his foot and throw an actual tantrum

“아니 비밀이라고 했으니까 그렇지! (it’s not my thing to tell! and i can’t betray y/n like that-)” yoongi shrugs as he keeps his eyes glued on the screen, “by the way, you didn’t even choose a cool nature documentary. what are we even watching?? the guy’s been talking about seaweed for the past ten minutes-”

“what do you mean it’s not your thing to tell??” namjoon scoffs, not even paying attention to the fact that yoongi just insulted his favourite nature documentary about plants in the ocean, “형이 먼저 말 꺼냈잖아! (you were the one who told me that she dreamt about me in the first place-!)” he snaps

“잠깐만 (wait, wait-)” yoongi sits up quickly, a couple kernels of popcorn rolling off his chest and falling onto his lap, “일주일이 지났는데 아무것도 안 했단 말이야?? (are you telling me that you… it’s been a whole week and you haven’t done anything about it??)”

namjoon shrinks down before reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “노 코멘트 (…no comment.)”

“킄 정말로? (really? wow.)” yoongi snorts before shaking his head and leaning back against the couch, “both of you- i mean, both of you deserve each other, seriously-”

namjoon resists the urge to flop down on the couch dramatically, “아니 뭐라고 말하는 거예요 (well, i’m sorry, what am i even supposed to say-)”

“아우 그러지좀마 걍- (you don’t have to say anything, all you have to do is-)”

“yoongi!” namjoon and yoongi look over when you stick your head out around the kitchen door, “cream cheese or vanilla?”

“vanilla, duh.” yoongi raises a brow

you should know by this point that he prefers vanilla frosting over cream cheese!

halfway through the documentary you decided that you were going to make a carrot cake

(and yes, part of the reason why you made that decision was because you were bored of the documentary and wanted to do literally anything else, but you’ll never admit that to namjoon in case it breaks his heart)

namjoon stays quiet until after you disappear into the kitchen again and then he turns to face yoongi with both of his hands clasped together, “말해줘요오! (you have to tell me, c’mon!)”

“말해주면 제발 다른 거 보면 안 될까? (if i tell you, can we watch something else?)”

namjoon scowls

“아 됐어요 도와줄 거라도 있는지 확인 해볼게요- (fine, forget it. i’m gonna go see if y/n needs any help.)” he steps over the boxes of decorations on the ground before turning to look back at yoongi, “부엌에서 필요한 거 있어요? (you need anything?)”

“아니 (nah.)” yoongi responds before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, “oh! actually, see if y/n would be willing to make little carrot cupcakes instead of a whole carrot cake. holding a tiny little cupcake in my hand makes me feel like a giant.”

»»————-　☁️　————-««

“knock, knock…” namjoon knocks on the kitchen door quietly before pushing it open, “everything going okay in here?”

he smiles when you look up from the bowl and beam at him, “hi!”

“hi-” he comes in and shuts the door behind him, “you need any help?”

“help? from you?” you giggle lightly and shake your head, “i’m good.”

ever since he accidentally poured salt into your batter that one time he hasn’t been allowed to help you

:-//

“yoongi changed his mind, by the way.” namjoon gestures back to the direction of the living room, “king min would like cupcakes now.”

your shoulders immediately droop and you gesture to the already greased cake-pans sitting on the side

what a waste!

“hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” namjoon raises both his hands in defence before shrugging, “the man wants what he wants.”

you resist the urge to go out there just to throw the cake pans at yoongi

you’re definitely going to force him to wash everything for you later

“also... you’re just doing this to get out of watching the nature doc, aren’t you?” namjoon wraps both his arms around you from behind and leans down to prop his chin up on your shoulder

you could’ve helped with the decorating, but somehow everything looks better when namjoon does it

he hung a big red bow on your front door and it looks great!

you pause in the middle of shredding carrots before letting out a nervous chuckle, “whaaat? no...”

“it’s about the types of plants in the ocean!” namjoon points out, “is that not cool?? plants are cool.”

you shake your head no almost immediately

not cool

two and a half hours of someone talking about grass that lives in salty water?

not cool at aLL

“how’s the decorating going?” you ask, giggling lightly when namjoon nudges his nose under your jaw before planting a kiss against your neck

“it’s going fine… yoongi isn’t helping, obviously. i handed him one bauble to hang and he hooked it on the collar of his hoodie and told me he’d do it later.”

“mm.”

a brief moment passes where the only sound that can be heard is the carrot you’re shredding against the grater

namjoon purses his lips as he thinks about what yoongi just said to him

...

fuck it

“hey, can i ask you something?” namjoon sighs, smiling in delight when you suddenly turn your head to press a sweet little kiss into his cheek

“mhm!” you turn back, continuing to grate away

“it’s not a big deal or anything, but, uh... when were you planning on telling me about that nice little dream you had two weeks ago?” namjoon asks cockily, biting back a grin when he feels you freeze in his arms

it’s at this moment that the fact that you had a wet dream about him has finally sunk into the depths of his brain and now he’s actually feeling... really good about it

you had a sex dream about him

what’s not to love?

he can almost hear the alarms wailing in your head

and now that he’s got the ball rolling- he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be!

as a matter of fact... this could be fun.

“w-” you clear your throat quietly and the half-shredded carrot drops into the metal bowl with a muted plunk, “i- what dream? i didn’t have a dream about you.”

he knows you’re trying to play it cool but he can see how tightly you’re gripping the grater and he can feel your ears getting hotter against his cheek

“i never said the dream was about me.”

oh, shit

you messed up

“so...?” namjoon moves your hair to the other side before leaning in to plant a warm kiss under your jaw, “this dream that you had… about me. tell me what happened in it.”

you swallow thickly, the gears working overtime in your brain as you try to come up with some kind of an excuse to get yourself out of this situation

you know that now isn’t the most appropriate moment to be thinking about this but you’re 100% going to slaughter yoongi the moment you get a chance to

the secret ingredient to make these cupcakes taste good will not be love

it will be BLEACH

you can’t believe he ratted you out like that!!

how embarrassing!!

“you were-” you cough, “um, you were… you… we…”

oh boy

this is already a train wreck

this is exactly why you didn’t want to tell namjoon about it!

because you know yourself and you knEW you were going to get all flustered and twitchy bringing it up

“well, i was-” you pause, “i was sitting on- sitting on the counter-”

“this one right here?” namjoon’s hand leaves your waist to pat the surface of the counter lightly and you nod gingerly, staring down at his obscenely pretty fingers, “what else?”

“that was it.” you blurt out, “the end!”

namjoon steps back a little and spins you around quickly before pressing you up against the counter, “what else, y/n?”

he traps you in between his arms and you fight the urge to explode into a million bits

oh god

okay

just tell him!

just SAY it

it’s time to get it over with!!

“you were…” your eyes flicker downwards and your nose scrunches slightly

you really don’t want to say it but you don’t think you can back out at this point because you’ve already said too much

“…eating me out.” you force out before averting your gaze and looking off to the side

you really wish there was a better way to say that because the phrase eating me out just sounds so… in your face, you know?

namjoon swallows thickly

so you had a dream about him eating you out?

“y/n, there’s really nothing to be embarrassed about, i promise-” namjoon laughs lightly when he notices your entire face starting to go red

you let out a particularly pathetic whine before leaning your forehead against his chest and gently shoving at his (firm) abdomen

“what’s the problem?” he asks, rubbing comforting circles into your back, “i think about you, you know.”

“you’re just saying that…” you mumble, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “you’re lying...”

“no, i’m serious!” namjoon pulls away to look at you, “i… i think about you. i think about things.”

you blink twice

he thinks about you

he thinks about things

he thinks about you?

he thinks about things??

…what kind of things does he think about?

“y-you do?”

“of course i do.”

“oh.”

a moment of silence ticks by

“i think about a lot of things, y/n.”

“like what?” you look up at him, the corner of namjoon’s pretty mouth curling upwards

“you really wanna know?”

“yes.” you respond a little too quickly before clearing your throat quietly, “…please.”

“hm.” he smiles, “as polite as always-”

you gasp in surprise when namjoon suddenly lifts you up and plops you down on the countertop in one swift movement and your stomach flutters at how effortlessly he just did that

wowie

he places both hands flat on the surface on either side of you before looking up at you with his head tilted slightly

you keep your hands folded in your lap, nervously picking at the worn edges of the sweatshirt you’re wearing (it’s namjoon’s coffee-coloured sweatshirt that you ‘borrowed’ from him)

“mostly about fucking you into the headboard.” namjoon confesses, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth when he notices the way your eyes flicker

you definitely seemed to like that idea

“i think about your fingers pulling at my hair when i have my face in between your legs...” he hums, trailing a finger up from your kneecap to your thigh, “i think about how pretty you’d look bent over the counter for me. i think about the sounds you’d make, how soft your moans and gasps would be… i especially like thinking about you moaning my name. i think about you riding me wearing nothing but that cute little apron of yours - you know, the one with the little honeybees on them?”

“apron’s in the.. in the washing machine.” your breathing’s become a bit more shallow and you haven’t blinked in nearly a minute so it’s safe to say that he has your attention

“you know… i think you know what you do to me when you walk around wearing nothing but one of my sweatshirts and a pair of panties, or when you come out of the shower wrapped in a little towel because you ‘forgot’ your clothes in the bedroom…” namjoon murmurs lowly, “and don’t think i don’t notice the way you look at me whenever you suck frosting off your fingers.”

“frosting?” you whisper, namjoon nodding as his eyes flicker down to your lips briefly

your tongue pokes out to swipe over your bottom lip for a split second

“that’s right.” the metal bowl scrapes against the counter as namjoon drags it over and you jump in surprise at the feeling of the chilled metal bumping up against your bare thigh

“you think you’re so innocent, don’t you?” namjoon chuckles lowly, lifting the spatula up before swiping some frosting off of it with the side of his thumb, “you think i don’t know what you’re up to?”

“i don’t…” you trail off, going cross-eyed when namjoon’s hand comes closer only for his pointer finger to tap at your bottom lip

“you do. open.”

you’re just a little thrown off because namjoon’s never... you’ve never seen him like this before

he’s never spoken to you like this before

he’s never looked at you like this before

you’re certainly not complaining, of course

“you taunt me because you like to-” you can’t seem to break away from namjoon’s gaze, the side of his pointer finger hooking underneath your chin as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, “i know you do it on purpose.”

almost immediately, the taste of sweet vanilla frosting washes over your palette

“you want me to think about you, don’t you?” namjoon swallows a groan when you start sucking, your cheeks hollowing slightly as your tongue swirls around his thumb to make sure no frosting gets left behind, “you like the thought of that? like leaving me high and dry because it forces me to use my own imagination?”

(admittedly, yes. a little part of you likes the thought of you completely consuming every corner of namjoon’s mind... just a little part, though.)

you nod slowly in response with glazed over eyes and namjoon clenches his jaw

fuck

he flattens his thumb down on your tongue to get you to open your mouth a little more for him and hums contently when you do so obediently

a thin line of spit stretches from your tongue to namjoon’s slick thumb as he pulls his hand away and you don’t even get a chance to register whatever that moment was before he’s leaning forward to slant his mouth over yours

namjoon kisses you purposefully, pulling you closer to him as you fist at his shirt tightly

he savours the faint sweetness of the frosting left behind on your tongue and can’t help but smile when he hears you whimper

“can i tell you something?” namjoon pulls away only to start sponging kisses to your neck and you tilt your head to the side for him

“uh-huh, y-yeah-” you nod quickly, slinging an arm around his neck to keep him close while the other hand grips at his shoulder

your eyes roll to the back of your head for a split second and you can’t help but quietly mouth an ‘oh my god’ to yourself because you never knew it could feel this good to have your neck kissed

“i think it’s hot as fuck that you had a wet dream about me,” namjoon groans lowly and you immediately feel a zing! of electricity travel straight down south from the sound of him speaking to you in such a deep, gravelly voice, “and you definitely don’t have to be shy about asking me to touch you… because i’m very willing to do so.”

“i want you to- w-want you to touch me-” you stutter, feeling your cheeks warm from hearing those words come out of your mouth, “want it so bad-”

your eyes pop open when namjoon suddenly pulls away and you frown, instantly missing the feeling of him being pressed up so tightly against you

“lift your hips-” namjoon pushes the bowl of frosting to the side before tapping two fingers on your upper thigh, “-up off the counter.”

your brows knit together in confusion

why would you-

your eyes widen in realisation when it dawns on you what exactly is happening here

“w-what-” you glance at the (for the most part, closed) kitchen door frantically before looking down at joon, “but yoongi’s in the-” you turn back and jump in surprise when you see that namjoon’s face is right in front of yours

you’re practically nose to nose with him

“i know.” namjoon leans in to give you a quick peck before pulling away with a particularly smug grin, “so you’re just going to have to stay quiet for me then, aren’t you?”

you WHAT

“why don’t we get these off, hm?” namjoon hooks a finger into the waistband of your shorts and gives it a gentle tug

you look at the door once again and then back at namjoon, who offers you an innocent little smile as if he didn’t just suggest going down on you on the kitchen counter with your friend in the room next door

okay

think about this!

think about this with your logical brain and not your bonk horny brain

would you rather see your very hot boyfriend’s face in between your legs or would you rather send him away so you can continue making a cake for your very picky friend?

…

you plant both palms on the counter before raising your hips a little, namjoon grinning in victory before yanking your shorts down in one go

if you would’ve known this was going to happen today you definitely would’ve worn a sexier pair of panties

white cotton is boring!!!

also you know this is the wrong time to be thinking this but you’re wondering if it would be possible to rope yoongi into a shopping spree at victoria’s secret next week because you’re going to need better looking panties if namjoon’s going to keep springing these spontaneous sessions on you

“cute.” namjoon hums, poking at the little blue bow that sits at the centre of the waistband

your breathing stills as he slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of you and you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest at the sight alone

“soaked right through…” namjoon observes quietly, turning his head to press a kiss to the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh, “i’ve barely touched you, baby.”

you jolt in surprise when he runs his thumb slowly up your slit through the thinned fabric of your panties, though he stops right as he’s about to reach your clit

so close yet so, so painfully far

you nudge him with your foot, “you’re teasing.” you swallow thickly, namjoon offering you a boyish grin as he tilts his head, pushing his bottom lip out in a mocking pout

“aw… am i?” he coos, and you shiver when he leans in to press a kiss over your clothed clit, “i’m sorry, darling… that must be so hard for you…”

“and you’re being mean.” you murmur, namjoon chuckling to himself as he pulls your panties down your legs

“am not.”

“are too.”

“am not.” namjoon perks a brow, pushing your thighs apart gently, “take it back.”

“no wa-!” your back immediately straightens as if a jolt of electricity just shot straight up your spine at the first feeling of namjoon licking one long stripe up your centre, and you fight back the urge to snap your legs shut

that’s.,., new!

very new

very new feeling

you’re certainly not against it and it’s not a bad feeling

it’s just…

new

“good?” your breath wavers when namjoon hums against you, your eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling of his tongue slowly pressing in deep, “hm?”

namjoon slips his tongue in between your folds before sliding it flat and straight up to your swollen clit, grinning to himself when you finally give in to pleasure and lie back on the counter

you whimper, rolling your hips down towards his mouth as he drags his tongue over your slit in repetitive strokes before flicking his tongue over the top of your clit

it’s too much and not enough at the same time, your legs instinctively starting to squeeze shut around him

“nuh-uh, baby…” you find that you can barely move, namjoon’s fingers digging into your thigh as a warning as he keeps your legs open, “keep them spread for me.”

namjoon watches your reaction intensely, finding pleasure in the way that your chest rises and falls quickly and in the way you twitch every now and again

from here, he can see the way your brows furrow and the way you bite and tug at your bottom lip in a poor effort to keep yourself quiet

“you can use your words like a good girl, can’t you?” namjoon teases, two fingers rolling tight little circles into your clit as he watches you, barely blinking, “tell me how good it feels…”

“good- ungh, feels good-” you whimper, hips bucking up against his fingers desperately

namjoon looks down to see you practically dripping onto the counter

jesus

he would’ve done this a lot sooner had he known you’d be acting like this from his touch

“fuck me,” namjoon groans suddenly, and all of a sudden it seems like everything’s moving ten times faster than before, “you look so fucking hot right now-”, he wraps his strong arms underneath both your thighs before yanking you closer to him, practically burying his entire face in between your legs

your right leg gets hitched up over his shoulder and you quickly sit back up, digging your fingers into the soft strands of namjoon’s hair as his tongue laves back and forth against your folds

your back arches and you tilt your head up towards the ceiling, namjoon instinctively pushing his clothed crotch against the bottom part of the counter for some kind of relief

he’s so painfully hard from just hearing you hold back moans and watching you squirm and twitch

you remind yourself to loosen your grip on namjoon’s hair because you’re worried that you might accidentally rip some strands out and leave him with a bald patch, but namjoon obviously doesn’t seem to mind as he doubles his efforts and starts to lick and and suck with tremendous fervour

“fuck, you taste good-” he curses, his right hand sliding underneath your sweatshirt to cup your bare breast before he pinches and rolls your nipple in between his fingers

he drags his tongue down to circle around your tight hole and you jerk immediately, “oh my god-” you pant, overwhelmed by all the different feelings your body is experiencing at this moment, “that feels so-”

your bum is teetering on the edge of the counter at this point because namjoon’s basically pulled you off of it and you reach down to grip at the edges so you don’t fall off

“gonna cum?” namjoon murmurs, eyes locking on your face almost immediately as he feels you starting to squirm underneath him

he really wants to watch you cum

“j-joonie, god, don’t stop-” the arm wrapped around your waist tightens around you and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continues his torturous onslaught of pleasure, “i-i- nngh- namjoon-!”

“i’ve got you, baby… you can cum…” namjoon feels himself twitch in his sweats upon hearing you moan his name like that

the thought of gagging you with your own panties to mute your moans briefly flits through his mind but... he wants to hear you moaning his name over and over and over again

he wants to make you scream for him

when it happens, you practically bite your bottom lip off trying not to cry out in ecstasy

namjoon has to hold your trembling thighs open to keep them from snapping his head right off

your hips buck lazily as you quiver around namjoon’s hot tongue, your body glistening in a sheen layer of sweat as you bask in the slow, rolling waves of ecstasy

you lie back down against the counter, chest heaving beneath your sweater as you stare dazedly up at the ceiling

oh, wow

you watch as the ceiling fan whirrs around and around and around

you feel like you’re not physically here right now

like your soul left your body and you’re just floating in the air like a bunch of particles

“-!” you twitch when namjoon carefully wipes you off with your panties before setting them onto the counter next to you

you slowly prop yourself up onto your elbows so you can look at him, feeling your cheeks flush when you see that he’s looking right at you

you’re not sure why you’ve gone all shy again as if his tongue wasn’t licking you out ten seconds ago

“hi, pretty girl...” he smiles, his dimple popping up in his right cheek, “welcome back.” he jokes, rising to his feet while keeping your right leg propped up onto his shoulder

he turns to give your ankle a kiss before gently bringing your leg down and helping you sit up

“that was really something...” you wrap your arms loosely around his neck as he grasps your hips before leaning down to give you a sweet little kiss

“oh yeah? did i live up to dreamjoon?” namjoon teases, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before pinching the apple of your cheek

“you did a much better job than dreamjoon.” you hum, and it’s only then that you’re aware of the very prominent bulge pressing into your centre, “but i... i wanna make you feel good, too…” you murmur, namjoon biting back a groan when you nudge your bare centre against him, a darkened splotch now staining the front of his sweatpants “and…” you lean upwards to whisper something into namjoon’s ear

...

holy shit

yes please

“yeah, shit, we can definitely do that-” namjoon hates to admit to how horny he is but he can’t help it when you go around saying stuff like that to him, “we-” he pauses suddenly, eyes going wide in panic, “oh, shit!”

“wh- what??” you look around the kitchen frantically before grabbing the closest thing to you as a form of defence (a silicone whisk)

“friggin’ yoongi-!” namjoon hisses in pain as he adjusts himself in his sweatpants, “i forgot about yoongi-”

okay

a little weird of him to be thinking about yoongi while he’s touching his-

“oh my god, yoongi!” you hiss quietly, hopping off the counter with wobbly legs

namjoon hands you your shorts and you quickly wiggle into them before pulling your sweatshirt down

you completely forgot that yoongi was in the room right next to you guys and that last moan of yours wasn’t exactly quiet

and you know that yoongi might not have a lot of knowledge when it comes to baking, but you’re sure that he knows enough to know that practically screaming namjoon’s name out loud isn’t a key step in achieving a fluffy cake batter

“we weren’t doing anything!”

the two of you stumble out into the living room and you file through your brain to come up with some kind of a logical excuse as to why you’re hot and sweaty and why namjoon’s hiding his lower half behind a kitchen towel and how in the world those two facts are related to his precious carrot cake cupcakes

you pause when you notice that yoongi’s nowhere to be found

the documentary’s still playing on the TV, the boxes of tinsel and baubles have been completely abandoned, and there’s nothing but a blue sticky note sitting on the couch

taking a nap in my car. text me when you guys are done being horny. also - you’re welcome.

christmas with cee 2020 masterlist

🎁what would you like from ceenta this year? 🎁

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