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natashascumslut · 22 days

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SNOW | Natasha Romanoff & fem!reader

Summary: It starts snowing in the early hours of the morning in New York, and you make your girlfriend get up to play in it.

Warnings: Just fluff tbh. (i wrote this awhile ago pls don’t judge me 😖)

Words: 1313

You groaned slightly as you stirred from your sleep, a soft white glow poured into the room through the windows. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused by how bright it was in the room. You struggled as you turned your head to the window, your body trapped against your girlfriends.

Your eyes widened, a large grin spreading across your face as you saw the white particles flying around outside. You wrestled out of your girlfriend's arms, turning to the clock on your bedside table which displayed the number 2:56 in a glowing red.

You sat up, getting out of bed and walking to the window, your eyes glistened with amazement as you looked over a white-covered New York. You shuffled back over to the bed, shaking Natasha gently.

"Nat, wake up." You whispered, "Tasha." The redhead stirred, groaning as she put an arm over her eyes. "What time is it?" She asked, her voice raspy as she propped herself up on her elbow. "2:57 am," You said, Natasha dropped the arm from her eyes and looked, almost glared, at you standing above her.

"Why are you awake, and more importantly why are you waking me up?" She asked, dropping back down onto her soft pillows and closing her eyes, wanting to go back to sleep. "Nat! It's snowing!" You said, childlike excitement showing in your voice. Natasha's eyes shot open, immediately moving towards the large windows.

"Oh my god." The redhead said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "It's snowing." She stated the obvious. "Yes! It's snowing!" You giggled, Natasha turned her attention back to you. She smiled tiredly and shook her head, amused.

"Yes, love, we can go outside." She said with a soft chuckle. You squealed, putting a hand out to pull the redhead out of bed, who took it and let herself be pulled out of her warm sheets. "I'm not going outside like this though, we need to get hoodies." She said, yawning as she admired the snow. "And coats, I like snow but I'm not suicidal." She added sarcastically, earning a snort from the girl who was currently in their closet, getting two hoodies.

You reappeared, now wearing a dusk blue Nike hoodie, a black hoodie in your hand. You handed the hoodie to Natasha, who thanked you before pulling it over her head. You both made your way into the main area of your apartment, You glanced out the window any chance you got.

Natasha grabbed your coats from the coat closet as you put your shoes on. Once you were both ready you made your way down the apartment building stairs. Your face lit up as you walked out of the doors. You immediately ran out into the street, leaving footprints in the thick snow, luckily your building was facing a cobblestone path, another smaller building across from it, so you did not get run over.

Natasha grinned, walking over to her girlfriend who was facing the sky, grinning like a child. "It's so pretty." You muttered, looking at the snow-covered street, "Yeah, it is." Natasha however, was not looking at the snow, she was looking at you. Her heart swelled at how excited you were to be in the snow, she found it adorable.

While you were too busy admiring the snow, Natasha crouched down, making a ball out of the snow. "AH!" You squealed as she felt something hit you, you looked at the remaining snow on you coat, then looked back at Natasha, you mouth open playfully in fake offence.

"Oh, you're on short ass," You said playfully, getting your own ball of snow. Natasha gasped, "Bitch!" She said playfully, you laughed loudly at your girlfriend's reaction before lunging the ball of snow right at her. You threw snowballs at each other for a solid 10 minutes, laughing like children and reacting dramatically when the snow hit you.

You both fell into a fit of laughter after you fell over, losing your balance after Natasha hit you right in the chest with a snowball. The redhead stumbled over to you, dropping to her knees in front of you before falling forward, pushing you onto your back into the snow. You both giggled, you ran your cold hand up and down Natasha's back.

"I love you." Natasha mumbled into your chest, "I love you too." You replied, the smile on your face obvious in your words. Natasha rolled off you, laying down next to you in the snow. You both stared up at the sky, the soft snowflakes falling onto your faces.

"I wanna make a snow angel," You said, breaking your comfortable silence. Natasha chuckled, "Then make a snow angel, literally no one is stopping you." She said, shimmying away from you to give you more space.

You dramatically moved into a starfish position, the snow making a crunching sound as you dropped your limbs into it. You then proceeded to move them up and down, making a snow angel. Natasha copied.

After 1 to 2 minutes you stood up, wiping the snow off your hands on your coats and looking down at the snow angels you had just made. "They look great," You said, your hands on your hips. "They do, they do," Natasha confirmed, her arms crossed.

You twirled around, almost tripping over the snow. You looked up at the sky, Natasha smiled lovingly at you. "I love snow." You grinned, "I know you do." Natasha chuckled softly. She walked towards you, wrapping her arms around your neck. You put your arms around Natasha's waist, kissing her cold nose.

You took a second to admire your girlfriend, her hair sprinkled with snow, her cheeks and nose red from the cold, the soft white glow of the snow reflecting in her green eyes. "You're so pretty," You said quietly, Natasha grinned, she felt her cheeks heat up but the blush was hidden by her already red cheeks.

She leaned forward, pressing her cold lips to your equally as cold lips. She chuckled into the kiss as she felt you lean forward, dipping her backwards. Once you were standing back up straight, she deepened the kiss, playing with your snow-covered hair.

"Okay, I'm cold can we go back in?" Natasha asked as she pulled away slightly, just enough to talk. You leaned back in, pecking your girlfriend's lips again before speaking, "Yes please, I'm cold too."

You both hurried back into the building, giggling. Once you were back in the apartment, your shoes were disregarded near the door, and you hung up the coats. "Come on," Natasha whined, wanting to get back into bed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," You said with a soft chuckle as you dusted the snow out of your hair, hurrying over to Natasha who was standing in the doorway of your bedroom. "Wait Tasha, our pyjama bottoms are covered in snow," You said as you pulled off your hoodie. Natasha stopped for a second before pulling the cold fabric off her legs, leaving her in an oversized shirt and her underwear.

"Just take them off, it's warm in our bed." She said hurriedly, getting under the covers. You did as Natasha said before shuffling over to the bed, shivering. You both sunk under the covers, shivering in each other's arms as you tried to warm up.

You both let out soft chuckles. "That was fun," Natasha admitted as she rubbed her legs together, trying to warm them up. "It was, snow is so awesome." You agreed as you pulled the cover over you both a bit more.

"I love you," You mumbled tiredly once you were both warm again, Natasha grinned, moving her head so she was looking at you. "I love you too, baby."

You shared one last kiss before drifting off to sleep, the snow still falling outside your window, covering your footprints and snow angels.

#natasha romanoff #fluff #natasharomanofffluff #marvelfluff #wlw #snow

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pedropascalssimp · 3 years

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More then you'll ever know

Din djarin x fem reader

Summary: the reader and din have a hard to get along with relationship, mostly because her teasing and joke cracking nature. But one night din realizes he can't keep pushing his true feelings for reader aside.

Warnings: mild language. Fluff.

Since I said I'd write more for din. I gift you... DIN!!!!

*Not my gifs!*

If you had a coin for every time din wrecked his ship, you'd be a rich woman. He was a good pilot, he could maneuver his way through a canyon and manage to survive, but he was a little reckless. And whenever someone could easily go over that canyon, his mind never seen that ruote and instead takes the hardest path possible. Which is what left you, him, and little Grogu standing outside the razor crest while you chuckle at his pacing, hands on his hips while his visor was focused on the ground.

The planet he crash landed on was a icey cold snow planet, it was freezing out, and the fact the sun was long gone and replaced by the moon didn't help.

"oh c'mon din, I can fix this ship tomorrow morning... A slight delay to tython won't hurt our adventure" you try and reassure him, amusement thick in your voice. This little crash gave you the opportunity to further more tease him and his piloting skills, something he hated. But it was fun seeing him get all defensive over his flying, you'd even say cute.

"we can't stay out here, the ships inoperative. We'll freeze to death out here" he stresses, finally coming to a stop as he looks at you, then his gaze falling on the innocent little child that plays in the snow.

"before you crashed us all the way out here I thought I saw a town that way" you point in the direction where you had thought you seen a town while you spiraled out of control. Thankfully though the ship wasn't damaged to bad and no one was hurt. "we can rent a place to sleep tonight and I'll wake up early in the morning and fix the ship" you shrug while scooping Grogu up and taking his icey little hands in yours and warming them.

Din sighs, something he seemed to do a lot you've noticed ever since you started working for him. Not only did you serve as a mechanic and caretaker for Grogu, but also a skilled medic. It was no secret din loathed droids, sometimes he found himself struggling to patch his own self up when injured greatly, so he hired you to assist him in medical ways instead of seeking help from a med Droid. You helped him greatly in medical and mechanical ways, soon he found the child and you helped in nanny ways.

Din turns around, back facing you now as he looks towards where you said a town was. The sky just barely illuminated by the dim glow of lights from the civilization. Facing you once more now he walks closer through the snow, gloved thump stroking Grogu's cold cheek.

"it will be a long walk... Probably even a days time..." he trailed of in thought, taking his cape off in the process and handing it to you so you can wrap Grogu up. "we'd have to use my jetpack to make it there tonight" he sighed out, watching how you wrap the cape around the little one. Covering up his mouth and ears along with his little body. He was swaddled up snugly.

You grin at din, "you're just looking for an excuse to hold me aren't you Mando?" you tease him, loving how he always stuttered and got nervous. He always retaliated with a harsh comment or the silent treatment, brushing your harmless flirting off.

Oh how you fell hard for the man though, he was something special. He acted like the toughest bounty hunter in the galaxy, he was really, but once you got to know the man under the armor? He was a big sweetheart, a softie who was passionate about little things and protective over the ones he considered friends, the one's he loved. You grew feelings for him one particular night spent on Nevarro, he was meeting with karga, in a cantina. You had joined him of course because you needed a drink, once you was both in there this one man wouldn't leave you alone, flirting, eyeing you like he was a starved man and you was a feast, his hands shortly falling on the small of your back and trailing down lower much to your dismay.

Now you was a good fighter, but before you had the chance to break the man's wrist? Din had done it for you, grabbing the man's hand and twisting it, showing his vibroblade against the man's throat, "touch her again and I'll kill you" was what made the man flee without a word. Wrist broke. He offered you a nod and made you stay by his side. It had made you fall for him hard, the feelings only growing as time went on.

"I could always leave you out here to freeze" din shot back at your earlier comment, he said it more teasingly, a welcome surprise to you.

"like you could do that, I know under all that beskar you have a soft spot for me din" you smile at him innocently, Grogu smiling as if he agrees with you.

"for him maybe" din was blushing hard under the helmet, heart beating rapidly as if he was afraid. Truly he was, he feared that if he let himself love you like he so desperately wanted, you'd leave him, that the galaxy would rip you away from him like every one else he ever loved.

Perhaps that's why he put up the facade he wore good when you flirted with him, acting as if he couldn't stand you, as if he loathed your presence. If only you could see the way his brown eyes sparkle with wonder and longing when he watches you work or play with Grogu.

You scoff with a smile, acting as if his little retort didn't sting a little. "let's get going before we freeze to death then" you say, hating how your heart skips a beat at how close he stood now, shuffling in the snow to jerk you flush against his warm side. The beskar was ice cold though, making you gasp with a shiver.

"hold on to Grogu tightly" he warns, worried you'd drop him. You wrap him up in your right arm, holding him against your chest tightly, little green hands fisting your short tightly as he snuggled up against your chest.

Din wraps a arm around your waist, his other placing a gloved hand over your arm that held Grogu. "are you ready?" he asks, pulling you against him tightly. You felt a little nervous, not to fond of heights. Din noticed and chuckles. "don't worry mesh'la, I won't drop you... Maybe" he teased. Saying the nickname he gave you, you had yet to learn.

Snapping your head towards him with wide eye's you give him a fearful look, "maybe!?" you didn't get a response because he had already taken off, forcing a shriek from you and your arm to hold him tighter. Heart rapidly beating as you closed your eyes shut. You try and ignore how his touch sends a tingling warmth through your whole body, how you wished he'd hold you more....

Grogu squeaks out what sounds to be a laugh, his smile and wide eye's enjoying being high up like this, but once you open your eye's and look down, you knew you'd made a mistake. "oh no, no, no, no" you muttered, burying your face in din's neck.

"don't worry, we're almost at the town, I can see it" din reassures you, although he wanted to tease and poke fun at your silly fear like you do him most time's. He would never do such a thing to you, he hated how your small whimper tumbled from your lips. Soon though, you arrived at the town and he landed, only stumbled a little.

Practically clinging to him you refuse to let go, "are we on the ground?" you murmur, Grogu making a little sad noise upon the adventure in the sky ending.

"yes, you can let go now" he pulls you off of him and backs away. You open your eyes and sigh, happy to be on the ground again. Holding Grogu with both hands now, you walk with din to town.

The place wasn't that big, but it also wasn't small. There was markets, houses and one small place that looked like a cantina. The people all wore heavy duty clothes, prepared for the cold. But you wore a flimsy old t-shirt and cargo pants. You shiver while walking behind din, people giving you looks.

Din finally comes across a large building, entering the building you sigh at the slight warmth it provides. The room was near empty besides a fireplace and two chairs, a large door by the left wall. Behind a counter a older woman worked, Grey hair and aged face. She gives you and din a kind smile.

"hello! Are you looking to rent a room?" she asks. Din leans on the counter and nods.

"two rooms" he spoke with his stoic tone, the modulater making his voice sound deeper, more intimidating.

"I'm afraid there is only one room... We've gotten a lot of traveler's this week" the older woman said, watching how din sighs and his shoulders slump.

Were you really that annoying to be around? You shake the thought away and sigh, looking down at Grogu who let's his gaze flicker across the room curiously.

"I guess we'll take that one then" he huffed while sliding some credits across the table, soon taking the card to enter the room he just bought for the night.

He walks over to the door you spotted earlier and opens it with a swip of the card, leading you to a hallway full of various other doors. Following him he stops in front of a certain one, swiping the card as the whoosh was heard and the door slides open.

He sighs and flips the lights on, stopping instantly. His abrupt stop makes you walk into his back. "owe! You nearly made me fall" you snap and walk beside him, "why did you stop all the su -

"there's only one bed?" he spoke as if someone had just slapped him across the face, you look up and noticed that there was indeed, one bed.

"I can always sleep in the floor" you shrug and set Grogu down, letting him explore the room. He instantly crawls in bed though. "not anything new" you flash him a sarcastic smile. Referring to how din made you sleep in the floor of the crest during your early days of knowing him. Finally though he noticed how stiff and in pain you was and bought you a small cot to keep in the cargo area of the crest.

"I can take the floor, you sleep in the bed" he starts taking his cape from Grogu, tucking him into the large bed fit for almost three people as he folds the fabric up and sits in the floor.

Scoffing you stand before him with a hand on your hip, "like hell I'm letting you sleep in the floor, we can both obviously fit in the bed" you point out, not having a problem with sharing the bed with him. Not one problem at all in fact.

"like hell I'm sleeping beside you" he retorts coldly, his words striking you hard as your face fell. Turning away from him so he doesn't see his words sting, you shrug.

"I for one don't have a problem with sharing a bed, but if you want you're back hurting you tomorrow that's fine by me" you crawl into the bed after kicking your boots off, Grogu fast asleep already. Once under the covers you turn your back toward din.

Why he hated you so much was beyond you, but alas, he hates you.

You try and not let it bother you, but after a few minutes of silence you turn on your side to face him again. He wore his beskar still, it had to be uncomfortable. "do you always sleep in the armor?" you mutter while hoping he wasn't asleep.

"only whenever people are around" he grumbled while his visor falls on you. You knew he refused to show his face, something you always respected, but you hated for him to sleep uncomfortably because you....

"you can take it off din and sleep in the bed... I know how you're back hurts you, you old man" you joke lightly, knowing he was older then you. And although he hated how you always cracked jokes either with him or about him, he knew it was harmless teasing. So.... He sighs and stands up.

"I'm leaving the helmet on" he grunts while slowly taking his beskar off, gently setting it down neatly. You watch with a adoring look, mind to tired to realize you was doing so, but din saw it. The sight of your dazzling eyes practically glued to him making his face flush in a beautiful shade of red. But thank the maker beyond that he wore a helmet to hide it.

"okay but if you ever decide it's uncomfortable to sleep in you can trust me enough to take it off....I'd never look at you without it on y'know" you say while he now stood in his underclothes. A long sleeved black sweater and heavy duty pants. Taking his gloves off your eyes are met with the familiar tanned skin you loved, having seen his abdomen and arms bare before do to attending his wounds countless times. It seemed he wasn't only reckless when flying the razor crest, but aslo fighting a bounty apparently.

Din slowly walks shuffles over to the bed, almost shyly. Waiting for you to scoot to the other side. You do so after scooping Grogu up, being sure not to wake him as you placed him in the middle of the bed, him snuggling up to you in his sleep. Din crawls in bed shortly and makes himself comfortable under the covers, laid out on his back. His head though turns toward you.

"I know I can trust you, you haven't given me reason not to.... I just - I don't want to risk taking it off" he stuttered, you could easily detect he was indeed nervous. But why? You was determined to find out.

"I understand, I'm not pressuring you into taking it off" you giggle, subconsciously stroking Grogu's little hand.

"I know...." he whispers, his visor still on you as you looked at him with soft eye's. "I'm sorry if I've ever been... Harsh with you" he forced the words out, eye's locked on your own, the y/e/c eye's he'd always find himself lost in....

You was speechless, didn't know how to respond to his abrupt apology. It was unexpected, here you thought he hated you, found you to be nothing to him but a medic, mechanic, and caretaker for Grogu. Whereas you saw din as a friend, someone to rely on, someone to talk to whenever need be. Sure you teased him a lot and made some jokes up about little things he does, like being a big softie or cute when he plays with Grogu. You never meant no harm, but din always made it out that way, pushing you away or making harsh remarks whenever you had done so....

Blinking at him you let a soft grin tug at your lips, "you don't have to apologize, I know I'm a little irritating and a pain in the ass to be around" you shrug and look down at Grogu, heart full of love at the sight of his peaceful slumber.

"you're not that bad... Maybe a little bit of a pain in the ass" although he was hidden by the helmet, you could hear the smile in his voice. You chuckle quietly and look back up at him.

"you're something else din..." you whisper do to Grogu shifting around, rolling over towards din. His heart swells at how Grogu laid his little hand on his bicep, a smile on the little one's face as he slept.

"is that a good thing or bad thing?" din spoke just as quiet as you did, modulater making his voice even deeper as he whispers, a husky sound you found yourself hanging onto with a undeniable yearning. How you wish you could hear it without the helmet....

"it's a good thing, definitely a good thing" you smile up at him, the sight enough to make his heart flutter wildy. "you big softie" you murmur, unable to stop yourself from letting the words roll off your tongue.

"I'm not a softie, I'm a bounty hunter" he knew you didn't mean anything bad by the nickname you've given him. But he couldn't help the way it sometimes irked him, why? He didn't know. Because sometimes he saw what you meant when you called him a softie, deep down inside he knew it was slightly true.

"to the galaxy yes, but to him... You're a softie. You spoil him rotten din!" you laugh a little loudly but managed to stifle them. "you treat him as if he's the most fragile, precious cargo to ever be created, you always buy him little things whenever you come back from hunts, and you always let him cuddle you" you grin at him with so much fondness din's heart nearly beats out of his chest with how gorgeous you are, glowing with joy, smile as bright as any star he's ever seen. "you're a softie, no denying it"

"and you are definitely a pain in the ass" he chuckles and shakes his head, visor still looking over at you as he laid on his back. "but even though you can really get on my nerves...i do have a soft spot for you" he confessed, nervous all the sudden as his hands fiddle with the end of his long sleeve shirt.

The smile on your face widens into one of pure happiness, eye's staring at din with love. He knew you was fond of him, and he was quite smitten with you, but he was afraid.... Afraid of losing you, afraid of watching you leave him in more ways then one.

But he was done being afraid, he couldn't live another day without holding you close, staring into those eyes of yours he adores. He wanted to hold you forever, kiss you until his lungs beg him for air, love you for as long as you or the galaxy will let him. Because din djarin was didn't want to spend another day without doing any of these things again.

"I love you" he blurts out, desperately. His voice holding nothing but truth, he sits up in the bed, careful not to wake Grogu as he does so, back pressed against the headboard while he only looks down at you with love. "I - I love you so much...." his voice cracks at the end as he stuttered.

You sit up fast, smile morphing into a more dazed gap, like a fish who was taken out of water. "din... I love you too. I've -

"Im so sorry I pushed you away and would always give you the cold shoulder but dank farrik y/n I can't go another day without saying it.... I love you" he rushed out, cutting your words off.

Tears fill your eye's, ones of joy, happiness. Heart overflowing with love for him. You smile so wide it hurts as you can see how nervous he has become. You gently grab his hand to stop his fidgeting, placing a kiss to each of his fingers. The act sends electricity through his veins, warmth over his whole being as his heart swells at the softness of your lips against his skin.

"I love you din... I always have, ever since you had asked me to work for you, I love you so damn much" you laugh breathlessly, tears threatening to fall.

"you and him" he nods down at Grogu, "are the only things in this galaxy that mean more to me then anyone could ever know...." he muttered, taking his hand out of your own, your eye's widen as you see him place both hands on his helmet, ready to take it off. Upon reflex, you screw your eyes shut, making din feel a wave of affection wash over him knowing you had so much respect for him. "open you're eye's" he said, but it sounded so much more different, much more richer and real.

Reluctantly, you open your eye's. Heart skipping a beat at the sight before you, two brown eye's full of love staring back at you, glossy. His dark hair a mess as his scruffy face was one purely adorable, handsome nose and charming jaw. Maker was din djarin a beautiful, handsome man. You slowly crawl more towards him, sitting in his lap, being sure not to disturb Grogu as you gently trace every detail of his face, starting at the few lines on his forehead, down his gorgeous nose, giggling once you find your fingertips brush against his mustache. He smiles, revealing his dimples. You smile up into his brown eyes and can't resist anymore.

You press a firm but gentle kiss on his lips, soft and warm as you always imagined them to be. Your palms press flush against his cheeks, scruffy little patches of hair tickling them. Din's hand lands on the nape of your neck as his other finds purchase on your hip. His eyes fluttering shut as his nose bumbs against yours. This kiss was perfect, as if it was the seal to your and his fate. You never wanted to live without him by your side. Hesitantly, you pull away from his soft lips, giggling whenever he chases your own.

"you are the most handsome man in the galaxy din" you breathlessly say, his eye's sparkling. It's then you noticed the golden specks, amber swirls amongst the brown of his gorgeous eyes

"I'm not much of a sight cyar'ika" he strokes your cheek with his thumb, so much affection swimming in his eye's. His soft smile bringing out his dimples again, he was truly something special....

"you're more then a sight din... You're more beautiful then anything else in the galaxy" you say, running a hand through his hair, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He relaxes with a content sigh.

"you're the beautiful one here" he smiles up at you adorably, your heart fluttering. You lean your forehead on his and grin. "i love you..." he whispers in his husky deep voice you couldn't ever tire of.

"I love you more" you say back while placing a kiss atop his nose. He scrunched his face up and chuckles at you, the sound even more beautiful now that it came out natural. "but we better get sleep since I've got a long day of mechanic work tomorrow, because a certain brown eyed beauty is a reckless flyer" you poke his cheek while crawling out of his lap, crawling back into your spot in the bed.

Din scoffs before scooting closer, his forehead nearly touching yours now as you both placed your hands on Grogu gently. "I'm a good pilot, you have to admit it" he grins at you, loving how you roll your eye's at him.

"I know you're a good pilot, but you're reckless din... No denying it" you kiss his nose again making him sigh dreamily, "I love you're nose..." you yawn, smiling at him afterwards with a sleepy grin.

"I've noticed, if you don't stop kissing it I'm gonna put the helmet back on" he jokes while he yawns himself now, eye's drooping as sleep crept up on him slowly.

"oh, do you want me to stop kissing you?" you say with your usual teasing tone.

"no! I'm not saying that" he instantly said, almost to loud. You laugh at his reaction and shake your head.

"I was joking din... I'd never stop kissing you" you peck his lips, pulling away to quick for his liking. But he watches as your eyes slowly flutter shut, no matter how hard you tried to keep them open.

This was exactly what din wanted, his little family in his arms. He smiles down at Grogu who snores lightly and then looks to you, who slept peacefully now. He was beyond lucky to have both of you, and he'd do whatever it takes to keep you both safe, because he loved you both more then anyone would ever know...

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ratsoh-writes · 3 years

Note

3. SO is slipping on the Ice - Masterlist 13. Fsr, Fsg, Gt, Mt and Ms.

Alrighty! Here’s the original prompt

And the first answer with the main 10!

Also I’ll add the mafiafell bros too to complete the set ;)

Lord: right as you slip and see your life flash before your eyes, you spot a glimpse of white in the corner of your eye. You fall, and in surprise your landing is nice and cushy! When you look down, you see that you’re laying on one of the white plush beanbags from lords room. He’s still watching from the porch with a triumphant look in his eye. (Aka, he shortcutted to his room and back and pretty much slid a bean bag underneath you. Modern problems call for modern solutions)

Mutt: with a low chuckle, he straight up just walks to you on the ice, picks you up, and walks back like it’s no problem. Look down and you’ll see mutt is barefoot. His clawed feet prevent him from slipping on the ice

Wine: he simply lifts you with magic and lazily glides you to the safety of the porch. Why wine is the only one to think of this solution, no one knows.

Coffee: he also walks across the ice to you. Except coffee is just wearing slippers, and he keeps stumbling with every step. When he reaches you, he realizes walking back is a real bad idea. He ends up summoning a gaster blaster to gently push you two across. A little overkill but it worked lol

Pop: you hear loud laughter behind you. In fact it might be getting louder..? Suddenly you’re tackled from behind and together you and pop slide into a large snow puff. As you sit up annoyed, he’s still hanging onto your waist and giggling like a dummy. What? He saved you from falling on the hard ice didn’t he? Little sh*t

Rhythm: he slides over to you like a pro, then takes your hand, gives you a little spin and picks you up bridal style. Rhythm slides back and plops you in the dry ground with a little forehead kiss. He sure knows how to treat his dates

Pluto: he shortcuts to you, but he undershot and winds up sliding into your legs. As you fall back, you hear his alarmed shout and suddenly you’re weightless. Pluto activated his anti gravity to save you the bruises lol.

Jupiter: just like pluto, his solution is to slide to you and make you weightless. Jupiter holds your hand as you and him float back to the safety of your house. He’s teasing you the whole way of course

G: he is the most unhelpful boyfriend ever. G stays on the porch and shouts words of encouragement at you in between laughs

Green: he gasps in horror at seeing you in such danger!! Don’t worry green is on his wa- oh no. You slip and fall on your bum. He slips and falls on his face. He broke his glasses. Green can’t see without his glasses. You’ll have to hold his hand and help him back to the porch

Peaches: sliding on black ice? Grab a stick!!! Peaches helpfully tosses you one of the walking sticks he keeps on the porch. You catch it and use it to ferry yourself to safety. He’s so proud

Rancher: he just shouts at you to flop on your bum and scoot back. Unfortunately while you were slipping on the ice, so was one of his cows. Rancher has his hands full trying to keep an 800lb farm animal from breaking a leg

Snipe: he walks around the ice patch to the corner that’s closest to you. Then snipe takes off his hat and holds it out to you can grab on. He pulls back and drags you off the ice. And he’s laughing at you the whole time naturally.

Bruiser: you almost wish you had just fallen when you see bruiser back up then take a flying leap onto the ice. He’s sliding towards you at Mach speeds. You fear for your life. You shouldn’t have doubted him, he caught you perfectly and continued sliding off like nothing happened.

Butch: he shortcuts right behind you making you squeak out in surprise. Then butch lifts you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes despite your protests. He’s half teasing half scolding you for freaking out over a little bit of ice.

Boss: if boss saw you struggling on the ice, it’s a 100% guarentee that some of his dog posse saw you two. At least three of the mafia dogs are being good boys today. They help escort you off the ice and grab the groceries for you too. The largest one of the two takes you to boss who casually asks if you’re alright

Ace: he smugly watches you struggle for another minute so that he can finish off his cigarette lol. Then when your pleas start sounding angry, ace finally walks up to you on the ice and drags you off like it’s nothing.

Slim: he hears screaming, sees you slipping and immediately jumps into action. Your vision goes black, and suddenly your on his bed and he’s propped up on top of you asking if you’re hurt. ;)

Rust: oh geez, he carefully does his best ti shuffle to you on the ice, and together you two awkwardly wobble in place until you both feel secure enough to try and slide back. It takes a good 10 minutes since rust really doesn’t want you to fall and break an arm

Noir: easy fix. He just grabs the rail of the porch to steady himself and holds your his cane to you. With his considerable arm length and the long cane, he easily reaches you. All you have to do is grab on and let noir drag you back.

Lilac: he does the exact same thing as noir, except lilac takes off his fkn leg and uses it to reach you. He laments about how he couldn’t use the “need a hand” joke. Why did he have to loose a leg and not an arm??

Basil: he friggin lassoed you with his scarf lol. You didn’t even know he could do that. Basil didn’t know he could do that either but he’s not telling lol.

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #fellswap red #fellswap gold #dancetale #outertale #gastertale #farmtale #mafiatale #mafiafell #mafiaswap #horrorfell #horrorswap

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hawnks · 4 years

Text

coincide pt i

hawks (takami keigo) x reader

r18

word count: ~5000

[[soulmate au, gratuitous wing foreplay, Hawks’ wings behaving like actual bird wings, grinding, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, hawks is a huge cry baby fight me about it]]

You’re not a fan of the opening shift. You’re never fully awake until after ten, and even then you’re usually mainlining caffeine until well into the afternoon. As you make the long walk to the corner coffee shop you work at, your brain feels mulled and heavy. Beside that, it’s cold. It’s been snowing steadily since last night, and although it’s a slow, gentle shower, enough has accumulated to make the walk absolutely miserable. You bundled up as much as you could. A sweater, a cardigan, a pair of fleecey mittens, your best parka, thickest scarf. You blame the last for shortening your field of vision. You’re like a horse with blinders on in that thing. That’s why you don’t see the car making an illegal left, heading straight for you.

Hawks has just gotten off patrol when he spots you. It’s been a long night, with almost back to back incidents. He’s feeling harried and half-awake. His feathers are beginning to dwindle. He decides to walk, save himself the trouble of flying with naked wings in the cold, and he sees you when you turn the corner a block up from him. He doesn’t mean to be weird, really, but something about you, the shape of you under all that fabric, the shuffling cadence of your steps, entrances him. He’s not even aware that he’s following you, mind shady with exhaustion and an urgency he doesn’t understand. He wants to see your face. That’s it. Just the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips. Then he’ll be satisfied, then he can go home and wash off the mess of the night.

Gradually he closes the distance.

In the end, he’s grateful for his (creeping) temporary insanity. You obviously don’t see the SUV that’s barreling towards you and you obviously would have been flattened had he not been right on you, gripping you a little too tightly as he pulls you away from imminent doom. It all happens in less than a second.

You twist instinctively to look at him. And your face -- god, the sight of you-- it’s like unfettered sunlight, like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like a hot shower after a long, long day.

He opens his mouth, floundering for words, any words, to fill the blooming silence between you. Instead he just stands there, hand around your wrist. Just stands there. Holding onto you.

Finally you take it upon yourself to speak. Heart in your throat, you try to play it off with a smile. “Thanks for the save, feathers,” you laugh, halfheartedly. “That was... yikes.”

And Hawks. He’s elated. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy before, so fierce and cloying he almost dreads the comedown. Those words are his words, the ones he’s seen every day for his whole life, scrawled across his right pectoral in your messy, wonderful chicken scratch.

He can’t stop his grin. He can’t let go of your wrist. He’s imagining what your wedding will be like, the color scheme, the kind of cake. He can’t wait to find out your desert preferences.

“Believe me, Angel, the pleasure is mine.”

Your cheeks tinge the slightest shade of pink, but other than that your expression remains unchanged. You rub a bashful hand up and down your coat sleeve. You seem surprised to see Hawks’ hand on you still.

You swallow.

You say, “Well…”

Just a filler word. Just to placate him.

Hawks’ smile falls. He knew -- of course he knew -- that it wouldn’t be like in the movies. He didn’t expect you to leap into his arms, or break down into tears (although he feels close, at this point). He just wanted acknowledgment. Some assurance that you aren’t disappointed with him, maybe even a little excited about the prospect of becoming one another’s everything. He just wants something. Anything.

But your smile is blank. Polite. Your body is growing rigid as you stare at the place where his hand has been gradually tightening on you. You almost seem--frightened? Not terrified, but clearly uncomfortable.

And--no. This is all wrong.

You say, “I guess I should let you get back to hero stuff.”

When he doesn’t release you, you tug. Just the slightest upward pressure, but it’s enough. You don’t want his touch.

You don’t want him.

He peels his fingers off you. It takes a long minute, a gradual unhooking that he almost has to trick himself into. You’re just as surprised as he is. It’s a lot for anyone to handle. When he lets go of you, you’ll talk about it. The two of you will get through this together.

But then he’s detached from you and you’re stepping back. You’re saying, “Thanks again. Really. I mean, I know it’s your job or whatever, but… yeah. Um. Thanks.”

And then you’re walking away, slightly put off by his absolute silence. Snow is still falling, but barely. It shimmies down, gentle as cattail fluff, blurring your form as you recede.

Hawks isn’t cold, not anymore, but his whole body shivers. The air tastes sour as he takes in big, heaving gulps. It burns his throat, his eyes. He feels like he’s suffocating, like he’s dying.

His soulmate just rejected him.

…

For the span of a heartbeat, he seriously considers confronting you. Going and yelling, crying, demanding to know what’s so wrong about him. That’s during the worst of it, a few hours after he finally stumbled through the door of his apartment, half blind with despair. He throws up, once. Mostly he just lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling un-whole.

He dreamed of his soulmate since he discovered their existence, someone to love him unconditionally, someone to enjoy him as much as possible.

Why didn’t you want him? He knows the tabloid articles don’t exactly cast him in a flattering light as a long term partner, but that’s all just fluff, sensational, not the real him. He’s funny. He’s charming. He’s rich enough that you’d never have to work another day of your life. And he has so, so much love to give.

What will he do with it? He’s been hoarding it all for his soulmate, for you. He only ever had flings, trysts. It all seemed empty compared to the real thing. Now that all seems like romantic twaddle, a dumb fantasy. And all of these feelings he’s been saving saving saving -- maybe they’ll just fester, rot him inside out. Maybe they’ll get so big and gross they’ll just kill him.

Fuck, he hopes so.

…

You refer to that morning with Hawks as The Incident. You recount the tale (minus some choice details) to your coworkers, and they get a kick out of it. In the great scheme of things, however, it isn’t that big of a deal. You weren’t held up at gunpoint, or taken hostage by some big baddie. You were just -- yanked. By Hawks.

But you can’t stop thinking about his hand. You didn’t get to see it, but it felt so large, so strong through the layers between you. You were almost unnerved by how much you liked the feeling of him holding onto you. Way to perv out on a man while he’s on the clock, you chastise yourself. But what unnerves you more is that the strange fascination seemed to be shared by the two of you, between you. Heat and something deeper. Something soft. So you did your usual and turned tail.

It isn’t that you aren’t interested (desperate) for romantic attention, you just know better than to seek it out. You’ve had all of two boyfriends and the relationships lasted, collectively, less than two months. They both met their soulmates before things got serious; you never even visited their apartments.

You don’t resent them for breaking it off with you. How could you? That’s just the way of the world. Anyone before the Big One is just filler, something to pass the time. Unfortunately, you aren’t willing to settle for being someone’s romantic fluffer. Even more unfortunate, anything else is just not in the cards for you.

You are, according to you doctors, one of the rarest creatures in the country. Born quirkless and without a soulmark, your brand of unlucky makes up less than .01% of the population. Your existence is almost miraculous. And it sucks.

It’s so fucking lonely knowing you exist just outside a world made up of people who are perfect for each other. And yet -- you’re not perfect for anyone else. You’re no one’s top choice, no one’s absolute priority. Ouch.

You tried dating apps for markless people, but nothing came of it. It was clear that you were all just looking for a substitute for what you really wanted, and none of you would live up to the expectations.

You’ve long accepted your lot. Single forever -- it’s not the worst thing that could happen. You have your friends and family, and they’re pretty awesome. You fill your life with platonic love, people who bring you joy, make everything feel less heavy, make you forget what you’re missing.

For a while.

You can never truly get over the yawning emptiness inside you. It’s no one’s fault, and it’s hard to feel horrible without someone to blame. Ignoring it works best. Keep focused, keep going. You’re fine.

Except-- you keep thinking about that look on his face, the tension in his grip. Hawks. He made you crave. For the first time in a long time, you miss all the things you can’t have.

You go on an internet binge, reading all the articles about him, some of them mindless and pointless, some of them endlessly fascinating. One in particular shakes you to your core.

Work Magazine: You’ve seem to be an eternal bachelor, Hawks, or is there a special someone you’ve been hiding from the world?

Hawks: Ah, no. You see, I’m actually a closet romantic. Just been waiting on the one, y’know? I’d wait forever for them.

It’s a stern reminder. This man has a The One. This man is not for you.

You do your best to forget about him, about all the feelings he stirred up. But the thoughts come without warning, glimpses of his eyes, his honeyed hair, his slanted lips. He called you angel. The memory makes your chest squeeze.

You wish you could have talked to him. You wish you didn’t just leave. You want to know what his favorite color is, and what he dreams about at night. You want him to take your wrist in his hand again and-- and what, you don’t know. Maybe he would. Maybe it would make you feel better.

So, when you see him standing on the corner where The Incident occurred, looking miserable as snow continues to pile up around him, you can’t help yourself.

“You know, if I had wings I wouldn’t be hiking through the snow like some peasant.”

His head whips at the sound of your voice. He--shudders? Then he regains his composure, he’s the sauve, cool guy from the interviews. You think you’ve seen that particular smirk on a magazine cover.

“And miss the chance to talk to such a pretty girl? Dove, I’d walk a hundred miles through the tundra for you.”

He’s been better, after that first day. Every breath feels less like drowning. He got out of bed with a renewed sense of purpose; he’d show you how well he could love you, how perfect it could be, and then everything would be better. You just needed convincing.

The following morning he went to the spot where you met, already decided on what he would say, the particular inflection of his voice, the angle of his brow. He would not gawp at you like a horny school boy. He would certainly not cry. Plan established, he stood and waited.

You didn’t show.

Apparently, your schedule changes on the daily. It took him a full week of just standing around, increasingly frantic but with no outlet as he loitered, hoping you would just show up one day.

And he can’t stop himself from tearing up as you approach. You just-- you look so perfect, coming toward him with the light at your back like you’re emerging from it, like you really are an angel.

He clears his throat. “Can I walk you home? Just to prevent any more SUV related accidents.”

And you say, “What about buses?”

His chest feels so warm at the sight of your sly smile, like a days old sunburn. “Ah. I suppose I can add those to the list.”

So you walk. And it’s...nice. Hawks flirts, but you know it’s empty. You flirt back, less empty, but still. You make it to your front door with minimal damage to your psyche or heart.

Hawks lingers, like he’s waiting for something.

“Thanks for being my traffic shield again,” you say. He doesn’t laugh. He’s still waiting.

Finally, he asks, “Can I walk you home again next time?”

Hiding your giddiness, you exchange numbers, parting quips, smiles. As you open your apartment door, you look back to find Hawks’ eyes already on you.

...

He’s busy, hero work and all, but he always texts you day of, to tell you he’s coming or apologizing for not being able to. He brings you food, most days, take out, various snacks, sometimes warm, spicy drinks. One day, he brings a second bag, this one for himself.

You don’t even invite him in, just leave the door ajar. He doesn’t hesitate to follow you. You dig into what he got you (weird that he always knows what to get, what you’ve been craving all day), but Hawks meanders around your apartment, looking at everything, taking it all in. He even goes into your bathroom for a second.

You don’t find it creepy. If anything, you think it’s rather endearing that he’s so curious. Satisfied somewhat, he settles down next to you on the couch, tearing into his own food.

He asks you questions about nearly everything, which you casually oblige. It seems like more than small talk, though. He pauses after your answers, like he’s taking it in, really thinking about it. The intensity of his stare makes you warm.

“All your shelves are full,” he says. You understand what he means. Usually, people who haven’t met their soulmates yet have blank space in their homes, places where another person’s things would go. It’s instinctual, natural. That he noticed makes you flush with humiliation. You don’t want Hawks to know what a dud you are. You don’t want his pity.

“Got a lot of stuff,” you say through a mouthful of food.

He stares at you, as if he could divine more answers from your evasive gaze.

You say, “Aren’t birds supposed to like, nest, or something? You should relate.”

Hawks takes the time to inform you that, no, he’s not a literal bird. He describes his own apartment to you, watching your face for reactions. He says you guys should go to his place sometime so he can make you dinner. He glows when you accept.

“You’re spoiling me, Hawks.”

“Keigo. Call me Keigo.”

...

He knows you. He knows something is wrong -- or not wrong, but not the way they usually are. Not easy. Not simple. And that’s fine, he likes that you’re intricate, that you have some miles on your soul, a couple secrets to be unveiled. So he doesn’t press. He doesn’t try to force you into some mold, make you behave the way soulmates are supposed to.

He can be patient, if the situation calls for it.

He can be patient for you.

...

Your relationship with him is different from the ones you share with anyone else. He makes you laugh so easily. He’s extremely sensitive to your moods. Just one look on one of your bad days and he knows to coddle you, to praise you for being strong, or assure you that everything will be alright.

Skinship is also very important to him. The first time he grabs your hand while walking you home from work, you both pause, coming to a sudden halt in the middle of the cross walk. It had been so natural, just slipping his fingers between yours, but Keigo looks terrified as he stares down at you, awaiting your response. With a mental shrug, you give his hand a squeeze and tug him to keep walking before the light changes. He’s positively beaming. Now he holds your hand every time, and even inside either of your apartments, just to drag you to wherever he wants you.

He rubs your back when you complain about soreness. He even braids your hair once.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” You ask him, nearly purring under his delicate brushing.

He has to swallow a few times before answering. “Summer camp.”

You don’t mind all the touching. Obviously it’s his way of showing affection, and a secret, devious part of you likes it. A lot. More than a friend would.

It leads to a lot of bodily awareness. You see things about him that make your insides heat, that make you squirm inside your own skin. One day you’re walking home, negligibly staring at him when you notice his wings are a bit bent out of shape. He must have had a rough patrol. There aren’t a lot of feathers missing, but some of them are bent, a couple of spines cracked.

“What happens to the broken ones?” you ask. “Do you shed them?”

He hums, flexing his wings as if remembering their state. “No, they need some TLC. I’ll have to pull them out tonight.” He laughs at your horrified expression, reaching up to pinch your cheek. “It doesn’t hurt. But it is hard to reach some of them.”

This last is followed by a wistful sigh. You can imagine him standing in front of his big bathroom mirror, body contorting uncomfortably as he tries to reach.

“I can do it for you,” you offer.

When you look up at him Keigo’s mouth is slightly agape. He’s staring at you. A soft blush is creeping up his cheeks.

Seeming to shake off his stupor, he nods. “Um, yeah. If it doesn’t gross you out or anything. That would be great.”

It doesn’t gross you out.

The sight of Keigo laying face down on his giant mattress, chin propped on his folded arms, wings open to their full spread-- it almost makes you gasp. He’s beautiful, there’s no other word for it, his body perfect in its sheer functionality, the muscle all toned, powerful. But there’s an elegance to him, too. The firm lines, the curvature of him. The wings draped over his back like a cape, the feathers glinting in the low light of his room like a million crimson daggers. You wonder if they’ll be soft to the touch. Shivering with anticipation, you realize you’re about to find out.

Upon entering his apartment, Keigo handed you a literal toolbox he fetched from under the bathroom sink. To your relief, most of the contents look like standard beauty things, some fancy tinted bottles, a pair of tweezers, a tiny pair of scissors. Was this all for his wings? The upkeep must be exhausting-- you almost pity him. But Keigo never expresses any grief over his wings. Even when they get torn up, or he loses most of his feathers, his reaction is at most an insouciant shrug.

Keigo directs you to a particular tool. You have to dig for it, kneeling on the floor by the foot of the bed, letting out a victorious “Aha!” before gapping at the thing.

They’re just normal, hardware store pliers, nothing special about them. And they’re the heavy duty ones, which makes them extra intimidating.

Growing concerned at your sudden silence, Keigo glances at you over his shoulder. “You doin’ okay down there?”

“These things look like they belonged to Norman Bates,” you deadpan.

Keigo lets out a quiet chuckle. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, y’know.” He takes a moment to examine your expression. “It won’t hurt me. I promise.”

Only slightly reassured, you climb onto the bed beside him, pliers in hand. You realize once you’ve ascended that you’re not sure how to position yourself. Right now you’re sitting by his calves, inside the bottom curve of his wing, but you can’t reach very much from down here. You extend a hand, just to test. Your palm lands on soft, soft quills, stroking gently.

Keigo coughs delicately. “You uh, you’re gonna have to straddle me, sweetheart.”

Oh. Fuck. His voice is so deep you can almost feel it, and -- you think about warning him off saying stuff like that to you, but some wicked part of you wishes he would keep talking in that low rumble.

You do as he instructed, tossing a leg over, hovering above the back of his thighs, afraid of putting too much pressure on him.

Keigo huffs a laugh. “A little higher, dove. You’re gonna tire out real quick if you keep yourself up like that. You can put your weight on me, it’s alright.”

Tentatively you wiggle up his body until you’re above his lower back, then you drop down until you’re sitting on him. Your face is on fire--you’re glad he can’t see-- but the long shuddering sigh he releases makes you feel a little better. Not strained, but pleasured. Content.

The position is so intimate, so close. A mean little voice in the back of your mind tells you his soulmate will probably do this for him when you’re gone.

“Yeah, that’s it.” His voice is hoarse, like he’s just woken up. You can feel the vibrations of his through his shirt, between your thighs. “Now just choose one and yank.”

It’s much easier to reach from this position. You spot a particularly ruined feather and secure the pliers around it. You’re hesitant at first, but with encouragement and a bit of goading from Keigo, you manage to exert the right amount of pressure and the feather comes loose without fanfare.

Keigo is silent and still after that, but you keep going until there’s a circle of discarded feathers around you, and his wings look pristine again.

“Now what?” you ask, voice a whisper. A strange, tense quiet has settled over the afternoon like a blanket. It’s almost stifling.

“Oil,” Keigo whispers back. It’s clipped, like he can barely get the word out. “In the places you took the feathers out.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so you climb off and select the bottle of oil that smells the best before returning to your post above him. At the first touch of your oil-wet fingers on his tender skin, he lets out a growling moan.

You pull away, mortified, intensely aroused, but put them back just as quickly when Keigo demands, “More.”

He doesn’t make anymore sounds after that, but his breathing grows increasingly heavy and ragged until you’re finished and he’s panting beneath you like he’s just run a marathon.

“Okay,” you say, though you’ve yet to remove yourself. You can’t help it. You’re enamored. Your hands continue to run through the soft bristles, teasing as the base of spines. “I think I’m done.”

You force yourself to stop, lamenting the loss. It will probably be cold without him between your thighs. You shift to clamber off when he twitches beneath you.

You barely register what’s happened when suddenly you’re beneath him, his hands on your shoulders and then your waist, his wings arced behind him, massive, magnificent.

He lowers his hips until crucial places are touching, until you feel something -- hard. There are so many layers of clothing between you still, but you roll up against him nearly groaning at the shock of pleasure it gives you.

Then -- it’s like Keigo’s arms give out. His whole body sinks against yours, his weight substantial, perfect. He breathes into the curve of your neck, “Angel. Oh, fuck.”

So you do it again, testing him. His groan is delicious. You can feel it in the tips of your toes, in your moistening folds. Again, your body is calling to you. Again.

Keigo’s hands are on your hips, stilling you. He whines, deep and soft, right against your ears. His lips nibble at the shell. “Angel. Baby. You gotta stop, or--”

Searching for any kind of stimulation, you reach around him and grope his wings, blindly curling your fingers into the feathers near the base. His reaction is knee-jerk -- he grinds against you, a continuous roll of his hips that leaves you straining against him, grasping harder at his wings, spurring him on with your panting breaths.

“That’s it baby, just like that. You’re doing so good,” Keigo coos. His hands tighten on you, bringing you up against him, your whole body sinking into the mattress with each of his ruts. “Keep pulling on my feathers. Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

His hands are gripping, groping. He finds all the bare skin he can, his strokes are relishing and deep. He cups your throat, not tight, but a gentle, reassuring pressure -- he’s here, he’s the one above you. He nuzzles his cheek against yours, his breath so warm warm warm. Even that small amount of contact drives him wild.

“Oh god, you feel so good. Always. Please.” His words don’t make any sense, just high, keening tones that make you sweat, make you clench around nothing. “Baby, oh sweetheart. You’re so fucking soft.”

Even harder. Even more. The feeling builds, driven by the endless motions of the man above you until you shatter, gripping onto him anywhere you can, arms, hair, wings.

He follows you down, letting out a broken groan against the very corner of your mouth, his wings fluttering.

You stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing each other in. When he finally pulls away, it’s just barely, only so he can see your face. His grin is sloppy, almost silly, but so, so bright. Suddenly you’re jealous of the woman who will get this, him, whenever she wants.

“So?” Keigo hums, trailing a finger up your throat, chuckling when you shudder.

It’s a leading word, you know. He just waits after you reply with your own, “So.”

The silence begins to grow cold between the two of you. His expression turns serious the longer you hold out, slightly pained. He’s waiting for you to speak, so he can respond accordingly. He doesn’t want you to feel bad. But you know how this part goes -- you have the interview memorized. I’d wait forever for them.

You press a hand against his chest. It’s meant to be soothing, but one of his own flies to it, gripping. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you assure him.

He scowls down at you. His eyes are glassy. He shoves your hand off.

“Right,” he says, lifting off you, pulling away. You miss his heat. Your throat stings. “Okay. I should take you home.”

You don’t know what went wrong. That certainly wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but what else could you say? You aren’t delusional, you know that this was just a fling, just biding time before the real thing.

“You don’t have to…” you murmur, but Keigo shuts that down.

“Like hell you’re wriggling out of it,” he huffs.

a/n: hwOOPS sorry for no resolution. the emotional stuff is otw. i just wanted to simp over hawks’ wings for a couple hundred words 🤡

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks x y/n #manga readers dni everything is FINE #i have eight thousand words of this written but im lazy and dont wanna finish it rn

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barnes-dameron · 3 years

Note

i just read your mando x reader with hypothermia and i absolutely loved it!! it is one of my favorite tropes 😩 can i request a steve x reader with hypothermia? bc after reading that one and absolutely loving it, all i want is your take on how steve would react! i love you and your writing so much!! thank you 🥰🥰

Warming Up

*not my gif

Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: So sorry this took so long. I wrote a good portion of it, and then 75% of it got deleted! I haven’t written anything in the Marvel universe in awhile, so this was a nice surprise. Pre-endgame, pre-infinity war, pre-Civil War. Gender neutral reader

***

Steve trod towards the Quinjet through the deep snow. The cold biting at his cheeks turning them to a rose pink, and his pants from the knees down were soaked. It was a simple mission in Northern Canada, during the time of the year where the snow was heavy and the wind was harsh. He told you to stay in the jet so at least you could stay warm. As he approached the quinjet, Steve’s heart began to pick up despite the cold when he saw that the light in the quinjet was off.

Steve began to sprint across the wintery landscape, kicking up snow as he ran towards the quinjet. Why was it not running? Why is there no sound? Why is the light in the cockpit off? He hurriedly opened up the hatch, the interior of the jet setting a chill down his spine; not from the cold but the thought of you silently suffering in this freezing temperature. It was enough to cause Steve to panic.

He opened the hatch to the Quinjet, and ran up the ramp, surprised to feel how cold it was; almost as cold as it was outside. The interior was dark, the only source of light coming from the windshield in the cockpit. Steve looked around and could not see the shape of your body in the haul. Treading carefully, he made his way to the cockpit.

Steve hated the cold. He couldn’t remember much from his years being preserved in frozen ice, but the mere memory of his plane going down was enough for him to loathe it. He did remember shivering, the frigid air enveloping him, and his body systems shutting down causing him to sleep and wake up decades later. It was torture for him to be trapped. He thought that was how he would die, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone...especially not you.

Steve entered the cockpit, and finding you in the pilot’s seat, his heart dropping at the sight. You were curled up, huddled in the chair. Your skin was a paler color than usual, your body was shivering, goosebumps covered your skin, and your teeth clattered softly behind your frozen lips. Steve reached out a hand, pressing it to your cheek, and immediately retracting it after the brief contact. You were ice cold. Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve touched you again, placing two fingers on your inner wrist. He concentrated on finding your pulse, but it was weak barely even there.

Quickly, Steve dragged you off of the chair and settled you on the floor. The window must’ve been the source; the cold air was seeping in. He noted that in his mind, making sure to let Tony know. Steve positioned your side to rest on his chest as he settled down on the floor next to you. He positioned your knees to press against your chest, while encircling your own arms around him. He then wrapped his arms around your figure, pressing you into his warmth. He placed your head to rest in the crook of his neck so the warmth of his breath could began to warm your face.

As Steve held you in his arms on the Quinjet floor, his thoughts began to bombard him one by one. Why did he take so long on this mission? It was hardly a mission, mostly reconnaissance. He was supposed to scope out the area to see if the target of a potential threat were to show, but he didn’t. Steve could’ve left his post early, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. You wouldn’t be cold, and the both of you would be far away from here. Why didn’t he learn how to manage the Quinjet? Or just learn the basics for that matter? Whenever the Avengers went out on a mission, it was usually Tony or Sam piloting or handling the general maintenance and mechanics of the aircraft. His only experience was back in the 40′s, and he crashed that one. If he knew these things, he could’ve gotten the system working by now, filling the haul with heat and flying you back home. However, the only person who knew anything about the Quinjet was in his arms.

It was all those reasons that Steve felt so helpless at this moment. Being a hero or even portrayed as a hero means that people automatically assume that he has no fear, and in truth, he didn’t have much to fear, except right now. The mere thought of losing you caused Steve’s head to pound with anxiety. And seeing you like this, frozen and fragile on the brink of death, it was enough to make his blood run cold even though the temperature outside failed to do so already.

He didn’t know how long he stayed on that floor, praying for you to be okay and wake up from your slumber, willing all the heat from his body to leave him and go to you. Steve himself was beginning to doze off until he felt a shift in movement from between his arms.

“S-S-t-t-eve?” you whispered, your teeth still chattering as you did so.

Steve looked down to your face. Your eyes were barely open, but he could the pools of color beneath the eyelids. Hope surged within him as well as a burst of energy.

“Hey,” he cooed, rubbing his hands over your arms. “Hey, it’s me. What happened here?”

“I-I-I d-d-don’t-t-t k-know,” you stuttered out, snuggling closer to his warmth. “I-I-I f-fell asleep-p w-w-waiting-g f-for y-you.”

Steve nodded, then rested his head on top of yours.

“Can you move at all?” he asked.

“I-I c-can m-move m-my f-f-fingers,” you answered, holding up a weak hand and wiggling them before his eyes. “B-but n-not-t m-my arm-s or l-legs.”

Steve nodded again, looking around the cockpit, his eyes settling on a black trunk in the corner. He unwrapped his arms from around you and began to shuffle away, towards the trunk.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, making sure you wouldn’t fall over.

You stayed put as he made his way to the box, opening it to find contents of an emergency kit inside. He ruffled through the various objects, only picking up what he needed. Steve withdrew a flashlight, a thermal blanket, a tool kit, and a small portable heater that didn’t need to be plugged into anything. He returned to his spot beside you, wrapping you in the blanket and turning on the heater, directing it so the heat hits you. Steve resumed to his previous position, giving you all the warmth you need to feel normal.

Steve didn’t measure the time passing by using a clock, but more so with your little achievements. After some time, you were able to move your limbs so that they were spread out instead of close to your body. After more time, you were able to move them around with full range of motion. Then after a while, you were able to speak without your teeth chattering. Every little thing brought joy to Steve as he saw light returning to your eyes, and color to your face.

When you were ready, you got up, grabbed the tool kit, and went to fix what was broken on the jet. Steve trailed behind you, and stayed close to you the whole time. Feeding you tools when you asked for them, watching over your shoulder both to learn from you and admire how smart you are. It didn’t take long for the jet to come back to life; the lights flickering on, the engine beginning to hum, and the heat once again warming the interior. Smiling at your accomplishment, Steve helped you get to the cockpit, your limbs still a little weak and stiff, and settled you in the pilot’s seat. He watched you attentively as you brought the jet into the air and set the coordinates to the Avengers compound.

“Let’s get away from this Godforsaken place,” you sighed heavily.

“Please,” Steve responded, settling in the passenger’s seat somewhat besides yours. It was quiet in the Quinjet as you flew the craft back home. The events that occurred began to settle and weigh on Steve. He could’ve lost you. He remembered the slow pulse of your heart rate. If he would’ve placed his fingers on your wrist and felt nothing, he didn’t know what he would do... with you or himself. Steve looked up to see your profile outlined from the gradual returning light, your eyes shining with life, and he smiled. “I’m sorry.”

He watched as you turned your head back to look at him, confusion traced in your eyes as you furrowed your brows at him.

“For what?” you asked.

“It’s my fault that you nearly froze to death,” he began, reverting his eyes a bit towards his lap. “It’s my fault that-”

“Was it your fault that the Quinjet powered down?” you questioned, your tone shifting to a more serious one, causing Steve to look up and meet your gaze.

“No,” he answered softly.

You gave him a lopsided smile, causing his heart to skip a beat.

“Then it wasn’t your fault, Steve,” you replied. “Just because you’re Captain America doesn’t mean you have to carry all the world’s burdens.”

“I was just so scared,” Steve revealed. “You were so cold, I thought I might’ve lost you. If I did, I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself.”

“But I’m okay,” you reassured, giving him another smile. “Your love warmed me up.”

Steve let out a little chuckle before turning his gaze to the window. It was not often that he got shy or bashful, but you always knew how to make him feel that way. Steve felt heat rise to his cheeks, knowing that his face was probably pink by know, but he didn’t care. The rest of the ride was ridden in a comfortable silence, leaving the events that transpired in the cold. The only thing that matter was love’s warmth that was present within the jet.

***

Taglist: @tangledlove27 @absurdthirst @caswinchester2000 @16boyfriends-and-me @notabotiswear

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine #Steve Rogers #marvel #MCU #marvel cinematic universe #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #fluff #writing #fanfic #marvel fanfic

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

Best Friends Brother Part 4 - G.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Part 4 of ‘Best Friends Brother’ - please read part 1, 2, 3

George Weasley x Fem Reader slow burn

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of food, eating, and blood.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of food, eating, and blood.

Fred waited outside the owlery whilst Ron looked for you, hoping to find you with Gideon to calm his nerves, but also hoping to catch you with George to prove his suspicions so he could finally stop living on the edge all the time.

"Well?" Asked Fred, staring at his younger brother who walked out of the owlery.

Ron shook his head with an annoyed expression on his face "She's not there" he replied.

"Is her owl?"

Ron nodded, following his brother down the steps "yeah, yet she told me she was going to spend some time with him."

"Strange isn't it?" Fred muttered, "how she's always away and nowhere to be found at the same time as George."

Ron went quiet, he hated this - hated the thought of you being swept off your feet by someone better, someone everyone preferred over him, even if he was your best friend, he knew his older brother better than anyone.

"I wish you had that map, you know, you should nick it from him when he's sleeping."

"I would" replied Fred "but he clutches to it when he sleeps."

"Hogsmeade.." Ron said deep in thought "they could be in Hogsmeade!"

Running out of the town and back to Hogwarts, you ducked your head, praying that you wouldn't be recognised through the storms of other students and villagers. You needed to get to the owlery, to be with Gideon like you lied about, you couldn't get caught, not now.

George sprinted towards Zonko's, also making sure that he wouldn't get spotted, he quickly sneaked inside the joke shop through the backdoor, browsing the nose-biting teacups.

"Well, where is he then?" Ron's voice asked in the background.

George swallowed hard and pretended to be focused on the teacups, ignoring his brothers inching closer and closer towards him.

Fred patted his twin on the shoulder "What you doing here then?" he asked "You can't keep skipping Quidditch practice, I'm getting into bother."

George jumped out of his skin at Fred's touch, he turned around to look at him "Sorry for skipping, I've been Christmas shopping" he lied "Only time I can come here, it's why I've got the map."

Fred and Ron exchanged looks before staring back at George, both of them still unsure, Ron more than Fred as deep down, he believed and hoped that his own twin wouldn't lie to him, especially to his face.

"All right then" Fred replied, staring back at the teapots.

"Have you uh, have you seen Y/N?" Ron asked, "Went to the owlery this morning, but she wasn't there."

George's mouth and throat went dry, he swallowed hard again, desperate for water. "I haven't, no, if I do I'll tell her you're looking for her."

Ron pursed his lips and nodded "I guess we'll leave you to your Christmas shopping then."

Ron and Fred left Zonko's, leaving George with a dreadful and heavy heap of guilt, sinking into his stomach. George sighed and walked to a quieter part of the shop, examining the map, his two brothers going for a drink without him.

George finally got the courage to leave Zonko's and go into Honey Dukes, making sure to pick out everything Ron and Fred loved most in hopes that this could buy their acceptance and trust as Christmas break hung over his head.

Hurrying up the short, steep, steps - fighting to catch your breath, you stormed into the owlery, the many owls staring at you whilst Gideon turned his head, blinking at you sweetly. Your forehead produced droplets of sweat and you were desperate for a glass of water, your backpack weighing heavily on your shoulders, full of letters and parcels for your family and friends.

You hunched over with your hands on your thighs, panting, Gideon started to shuffle impatiently. You lifted up your right hand and stretched out your index finger whilst the rest remained in a loose fist.

"One moment, Gideon." You breathed, your heart finally calming down.

Stretching and walking over to your owl, you lifted him into your arms and found a clear stop on the owlery floor to sit down, surrounded by small animal carcasses, feathers, and droppings.

You stroked Gideon's face and back gently with the back of your hand "Penny never allowed me to give her so much affection like this" you reminisced "I'm so happy you let me" you pecked the top of Gideon's head softly, standing up slowly and walking out, ready to see if Gideon could fly as well as Penny once did.

"Something doesn't add up" Ron huffed "Christmas shopping? since when were you left out of that?"

Fred stared at his shoes, walking towards the castle, his tummy still warm from the butterbeer. "I want to believe him, I don't think he'd lie to my face."

Ron shook his head "Well, we'll soon find out" he grumbled, "because mum insisted that she's coming to ours for Christmas, it's why I've been looking for her."

"But she usually comes over for Christmas, doesn't she?" Fred asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

Ron nodded "Yeah, but I didn't ask this time, so either mum is encouraging me to invite her, or someone else has asked."

Giggling, you watched Gideon soar around in the sky, feeling more than confident that he would be able to deliver your letters and packages without any issues, flying down and perching on your arm, you gave him a treat and stroked his head.

"I've wondered where you've been." Ron called out behind you "Where were you this morning?"

"I've been with Gideon" you replied quickly, still focusing on stroking his soft feathers.

"Not this morning you weren't" Ron argued, walking towards you and standing by your side.

You sighed and turned to face him, feeling frustrated "I've been wrapping up presents, okay?" you huffed.

Ron raised his eyebrows, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle in his head "Were you out shopping with George by any chance?"

Shit. He's on to me. He saw me leave Hogsmeade.

No. No. He can't know, not now, no way!

"Oh come off it!" you acted, crossing your arms, causing Gideon to leap up and perch on your shoulder "I did my shopping weeks ago - alone!"

Ron swallowed your lies down his throat, the actual truth slowly dissolving in his mind. He nodded his head and pursed his lips "Sorry"

You nodded, feeling slightly guilty about lying to him "It's okay, just... just trust me, yeah? you're my best mate."

Ron wrapped his arm around you, starting to feel more confident and secure with there being no chance in his head of you and George dating "You're my best mate too."

As the snow continued to fall and surround Hogwarts, you, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Fred, and George got on board the Hogwarts Express and made your way back to London. You could feel the butterflies flapping their wings inside of you, soaring as Gideon did in the sky days before the end of term.

You and George were so excited to be able to spend more time together, without hundreds of students watching or overhearing, but the risk of being together under his roof and surrounded by his family was too high - but you didn't care, because if anything, in your mind - you weren't going to get caught, you would be careful, as secretive as can be.

Hurling your trunk and presents into the warm and cozy burrow, Mrs Weasley engulfed you into a comforting hug "It is so lovely to see you again, dear!" She smiled, cupping your face in her gentle hands "You and Hermione will be staying with Ginny in her room, it's very spacious!"

One of your butterflies lost a wing, starting to fall deep down into your tummy, you didn't want to share a room if it meant that you would be spending most of your time with the little sister of your boyfriend, and your best friends nosy and opinionated crush.

"But don't panic dear, you don't have to go to bed when they do, you can stay up as long as you like! Oh, Harry!" Mrs Weasley pulled herself away from you and hurried over to Harry.

Looking behind over your shoulder, George rested against the kitchen counter, turning his head and nodding in the direction of the living room, you knew what this meant and the injured butterfly in the pit of your stomach slowly recovered. Smiling, you nodded back, confirming the meeting, and quickly picked up your trunk and bags, following Ginny and Hermione.

Without having a minute to breathe, you were called down for dinner, all of you huddled around the dinner table surrounded by mouthwatering dishes you had missed so dearly. Mr and Mrs Weasley used this time for a much-needed catch-up, mainly Mrs Weasley scolding Fred, George, and even Ron for misbehaving ("but not you Harry, dear!") whilst Mr Weasley bombarded Hermione with questions about her parents being dentists and expressing how fascinating inspecting peoples teeth seemed.

George kept flashing you looks across the table, smiling, then smirking, eyeing you up, causing you to go red in the face and struggle to contain your giggles. Part of you wanted to entertain him, pull faces back, blow a sneaky kiss or wink, but Hermione had already noticed George making faces, and you enjoying it.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked, putting down her bags and sitting on her bed starting to unpack, Ginny copied, listening in.

You placed the presents under your bed, opening your trunk you pulled out your pajamas. "I'm lost? What?" you replied, unpacking everything you needed out, placing your folded clothes inside the huge dresser.

"The way George kept looking at you throughout dinner," Hermione said, the look of patience wearing thin splashed across her face.

Ginny stopped unpacking and turned around, staring at you.

"He wasn't looking at me." You replied, pulling off your knitted jumper.

"Yes, he was!" Hermione insisted.

"It's nothing, Hermione, I spilled gravy down my top and I got embarrassed-"

"Can we not argue?" Ginny interrupted "I'm sure George was just smiling over nothing."

You nodded, Hermione pulled a face and got out her toothbrush "well, I'm exhausted, I'm getting ready for bed and I'll be calling it a night."

Ginny sat on her bed, yawning and stretching "Me too, I'm up early tomorrow, mum needs me to help her with choosing what's for Chrismas Dinner."

Hermione got changed and brushed her teeth in the bathroom whilst Ginny stood outside the door, waiting to go in, having the bedroom all to yourself, you quickly got changed into your pajamas and got into bed, shutting your eyes and practicing deep breathing, pretending to be asleep.

Ginny and Hermione both entered the bedroom quietly and got into their beds, discussing what time they would be up in the morning and whispering goodnight, you waited until the two of them fell asleep when you could hear their snores you slowly got out of bed and left the bedroom, slowly walking down the many stairs, your heart pounding in your chest.

Walking into the living room, George smiled up at you, the dim light highlighting his golden hair and deep brown eyes, he patted the space next to him, your heart pounding even more. Sitting down next to him, you leaned into him, swinging your legs on the sofa and resting your head against his chest, his arms sneaking around you and pulling you into him.

"I've been waiting for this for so long" George mumbled quietly, nuzzling into your hair.

Your cheeks began to heat up, you had never been this close to him before, not ever, the closest was holding hands a kiss - and now the two of you were cuddling underneath a warm blanket, so close that you could hear and feel his heart beating, his scent surrounding you, and his touch making you feel safe and secure.

"Me too," you said softly "I'm so glad we're away from the constant noise, large crowds, and watching eyes."

George smiled, kissing your head softly "It's nice just being able to exist with you, like this, away from everyone and everything, even if it's this late in the evening."

"We'll need to be careful" you reminded him "Hermione saw what happened at dinner and she brought it up in front of Ginny. Ron has been paranoid too, especially after what happened a few days ago."

George nodded, leaving soft kisses on your head, his hands stroking your waist "Fred's suspicious too, I had to give him the map, the way he was looking at me - it's hard lying to him, Y/N."

Pulling George's hand up to your mouth, you pressed your lips against his hand and kissed it softly, George smiled, pecking your head with another soft kiss.

"It's hard" you sighed "but we won't have to hide this forever, the right time will come."

George freed one of his hands and reached for the family photo album on the table in front of him, placing it in front of you to hold.

"Just spending the late evening with you for the next two weeks is enough for me." He sat up, pulling you closer.

Holding onto the photo album you opened it, expecting to see pictures but you were met with nothing but empty spaces.

"I've bought this for us," George said softly "I want us to fill this with pictures, we need to make up for the three months we've been together with no photographs to show for it."

You felt your heart enlarge and flush your body with warm blood, your veins pumping it throughout your body, getting high on the feeling of this happiness - this love.

"Oh, George..."

Hearing a door opening and footsteps up above, creaking down the stairs, your face and George's dropped.

"Hide!" He mouthed, snatching the photo album from you.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @carisi-sonny

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #ron weasley #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley oneshot #ron weasley fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic

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wish-i-wasnt-a-coward · 3 years

Text

Don’t be a coward

a/n: So, I’m super proud of this story but the first one did not do as well as I hoped. If you could, please like and re-blog it would make me so happy. Thank you all so much :)

Part 1, Part 2

Parings: Logince, Moxiety, and Demus

Warnings: cursing, vague sex mentions, food, a ridiculous amount of pining, kissing, minor intoxication, alcohol mention (everyone is 18)

Word count: 2,044

✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Roman ran his fingers through his tousled hair, “Why is it so difficult to ask people out? '' he wined, dropping his head into his hands. Logan smirked from across the table, “asking someone to the ball is no more difficult than any of the abundance of sentences you have said in your short life” he sassed over his text-book. Roman just groaned and flipped the pages of his herbology book absentmindedly.

Their study session was interrupted as Patton plopped down next to the frustrated boy. “Awww Roman, what’s wrong?” he asked and pulled out his homework. “He doesn’t have a date to the yule ball and is complaining about it, unsurprisingly” Logan responded for the grumpy Gryffindor.

“Come on kiddo, you got this! Anyone would be lucky to have you as a date” the bubbly boy said, wrapping his arm around Roman, who was still sulking. “Tell that to Logan, he’s being mean” Roman grumbled. “mm-hmm” The Ravenclaw hummed, not looking up from his book.

Patton laughed, “come on, there’s got to be someone you like!” Roman shook his head, “Yeah, like I’ve got a chance with them” Patton frowned, “that sounded a bit self-deprecating kiddo, don’t make me get violent” he chastised hugging Roman tighter.

Roman looked incredulously at Patton, “I’m not being self-deprecating Pat, I’m just being honest. I’m a Triwizard champion and not one person wants to be with me” Logan looked over his book, “in a romantic sense” Roman corrected.

“While that is statistically very improbable I do understand your distress, a Triwizard champion that does not have a date would most certainly be ridiculed during the first dance” Logan said, finally putting down his book. “I’ll be leaving you now, I will see you both at the feast,” Logan said, brushing off his skirt and sauntering away.

“Hey, pat?” Patton hummed, “do you have a date?” The Hufflepuff froze, “why do ya ask kiddo?” Roman shrugged, “I was wondering if we could go platonically, if you don’t have a date of course” Patton smiled awkwardly, “Awwww, that’s sweet, but I already have a date. I’m sorry!”

Roman eyes widened, “You- You have a date?” Patton nodded, “they asked me not to tell anyone but I figured you should know” the Gryffindor nodded, impressed. “I can not believe you got a date before me”

Pattan grinned, “well you could always ask out Logan” Roman glared at him, “you know I want to ask out Logan. But he’s either gonna think it’s platonic or he’s gonna turn me down, and then I’ll be too heartbroken to dance” the frustrated boy dropped his head into his hands, “I’m screwed either way”.

Patton just laughed and smiled knowingly.

✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The weeks leading up to the ball went far too fast. Of course Roman was as petrified as you could get. He had decided, dragons had nothing on this.

He did end up with a date, some younger girl had asked and he figured there was no reason to say no. Logan did not receive a date but said he couldn’t care less. He planned to show up to support his friends, and then go back to the library.

Roman could hear his brother shuffling around the back of the common room, probably trying to destroy his dress robes even more. He wasn’t sure if Remus had a date but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Remus did his own thing, he would be fine. The boy straightened his deep red dress robes the best he could, took a deep breath, and went down to meet his date.

The date in question wore a long orange dress, similar to Romans red. The two walked to the great hall arm in arm, she wasn’t very talkative and mostly seemed to be going out with him for clout. Roman was well aware that this was as good as he was going to get.

But it was pretty good, the hall was covered in glistening decorations, and snow fell gently on their heads. Romans date squealed in excitement, but Roman really couldn’t care less about the hall.

Logan was there.

The Ravenclaw wore a simple blue button-down shirt tucked into a long black skirt that was embroidered with silver constellations. His mid-length hair was pulled up into a bun that had been impaled by his wand. The light of the decorations seemed to bounce off of him like he was glowing.

“Oh my, he looks beautiful” Roman nodded but his date wasn’t facing Logan. After a moment of confusion, he followed her gaze.

Patton, yes Patton, floated down the staircase. His light blue floor-length gown flowed around him like water as he walked. A sparkly headband was nestled in his curly hair and light makeup adorned his face along with a wide grin. He looked like a goddess, or at the very least a princess. Of course, Logan looked better in Roman’s eyes but Patton was a close second.

Virgil walked up to Patton, bowing deeply and holding out his arm. Patton giggled and took it, allowing himself to be lead away. Roman’s jaw must have hit the floor. Not only did Patton look amazing but Virgil had asked him out, and he had said yes!

Roman’s date clung to his arm a little painfully as they followed the pair to the Professor leading the champions to the dance floor.

The first dance was clumsy, and the second not much better. Roman was a decent dancer but he kept getting distracted by Logan, who kept popping up in his peripheral vision while conversing with the guests. His date was not happy with him. As soon as the dance floor was full she stalked away angrily, her orange dress flying behind her.

Roman hoped she got a better dance partner.

Patton and Virgil still flew above the others, Janus had found himself a date as well. It looked like a Hogwarts student, but Roman couldn’t place them. They both wore yellow and green dress robes and floated almost as much as Patton and Virgil. Perhaps slightly less elegantly but floating nonetheless. A stark contrast to Roman’s dancing moments before.

The champion slinked off of the dance floor. Roman was so wrapped up in his thoughts he almost slammed into a familiar figure carrying drinks, “oh my gosh, I’m so sorry- Oh Logan! How are you” Roman said, smiling at the boy.

“I’m doing quite well, thank you Roman,” Logan said happily, “would you like to find a seat? I wouldn’t mind talking for a while” Roman nodded vigorously and the two made their way over to an empty table.

“Is it safe to assume you did not know of Patton’s date?” Logan asked. Roman nodded, “I knew he had one but I didn’t know who it was” Logan bit his lip thoughtfully, “Me as well, and your brother?”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows, “my brother?” he questioned. “Yes your brother, is that not him dancing with the Baubax champion?” Roman looked back onto the dance floor catching a glimpse of the yellow and green dancers,

“HOLY SHIT!!! That is my brother! I didn’t know he had a date, he’s going out with Janus! Why is he so clean!!!” Roman said, freaking out.

Logan laughed, “yes I figured it would be a surprise. I was there when Remus asked, it was quite amusing. I was surprised Janus said yes” Roman grinned, interested, “tell me about it!” he said and shimmied closer to Logan excitedly.

The two sat and talked for quite a while. By the time the dance floor had cleared a bit, they were both drowsy and perhaps a bit tipsy. “Dance with me?” Roman offered his hand, mustering what little courage he had left. Logan nodded happily, taking Roman’s hand and allowing himself to be led onto the floor.

‘This is more like floating’ Roman thought he wrapped his hands around Logan’s waist. Logan was an excellent dancer, much better than his last partner (no shade to her but Logan is perfect in every way).

As they danced they passed Patton who squealed excitedly and whispered something to his partner. Virgil smiled at Roman in a congratulatory way, Roman smiled right back. They also passed Roman’s brother who stuck out his tongue at Roman and flipped him off. Roman retaliated instantly, causing both Logan and Janus to laugh.

Logan leaned his forehead against Roman’s shoulder, “I like dancing with you” he mumbled into the red fabric, “I like dancing with you too” Roman said his face now matching his robes.

In a bout of bravery, he pressed a kiss to the top of Logan’s head. Logan pulled Roman even closer and breathed deeply.

They stayed like this for hours. Patton and Virgil disappeared and Remus was unabashedly making out with Janus in the corner of the ballroom. Roman tugged on Logan’s sleeve after the Ravenclaw yawned one too many times. “Bed?” Logan nodded sleepily.

Roman walked Logan to the Ravenclaw common room. Logan stopped in front of the door letting go of Roman’s hand for the first time since the ballroom. “Well, I’ll see you later,” Logan said, “uh, yah! Tomorrow” Roman waved. Logan turned to go.

‘Come on, don’t be a coward’ Roman could hear his brother scolding him. “Logan?”

The Ravenclaw wiped around, “yes?” Roman took a step, “can I, um” he glanced down at Logan's lips, Logan nodded, “you may”.

Neither were sure who closed the gap.

Romans head filled with styrofoam as Logan’s lips connected with his. The Ravenclaw moved his hands to cup Romans face as Romans arms wrapped around his waist on instinct. Fireworks exploded around them, skin was cleared, crops were watered, all was well with the world.

Then Logan pulled away. “Good night Roman,” he said grinning. Roman stood shell-shocked and Logan disappeared up the stairs. The Gryffindor ran his fingers across his lips and smiled.

✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Weeks had flown by and the second task hung above the champion’s heads like swords. Logan and Patton helped Roman crack the egg puzzle in every way they could, but It just kept screaming.

Virgil and Janus had started hanging out with the group of misfits. Janus was snarky and quick with a joke, they all grew to like him. Patton asked Virgil on another date and a few days later the two officially started dating.

Logan and Roman danced around each other both unsure how to ask the other out. Especially with the second task approaching alarmingly fast.

“Roman!” a voice called from down the hallway, Roman turned towards it and smiled seeing it was Virgil, “Roman, I need to tell you something” Virgil painted, “yeah?”. “I know we agreed not to talk about the tournament because we’re both competing”

Roman tried to cut them off, “wait, listen. I never returned the tip about the dragons and you need to know” Roman looked hesitant, “I’m not sure…” Virgil sighed, “just…. you know the prefect’s bathroom,” he said. “Umm yeah,” Roman blinked, “it’s not a bad place for a bath” Roman blinked, “What? The hell does that mean???” but Virgil was already gone.

That night Roman snuck down to the prefect’s bathroom, carrying the egg gingerly. He stripped down to his underwear and slipped into the huge bathtub. He turned back towards the egg sitting on the side. “This is crazy” he whispered to himself and screwed open the top. Screams filled the bathroom and Roman clamped it shut.

“What the hell are you doing?” a voice called from the doorway.

Logan walked in, turning away red-faced when he saw Roman in the bathtub. “My question stands, what the fuck are you doing?” he asked embarrassed. “Umm, I got a tip that I should take a bath with the egg. Figured we didn’t have many other ideas, so...” Roman trailed off, equally red.

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning back towards Roman, “did you try putting it in the water?” he asked exasperatedly. “no” Roman admitted quietly, picking up the egg and dunking it in the water.

He took a breath and screwed it open. There were no screams, Logan gestured at the tub, “go listen”. Roman plunged into the water.

Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground, An hour-long you'll have to look, To recover what we took

Roman came up gasping for air. “what did it say!” Logan asked excitedly sitting next to the tub. Once Roman had caught his breath he repeated what the egg had said.

Logan looked thoughtful. “Perhaps a see-dwelling creature… one that sings” he murmured. “Roman, do you know of any mermaid populations in the black lake”

Roman nodded excitedly, “Logan you’re a genius” he exclaimed pulling himself out of the water and hugging Logan tightly.

Logan flushed and pressed a kiss to Roman’s wet hair. “Thank you, but the work isn’t over yet,” he said, pulling away now soaking wet, “what does the second half mean and how are you going to be underwater for an hour?” he exclaimed thinking rapidly. Roman nodded, drying himself off and pulling back on his clothes.

“Right, that may be a problem” he contemplated. “But a problem for future you and me. It’s late, we should go to bed” Logan shrugged, “you’re right, we should. May I walk you back?”

And if Roman wasn’t there when Remus woke up, well, that’s none of your business.

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miscellaneous-bnha · 3 years

Text

Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve been having this god awful itch for (lowkey) Yandere Scumbag Hawks.

Could be friends to lovers... if you squint? Slow burn? But not really? Uh....

Female! Reader

TW: Scumbag Hawks, Lowkey Yan, Breeding, Dubious consent, Hawks in a rut, Hawks has a knot simply because I deem it so.

You, a normal civilian, happen to stumble across a weakened pro hero Hawks who took an emergency landing on your apartment patio.

Of course you’re not going to leave him there; as warm as his coat may seem, what’s the point of leaving him out in the snow when you’ve got a nicely heated apartment you could let him in to.

Either he’s gone through some seriously rough shit or he’s a lot more out of it than you think, but he nearly scares the piss out of you when he points a feather blade at you, eyes wild and furious, before slowly registering that you’re just a normal civilian.

He grins— it’s more of a grimace than a grin, really— and moves the blade away from you, laughing sheepishly before breaking into a cough. When he moves his hand away, you can tell there’s blood on it.

“Sorry about that, pretty bird. Wasn’t expecting anyone. I’ll be taking off now.” He tries to climb to his feet, but he’s a lot more battered than he’s willing to show.

“Wait! Why don’t you come inside for a bit? Get some energy back before you go flying off to some other balcony.” You offer, and he smiles wryly.

“Would that be alright? I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“Of course! Come in, come in!” You usher him in as he limps, helping him to the couch before going and shutting the patio door.

It turns out he ended up needing to stay a lot longer than either of you originally planned; a surprised snowstorm hit late into the night, forecasted to last for some days. He said that he could always try to brave it if you felt uncomfortable with a “strange man” in your apartment, but you only laughed it off.

“Honestly, with how often your private life gets invaded, you’re by far one of the least strange people.”

——————————

He ends up having to stay three days before the storm calms down, but he’s gotten significantly better since then.

Originally, you were worried about the blood in his cough, but it turned out to be a side effect of the blistering cold winds being harsh on his throat and a rough hit to the chest that left him winded and coughing, but nothing more.

The three days he did stay were rather enjoyable, and you found yourself missing his company when he had gone.

You didn’t think much of it though; he’s a pro-hero with an image to upkeep, so you doubted that you’d see much of him personally after this.

But ever the surprise, you found him knocking on your patio door not even a day later, grinning and holding up a bag of food.

“Thought it would be nice to at least return the favor. For taking care of me, y’know?”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Hawks. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

“Eeeeh, still. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see a pretty bird again.”

——————————

And just like that, you came to have an unexpected friendship with the No. 2 pro hero.

Whenever he needed a quiet place to crash or some company, you found yourself leaving the patio door open.

In turn, if you ever felt unsafe or if you had a bad day at work, a simple brush of the feather he’d given to you was all it would take to send him flying your way.

Monthly visits turned into bi weekly visits, then into weekly visits, then every other day. Soon enough, he started coming every evening. “What’s a meal without good company?” He’d said, holding food in one hand and drinks in the other.

“All that fried chicken isn’t good for you, Hawks. Let me cook you some actual food every once in a while.”

——————————

When he had suddenly disappeared for a week, you were concerned, but didn’t want to push him. Then two weeks went by with no Hawks, and you started to get worried.

When the third week rolled around, you unconsciously gripped the feather that hung around your neck, screaming in shock when there was a sudden **”THUD”** against the patio window.

“Hawks!? What are you doing?!” You try and check his face for bruising or bleeding, but he tried to bat at your hands weakly,

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Felt you touch your feather, so I came.” You wince,

“I’m sorry about that. It was an accident.”

“Ah, no worries. I’ll just head back home then.”

You fully intended on letting him go, but your mouth tended to work faster than your brain sometimes.

“Um, actually, Hawks...” you start, only to freeze when he faces you,

“Yeah?” You’re silent for a moment, then you shake your head,

“No, it’s nothing. Sorry.” You smile, but he doesn’t turn to leave again,

“Nah, I think there’s something on your mind. What is it?”

“... I just wanted to make sure I didn’t... offend you, or something. You’ve been gone for a while and I just...” you shuffle a bit, “I mean, it’s not really that big of a deal either, y’know? I just— heh— If you’re just tired of coming around all the time, that’s cool too.”

He looks baffled for a moment, then the realization crosses his face. You think for a moment you see him trying to plot something, but it’s gone before you can think on it.

“I um.... actually... do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course not. Feel free to do what you like.”

He takes a seat on the couch, his wings ruffling and fluffing up before they settle again. A part of you wonders if you really should have looked up bird behaviors.

“I.. started my rut, but I didn’t think it was possible.” And suddenly you start to feel a little stupid.

“O-oh... I— uh— I’m sorry.” He wheezes out a laugh,

“No, no, it’s fine. I should have said something instead of just disappearing.”

“Well, I mean, that’s your private matter so—“

“Technically yes, but... also, you have a right to know. You are the reason I went into a rut, after all.” Your jaw drops for a moment.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Not to say that I’m trying to blame you— I’m really not. It’s just... you know how you’re always cooking meals, letting me in?”

“Y...yeah?”

“My body thought I was trying to nest, so... it put me into a rut.”

“Ah... I see.”

You both sit awkwardly for a moment, so he stands and moves to leave.

“Anyway, sorry about that. If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t come around anymore.”

“I, well, no. Wait!” You grab his arm as he tries to leave, making him halt,

“If... if it’s my fault, I want to help.”

“I, uh, w-well... it’s not— I— you know we’d have to fuck, right?”

You’re both bright red, you more than him, but you nod wordlessly.

“Well... so long as you’re willing to take responsibility...” he mutters. You’re too busy looking at your feet to see the wild grin on his face,

—————————

“Fuck, Hawks!” You yelp, his cock plunging in and out of you roughly,

“Shit, sorry baby bird...! Your pretty little cunt’s just sucking me in!” He growls, his hands pinning your shoulders down.

You’re stuck with your face in the mattress, ass in the air. With him looming over you, feathers spread across your room, shuddering in time with his wings, the only think you can hear is the wet slaps of his hips smacking into yours.

“Hawks...! You gotta slow down...!”

“I’m trying, but your greedy little pussy won’t let me go!”

You whine, head fogging over when his cock somehow manages to push deeper.

“See? You’re just sucking me in, baby!”

You feel the brush of more feathers falling onto you, shivering and tickling your already overheated skin. His claws dig into your shoulders when you twitch, making you borderline scream and clench tightly around his cock.

“Ooooh fuckfuckfuckfuck fffffUCK! Keep squeezing just like that, pretty bird. Tighten around my fat fucken cock!” You feel him drape himself over you, his chest pressed to your back, wings closing around the both of you as much as they can.

You suddenly feel something stretching and tugging at your entrance, and you start to squirm again.

“W-wait! You promised to pull out...!”

“How am I supposed to pull out when you’re the one squeezing so tight??” He growls, thrusts getting more frantic,

“Hawks!”

“Ffffffuck— just shut up and take it. Take my fucking cum—!”

You cry out sharply when his knot fully inflates inside of you, the sudden stretch sending you flying over the edge with him.

“Hawks...”

“Shhh.... this is all your fault, remember?”

“But you promised—“

“And I tried, but your cute little cunt just wouldn’t let go, pretty bird. You were practically begging for me to fill you up. Get you pregnant with my little chickadees.” He rubs your belly,

“But that’s okay, right? You said you wanted to take responsibility, remember?”

“Yeah—“

“Then take responsibility, baby. Have my chicks, and I promise I’ll take responsibility too.” The words to argue back are stripped from your mouth when he starts grinding his still knotted cock into you, making your mind go blank,

“C’mon, pretty bird. Say it for me. ‘I’ll have your chicks, Keigo’.”

“Ha—“

“Uh-uh. Not Hawks. Keigo.”

“Kei—!” Your voice cuts off into a silent scream when he hits the sweet spot deep inside you,

“C’mon, baby. Say it and be mine.”

—————————

You don’t remember if you ever actually said it all those years ago, but you can hardly bring yourself to care.

You smile as you rub your swollen belly, watching as your eldest son and his little sister play in the yard.

“C’mon, kids. Time to go back in. Daddy will be home soon.”

“Okay!!”

And, sure enough, not even 10 minutes later, you hear the front door open, the voice of your husband echoing through the house.

“Where are my little chickadees?”

#crow rambles #hawks x reader #more tags later #if I remember

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jumblejen · 2 years

Text

Finding Warm

Prompt: Cold (winchester-reload’s Winter Art Challenge)

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35640832

Dean rolls over and pats the other side of the bed absently, suspended between asleep and awake. Cold. He furrows his brow in his not-sleep. He doesn’t like that it’s cold. Cold like that winter after his mom died, when all the restless relentless wandering started. Cold creeping in through single-paned loose-fitting glass in a crappy motel room window.

Dean doesn’t remember winters when his mom was still alive. Maybe a vague impression of marshmallows in hot cocoa, but beyond that it’s not something his brain has held onto. He wishes he could remember snuggling up in warm blankets while she read him a book, but all he has is the memories of winters after. There were no marshmallows, no snuggling, no warm safe blankets and a safe voice reading to you about how different woodland creatures survive the winter.

He remembers when Sammy was little. John strayed towards the south during the coldest months, at least having some slim thoughts that his kids might not do so well in a Minnesota winter without proper winter coats or boots or gloves. Maybe John just didn’t like the cold. Dean never asked him. They never went so far as the proper south, not often anyway. Kansas was much warmer than Ohio or Michigan, though sometimes they ended up in those places after the snow started to fly too.

Kansas may be warmer than Ohio, but it wasn’t Florida warm. Their jackets were enough most of the days if they wore enough layers underneath, and Dean always kept an eye out for extra sweatshirts in the lost and found at school. It was a good way to pick up a few extras, especially for Sammy. As long as they weren’t anything too distinctive, who’s to say they didn’t belong to the Winchesters? Dean made sure to put their initials in every article of clothing as soon as it was acquired to make it more likely they’d win an argument over ownership. And really, can anyone truly tell one navy sweatshirt from another? Well, yeah, Dean could, but that’s because John drilled it into him that noticing small differences could be the line between dead and alive in this life. Most kids never noticed that kind of stuff. Even Sammy was blissfully unaware for a long while until he got old enough to cotton on to why Dean cared even when John wasn’t there.

The cold in some of those motels over the years of their childhood, that soaked into Dean’s memory. Never enough blankets at most of those places, and if the heating went out, well Dean knew a lot of those places he couldn’t chance going to the staff on his own. A kid like him staying with his even younger brother was too tempting a target. He’d try to fix it, though in the beginning it was more just hitting things and hoping the radiator would spring back to life. Not like he could build a fire in a motel room for warmth. The idea of a fireplace may be tantalizing on a bitter day, but Dean could never strike a match without hearing the echo of his mother’s scream, feel the heat chasing him as he ran out into the night with Sammy in his arms.

Again Dean pats the bed, running his hand over the empty space next to him, his face scrunching even tighter in consternation edging him a little closer to wakefulness. Cold like the ghosts have decided to make an appearance. Cold like any second now something will jump out at him and fling someone across the room, fling away their weapons and salt circles.

He remembers those ghosts when he was seventeen but he doesn’t remember most of the ghosts he’s faced. Too many confrontations, too many graves. Too many times gripping a poker tight on the brink of going out of his skull in anticipation. Dean wondered in those moments whether the souls were ever glad to go, glad to be shuffled off into the after part of the afterlife or if they’d lost all sense of anything besides rage or revenge. In the midst of all of it he hoped they found peace after it was all done. Many of them may be hell-bound, but it didn’t mean all of them were. It hurt his head to wonder at whether posthumous acts counted against where your soul ended up in the end or if it was only what happened while you were among the living. Dean never asked anyone what they thought about it.

The other side of the bed was still empty. Dean blinks himself to more fully awake, squinting in the dark as if that would help the missing person in his bed suddenly materialize. His breath catches.

Nothing was cold like when Cas died.

Dean was numb when he carried Cas into the house and tore down the yellow curtains to make a shroud. Numb and cold all the way through as he went with Sam on his search for Jack. He had felt so empty when they watched the pyre burn. Even the spring breeze as Dean spread Cas’ ashes had felt like the depths of winter in that field. Dean had been distantly surprised to realize that he couldn’t see his breath when he walked back to the car.

And when the Empty came… Hearing those words from Cas’ lips, words Dean wished he could hold in his hand to keep him warm. Instead Cas was gone, pretty words evaporating as the cold took Dean again. It was so much worse than the tortures of hell. If this had been what they tormented him with, Dean would have broken in minutes. In seconds, even, his frozen body threatening to shatter with every desperate inhalation.

Dean pushes himself to sitting with an arm braced behind him. “Cas?” he calls softly. A chill runs down his spine when there is no answer. Trying to calm the frantic scrabbling in his mind, Dean reaches for his phone to check for a text and the time. No notifications. And it’s still solidly the middle of the night. Dean throws the blankets off and stands up quickly, shoving aside the complaints of his middle-aged body. He knows he should stretch but he can’t sit still for that right now. Quietly Dean pads out of the bedroom, bare feet silent in the carpet. The hallway is cold, night air raising goose bumps all over his bare chest until he collides with warmth.

“Cas.” Dean still hates the relief in his voice, the way it still sounds like weakness. He’s working on it and maybe in the morning he’d take the time to poke at his disdain for such a normal reaction. But for now he lets himself sink into Cas’ arms, holding him roughly.

“Dean? What are you doing out of bed?”

“You were gone. And it was cold…”

“It is cold,” rumbles Cas. “Can we do this in the bed instead?”

Sheepishly Dean lets go of Cas and turns back to the room. Hurriedly he scrambles back into the bed and under the covers. Cas follows more slowly. Dean lays his head on his pillow concentrating so he can be sure that the warmth from the other side of the bed is real and not just a wish. And then he’s covered by Cas draping over Dean’s chest like the best weighted blanket ever. Dean lets out a long breath that he won’t allow to become a sigh.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“I’m not a child.”

“What was it about?”

Dean scowls and then immediately softens. “You were gone and everywhere I turned it was just…cold. I can’t go through that again.”

“I’m not going anywhere Dean. I’m okay. And so are you.”

“What were you doing up?”

“Urination is very inconvenient.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, clutching the former angel to his chest. “Sorry I freaked out.” The words are small but perfectly audible in the still and quiet room.

“It’s perfectly understandable.” Cas’ voice is rough. “I still have those nightmares too.”

Dean rubs little circles on Cas’ back, the reality of skin and muscle and warmth grounding him further. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Does what you do as a ghost affect whether you go to heaven or hell?”

“Dean, I love you, but it’s three in the morning.”

“No, I know. I just always wondered.”

“When did you wonder it?”

“While waiting for them to show up. And after Bobby, our world Bobby, not Apocalypse World Bobby, well I just would have hated for him to end up in hell after all the good he’d done.”

“He did end up in hell.”

“Well, yeah, but only because Crowley put him there.”

“It’s still three in the morning, Dean.”

Despite the dark Dean smiles. Maybe Cas doesn’t know. Maybe he never thought to ask when he was an angel and didn’t want to admit that the god squad might have some afterlife knowledge loopholes. Or maybe it was three a.m. and Dean and Cas should both get some sleep.

“Cas?”

“I swear we can talk about ghosts in the morning.”

“I love you.”

“Oh. I love you too Dean. We should go to sleep though. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah Cas. I’m alright.” Dean closes his eyes feeling Cas breathe on top of him, the rhythm steadying rapidly as he drifts off. Dean’s mind wanders back to the dream, to that pervasive cold and snuggles in closer to Cas, kissing the top of his head. He falls asleep thinking nothing but warm.

#destiel #dean #cas #cold #sleeping #waking up in the middle of the night and you're not there

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oliverwxod · 4 years

Text

Falling again (Geralt Imagine)

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: implied smut, swearing

Summary: Y/n used to travel with Geralt, the perfect partners in crime to monsters and creatures down. But years ago she left, feeling she didn’t fit into Geralt’s destiny and realising she was in love with a man who would never love her back.

The town was eerily dark, silence deafening as Y/n could barely make out the shapes of tall wooden houses the caged her in. She was on high alert, her ears picking up the smallest of scuttles from rats and mice across the dusty lanes. She had been tracking these creatures for months now and they had lead her to this small brooding community.

A shuffle of feet and a cloud of dust could be seen in the distance, light from dying fire embers inside a nearby house reflecting a shadow of movement onto the wall opposite the one Y/n was hiding against. Her hand was held on the top of her sword, removing it from where it rested, ready to strike at any given time. She tiptoed silently, back still pressed against the stone wall as she neared the corner of bricks that hid the open courtyard of several houses.

Another shadow passed, taller and bigger, closer to her. Taking in a deep breath she stepped out of the darkness into the slither of light, revealing herself into open vulnerable air, a growl ripping from the chest of the beast in front of her. She moved quickly, light on her feet, circling the monster as it did the same to her.

“You’ve been quite the challenge” she scoffed at it. The creature looked at her in annoyance before pouncing, claws outstretched and catching the sleeve of her arm, ripping through the material and the flesh.

Y/n grunted, glaring at her arm and then the creature before ducking under the heavy weight of it, sliding so she was behind it. The creature may have had a lot over her when it came to strength but she was quicker and smaller, tackling it from behind where it was vulnerable. Slashing her sword straight through the back of its neck, before pulling it from the rancid flesh, flinching at the sound of blood splattering onto the floor.

A noise from behind her directed her attention, disregarding her sword to the side and opting to use the bow and arrows that rested on her back, she was better and more accurate with them, growing up in the Forrests came in helpful sometimes, hunting was a natural instinct.

She knew she was being watched, her estimate for the past months was that there was more than one beast. She had calculated through footprints and tracking that there were at least three of them. Three hideous beasts wrecking havoc throughout poor communities, Y/n had seen the aftermath of these creatures pathways and the destruction and pain they brought.

Spinning around without even looking she shot a single arrow, a grunt and a snort coming from the impact of it hitting a second beast. A loud echoing thump of the body hitting the solid ground, crashing into a crate of wooden buckets, a trail of rotting apples rolling onto the brick work.

She could sense more eyes on her, burning into her back, without checking once again she fired an arrow, this time watching it meet the shoulder of the beast, it charged towards her angrily, feet thumping and shaking the earth beneath her, before it reached her she sent an arrow flying thorough the air, landing it straight between the beasts eyes, killing it instantly.

She admired her work, frustration leaving her body as she had finally finished the job she was sent on, ready to cash in for the money. She couldn’t relax yet though, the feeling of another set of eyes on her made her wary, hesitating to move. This was not the eyes of one of the beasts.

“I see you can still handle yourself then” a familiar voice broke through the silence, husky and deep as always.

Y/n never got scared but the voice made her jump, he the last person she expected to be standing in front of her.

“Geralt” she acknowledged, her posture stiffening as she turned to face him. “what are you doing here?”

He was leaning against a wall having moved out of the shadows, his signature glare on his face as always. The side of his lips tugged into a smirk at her hostility towards him.

“Apparently the same thing as you, Princess.” he spoke, the words making her shiver. She had always hated him for calling her that. That damned nickname that she could never shake off around him. It frustrated her, it frustrated her because it made her feel.

“I’ve told you before. Do not call me that” she glared at him, eyes staring daggers at his face. He hadn’t changed a bit. After all those years he still looked the same, his hair white, pure as snow, his cheeks bones and jaw as chiselled as ever. She hated how he knew how handsome he was. He was always using it for his benefit, sauntering around knowing he always had every womens attention.

“Whatever you say... princess” he spoke softly, almost so quiet that she couldn’t hear him. She watched him stare straight back at her, her eyes narrowing as he moved closer to her.

Y/n could feel her breath catching in her throat, it had been a while since Geralt had been this close to her, she was scared, scared she would give into him like she always used to, she had no self control when it came to him. He made her nervous.

She flinched as Geralt took her hand in his, moving it gently up so her arm was stretched out in front of him. She didn’t know what he was doing, what his intentions were so she ripped her arm out of his grip aggressively, shooting daggers at him.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a grunt at the unexpected force. y/n had forgotten about the inch deep scratches on her arm, hissing in pain.

“You’re hurt” he spoke sternly, talking down to her, it wasn’t mean’t to be patronising but the way Geralt spoke to most people was. He didn’t really care. “You need to get this treated before it gets infected”

“Why do you care” she spoke, she knew she was being petty and she should just let him help her, but she wanted to push him away, be hostile so he would turn around and leave her.

He raised his eyebrows in response but kept quiet. Reaching for her hand again and bringing it up gently, he ripped away the tattered bloody fabric from her cloak, discarding it on the floor as his rough fingertips glided up her arm until it reached the area surrounding the wound.

Y/n held back a shiver, she would not let him see how he still managed to effected her after all this time.

“Come with me” he grunted, his hand still wrapped lightly around her arm, tugging gently in the direction of a nearby house.

“No” she huffed, protesting, but with one single look from Geralt she followed silently through a back alley and through the backdoor of a dark house.

He treated the wound carefully, Y/n watching his every move with a guarded expression, pulling her body away from any unnecessary touches. It confused him but he didn’t mention it. There was a time where she would relish in any form of touch from Geralt, a hand on the waist, a brush of skin on skin, a squeeze on the shoulder. But now the thought of it made her sad. She didn’t want a reminder of it, a reminder of what she had been running away from.

He finished bandaging up her arm before taking place standing across from her, his arms folded as he leaned against a makeshift kitchen counter. His eyes burning into her as he watched her with intent.

“Where have you been?” he eventually spoke, his voice seemingly uninterested- fitting with the whole emotionless tone he always radiated. Thats why people often left him alone and he liked it that way.

“around” she shrugged not daring to look at him. She couldn’t fall under his spell once again. Every time she was around him she always found herself falling again. And everyone knows what they say about witchers, they're emotionally unavailable. They don’t know love and they can’t love.

That’s why she left. She was done meaning nothing to him, done with waiting for him in bed while he spent it in another. Done with sleepless nights that mean’t more to her than it ever would to him.

“Why did you leave?” He asked a similar question. It had been playing on his mind ever since the day he had woken up and she was gone, disappeared without a trace, he had thought about her whereabouts for years now.

She scoffed in annoyance. “I didn’t fit in with your destiny”

Geralt took a deep breath, grunting “hmm, yet here you are”

She met his eyes for a fleeting second before looking away, face falling from a frown into a confused expression.

“I should go” she spoke, standing up quickly and bolting for the door.

“Fuck” Geralt cursed, taking another deep breath in before following her pathway to the door, he pushed her gently against it before she could reach it, stopping her in her tracks.

She tried to fight back but the pain in her arm stopped her strength from pushing him away.

“Why are you so intent on running away from me?” he spoke in a voice softer than what she thought he was capable of.

“Let me go” she spoke bluntly, avoiding eye contact with him. She didn’t want to give in, but he made it so easy. She could feel his body pressed against hers, the hard lines of his moulding to her own.

“Please” she whispered but weaker this time.

His large hand caught her chin, forcing her to stare directly at him. Her breath caught in her throat, his eyes golden, staring straight through her.

“Geralt”

He stared silently, his intentions still unclear to her. With him this close to her and with the way he was staring at her she had no chance of not falling again.

“shhhh” he whispered, breath fanning across her face, y/n couldn’t hold back the shiver this time, goosebumps arising on her skin at his closeness. His eyes flickered elegantly down to stare at her lips, the lips he had kissed a hundred times before, familiar and inviting.

HIs hand traced the side of her cheek, past her jaw and down her neck, caressing the skin at the back before pulling her head up slightly towards his own, his lips landing on hers in a soft kiss before pulling away. His eyes closed briefly before opening, meeting hers directly and seeing the scared look that had overcome her. His hand still rested at the nape of her neck moving upwards so it covered the whole of the back of her head, pulling her in closer and kissing her again, this time with more strength behind it.

“Don’t run again” he whispered against her lips.

#the Witcher imagine #the Witcher smut #Geralt imagine #Geralt smut #Geralt x reader #the Witcher x reader #Henry Cavill imagine #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geralt fanfic

5K notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

Text

HASO, “Approaching Countdown.”

Had to write this at work today, so sorry it is short.

The GA chairwoman stood in the oppressive muggy heart of Earth. She really hated it, it made her skin itch and her eyes sting, there wasn’t enough water in their atmosphere to actually cause her any harm, but there was definitely enough of it to make her very uncomfortable. A part of her had hoped that it might rain, forcing her to stay off world for the weather formation, but these humans knew what they were doing and had scheduled the launch for a cloudless day.

She looked up at the yellow earth sun and sighed. The humans had been very excited to invite the GA delegations out to view the launch. Humans were generally very excited to show anyone they could their dangerous past, and looking at the thing that was passing for a spaceship, she could not see how it would get more than a few inches off the ground, much less out of orbit. Supposedly they had dipped into very rare rocket fuel reserves to even do this as it required fossil fuel.

Fossil Fuel!

Let that sink in for a moment.

Liquified dead plant and animal remains mixed with liquid oxygen and some sort of oxidizer. She wasn’t sure what that last part meant, she wasn’t a rocket scientist. She sighed again, personally she wished she didn’t have to be here, for she doubted the launch was going to go as the human expected. In all reality her nerves were shot and she wished that she could just pass out for the next few hours and forget where she was. Everything was out of her hands anyway. Her orders had been given and now all she could do was wait.

She stood in the heat not too distant from her array of human bodyguards,dressed in dark suits and wearing dark glasses to cover their eyes. Somehow they managed to look more intimidating than normal humans did frowning, missing the characteristic tooty smile she had grown to associate with humans.

Shehad spent far too much time with Admiral Vir it seemed.

She sighed at the thought of him and shook her head.

Every time she tried to think about something else, it just circled back around to him. She tried not to think about it, taking a very deep breath.

There was some shuffling behind her and she turned slowly on her knuckles feeling the concrete grinding below her hands as she did. Two Tesraki and one other Rundi stood behind her having been let through by the human guards, who still eyed them with some measure of suspicion.

“Everything is in place, Chancellor.”

She nodded her head once.

“How many?”

There are at least thirty patrolling the borders of the trajectory zone. They will know as soon as he breaches orbit.

“And our engineers?”

“We are having trouble gaining access, but we are still working on it.”

“You better hope that we can.”

She lifted her head towards the sky where she could see the faint line of the moon against the blueness of the sky.

“We better hope.”

***

Captain Richard’s palms were very sweaty. He tried to wipe them discreetly on his pants or more accurately a onesie the scientists were calling a “Liquid Cooling and Ventilation Garment. So like a Onesie with tubes in it. He glanced sidelong over to where Admiral Vir was sitting staring at the antique space suit equipment laid out before them.

He tried not to make it look like he was staring, but he totally was.

Admiral Vir wasn’t much older than him, maybe by a year or two, but that was part of what made being in the same room with him so strange. Every time he, or probably anyone, though of an admiral, they generally thought of some stuffy grey haired fat guy who sat behind a desk and gave orders. But…. this guy…. Well he was nothing like that at all. He was young and stupidly fit, and sure he had some white hair appearing at his temples, but his hair was blond enough you only noticed it in certain light.

And he was very personable, that was the first thing Richards had noticed.

The man knew how to work a room. He was funny, and despite being intimidated by his status, he found himself forgetting constantly that this guy wasn’t someone cool he had just met out at the bar.

As if he could sense someone looking at him, Admiral Vir turned around theappriture of his mechanical eye adjusting slightly. He grinned in a very un-admiral way, “This is so friggin awesome.” The man looked like he was about to jump out of his boots, “Just look at this stuff-” He grinned some more dancing from one foot to the other, “Happiest damn day of my life and I’m wearing a diaper.”

That got the rest of the shuttle crew laughing which then devolved into a discussion about the pros and cons of diapers versus the new suit catheters. There was a surprising split on the discussion as the group of men talked, a conversation that was only broken as a group of scientists stepped in to help them with their suits. The process was rather tedious, the suits were bulky and cumbersome, nothing like the neat, sleek and comfortable suits used on regular ships.

Stepping into the pants of the suit they had to hold their arms up as the upper portion was lowered into place over their heads while others hurried in to pull on their arms and then help them fit into the gloves. He ducked his head as the communications cap was placed over his head. They would be wearing the full suit into orbit, though they would be allowed to take it off on the journey over. A journey which would take roughly three days or more to complete. One of them would stay in orbit while Admiral Vir and Richards himself took the lunar module down to the surface.

It was all supposed to go very smoothly from here.

Once suited up he couldn’t help but be reminded of when he was a child ready to go sledding with his siblings, in his massive snow pants and puffy jacket, waddling across the floor with his arms held out to either side.

He honestly hoped he looked cooler than he felt.

Admiral Vir might have been able to pull it off if he wasn’t nearly skipping, which seemed pretty improbable in the massive ass snowman suit.

Glancing out the long windows and into the horizon, he could see crowds of people set up in the distance. Head was a teenager when the Enterprise Launched, standing in an awed crowd as the massive behemoth hauled herself into the sky. He remembered the thrill, and he remembered the fear as he watched it go higher and higher and higher.

He remembered that day as one that led him to where he was now, and couldn’t believe it.

***

The UN president stood at her lectern feeling a soft breeze blow through her hair. Today was a good day, or at least it was shaping up to be a good day. She had two folders sitting under the lectern like she always did during times like this. One of them was green and one of them was red.

The red one was sitting on top.

She glanced over to where the GA president stood and scowled slightly. She had always thought the little creature was kind of ugly looking like an ant. She had never liked bugs, or bug like things of any kind, which she found to be a common trait among aliens, Drev, Vrul, Gibb, Rundi, Burg.

She looked up at the sky neck stretched out sunning herself in the bright morning.

She could see the rocket in the distance held up on its platform. Admiral Vir would be moving into place now. Most people would see this only as some sort of historical recreation act, but PR analytics suggested that, if the Admiral succeeded, approval rating in the GA would go up almost 3 percent. Human and alien relations had been rockier than most people would like to admit. If Admiral Vir were to fail, the failure would likely shock the aliens senseless, and if he died. It could completely break down human/alien relations for the foreseeable future.

They were on the cusp of cooperation or war, and any single event could push them in that direction.

Relations might have already broken down if it wasn’t for Admiral Vir.

The president reached down a hand brushing the tips of her fingers over the red folder.

***

Jade examined the rocket from the inside of her decontaminated engineer’s suit. She was busy going over final checks before the craft was launched. Personally she thought it was a bad idea. There was no reason to go and do something so dumb when they had perfectly viable technologies available at their fingertips. Of course, she understood the value and importance of major historical events, but that didn’t mean they had to reenact them. I mean it's not like anyone ever wanted toreinaced the titanic or the Berlin wall, or burning down the library of Alexandria, but for some reason some yahoos wanted to strap themselves to a rocket inside a tin can and fly into space.

Using the same EXACT design from TWO THOUSAND years ago.

Might as well start using steam locomotives to get around.

She inched her way along the scaffolding catwalk just a few hundred feet in the air. She didn’t mind heights, butcher wasn’t stupid, and would enver risk herself unecissarily. She examined the bolts holding the ship together passing a critical eye over each and every one of them. If just a single one of them got loose, it might potentially pull the whole panel off. If that happened, the launch trajectory might destabilize and they could begin to spin into the ground and explode.

Off in the distance she heard an alarm calling her down from above.

She would need to leave soon, and so tucked her clipboard under one arm and began to climb down one of the ladders towards the distant ground.

It was then that she noticed something strange. She didn’t know why she noticed it, it was so small, and she was in a hurry but…. There was something…. Strange. She glanced over and squinted towards the strange reflection.

The siren continued to blare.

She should really go.

She started to descend but then.

“You might want to check that again.”

She nearly leaped out of her skin at the voice turning on the spot and pitching ackwards with wide open eyes nearly falling over the rail as she came face to face with a porcelain white face and wide black eyes like pools of onyx. For a second she almost screamed assuming she had gone insane, but then paused as she saw the figure floating before her a gravity belt around it’s waist, and hundreds of white ribbons streaming from it’s back.

A starborn!

She had seen a documentary mentioning them, even with a few images, so she knew who it was. She also knew that they could read minds.

It wasn’t supposed to be able to speak, but this one was wearing translation gloves, and spoke sign language rather fluently.

“You might want to check again.” It repeated

“But I-”

“The Admiral is expecting an attempt on his life, and the best way to do it would be to sabotage the shuttle. You will want to help me because if the Admiral dies, my daughter will be very upset.”

She opened her mouth then closed it, not sure how to respond but eventually turned back to the shuttle and leaned forward pointing to the side of the rocket, “That, right there, can you float over and take a look. The creature floated past her, billowing like smoke as he eased over. He pointed, “This?”

“Yes.”

He touched it.

“Can you feel it/” She wondered.

“It doesn't feel like the rest of the ship though I cannot say how.”

“Keep looking around, I need to call in-”

“NO!”

She frowned hand halfway to her mic.

“Don’t tell them, we don’t want them to know that we have found anything.

She wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t feel like pissing this thing off, so reached to her mic, “Mission control this is Engineering, i'll need a postpone on the launch while I finish off my checklist. This is taking longer than I anticipated.”

“Roger that.” mission control responded.

The sirens stopped a moment later as she urged the Starborn forward to prod at the spot. There wasa soft peeling noise, and after a moment, she watched as the creature came away with a strip of tape.

He floated over to her and she examined it. That shouldn’t have been there, this was not the heat resistant sort of tape they used, and it certainly wasn’t something they would have bothered to put on the outside of a ship. The only thing it seemed to do was match the paint color.

She leaned forward glancing at the side of the shi. If this had gone up during exit it would have burned off, and that would reveal.

The loose bolt underneath. Just like she feared.

She could fix it and ordered the starborn to do so following the instructions in her head. After that she ordered him to take her vest camera and fly around the outside of the rocket. She had noticed based on the way the light interacted with the tape as compared to the finish of the rocket’s exterior.

If only she had someone who was good at distinguishing subtle color, and then she remembered.

She called the starborn back.

“Go, get a Drev and hurry back here. I’ll try to stall them.”

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obeymeplz · 3 years

Text

one of those days ll mammon x gn reader

LISTEN guys... I’ve peeled through every single fanfic and one shot of my boy boy that I can find.

I’m done, finished, kaput. And I need content. So I decided to make my own.

2k words, ft. Belphie my salty homie

Warnings: mean(ish) mammon (because I’m a hoe for angst, highly implicative of smut...?, cussing...?

Enjoy ig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry if I suck LOL

It was one of those days, and it all began when you dropped your plate of pickled pancakes (it’s an acquired Devildom taste) all over your crisp, white shoes. Beel involuntarily frowned at the waste of food, while the other demon boys snickered at your inherent clumsiness, Lucifer merely rolling his eyes before excusing himself from the table. But someone was missing that morning.

From that moment on, you knew nothing would be going your way.

Your bad luck followed you to second period, where you received a colossal “F” on your scrying test, and then to lunch where Satan and Asmo had to pull you out of a fight with a succubus who had thought it her business to label you a “suck up whore”. This was a name you were used to; from the moment you arrived, every demon and unthinkable hoard in the Devildom believed you to be sleeping with every brother in the House of Lamentation, playing through all of them with zero consequences. Despite the utter falsity of these accusations, they hurt no less every time you had to hear them.

And to top today’s cake with a juicy red cherry, the one single person who could make all your worries melt away with just a smile had been nowhere in your sights all day. Mammon was indeed the sunshine you needed on this dreary afternoon, with his dumb tinted glasses and cocky remarks, yet endearing eyes and wondrous grin.

Staring out the window of an empty chem room, waiting for someone to be available to walk you home, you realized that it was an odd day - such a new world you’d been thrown into, yet so quickly you had familiarized yourself with your new “normal”; and now that normal wasn’t there. There were certain things you knew, day in and day out.

The sun will (sort of) rise.

The sun will (kind of) set.

You live in Hell.

Mammon will always be there.

These things you counted on to be true, because if they weren’t, you weren’t entirely certain how you’d keep your sanity intact.

“For a human who’s supposed to be completely inferior to our kind, you sure do seem to think a lot”.

Belphie.

“Gee, Belphie, you know, “you sure do” have a way with words. Thank you! I just feel so much better”, you scoffed a retort as you swung your legs over the ledge of the window to face the cow-haired boy, clearly having just woken from sleeping through 7th period. He only smirked at you.

“I heard you need a warm body to walk next to, and I figured I could use the company. Home?”

You smiled smally as he helped you to your feet. “Yeah, home sounds nice”.

He reciprocated the smile.

“So, what really has you down in the dumps?”

You shrugged as you tried to formulate a thought that might make sense to him.

“Well… I guess I-”, you had to cut off mid sentence, because something familiar began to tickle your ears — a laugh, one you’d been aching to hear all day.

“Belphie, is that… is that Mammon? Where has he been all day?”, you were asking the question, but your legs were already moving you out the door away from the answer. He replied, but you could only piece together bits as you got further away from him, following the voice of the snow-haired boy instead. Argument, Mammon left, crashed with friends, all night, definitely in trouble. That’s what you processed.

“Mammon-” you rounded the corner, but halted in your tracks, backing behind it when you came near face-to-face with a group of demons much taller and much stronger than you, energies darker than the ones you were used to being surrounded by.

He hadn’t heard you.

“Bro, that was a riot. You gotta swing with us more often my man”.

“Ya know Lucifer wouldn’t even think ‘bout lettin’ me ride with you guys on the day-to-day. ‘Sides, I got things to do”.

“You mean a human to babysit?”, your breath caught in your throat. You heard Mammon scoff.

“No! I do what I want. They’re cool.”

Your heart pounded into your throat (but that’s something you’d never let him know). You were just friends, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be more. Sure, he was terrible at hiding how much he cared about you, and sure, he was ridiculously possessive over you, but he’s also the Avatar of Greed, so how much of that is him needing you versus his sin needing you? The way you saw it, neither of those things amounted to relationship-worthy love.

The conversation was droning on, and you’d almost forgotten you were listening.

“So, you fuckin that then or what?”

Your head snapped back into full awareness, the tone of your feelings completely changing every second, anxiously awaiting your favorite demon’s reply. Why were you so nervous? He wouldn’t lie about you, he wouldn’t slander your name — not with what people already thought of you because you lived in a giant house with 7 painfully-attractive, desire-filled, and experienced, rulers of Hell.

“Yeah, the rumors true?”

Mammon’s voice came next at a grumble.

He stuttered it.

You almost didn’t catch it.

You must not have.

“Y-yeah. No, I mean absolutely. I mean, how could a human even turn down The Great Mammon? They couldn’t, and they don’t.”

You must not have heard it — but you did, and you almost wished you hadn’t

Before your thoughts could catch up with your limbs, you found yourself rounding the corner yet again. “Yeah, how could they not, Mammon?”, your voice cracking at the end, despite all your efforts to come across smooth and level-headed.

“MC..”, Mammon’s mouth instantly hung open, his chill facade easily melting away. He looked almost identical to a lost puppy within moments.

“Oh you can bet, Mammon fucks me every single night — no feelings involved, because that’s just the kind of big man he is. He’s even fucking me RIGHT NOW. Right, Mon?”, you seethed his nickname through your teeth. Tears were starting to puddle at the lids of your eyes, threatening to expose just how much you really cared for him, and just how unspeakably broken you felt in that moment.

“M-MC. Pl- please don’t —“, he was already approaching you, pushing past the group of boys. You turned on your heel, catching the watching eyes of Belphie at the end of the hall. You ran for him until you were in reach to yank on his arm, pulling him behind you, as fast and as far away from that school, and Mammon, as possible.

“MC!”

Mammon will always be there.

Mammon would not always be there. This was a new truth you heartbrokenly added to your list.

———————————————————-

Your room was icily cold, numbingly so.

You always kept it like that when you were sad, hoping maybe some of the lack of feeling in your body would translate to your heart.

Hoping you wouldn’t feel so shattered.

You trusted him. And he broke it. He broke you.

These are obvious statements, but as you laid solemnly tucked under a heap of blankets, you couldn’t help but run them, and the scene from today, over and over again through your brain.

Maybe you were overreacting?

Mammon had always been the brother, despite his tsundere attitude, who protected you. He never lost his cool with you, and he never treated you poorly. Maybe he made a few callous remarks here and there, but they were gentle underneath, and just his own way of showing you a glimpse of the angel wings he’d lost a long time ago.

Mammon had become your home.

“MC?”

The voice was muffled through the door, but it was undoubtedly him. You weren’t sure if you were shocked, happy, angry, or assured that he had come, but either way, you wouldn’t dare leave your covers to open the locked door. Not yet.

“MC. Please. Open the door. I-I just wanna talk to ya…”

You didn’t budge.

“I will kick this down, ya know”. You were both quiet until you heard some shuffling outside. Your eyes went wide, ready for a foot to come flying through shards of your door. You scrambled to your feet, stumbling over to the rusted knob.

You cracked it open.

“Please don’t. I don’t want to sleep in Beel’s room another week because my room needs renovating for the millionth time.”

Mammon smiled shyly at you, apologetically more than anything.

“Can I.. ya know, come in?”

You pulled out of the way, making just enough room for the tall, lean demon to slip through the crack in your door.

The moment he stepped in, he was engulfed in darkness, nothing but dim threads of moonlight that seeped in through your curtains to highlight the sharp features of his face and body. He’d shed his jacket since earlier, leaving him in his fitted black tee and jeans.

So beautiful.

You mentally slapped yourself for even thinking about it.

You were mad at him.

“So. Please talk. I’m exhausted and wasn’t planning on even looking at you tonight.” You were curt. But you had to be, or else you wouldn’t be able to hold anything back, whether that be anger, or adoration.

He looked taken back — hurt — too. He glanced at your bed and the candy wrappers strewn about the floor. Mammon wasn’t too bright, but he knew enough to know when someone had been crying for well over an hour.

On a normal occasion, he would’ve thrown himself onto your sheets, rolling until he found a comfortable position to scroll his D.D.D. and poke at you for hours.

But tonight, he awkwardly crossed his arms and shuffled his feet, clearly unsure of what to say first — or at all, for that matter.

“I-“

You raised a tired eye, cueing him to spit whatever excuse he could possibly say out.

“I get a bad rep sometimes.”

What?

“For liking ya.. Hanging with ya.”

If this was an apology, it was the worst one you’d ever heard in your life.

“Oh? Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a burden to your bravado. Let me continue to take myself out of the picture.” You pointed at the door for him to leave, ready to break down the moment he walked through.

“No! That- that’s not what I meant.” He made eye contact for a mere moment, silently begging for you to see his sincerity.

“Is anything ever what you mean, Mammon?” The use of his full name in a mix with that tone clearly set him back, but he shook it off hurriedly.

“Yes! I mean, I don’t care. Usually. I’d-I’d just had a rough day with Luci. Rough life, more like, and I was tired of feelin’ like shit ‘bout myself. Nazriel’s question jus’ threw me off. I-I wanted to seem cool, so I said what I knew would make me, and-“

“And you’re a piece of shit for it”.

You weren’t wrong. And he knew that.

“... and I’m a piece of shit for it.”

There was a pause before he hesitantly continued.

“I wound up bein’ exactly what I was tryin’ not to be. Scummy.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours, blue hues morphing into gold flecks like waves crashing on the beach. Your breath hitched and caught in your throat, only now realizing that the whole time you’d been arguing, you’d both been slowly edging together. Now, you were dangerously close.

“You aren’t scummy, Mammon…”, you began to tenderly look at him.

“Yeah.. I am. But that’s just me, I guess. I can’t mind it.”

He took one step, leaving you toe to toe. Though one of the shorter of the boys, he still towered over you.

“I jus’ can’t be scummy to you.”

You tilted your head, heart and body language softening as he spoke.

“I shouldn’t be, and I don’ wanna be”.

His hands cautiously made their way to your shoulders, and you shuddered at the feeling that made its way through your bones.

“Mammon?”

“Yeah?”

“That apology shouldn’t have worked.”

He chuckled, “you’re right.”

You smiled, a true smile. The first one all day. And what came next, you knew probably shouldn’t. But you also didn’t really care.

“Mammon?”

He hummed in response, and you stood as high as you could on your tip-toes to kiss his cheek. His face deeply rouged the moment your lips met his hot skin.

His eyes were wide as you lowered yourself down, leaving a hand lingering on his arm.

In that moment, his aura shifted, and everything was suspensefully still. Within seconds, his arms wrapped you in a crushing hug, his breath heavy and warm behind your ear.

You sunk your weight into his, relishing the relief from the chill of your room, as you snaked your arms behind his back.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you stood like that, but you knew it must’ve been a while, because his grip was starting to affect your breathing.

“Mon- air”,

He lightened up and pulled back from you.

“S-sorry!”

Your lips turned up at the sight of his cute embarrassment. He scowled at you, knowing what you were thinking, but slowly started to laugh.

He leaned his forehead against yours, the sudden proximity causing you to let out a slight squeak.

“Ya drive me nuts, ya know?”

You searched his eyes, trying to make sure he was saying what you really thought he was.

This was a bad idea. For so many reasons.

But truthfully, neither of you gave two shits.

So he ghosted his lips over yours, his left fang biting his bottom, waiting for the sign to move — the sign that you wanted him, the sign that he would be enough.

The second you tilted your nose to the side of his, he crashed his mouth into yours.

From all the “first kisses” with your “first man” that you’d imagined, this was like none of them.

It was so

so much better.

It was fast, it was hard, but it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t brutal. It wasn’t empty. It was a cataclysm of feelings — pent up tension, pent up love.

As he dragged his mouth over yours, he hooked his hands under your legs, lifting you to wrap around him in one, swift movement. Then, he was on the move, backing himself toward your bed until the back of his knees met the mattress, and he collapsed, pulling your legs to straddle his lap. You hadn’t disconnected from his lips the entire time, still fervently needing more of him. You knew he felt the same. The demon of greed would most certainly never have enough of you. He tasted sweet and smelled strongly of an expensive cologne you knew he probably couldn’t actually afford. One of his hands stayed splayed on the top of your thigh, while the other worked to bring you even closer to him (if that was possible), pressing underneath your shirt to the skin on your back, two fingers edging their way into the beltline of your shorts.

He was careful not to take himself too far, to not lose control, and you could tell, so you worked your tongue past his lips. He sucked in a breath as the complete access to your mouth made room for him to deepen his greed for you. Slipping his tongue to meet yours, he nipped at your bottom lip, working his entire mouth in a blissful harmony.

He pulled back, heaving air, seeping desire from every muscle, just enough to speak to you,

“MC… I-I can’t… I can’t handle this... well... for much longer. I don’ know what I’m gonna do to ya…”, he began to pepper wet kisses down your neck, unable to keep himself off you long enough to even hear your reply.

You weren’t sure what else you were expecting, or if you were expecting anything else at all.

You were making out with a demon, after all.

You moved a hand to rake your nails through his frosty hair, and he leaned into the palm of your touch.

“It’s okay. I want you. All of you...”, it was only a whisper, but you were afraid if you spoke too loud, you’d snap the moment in half.

He did nothing but growl before reattaching his lips to yours, bringing his slender fingers to tug up at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m gonna do my best not to hurt ya…” he mumbled on your lips. You simply nodded, running your hands against his abs. He shivered at the contact, before helping you remove his own shirt.

Somewhere in the midst of him sliding on top of you, and the complete sight of the demon boy you had always longed for filling your soul, you heard the faintest of three words. You almost tricked yourself into believing they never entered the air, that they’d never left his lips.

But they were impossible to ignore.

“I love you”.

The sun will (sort of) rise.

The sun will (kind of) set.

You live in Hell, with 7 boys you dearly love,

but one holds you in the palm of his hand.

Mammon will always be there.

That night, he proved that truth to you over, and over again.

fin.

115 notes · View notes

bangtan-madi · 3 years

Text

Year of the Rabbit — Seven: Priori

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Yoongi, Taehyung x Jimin

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, brother!Namjoon, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 4.3k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight.

Warnings — language

Part — 7 / 7 (Outro still to come!)

Previous — Next

It takes the length of the call ringing for you to totally digest what just happened. Eventually, Jungkook's name fades from the black mirror, and the soft lullaby of "Yellow" fades away. You're left gripping the phone between pale fingers, desperately waiting for him to say something else.

When he speaks again, his tone is soft, barely audible, the most tender-sounding thing you've ever heard. "You're the one I love."

Lowering his phone, his hand reaches for yours. You allow him to use gentle pressure to pry your fingers away, and he tosses them both to the side.

Despite the blood pulsing in your ears, your breath is steady. Disregarding the way your hands tremble when he links his pinky with yours — something you two often do to silently show the other you're there — your mind is blissfully peaceful. Every worry, all your anxieties, the pile of bittersweet emotions you'd kept inside all this time, it's faded like mist.

Jungkook loves you.

You.

Not some other girl, not the one he broke up with over Christmas, not one of the many that come into his gym just to flirt. Of all the lovely women in Seoul that he could've fallen for, he didn't mention their names. He didn't call their number. He didn't spend his New Year with any of them.

He said your name. He called your number. He spent the holiday with you, alone and snowed in, cold and dark at the supermarket.

And suddenly, your eyes are damp and ever-so-slightly burning. Not in any way that allows sadness, but in every way that brings you joy. Your pinky curls around his, but you can't bring yourself to speak or meet his gaze. The boy you adore, standing silently beside you, gives you the time you need. More than anything, you want to throw your arms around him and confess your concurrent feelings. You want to hold him closer than you ever have before. But if you move now, you feel the thin glass pane of the confession will shatter and reality will be the solid stone wall behind it.

Almost as if sensing your disbelief, Jungkook leans closer and tucks a stray strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. "You're my priori," he murmurs, a soft smile visible from your peripheral vision. "My one true thing."

Of all the things you thought having your unrequited love confirmed would feel like, you never thought it would be this. You thought it would feel like flying — or maybe falling — like stepping off the edge and having all the love around you carry you to a new world. You always dreamed it would be like riding a rollercoaster with hands held high, heart racing, screaming at the top of your lungs from euphoria. Surely love feels exciting and thrilling and new, like one adventure after another.

Never in any of your daydreams or sleepless nights did you think love would feel so much like a sentimental song playing in the room beside you. Not unfamiliar, something you know from the past — perhaps even a lifetime ago. But it feels right to your soul, and you can't help but walk towards it. And finding that one you love feels like finding your home, and finding out that they feel the same way is like being handed the keys with the words, "It's yours now."

Love feels settled and secure and safe. It's constant and sure and tender, and you're surprised to have already had those things in your friendship with Jungkook. Then there comes a sense of relief when you see that very little will change between you two — but now you don't have to live with secret feelings and unacted-upon adoration. He's your one constant thing, your one true thing; that much you already knew.

Yes, priori is the perfect word.

"Jungkook..."

"Yes?"

Blinking away the tears from your eyes, you thread your fingers with his and finally raise your head. As your eyes meet, you offer a smile. Instantly, Jungkook's worry fades. Your grasp tightens, and you lift your other hand to tug on the edge of his shirt, prompting him to come closer.

"I think...I love you, too."

Jungkook's dimples pop out as he grins, and something like a squeak slips out beyond his control. His giddiness is infatuating, causing you to giggle alongside him. Suddenly, he's the one pulling you into him. The hand-holding turns into warm-embracing. His arms find their way around your waist and back, his hands gripping you closer. You make a sound of surprise when his cold nose buries into the crook of your neck.

You're just as quick to return the affection. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and your face nuzzles into his wavy hair. As one fist grips the soft material of his top, the other weaves through the silky locks. Having him this close is nothing you haven't done before; somehow this time feels different.

Just as you start to settle into his embrace, Jungkook's shaking his head against your neck, laughing softly to himself. "What's so funny?" you ask.

"I was so fucking scared you were going to freak out and run away," he chuckles against your skin. "Horrified I was going to lose you."

"Is that why you didn't say anything?" He nods. "How long?"

"Um...years?"

"Jeon Jungkook—!"

"—But especially ever since you left to study in the U.S.," he interrupts, explaining further. "For the first time since I met you, I thought I was going to lose you. Then I realized my feelings were way more than friendly, and that I'd do just about anything to get you back."

You heave a sigh and run your fingers along the exposed skin at the top of his back. "Then why didn't you tell me when I came back? It's been six damn months..."

"Because the fear of losing you was still there," he admits.

"And now?"

Jungkook shakes his head, then presses a kiss against your shoulder. "Not anymore."

"Well, if you're as brave now as you say you are, when are you going to kiss me?"

The brunet pulls away, swift and with wide eyes. He observes your expression for any sense of a trick or joke but finds nothing other than your teasing smile. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, which only encourages him more.

When you graze your fingers across his shoulders and pull your lower lip between your teeth, he snaps. Closing the distance in seconds, his eager mouth presses to yours. He's soft and gentle, but also excited and insistent. You move with him, your hands cradling his face. One hand remains at your waist as the other migrates to your hair. Neither of you can hide the smiles that slip in between kisses.

"You're actually a really good kisser," he giggles.

"Was there ever any doubt?"

Jungkook pecks your mouth again before responding, "Nope, but I had imagined it so many times I was starting to wonder if anything could live up to the moment in my head."

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, and it doesn't go unnoticed that the tips of his ears turn scarlet. "You imagined us together?"

He nods, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "More than I should've."

Heart full enough to burst at his adorable nature, you tug him back to you, tugging softly on his lower lip as you kiss. Jungkook takes advantage of the chance to slip his hands under your shirt, earning a yelp from you.

"Wai—Wait," you state, unable to hide the intrusive thought that occurs. "Is this why you broke things off with your ex?"

He groans and pulls away from you, putting mere millimeters between you. "Are you seriously bringing her up right now?"

"Maybe..."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed with your timing but indulging your curiosity with a smirk just the same. "Yeah. I think she knew I loved you, and we broke it off because of it. But that was a mutual choice."

"And my partners?"

"Oh, they've known since high school."

"What the hell," you scoff with mock horror, bringing his face back towards yours. "You're unbelievable, Gym Bunny."

His grin is wide, showing the very reason for the nickname. "I would say I try, but I don't."

"Shut up and kiss me, idiot."

"You're the one asking ques—!"His complaint is stopped short by your mouth on his, and you press the boundary a little more as you nip at his bottom lip, requesting entrance. Jungkook's lips part, and he steps forward with hands on your hips. Following his lead, you shuffle half a step backward before feeling the sofa put an abrupt stop to your path. Careening off-balance, the pair of you topple over, you barely landing on the cushions before Jungkook awkwardly stumbles and follows suit.

The unexpected puff of air from your lungs has him pushing off of you as much as possible, as soon as possible. Eyes wide, his expression is one of pure shock. Going from an intimate moment to an awkward one is right on par with your relationship. Between that thought and the look on his face, you burst into laughter, throwing your head back as giggles wreck your body.

"Why are we like this?" Eventually, you're able to spout the words.

By this time, Jungkook's concern has faded, and he's chuckling with you. "It's been this many years of a habit," he shrugs. The brunet pulls his upper body up as to perch on his elbows, which are on either side of your torso. As he gazes up at you, he rests his chin on your chest, looking more adorable by the second, though he's not even trying. "Why change anything now?"

As your laughter settles down, you move a hand playfully through his unruly hair, admiring the fact that it's longer than he usually lets it go. He leans into your touch, clearly enjoying the way your nails graze his scalp.

"Kiss me again?"

Jungkook doesn't wait for you to ask twice; in a heartbeat, he's propped himself up on his forearms, leaning over you, and pressing kisses all over your face. Your eyelids, your forehead, your nose—not one section is left untouched. Well, none except for the place you want to be kissed.

"Your aim is shitty."

He pulls back with raised eyebrows, voice sarcastic. "Oh, I'm sorry, are those not good enough for you?"

You shake your head with a smirk. "Nope."

"Mmm, fine. I'll relent."

He closes the distance and molds his mouth to yours. Not even a second later, the whole world lights up. Not in the typically cheesy romantic way, but in the very literal way. The lights in the supermarket come to life, and the machinery keeping everything cold whirs softly as background noise. The streetlights outside shine through the frostbitten windows, and the heat begins to pump warmer air into the space. To your elation, the generator in the back room shuts off, having done its duty to keep everything running as much as possible during the blackout. Even the lights of the storefronts outside the supermarket light up once more.

"Power's back," you murmur, realizing that the night snowed in is coming to an end, and reality will slowly follow suit. Turning back to face Jungkook, you see his face equally as downcast as yours. "I guess that's a good thing, right? At least we can go home and get some actual sleep."

He chuckles, then rests his cheek against your chest. "I slept just fine, thanks."

You bury your nose into his hair and sigh, recalling what you were doing the night prior before the power shut off. "Or I can get to work. I still need to get everything done for that wedding. I just hope the order went through before the outage..."

Jungkook sighs, lifts his head, and mutters, "Can you do me a favor?" At your nod, he continues. "Leave the shop for a few hours. Spend some time with me in a place that's actually warm. Let me get you that shitty takeout I promised you and just...be with me for a while. No work. No worries. Just us." He brushes his fingers against your ribcage, barely under your shirt. "Can you do that?"

Seeing the puppy-dog twinkle in his eyes, you roll your eyes with playful abandon. Your best friend grins, knowing he's won. "Fiiine. But Natsukashii is anything but shitty."

At your promise, Jungkook is eager to return to the flower shop for the bike he arrived on. Step by careful step, you make your way into the storage room, up the ladder, and across the attic overhead. Once down the hatch and into the shop, you're taken back by the shiver down your spine. You can only hope that the handful of hours without power didn't take too harsh a tole on the floral displays in the windows or horticulture pods in the back room.

Jungkook tosses you his sweatshirt, remaining only in a long-sleeved T-shirt. You open your mouth to protest, but he shoots you a glare that says, "Just put the damn shirt on already."

If you thought the interior was chilly, the walkway out front is bitter cold. Jungkook mounts the bike with ease, and he nods for you to hop on the back. After scooting onto a seat probably, no definitely, not made for two, he takes off in the direction opposite your apartment.

"Where are we going?"

"My place, it's a lot closer than yours," he says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. "If that's all right. I already fed your cat, so she's fine."

You flash a small smile, nodding your approval. "That's perfect."

The ride is thankfully short, and less than five minutes later, Jungkook is pulling up to the front of his apartment. It's inconspicuous, near the edge of the neighborhood, and a perfect length away from his gym. As he parks it at the biking rack outside, locking it in place, you shove your hands into the pockets of the oversized sweatshirt, marveling at how it smells so much like him.

"Isn't Jimin home?" you inquire.

Jungkook scoffs and shakes the snow from his hair. "Not a chance. He spent the New Year with Taehyung. I'd bet money that they're nursing a hangover at the latter's place right now."

"True, and I'll double that bet and say they're not even up yet."

As he joins your side, Jungkook slips his hand around yours and tugs you towards the entrance. "C'mon. It's fucking cold outside and someone stole my sweatshirt."

"You're not playing fair, Gym Bunny."

"That so, Flower Child?"

Once you both push through his front door, gleefully sighing at the warmth the room provides, you're rubbing your numb fingers together. "Can we promise to never do that again?"

"Which? The freezing bike ride or the freezing sleepover?"

"Both!"

Jungkook pokes your cheek as he passes you, a loving smile on his face. "Go change. The snow is melting and you're just about soaked. I'll order the takeout."

Nodding your head, you turn for his bedroom, knowing the way by memory. This is far from the first time you've been over at Jungkook's place, but it's never been like this. It's always been under the guise of being best friends. You never thought you would be sifting through his clothing as someone who's kissed him, held him, or spoken the words "I love you" as a lover would.

A small smile crosses your face when you think back to high school and college. Those times were especially close to your heart. Knowing what you know now — that Jungkook has been hiding these feelings for basically that entire time — it makes certain moments especially hilarious. All those awkward situations, those teasing comments by Hoseok and Yoongi, those embarrassed expressions from your best friend: suddenly it all makes sense.

You pull a different, but somehow still similar, black sweatshirt from Jungkook's closet, chuckling softly under your breath at his lack of variety in loungewear. To pair with it, you find a loose pair of sweatpants and fuzzy socks. Despite tying the drawstrings to a certain length, rolling up the sleeves and pant legs, you still feel drowned by the overly baggy clothing; even on him, this is a few sizes too large.

Just how he likes it.

When you make yourself as presentable as possible, you return to the living room on quiet feet. Jungkook's voice is soft, barely audible from the hallway, but you remain silent as you recognize the voice on the other line.

"You told her?" Yoongi says in shock. "Actually told her? For fucking real?"

"You're joking!" Hoseok exclaims, his voice a little farther from the phone.

Jungkook laughs. Seated on the sofa with his back turned to you, he nods his head once. "Yeah, actually did it, Hyung."

"About damn time! How long have you been friends? Ten years? More? I can't remember, to be honest— Point is, it's been a long time coming."

"How did it go?"

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, before responding, "She...She likes me, too. You were right."

"See—!"

"—and we might've kissed..."

It's nearly impossible to resist the urge to giggle as Yoongi and Hoseok lose their minds over the phone. Half cheering, half screaming, Jungkook's shoulders shake with laughter as he holds the device away from his ear.

"We told you, you idiot!" Hoseok exclaims, his accent coming through. "She's liked you for a long-ass time, you both were just too dumb to see it."

"Yeah, yeah, aish. I get it, okay?" Jungkook's words are snide, but his tone is playful. "I owe you a case of soju."

"Oh, you owe us way more than that for leaving you two alone over New Year's." Yoongi scoffs. "I mean, not that we don't love vacationing in Hawaii, but I was starting to worry you would chicken out."

"I did," Jungkook laughs. "And then [Y/n] kept pressing and asking who I was interested in and eventually..."

"Yeah, she's good at being nosey."

"But honestly? I'm glad she did. I would've stayed quiet, just like all the other close calls before." Your best friend sighs, but the sound isn't sad like you'd imagine. It's more like a breath of relief, as if this is a weight he's been shouldering for a while. "And now I feel like things are changing."

Yoongi hums, instantly picking up on the younger's tone shift. "Does it scare you?"

"A bit?" he replies honestly. "I'm not sure..." After trailing off, he straightens up and rubs the back of his neck. "Hey, I gotta go, Hyungs. She's gonna be back any second. Thanks for everything, even if Hobi-hyung was threatening to spill to [Y/n] over the holidays."

"You had it coming, Jungkookie!" Hoseok snickers from somewhere in the background of the other side. "But I swear to god, if you break her heart—"

"—Bye!" Jungkook hangs up with a giggle, clearly amused by Hoseok's ever-present extra-nature. He tosses the phone onto the sofa beside him and leans back onto the cushions.

You slip into the room, clearing your throat to announce your entrance, before wrapping your arms around Jungkook's shoulders. Resting your chin on the crook between his shoulder and neck, you murmur, "You okay?"

Jungkook nods, leaning his head to the side so that it rests against yours. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Just the very end," you assure. After a beat of silence, you give his shoulders a squeeze. "Nothing's going to change. I promise."

"Yeah, maybe I was wrong about that." He pulls away from your grasp and turns around, arms braced against the back of the sofa so he can meet your gaze. "What if I want things to change? For the better."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't taken aback by his suggestion. All this time, the fears inside you both had been that a step forward in your relationship would mean leaving something behind. Or losing something you love. It's one of the hardest things in the world, to face the romantic feelings you have for someone you've called your best friend ever since you were in school. You know Jungkook feels this way, or at least you thought he did.

"There's no way we'll ever stop being best friends," he continues after you say nothing. He tugs on the edges of your, or rather his, sweatshirt, playing absent-mindedly with the loose string on the hem. "We both know that. But maybe now...maybe we owe it to ourselves and these things we feel for the other to see where this leads? Maybe we should give us a try."

Eventually, you find your voice again. "What are you saying?"

Jungkook closes his eyes and runs his other hand through his wavy hair. The crease between his brows deepens as he struggles to find the correct words. "I was so worried about change because I never considered that it could be good. But maybe it can be. There's nothing that says we have to stop being each other's closest friends if we wanted to give us a try."

"Us...as in dating? Like fancy dinners, movie theaters, non-best friend sleepovers kinda dating."

Heat rises to his cheeks, and suddenly he's stumbling worse than he was before. "I mean—yeah, that's what I was... But only if you wanted to. I was going to ask but—"

The clear embarrassment on his face, paired with the disjointed sentences he never finishes, has you laughing and pulling him to you. Your arms circle around his neck, and you press your lips into his hair. It's been a long time since you've seen him this flustered, and to know it's because of you, how could you not be amused?

"I mean, neither of us are fancy dinner, movie theater kind of people, but I can guarantee I'll take you up if you ask me out to, say, beat your ass at an arcade or out-eat and out-drink you at an all you can eat barbeque and soju night, I would definitely take you up on that. No questions asked. You're my boyfriend now and I will annihilate you without mercy."

Jungkook bursts into laughter at your response, arms wrapping around your middle as his shoulders shake. "In that case, why not do both!"

Pulling back so you can grin down at him, you snicker, "Oh, you're on, Gym Bunny."

Jungkook grins, cups your face in his hands, and pulls you back to him. His lips mold to yours in a sweet and tender kiss. Both of you are smiling into it, and he's nearly about to lift you up and over the back of the sofa and onto the cushion with him before the door buzzer interrupts you both. He pulls away, groaning to himself.

"That's probably the takeout," he says. He presses a second, swifter peck to your mouth before letting you go in favor of the door. "Tonight, we eat takeout and play Call of Duty. Tomorrow, I help you with your order so you're not so stressed?"

You hop onto the sofa, shaking your head as you retort, "Oh, no, you don't have to do that—!"

"—I want to, no buts," he interrupts with a grin, signature bunny teeth pulling at all your heartstrings.

How can you say no to that face?

He backs up towards the door, holding up a finger as if telling you to wait. "One second. I'll be right back with food."

You give two thumbs-ups, returning his cute enthusiasm. "I'll be here."

After he leaves, you shake your head to yourself, wondering how in the world things could shift so much in less than a day. Twenty-four hours ago, you were cooped up at the flower shop, trying to handle a plethora of last-minute tasks, knowing that you wouldn't be home for much of the New Year at all. Your partners on a well-deserved holiday, your parents back home in Ilsan, your brother god only knows where in some random city, you were alone. The flowers were your only companions, and somehow you had come to terms with being okay with it.

You never could have dreamed up a snowstorm, a power outage, and a supermarket adventure with Jeon Jungkook. While it had started out as an inconvenience, now you look back on last night as a welcome turning point. The events that had transpired had been building up for almost a decade. Despite you making a mental reminder to harass Yoongi and Hoseok for keeping things from you when they returned, you find yourself satisfied with how things have unraveled. You hadn't been alone for the holiday after all — far from it.

As Jungkook returns with the door — spouting in an adorable Busan-accented lisp about the overcharge for the extra sauces he knows you love — you can't help the smile that spreads across your face or the love that blossoms in your heart.

Maybe the Year of the Rabbit wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Taglist — @kooala

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts!

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it.

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill.

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed.

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of.

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection.

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home.

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge.

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl.

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward.

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet.

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming.

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it.

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy.

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now.

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer.

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated.

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more.

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in.

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit.

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted.

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange.

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands.

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice.

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma.

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort.

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person.

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience.

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #dick grayson & bruce wayne #damian wayne #Tim Drake #dick grayson & damian wayne #nightwing #batman #robin #red robin #12 Batfam prompts #dc #prompts #fanfiction #my fic

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 23

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Christmas morning finally arrives, and you and Bucky come to a decision.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Mild sexual content, fluff, mild angst, references to asexuality

AO3

Whether by habit or some instinctual memory of being back in this room on this day, your body knew to wake you up at the crack of dawn, which would have been a bummer if not for one important fact.

You were warmly tucked within the embrace of one sleeping demon. Definitely sleeping this time because his wings were draped over you like a blanket and his tail was looped snug around your leg.

Closing your eyes and releasing a sigh, you reveled in the warm security of Bucky’s chest pressed against your back. Neither of you had bothered to get dressed after last night, and all of him was pressed against you in the best way. You were on the edge between vibrating out of your skin in nervous energy and melting into a puddle from the intimate contact.

Perhaps your silent agitation woke him, because Bucky nosed against your neck and gave a raspy “morning” as he stretched and hugged you closer.

“M-morning,” you returned, stuttering while his stiffening cock pressed against your ass. Falling asleep naked was, in hindsight, not the wisest idea.

“Uh, sorry—“

Bucky began to roll away but you snatched his arm in time and draped it back over your waist.

“It’s fine, really, just… stay a little while?”

Bucky paused then rolled back the rest of the way, and you sighed at the return of warmth.

“We… we should probably talk about this…”

“Later.”

You rolled onto your other side until you were facing him and got an amazing view of his collarbone. Nuzzling against his chest, you made a satisfied hum in your throat.

Bucky let out a breathless laugh and ran his fingers through your hair. The humming intensified.

“You’re like a cat,” he remarked, his other hand tracing along the curve of your spine. “Craving warmth and attention.”

“I’m not the one with pointy ears and a tail.”

You gave the hollow dip at the base of his throat a lick for good measure. He stiffened and groaned, his cock now at full mast and pressed against your hip.

“Are you… uh… still hungry?” you asked, clearing your throat when your voice cracked like a teenage boy.

“Mmmm nope. Still very full from last night. This is… all you.”

Face on fire, you buried your face deeper in his neck. Bucky just laughed, the rumbling sound both comforting and rekindling the warmth in your gut.

“We should probably get up,” he sighed into your hair, then chuckling at your muffled groan. “I don’t want to leave this bed either, but… we’ll have lots of time once we get back to the city to…”

He trailed off at you staring up at him with big, wide eyes. His cheeks flushing pink was a rare, wonderful sight.

“We get to do this more?” you asked, daring not to hope. “Not just for feedings?”

He swallowed hard and licked his lips, tempting you to taste them again. You didn’t know how you would manage to keep your hands to yourself now that you knew what this was like.

“That’s what we should talk about.”

You huffed and let your forehead smash into the pillow. He rubbed your back sweetly but was definitely grinning down at you as he said, “You’re the one who said we should communicate more clearly.”

“Ugghhh,” was your answer muffled by the pillow.

Bucky smiled and kissed the top of your head, the amused, fond expression never quite leaving his face as the two of you got dressed. You couldn’t help sneaking glances at him; with or without the guise, his body was a goddamn meal in every sense of the word.

Coming downstairs meant you were met with the strong smell of pancakes, cinnamon, and hazelnut wafting through the house. Your mom and aunt were both working on breakfast, while your uncle shoveled the driveway and walkway to clear the snow from the night.

Bucky volunteered to help him, and with a parting kiss on the crown of your head, he put on his windbreaker and disappeared out the front door.

Unlike all the other gestures of affection put on for show, this one left you flushed with a pounding heart. The knowing glance your mother and aunt shared made the heat in your face worse, but at least they were merciful enough to keep their comments to themselves.

Just kidding.

“Jacob seems very nice,” your mother said in that way mothers had of doing trying to prod for more information and thought they were being sneaky. “Will we get to see him over more holidays?”

You were in the middle of retrieving cartons of grapes, kiwis, and persimmons from the fridge in order to help make the fruit salad when you froze. Having Bucky over for… holidays? You jumped forward to other questions. What about birthday parties? Next holiday season?

How long was the shelf life of a demon pact? You couldn’t remember what the book had said, if anything.

“Sweetie?”

You blinked, struggled to form a steady smile, and turned back to the fruit when it didn’t quite work.

“Yeah, hopefully,” you answered weakly.

She shuffled closer and you could sense her staring, the weight of her concern pressing on your shoulders.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

The fruit cartons were cold in your hands, and the cool water you used to wash them with did nothing to stop the chill creeping over you.

“Course, Mom. Why?”

“Well…” She stood next to you to take the washed fruits and chop up the larger ones on the cutting board. “Because I know at the beginning of these things, when everything is new and intense, it can be a little… scary.”

You snorted. Now there was an understatement.

“But I know it’s going to all work out,” she said. “With Jacob, or whatever’s going on in your life, it’ll be okay. I just… have a feeling about it.”

You nodded and ducked your head, fighting back the sudden well of tears when your mother reached over and hugged you against your side as if you were a little kid again.

“But if anything is bothering you, I want you to tell me.” She squeezed your arm, and you smiled despite yourself. “Even if there’s nothing I can do, I’m your mother and I want to know.”

You did want to tell her, so badly. You gave another weak nod and a thanks, Mom so she’d leave the subject alone. You didn’t know where this surge of emotions was coming from, but everything felt too heavy and too much. It was Christmas morning, everyone was safe and healthy, and there was no reason you should be on the verge of crying into the fruit salad.

As soon as Bucky returned with your uncle and settled his gaze on you, his brows creased and he frowned. But there was no time to talk; your sister and her family had arrived, and it was a gentle sort of pandemonium after that. Embraces and excited conversation as everyone gathered around the tree. There were no children left in the family, with the exception of your two month old nephew, but it was a tradition you continued long after childhood.

Bucky kept shooting you concerned glances throughout the entire gathering, even after you decided to drop your own problems and focus on your family’s happiness. Your aunt and uncle were avid outdoors explorers, so shopping for them had been easy. Binoculars, survival gear, hiking boots, all pretty standard stuff. Your mother and sister had been harder, but some cute t-shirts and new books from their favorite authors had done the trick.

You were still bothered by the fact you hadn’t given Bucky anything. Last night had been something out of a fantasy, and that was before you’d managed to get Bucky into bed, and not having a gift for him was unacceptable.

After all the presents were opened and everyone got comfortable around the living room in what you recognized would be hours of slightly boring, adult conversation, Bucky caught your eye and nudged his chin towards the backdoor. Nodding discretely, you excused yourselves with the reason that you were going for a walk, and grabbed Bucky’s hand to lead him into the backyard.

You’d barely been outside ten seconds before Bucky sighed, turned right back around, and disappeared inside with the instructions to sit tight. You rolled your eyes when he reappeared with your jacket and beanie in hand.

“I’m not going to die of exposure from being out in the snow for a few minutes underdressed,” you griped.

“Uh-huh.” Bucky ignored you as he shoved the beanie over your head and used your flailing to slip your arms through the sleeves.

“You’re such a mother hen.”

“Well, one of us has to look out for you.”

“I am. Perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” You shook your finger at him.

“Uh-huh.” He grabbed you and lifted you up in his arms. “Is that why you couldn’t bother to put slippers on before going out in the snow?”

You buried your face in his chest so Bucky couldn’t see your expression. So what if you’d been so distracted you’d basically run outdoors in your pajamas?

He smirked and carried you to the old swing set you hadn’t been on since you were a kid. Only two seats, it had been built by your uncle soon after your sister had been born. It was one of your favorite childhood spots, and as Bucky set you down on one of the swings, you wondered if he knew that.

Bucky sat on the other swing and immediately picked up your legs and put them into his lap. You opened your mouth to complain, but closed it again. Bucky was softly smiling at you, and you couldn’t remember him ever looking so… happy.

“So…” You wiggled your legs and focused on your wet socks rather than your feelings. “Is this why you lured me away? You wanted to play on the swing set?”

You expected Bucky to be flustered or embarrassed by your teasing. Instead, he leaned across the small space and pulled your legs at the same time so you were practically sitting sidesaddle in his lap. He grinned at your shocked expression.

“No. But now that you bring it up…”

Bucky closed the last few inches and captured your lips in a soft, light kiss. It still hit you like a ton of bricks and you would have fallen backwards off your swing if Bucky hadn’t been there to wrap his arms around you.

You were in a daze by the time you separated. He chuckled at your expression but didn’t move far, and you were tempted to kiss him again.

“We still have to talk.”

You scrunched up your nose.

“Must we?” you asked. “Or should we make out instead.”

Bucky grinned wide enough to show perfectly white teeth.

“Maybe after.”

“I’m listening,” you said with your best innocent, attentive look. Bucky didn’t buy it, but he did kiss you on the tip of your nose before leaning back a more appropriate distance. Disappointing.

“Last night was…” Bucky’s gaze dropped, a thumb absently rubbing circles into your knee. “I don’t have words for it. It was incredible and amazing…

“But…” You exhaled heavily and leaned your forehead against the cold chain of the swing. Here was the it’s not you, it’s me talk. This was exactly why you didn’t want to have this discussion—

“But.” His other hand squeezed your leg, gently, to catch your attention. When he had it, he said, “I want to be a hundred percent certain it’s what you want.”

Oh. Not quite what you’d expected.

“Bucky… It’s… of course it’s what I want.” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them. “I’ve wanted this for a while now and didn’t have the guts to express that until last night.”

“Huh.” He blinked, mouth slightly ajar as if he’d never considered that before. “I... I’m asking because the bond makes things a lot more complicated. How do we know what’s binding magic and what’s… I mean… even if it’s not the bond, we’re still forced to have sex, and it’s easy to get attachments when you—“

You didn’t mean to let the giggle escape, but once it had, Bucky stared at you like you’d grown a second head. The confused-Bucky-face didn’t help, either.

“I’m not… not laughing at you,” you said, smiling. “I’m laughing because I think I understand what you’re worried about, and Bucky? That’s not what’s going on here.”

Bucky searched your face and frowned.

“But how do you know that?” he asked. “You could be confusing the feelings from sex for something else. Something more.”

Your smile widened as you struggled not to laugh again. You really didn’t want Bucky to take it the wrong way, misunderstand it for the relief it was.

“I know because my brain doesn’t work like that. Never has,” you said. “I don’t get ‘sexual feelings’ from looking at attractive people. Having sex with them wouldn’t change that. So… I’m trying to say, I don’t like you because of the bond, or the sex. I like you apart from all that. One’s got nothing to do with the other.”

He stared at you so long you fidgeted under his gaze.

“Is that why you haven’t been in many relationships?”

You winced and buried your face in your hands. Sometimes, you forgot this was the guy who’d been watching over you most of your life and knew you better than anyone.

Gentle hands pulled your arms away from your face, his expression kind and a little bit sad.

“It’s not a judgement,” he said quietly. “I always wondered why you were alone. Couldn’t understand it.”

You couldn’t meet his eye, the tightness in your chest suffocating, bordering on painful. All those years you’d been alone, believing you’d always be that way, never knowing Bucky existed. Countless nights you’d curled up in bed, heart aching with loneliness, and he’d been out there just… thinking about you?

Bucky wasn’t the only one with a low sense of self-worth. You just buried yours better.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard. “I don’t feel attracted to people very often. And when I do, it just… doesn’t work out.”

Your stomach clenched and you wondered if you might barf right there in the snow, or worse, on Bucky’s lap. You hadn’t expected to have this conversation, not so soon and not here. You weren’t prepared for it, for his inevitable rejection. For the pity in his eyes as he finally understood.

“Or I’m not what they want.” Your voice was flat. Clinical. In direct opposition to the anxiety buzzing under your skin. “It’s as simple as that. I don’t blame anyone for wanting something I can’t give them. It’s… it’s no one’s fault…”

Despite the familiar words you had recited to yourself over and over, your vision blurred. You tried to retract your arms out of Bucky’s grip, but he pulled you forward against his chest and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. The swing slipped out from under you, and now you really were in his lap. He didn’t seem to mind as he rubbed your back and propped his chin on top of your hair.

“It’s all right,” he said, low and comforting. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t.” You pressed closer against his chest, barely feeling the freezing temperature while wrapped in Bucky’s warmth. “I just want you to know that if I’m not what you want, then… bond or not, you don’t owe me anything.”

Bucky slowly pulled back and cupped your cheeks in his gloved hands, one stiffer than the other. His eyes were so gentle it was hard to breathe.

“I believe that’s my line.”

You rolled your eyes, if only so you wouldn’t start crying like a baby. You hadn’t realized how much emotional weight you’d been carrying until now.

“You’re stuck with me, Barnes. I told you that.”

He stroked your cheek, his gaze suddenly very far away as if he was seeing something else.

“And I made a promise a long time ago that I would always protect you,” he said. “Which I will continue to do, no matter where this goes or what happens between us.

“But,” he added, leaning forward, eyes sparkling with warmth, “I’m also extremely selfish and hoping we can continue what we’ve started. Whatever you’re willing to give me, whatever you’re comfortable with sharing, will be more than enough for me. Because you are more than enough for me.”

Great, now your eyes were burning for a totally different reason. Your anxiety had vanished, but now it felt like this burning affection was going to burst out of your chest like a baby xenomorph.

Before you could wonder if Bucky had seen any of the Alien series, and would you be able to rope him into watching them with you, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth.

And then you ruined the tender moment by grinning like an idiot and chirping, “So-o-o-o does that make you my demon boyfriend?”

“Oh, my God.”

“And me, your adorable human girlfriend?”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back and leaned away to give you a narrow-eyed glare.

“Yes.” He ended the syllable on a slight hiss, narrowing his eyes further when you grinned. “You might regret this, you know.”

“I regret getting out of bed every day. You?” You grinned. “No. Not a chance I’ll regret you.”

“I’m not sure whether to be assured or worried.”

You gave him a sympathetic pat on the cheek.

“Millennial humor. You’ll get used to it.”

Bucky leaned forward, his mouth suddenly very close, making you flush in record time.

“You do realize your generation did not invent fatalistic humor.”

“Yeah? Tell me more, Gramps.”

The crash of his lips against yours might have been a form of payback for your smart mouth, but you welcomed it gladly.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky #demon!bucky x reader #branded #bucky barnes #my writing #my fanfiction #what? two chapters of healthy communication?#perish the thot

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