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phoenixyfriend · 2 months

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How to Call Your Reps About Gaza

I make a lot of posts telling you to call your reps! Anyway, here's the overall shape of how to argue to them.

Disclaimer: I am not in politics. I do not have experience as a staffer. I am just someone who cares a lot about where things are going, and wants to help. Also, this is specific to the US, because that's where I'm based. Hopefully, people with expertise can add more suggestions on.

Find your elected officials.

My Ko-fi: this took me two days to write up, so uh. If you've got a few dollars, send them my way so I can keep doing this sort of thing, and maybe move out of my parents' house sooner.

General tips:

Be polite, or at least civil. Do not swear or shout at whoever answers the phone. This will quite possibly get your number blocked. Fifty civil calls over the course of several months will do more than one where you shout. You can be frosty, you can say you are disappointed, you can say you find the actions of your reps to be reprehensible or morally bankrupt, sure. But keep calm and aim criticism at the rep, not the staffer.

Keep it short. The staffers who answer call centers are busy. They usually start trying to hurry me off after about two minutes. I've yet to manage a call longer than four or five minutes. Pick one or two topics for the day, and focus on those. Cycle through them every time you call. Stick to just one from day to day if it's a large, ongoing issue like Gaza.

Plan for voicemail. I get voicemail more often than not. My House rep usually has a staffer free, but the Senators are almost always voicemail. This will give you a minute and a half max. Be ready to get your point squeezed into that.

Only call your representatives. The important, powerful word here is "constituent." You will be ignored or even counted against if you are from a different district or state. The first thing you start with is your name and address. A staffer will ask for the information they need. On voicemail, leave your full name, your city and state, and zip code before you go into your message. Do not lie, either. They look these things up in the system when you call. I'm not sure how--I think maybe they have access to a database of registered voters--but every time I call, they ask for my last name and address and at some point say, 'oh, yep, I've got you right here,' which indicates a database of some sort.

Research at least a little bit about their opinions. If they already agree with you, then it's much easier to leave a quick "I support you and want you to know that" to combat anyone who's arguing from the other side. If they don't, then you're best off finding out what specific issue they have so you can know the best kind of comment to leave.

Look up specific bills or arguments. I get daily emails from GovTrack about bills that are on this week's docket or have been voted on in the past day. IDK about anyone else, but being able to say that I disagree specifically with HR 815 or something makes me feel powerful, and possibly like I will be taken more seriously. Sometimes you can start with articles like this one, which include links to specific bills on the official congress website.

Email after if you can. Reportedly less effective, and takes longer, but you are more likely to get a written (canned) response, and it reinforces whatever you called about.

Basic structure of a call, at least as I've been doing it:

"Hi, my name is ____ ____, and I am a constituent from [city, state], [zip]. I am calling to express my opinion on [topic]. I am concerned about [short argument with a clear impact on the topic]. I ask that you support [measure or fellow congress member]/vote [yay/nay on specific legislature]. Thank you for your time, and I hope you keep my opinion in mind."

For this post, the topic can be stated as the war in Gaza, military funding for Israel, or unrest in the Middle East, depending on which you think your elected official will respond to best. That said, the structure should work for whatever your call is about.

Arguments to use against your elected official... or your on-the-fence cousin:

I'll be honest, some of these are not going to do much against your representative. They know the arguments, and have been going over them with each other for months. You just need to have one locked and loaded that they consider relevant instead of a nonstarter, in order to back up your opinion as 'founded' instead of 'nonsense, can be swayed with a good marketing campaign.'

I'll include explanations if I don't think something is self-evident (or needs more evidence to tell your cousin), but in most of them I'll provide some suggested verbiage that you can tweak as needed, and for a few of them, that's really enough.

THESE ARE FOR THE TOPIC OF CONCERN, ONLY. You still need to end each one with "I ask that the [official] votes to [action]" at the end. Give them something actionable (example from Feb. 13th). My go-tos right now:

Both chambers: Reinstate funding for UNRWA

Both chambers: Place mandatory restrictions on any aid to Israel, with contractual threats to cut funding if Netanyahu and his government continue to disregard civilian life

Senate: Put support behind Bernie Sanders and his motion to restrict funding to Israel until a humanitarian review of the IDF’s actions in Gaza has been completed (S.R. 504) (Tabled by the Senate on 1/16, but it is being brought back in as conditions continue to escalate)

House: Put support behind Rep. Rashida Tlaib’s petition for the US government to recognize the IDF’s actions in Gaza as ethnic cleansing and forced displacement, and put a stop to it.

House: Put support behind H.R. 786, introduced by Rep. Cori Bush, calling for an immediate deescalation and cease-fire in Israel and occupied Palestine.

What Not to Say

"There is no threat to Israel." I've talked about this elsewhere, but the short version is that this will be basically laughed out as you not knowing what you're talking about.

Anything generically antisemitic. (I mean, it might work on some of the white supremacists, but do you really want to encourage that thinking? No, so don't do it.)

Facts that you "heard somewhere" but cannot find a reliable source for. If it's being reported by the New York Times, NPR, or the BBC, it's probably trustworthy by government standards. If it's not a super common statistic, cite the journal you got it from by name. Remember, you aren't arguing to tumblr mutuals. You are arguing to your elected official or your 'I don't really pay attention' cousin. When it comes to this, big name news sources are better.

Unrealistic demands for complete isolationism, permanently abandoning Israel to its own devices, supporting Hamas, etc. Again, you will not be taken seriously. Pick an argument they might actually listen to, and use it to press them towards a possible solution. You want them to believe that if they adjust their position, they will be doing the will of most of their constituents, and thus more likely to get reelected.

The Ethics Argument

Third-party reporting has stated that that nearly 29,000 Gazans are dead since Oct. 7th, as of 2/18/24. The vast majority of those are civilians, and over half are children. Palestinians in Gaza are facing an acute hunger crisis threatening to become a full-blown famine.

The International Court of Justice has found that there is credible reason to believe that the state of Israel is committing a genocide against the Palestinians of Gaza.

This does not mean that every single Israeli is complicit. It does mean that the government, particularly Netanyahu and his associates, has been reprimanded by a large, diverse coalition of countries, and has consistently refused to listen to that court since.

This argument will possibly work on your cousin. Less likely to work on your elected official. They already know the numbers. I just wanted to get it out of the way first.

The Re-Election Argument: Michigan vs New York

Meanwhile, this is possibly the most effective. Again, this is not an argument of ethics. This is an argument of "how can I make my elected official do what I want." We do not use only the purest moral argument. We use what works.

What to say to your elected official: Michigan, as a swing state, was won by democrats on the power of the Arab-American vote in the 2020 election. We (either party) are at risk of losing Michigan due to the current Congressional approach to the Gaza conflict, as that demographic is now polling as likely to abstain from voting entirely. The risk of losing several congressional districts due to the Jewish vote is a real one, but the risk of losing the the executive branch is greater, especially after what we saw with Suozzi. Supporting Palestine might lose us parts of New York, but supporting Israel will lose us Michigan.

Explanation: Something that has been taking up a lot of time and space in the election coverage is the situation in Michigan, and more recently, there has been attention paid to the special election of New York's third district, AKA the "who gets to replace disgraced George Santos" competition.

Michigan is traditionally a swing state. While 2.1% doesn't sound like a lot, that is some 211k-278k people (depending on your source), and while not all of them can vote... Michigan was won by about 154k. Arab-Americans are not the only relevant demographic, but they sure are an important one, and they are vocally opposed to the situation. Approval has dropped from 59% to 17%. From that same article:

As Axios notes, Biden won Michigan in 2020 by 154,000 votes, but there are at least 278,000 Arab Americans in Michigan. Biden took Arizona, a state with an Arab American population of 60,000, by only 10,500 votes. In Georgia, Biden prevailed with a margin of 11,800 voters, in a state that has an Arab American population of 57,000.

Democrats cannot afford to lose these states. Pressure your congresspeople about that, especially if you live in one of those states. I assume most Arab-Americans in said states are already calling every day; the rest of you can join in.

Meanwhile, most Jews (considered the most pro-Israel demographic by strategists) in America are concentrated in a very small number of electoral districts. Of the twenty most-Jewish, ten are in New York, which is why I put it up in the section header.

One of those districts was won by a Republican in 2022: George Santos, New York's third congressional district. Following his scandals and ousting, the seat was up for a special election, and the two candidates were Tom Suozzi, a democrat who held the seat previously (he decided to run for governor, and lost), and Mazi Pilip, a Nassau county legislator who was of Ethiopian Jewish background and had been in the IDF. She ran on a campaign that leaned strongly pro-Israel and anti-immigration, and when Suozzi won, she interrupted his victory speech to accuse him of supporting a genocide against Israel due to his rather centrist, rather milquetoast stance on the conflict during his election campaign.

Now, Suozzi's win probably had more to do with Pilip being anti-choice than her pro-Israel arguments, but he still won.

Democrats can better risk possibly losing a few seats in NY than definitely losing three swing states.

"But I don't want Dems to win their districts after what they've been--" Nope. Listen to me. Surveys indicate that Republicans are on average more pro-Israel, because Trump and Netanyahu are buddy-buddy, and we do not have a viable third option.

Also, again, this is about convincing Dems to be better. "If you do not vote to put restrictions on funding to Israel, I will not vote for you in November" is a lot more powerful than "I will not vote for you either way, because of what you've been doing, but you should do what I say anyway."

The Re-Election Argument: Risk of Escalation

So, that thing I said about Trump and Netanyahu?

Yeah, so, while Biden is giving Israel military aid while cautioning them to slow down and be careful, Trump is... complicated, but suffice to say he's much closer to Netanyahu on a personal level than Biden is. Biden's relation with Netanyahu is reportedly pretty frosty, while Trump's is based on relations through the Kushners.

Just from wikipedia:

Netanyahu made his closeness to Donald Trump, a personal friend since the 1980s, central to his political appeal in Israel from 2016.[21] During Trump's presidency, the United States recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, recognized Israeli sovereignty over the Golan Heights, and brokered the Abraham Accords, a series of normalization agreements between Israel and various Arab states.

Trump's been more all-over-the-place recently, badmouthing Netanyahu for being what Trump perceives as a loser, which complicates understanding what his approach is. It's kind of incoherent right now.

Given Trump's general history of being pro-Israel, though, and the attempts by House Republicans to push through a bill of unconditional funding for Israel. It failed, but notable is that the more recent bill passed in part because it was paired with aid for Ukraine and Taiwan (something Dems are much more invested in having happen).

What to say to your elected official: If Trump is reelected due to his current appearance of being more critical of Netanyahu, there is evidence from his presidency to indicate that he will support Israel much less critically if elected. While he claims to want to settle the Middle East, it seems incredibly likely that he will worsen the situation for Palestinians, and ramp up retaliatory strikes to groups like the Houthis in a manner that will impact non-military parties, igniting tensions that are already tenuous.

The Disrespect/Wild Card Argument

This particular argument is best used against the Very Patriotic Politicians who are more concerned with the US's image and Being The Alpha Nation than with other things. Basically, this might work on Republicans.

This isn't really something I believe in, as a matter of foreign policy, buuuut it might work on your rep, so. Consider it!

What to say to your elected official: With Israel's recent actions in ignoring Biden, blocking US-sent aid like those flour trucks that got stopped at the Rafah border because they'd be distributed by UNWA, and generally Disrespecting The USA and Being Unpredictable is not only making the US look bad for being unable to wrangle a smaller country, but also making it so we are less able to wrangle other countries in the future, because Israel cannot be predicted and might set someone off.

The Europe and Reputation Argument

What to say to your elected official: The United States is losing credibility as a world power known for its military and ability to manage international disputes on behalf of the UN, because it is seemingly unable to influence Israel, and losing credibility as an upstanding moral state that is not doing foreign coups and banana republics anymore, as it appears to be tacitly supporting Israel's ICJ-labelled genocide, which is a really bad look with the other Western Powers.

I'm not entirely sure who this might work on, but there's gotta be at least a few politicians who are really concerned about America's image, more than about actually doing the right thing. Figure out if your politician is one of them.

If necessary, you can bring up how Trump is threatening to pull US support for NATO if Russia attacks someone.

The Middle East Stability Argument: Iran-backed Militias

What to say to your elected official: I'm concerned that the continued support of Israel, and thus the funding of their actions in Gaza, will increase the instability of Iran-backed militias, as we have already seen with the Houthis and Hezbollah. Entire Muslim-majority nations are showing increased displeasure not only with Israel, but with the US by extension. We cannot afford another war in the Middle East when we haven't yet pulled all our troops from the last one, not with the recent and recurring economic recessions. Any situation would also very likely be complicated or inflamed by the growing tensions among Eritrea, Djibouti, and Ethiopia regarding Red Sea access as well.

Use this on the ones that claim to be pro-military or pro-veteran. See what they said about HR 815 before the foreign military funding amendment was added.

The Middle East Stability Argument: Egypt

What to say to your elected official: Egypt's government has been unstable since the Arab Spring, and even now the military government is incredibly unpopular. With that existing instability, the addition of economic strain from the reduced usage of the Suez canal, the international disputes occurring because they're the main throughway for aid into Gaza, and the threat of a sudden influx of nearly one and a half million Palestinian refugees should Israel continue to push south... Egypt is looking at a possible near-collapse as we've seen in nearby nations suffering similar instabilities.

Explanation: It took several years for Egypt to really start recovering from the revolts in 2013, and it has applied for four IMF loans in recent years. The current government is unpopular to such a degree that they are looking to build an entire new capital from scratch in the middle of the desert so that they're less open to the risk of civilian uprisings; one of the primary causes for civilian dissatisfaction is economic issues.

Due to Houthi attacks at the Bab al-Mandab Strait, traffic through the Suez canal is down massively, and since the canal "represents almost 5% of the GNP and 10% of GDP and is one of Egypt’s most important sources of hard currency." (src) Various sources are reporting that trade through the canal is down 40-50%, which is putting more strain on the already unstable economic and political situation.

Finally, Egypt's population is about 110 million, but the governorate that shares a border with Israel and Gaza, North Sinai, has a population of barely 500,000. A push of one and a half million starving, injured people will, very suddenly, nearly quadruple the population of the governorate, and require extreme aid response from Egypt's government to keep alive and prevent a larger crisis in North Sinai and neighboring governorates.

The Middle East Stability Argument: Normalized Relations

What to say to your elected official: I am concerned that Israel's continued attack on Gaza is jeopardizing any chance of normalized relations with the Arab states in the future. American has put a lot of work into trying to get these various countries to normalize with Israel, and our funding of the current attacks on Gaza are sabotaging all that effort.

This one can be combined with the Iran-Backed Militias argument: Israel, in pursuit of revenge against Hamas, is setting itself up to be in more danger long-term, rather than less.

The International Trade Argument

What to say to your elected official: I am concerned about how the war in Gaza is impacting international trade and shipping costs. With the Suez Canal down to half its usual capacity and the Panama Canal raising costs and dropping capacity in response to the water restrictions, along with rising fuel costs in Europe and Asia, global trade is incredibly strained. We are being relegated to the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Horn, and the Malacca strait for much of intercontinental trade, and the macroeconomic projections are looking very bad for America.

The Domestic Economics Argument

What to say to your elected official: Many of the plans for Israeli military funding cause damage to other parts of the budget. For instance, a recent plan put forward by the Republicans of the House suggested IRS cuts in order to move that money, a plan which would impact the US budget negatively in the long term; we need those 14 billion being spent domestically, not supporting an overreaction/possible genocide in Gaza.

Explanation: In general, pick something receiving budget cuts that your congressperson will care about. I care about IRS funding, and saw it mentioned as a target in an article, so that's what I've got in my suggested verbiage up there.

The fewer people that are working for the IRS, the more they focus on auditing poor people (simple, easy taxes) and the less they can effectively audit rich people (complicated, time-consuming taxes), which means rich people are more likely to get away with evading millions or even billions in taxation. So yeah, you want more funding in the IRS if you are poor. They are already auditing you. You want them to audit the big guys.

The Russia and China Argument

What to say to your elected official: I am worried that the current focus on funding Israel without restriction is causing us to lose sight of the international threat posed by Russia and China. Russia is actively invading Ukraine, which continues to put massive strain on the European economy with regards to oil prices, especially with the Suez situation, and China has been testing missiles near Taiwan, and thus testing US responsiveness to those threats, for months now. We cannot afford to support an internationally unpopular war if we want to remain ready for Russia and China.

This is less likely to work on Republicans, since Trump is friendly with Russia, but hey, give it a shot if they're one of the ones who aren't fully in his camp.

EDIT 2/22/24: I'm a bit unsure of this tactic, but I'm putting it out there with hopes that someone with more political experience can offer feedback:

"Congress, and the US government in general, has promised to sanction Russia for the alleged assassination of one man within a week of the suspicious death, after five months of refusing to enact even slight consequences on Israel for the deaths of nearly thirty thousand, half of which are children. This is ethically questionable at best, but for the interests of elected officials, it is a very bad look. The mismatch shows a massive bias by the American government in regards to Israel's ongoing mass murder, with over two million facing famine as a result of Israel's aid blocking, and America's reputation on the world stage, as well as individual politicians' reputations domestically with constituents, is plummeting."

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Finally, my ko-fi again. I spent a long time on this and I'd like to move out of my parents' house sooner rather than later. If you appreciate my time and effort, please feel free to donate a couple bucks.

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sweetiecutie · 7 months

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AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader

Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink

A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention

• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.

• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.

• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*

• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.

NSFW here~*•.

• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.

• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.

• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.

• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.

• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3

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acciopietro · 2 years

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Ok so I just read your “Bad Idea” smut and it was amazing! Can you do one where the roles are reversed? Like y/n has the sex pollen infect her?

combining with request #2: Hey 🧍🏻‍♀️ this is my first time ever requesting smut so- I feel super awkward 😅, I was wondering if you could write Pietro maximoff eating (fem?) reader out on a couch (or gn reader, anything you want :)

a week’s isolation - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: the strange plant thor brought to earth from asgard is housed in the lab on the upmost floor of the compound, it’s pollen safely contained; your room, however, is right below it. too bad they forgot to seal the vents.

word count: 3,878

tw: smut smut smut. oral (f receiving). apologizing in advance. both parties are 18+ and consenting adults!!!!

a/n: takes place in between the age of ultron/civil war era. pietro and wanda are adults but still young! i haven’t written smut in such a long time so forgive me for the long time it took to get this posted. i get embarrassed when writing shit like this so it takes me twice as long since after every word i have to close my computer and take a lap around my room. hope u enjoy :)

“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” FINISHED BANNER as he stood before the team, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Pietro had been half-listening for the first portion of the man’s speech, but at the sound of the words “highly dangerous” and “do not go near it”, his interest had been inevitably piqued.

Pietro fiddled with the string bracelet on his wrist, eyes drifting across the long, meeting table. You were sat next to the head of the table, hair daintily curved along the edges of your face, hands folded on the edge of the table, lips pressed together in thought. He blinked before he could get too lost in you; it had happened before and he didn’t feel like getting caught staring again.

A chorus of yes’s and head nods washed over the team, followed by a short moment of awkward silence as they individually considered the strangeness of the situation that was now in their midst. Pietro sent a tired glance to Wanda, who rolled her eyes and mouthed Pay attention!

“I need you all to seriously recognize the dangers this plant might cause,” Banner went on after the group gave their half-assed acknowledgements of their understanding. “Thor brought this here on accident, and it is only he and other Asgardians that are immune to it. We’re only trying to find a proper, safe way of disposing it, maybe even using a way to harness it’s pollen without... well, killing ourselves.”

“Why can’t Thor just bring it back up to Asgard?” Barton asked, scratching his chin. Shifting in his chair, he said, “I feel like that should be discussed.”

“The issue with that, Barton, is that it’s pollen has already begun to cling onto other things. Our plants, here on Earth, need some kind of vector to move their pollen from place to place, like insects or wind. On Asgard, or at least with this plant, it’s very different,” Banner explained. “The pollen acts almost like a virus, one that clings onto surfaces and grows. We don’t know how to kill this virus, so it’s harder to manage than normal pollen.”

Pietro watched you raise your hand; always so quiet, so polite, you were. It was endearing, he thought, watching you always behave so accordingly. The only time he ever saw you lose yourself was in the heat of a fight, when fists would fly and guns were drawn. It was a treat to see you in such a state, a rarity.

“Y/N? You have a question?”

“The pollen isn’t spreading into the compound, is it?” you asked carefully, something in your voice telling Pietro you were nervous. “Should I be worried?”

“No, we’ve done our very best to contain it,” Banner reassured you; Pietro watched your shoulders deflate. “As long as you all stay away from the lab, you’ll be just fine. And anyone who enters the lab will need to wear facial coverings. I’d even go as far as to say we should invest in more hazmat suits.”

“It’s not that extreme, is it?” Steve Rogers asked in disbelief. “I mean, hazmat suits? C’mon, Banner, what’s the big fuss?”

“The big fuss?” Banner gave a dry scoff. “The big fuss, Cap, is that if you’re exposed to the pollen, it’ll make your mind go into such a sex-driven frenzy that you’ll lose touch with goddamn reality! Do you want that? Because I seriously doubt you want that!”

A wave of silence washed over the room. Steve pressed his lips in a thin line, his nose dusted pink, and said nothing in response, only slowly shaking his head.

“We get it,” Natasha Romanoff spoke up after everyone spent a moment of clearing their throats and adjusting their chairs. “Stay away from big, scary plant.”

Bruce opened his mouth to keep going, but Tony Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They get it,” Stark said. “We’ll change the password to the lab, anyways. J.A.R.V.I.S. will make sure no one goes in.”

All the members fizzled off, going their separate ways. Banner, Stark, and Thor ventured up towards the lab, the latter the only one not donned in a white hazmat suit. Wanda scooted her chair closer to yours, nudging your shoulder.

“Interesting, huh?” she commented. “Wonder what they do with them in Asgard.”

“S’probably like a drug,” Pietro chimed in, dragging his chair towards the two girls’ and sitting backwards on it, legs spread, hands dangling on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs, one folded gingerly over the other, the glossy black toe of your Mary Janes brushing his knee. “No doubt they get a shit ton of that pollen stuff and sell it.”

“I thought Asgardians were immune to it?” you said. Pietro paused.

“Well, maybe if they take a lot of it, it’s like that weird stuff you Americans have. Viagra. Helps it stay up, you know,” Pietro joked, to which Wanda whacked him on the shoulder. “What? Just a hypothesis.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Wanda chastised him. You giggled, the apples of your cheeks rose dusted. Pietro’s lips curled up at your reaction; you glanced over at him, matching his smile, before glancing back down at your lap. “Let’s just stay away from the lab for next few weeks or so. Play it safe.”

“I wanna see it,” Pietro ran a hand through the icy blonde tips of his hair. Your eyes widened a bit. “I’m curious now, y’know? I mean, what’s a sex plant supposed to even look like?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Pietro,” you told him carefully, the sound of his name rolling so easily off your tongue that he almost felt goosebumps trail up his forearms. He smirked, cocking his head to the side.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” he finished the quote for you, raising an eyebrow. Your lips twitched, shaking your head a bit and looking away from him. Wanda rolled her eyes, patting you twice on the knee before standing up, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

“I’m going to find Vis,” she announced, the leather of her red jacket swishing against her waist. “I’m tired of this plant talk.”

“Your loss,” Pietro called after her as she walked off. She turned around and stuck her tongue out childishly before lifting a single hand; with a swirl of red light, the door slammed shut behind her. Glancing back at you, Pietro grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit curious.”

“Of course I’m curious,” you told him, leaning forward a bit in excitement as you shifted around; the scoop neck of your black tee sat low on your chest as you moved, and he fought to keep his sights on your eyes. “But, it’s not worth the risk. Not in my opinion, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” Pietro shrugged. “Maybe I’ll grab ahold of one of those hazmat suits and head in there myself. Just to take a look.”

You sent him a look and sighed, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Pietro gave a toothy grin. “Oh, Y/N. When have I ever been stupid?”

---

THE NEXT MORNING, PIETRO WAS bewildered to see you absent from the kitchen. Typically, you’d wake up way before he did, and he’d find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea or coffee and a book, silently reading. Vision sometimes would join you, or on certain days when Peter Parker would come round, Pietro would find you chatting away with him at the table. This specific morning, however, you were not there. Vision was sitting on his own, a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in front of him; a cold cup of coffee was sat in front of the empty chair.

“Buna dimineata,” Vision greeted in Sokovian, not looking up from his book. Pietro rubbed the sleep from his pale eyes and glanced at Y/N’s empty chair. “I presume you are curious as to where Y/N is.”

“Where is she?” Pietro asked, retying the white strings of his plaid blue and silver pajama pants. Vision glanced up at the cold cup of coffee, staring at it until it lifted into the air and carried itself towards the sink, dumping itself out and sitting on the chrome interior of the sink.

“I poured that for her, but she had yet to arrive,” Vision explained. Pietro furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest where the white tank top he wore to sleep was wrinkled up. “I sought for Captain Rogers and he revealed to me that she’s been quarantined to her room.”

“Quarantined?” Pietro repeated, the word sounding uncomfortable on his tongue. He cursed under his breath before tentatively asking, “What for?”

Vision closed Walden and set it down on the table, letting out a simple breath and shifting his eyes to meet Pietro’s.

“It seems that the laboratory and Y/N’s room share an air vent,” he said. Pietro said nothing, not following. Vision stood up, tucking the chair back under the table and holding Walden with one hand. “They sealed off that mysterious plant, however they seem to have forgotten the air vent underneath the desk it’s planted on. That air vent just so happened to empty into Y/N’s room.”

“The pollen,” Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose. “O, la naiba...”

“So it’s just wise, according to Banner, that she is confined to her room,” Vision gave Pietro look, bowing his head forward as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. “Which means you must leave her alone until she has recovered.”

Pietro let out a sigh before moving his eyes away from version, clenching his jaw and thinking; maybe there was a way he could get into your room without getting infected by the pollen himself, even if it was just to talk with you. The idea of you being all cooped up there by yourself made his heart clench, but he also couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the effects the pollen was having on you.

“Pietro,” Vision said, and Pietro met his eyes. “Do not try and see her. We don’t know how much pollen is still in that room.”

Pietro rolled his eyes and left the room, not letting Vision interrupt his brainstorming. Banner had been extreme in his warnings about the effects, but how sexually-frustrated could the damn thing make a person? Besides, you were tough. He was sure it wasn’t too bad.

And it wasn’t. But after a week, he started getting anxious. Your room was entirely off limits, the only people going in out being Banner, to asses the situation, and Steve Rogers, to talk to you. You had always been close with Rogers, however, Pietro wished Banner could lend him one of those masks so he could see you.

One evening, Pietro couldn’t sleep. The more he laid in bed, pale eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, the more he thought about you, cooped up in your room and probably in an unimaginable amount of pain. It had been a week and change already, and this isolation was sure to be driving you mad. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, and he paused.

Maybe this is a bad idea, he thought to himself as his legs carried him towards his door, Like, a really bad idea. He hand was still clasping over the doorknob and twisting, despite that little voice in the back of his head asking if this idea of his could potentially end badly.... or, he could end up helping you out. He couldn’t imagine being isolated for so long.

By the time he reached the outside of your bedroom, he paused, his knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating to knock. He could hear you from outside, moaning and groaning in pain. His heart ached and he knocked.

The moaning stopped and Pietro gulped. “Hey, dragă...”

“Pietro?” you asked from inside. “You shouldn’t...” you paused, and he heard the sound of your bedsheets rustling. “You shouldn’t be near here...”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Banner says it might be contagious,” you replied sadly. He could hear you frown. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

“It’s been over a week,” Pietro rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s still airborne. Most viruses don’t last in the air for that long.”

“I guess,” you fell silent. More rustling. Pietro sighed and put his hand over the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisting and opened it.

You were a sight to see, that’s for sure. Half your body was covered by the white comforter, and the parts of you that weren’t were clad in a small tank top and small pajama shorts. The ceiling fan was on top speed, and there were two other fans propped up in the room, each pointing towards the bed.

Your face was a bright red, same with your chest, and your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face. But your eyes, that had previously been half-lidded, widened considerably when you saw Pietro open the door before you threw the entire blanket over yourself.

“You can’t be in here!” you shrilled. “You’ll catch it!”

You felt a hand grasp onto the blanket, slowly pulling it down and off of you. Pietro, his hair tousled by his hand and his lips curved into a gentle smile, let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m, like, superhuman. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go get some water.”

You hesitated, letting him slide the blanket off you. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushing scarlet as your eyes raked him up and down; he was clad in a thin white tank top that was maybe a size too small, and white-and-blue pajama pants that hung low on his waist. Taking a deep breath, you swung your legs over the bed and got to your feet.

You walked behind him, scared to get too close. Pietro could see your hesitation to the leave the room, as well as your hesitation to touch anything.

“C’mon, dragă,” Pietro laughed at you. “It’s okay. I feel fine. You’re not going to get me sick.”

“We don’t know that,” you took another heavy breath, keeping your eyes off of him. The flushing of your face made it hard to breathe and the twisting in your lower abdomen was making your head whirl. The muscles of his back flexing every five seconds as he reached up in the cabinets for a cup was not helping. You gulped. “I need to sit down...”

“All right,” Pietro glanced back at you, holding the two cups of ice water. “You okay?”

“None of the medicines work,” you mumbled, hesitantly taking the from him. He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, staring at you. You felt your neck get hotter and glancing down at your lap. “I just gets worse.”

“What does?” Pietro asked curiously. “What’s the issue? Nauseous? Headache?”

“Erm,” you took a shaky breath and squeezed your legs together. “Hard to explain. The plant, the one from Asgard that did this... it’s... it’s kind of odd...”

Pietro raised a brow. You had a death grip on both your cup and the couch cushion. Face beet red, you took a sip from your trembling hand, avoiding his inquisitive stare.

“How so?” Pietro asked.

“I don’t really know,” you mumbled. “Banner said it’s got these, like... coitus pheromones? I don’t really know what that word means, but he refuses to elaborate.”

It was Pietro’s turn to feel his cheeks grow hot. The word was the same in Sokovian, and he knew it was a fancy term for sex, but he was shocked that you didn’t know. You were supposed to be the smart one.

“Y/N... you don’t remember what it means?” he asked carefully. You shook your head.

“Do you?” you asked, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek. No wonder you were gripping the couch like a lifeline. This whole time, he had assumed you were moaning and groaning because of pain. His chest felt hot. “What’s it mean?”

“It means sex, Y/N,” he told you slowly. “If Banner says it’s got “coitus pheromones”, that means it’s like... it really is like alien viagra. Like I had joked about before…”

He saw your eyes grow wide, your chest beginning to rise and fall with greater speed. You averted your eyes away from him in almost an instant, pressing your lips together in a thin line and shrinking back as though to pretend he were not there.

“Great,” you mumbled. Pietro shrugged.

“S’not like you didn’t know what it did,” he said honestly. “You’ve been feeling like this for more than a week, you’ve had to have some idea. Probably driving you up a wall, huh?”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah.”

Pietro stared at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “I could help you. If you wanted me to.”

You gave him a very odd look, brows furrowing just a bit. The air felt warmer, as though someone had turned off the A/C. “What?”

“You heard me,” Pietro muttered, and now it was his turn to shrink back, his back hunching. “Only if you want...”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. Pietro pursed his lips.

“You’re not,” Pietro said simply. “I’m asking you if you want me to help you.”

“I...” you bit the inside of your cheek, and he watched you take a deep, steady breath. “Of course I want you to.”

“Well...” Pietro trailed off, staring at you, awaiting your word. His knees were practically touching yours, the head radiating off of him making you grip the couch tighter.

“Well, what?” you asked. His hand left where it had previously rested on his lap and latched onto your knee, sliding upwards at a snail’s pace.

“Can I?” he asked softly. “Help you?”

You glanced down at where his hand rested on your thigh. Back up at his eyes. Jesus christ.

“Yes.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch upwards, a half-smirk half-smile fighting to curl onto his face. You didn’t bother dwelling on it, though, considering you were too focused on the fact that his other hand was on your other thigh, his hands sliding up and down your leg leisurely before coming back down onto your knees.

He pushed your knees apart, his calloused fingers digging into your bare skin, pale blue eyes never leaving yours. You took another shaky breath, swallowing anxiously. He lowered himself off of the coffee table he had been sitting on, kneeling in between your knees. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of your pajama shorts, tugging on the hem.

“Y’know these gotta go, right?” he asked rhetorically.

“Mmhm,” you gulped and did nothing for a second, but as he continued to tug on them, you took the top elastic and pulled it down until it reached his hands. He did the rest of the work, discarding them beside where he knelt.

Your underwear was a light blue, which just so happened to be Pietro’s favorite color (this was a coincidence, you swear). He hummed in approval and spread your knees apart wider. His eyes darted down, spotting the darkened patch of fabric right over her sex. He gave a smirk and snapped his eyes back up to yours again.

Saying nothing, he brought his hand closer to you, running his index finger up and down the darkened fabric. You shuddered. He was barely putting pressure on you, but it seemed the pollen was making even the slightest touch feel a million times more intense than it was.

“These also have to go. As much as I like ‘em,” he said, tugging on the azure fabric of your panties. You felt yourself smile a bit.

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, but grabbed the hem and pulled down down. Pietro grabbed them off of your ankles, and lifted them up in front of his eyes.

“Can I keep these?” he asked. You kicked him with your foot.

“Creep,” you said. He chuckled and put them on top fo your discarded pajama shorts. “Can you please just...”

“Just do what?”

You huffed and mumbled something unintelligible. He pressed his thumb to your clit rather harshly, moving in small, quick circles.

“What was that?” He asked as you gasped, hands grappling at the edge of the sofa. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering. Pietro hummed.

“Well, I don��t have time to give you everything, but I can give you a... what do you call it? A taste?"

And then, before she could say anything more, he dove forward and pressed a kiss to your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. He skillfully traced his tongue up and down the length of your slit before returning to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You slithered a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping at the white-blonde locks.

“Christ, Piet,” you breathed. You felt him smile before he lifted his mouth up for a second, licking his lips. Locking eyes with you, he brought himself back down to trace circles around your entrance with his tongue. Without a second to waste, he brought his hand up and plunged his index finger inside, pulling it out to only shove it back in over and over again.

Your head fell back onto the cushion of the couch, back arching, one hand grappling at the back of its foundations while the other grasped onto Pietro’s hair. Pietro’s eyes flickered back and forth between your half-lidded eyes and the finger that was moving in and out of you, and with a rush of adrenaline, he shoved his middle finger inside, too.

Curling his fingers, he brought his mouth to your clit. “Close, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could find words for, the combination between his fingers and his mouth making your vision go blurry and your mind go blank. “Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, dragă,” he coaxed, his words slightly muffled by his lips being pressed to your clit. “Give it to me.”

Back arching, the coil inside of your lower abdomen finally began to unravel at high speed, body spasming over his long fingers as pretty moans slipped from between your lips. Pietro was grinning as he sucked at your cunt, feeling your velvet walls tighten around his fingers as you orgasmed.

When the noises from you ceased, and your breathing began to slow, he pulled his fingers out and sat upright. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and just as they locked, he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. You shivered.

“Feel better?” he asked casually. You paused.

“Yeah,” you said in shock. “I actually do.”

“Told you,” he smirked. You smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replied, getting off his knees and sitting beside you, handing you your underwear and shorts. “Would’ve done it even without the pollen, y’know.”

“Yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll have to take you up on that, then.”

translation:

“Buna dimineata.” - Good morning

“O, la naiba.” - Oh, damn it.

“Dragă.” - Darling, Sweetheart, Love

taglist:

@childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777

a/n: this is painfully unedited im sorry.

4K notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 10 months

Text

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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msbigredmachine · 8 months

Text

Here With Me - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

As the Bloodline Civil War takes an unexpected turn of events, Reader comes up with the perfect pick-me-up for her Tribal Chief. Post-Summerslam 2023.

PAIRING: Tribal Chief!Roman Reigns x OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word count: 6k

A/N: Dido's "Here With Me" did so much for the writing of this that I had to name the fic after the song.

-------------------

I’m startled awake by the door clicking shut, my eyes remaining closed as he walks into the bedroom of his penthouse suite. I’m laying on my side facing away from him, but he is clear as day in my mind's eye as he tosses the gold title belt on the sofa across the room. His beloved ula fula, the subject of heated combat tonight, follows. The mattress dips as he sits on his side of the bed, letting out a painful exhale.

My eyes flicker to the digital clock on the nightstand. I returned to the suite right after the main event. It’s currently 1.30 am. I have no idea where he’s been for the last two hours, but I let it slide. He’s come back to me and that’s all that matters.

The pointed silence and the hairs that suddenly stand on the back of my neck tell me he’s staring at me. It’s confirmed when I feel his hand rest on my leg over the white sheets blanketing me. His usually assured, confident touch is sad and distracted. Even in the humming quiet, I can feel the turmoil brewing inside him and understandably so.

The last few weeks have been a lot for him to take in. Getting pinned in London; tensions exploding in MSG; putting his entire legacy on the line against Jey in Orlando, and tonight, at Summerslam, victory at Tribal Combat. But it’s come at a price, as his family has all but disintegrated now. He is exhausted, physically and emotionally. I could see it in his eyes backstage after the match in spite of his best attempts to conceal his true feelings. For him, tonight’s win feels like a loss.

The second his hand slips away, I miss him. He stands up from the bed and heads to the bathroom. I twist around the bed to face the partially closed door, and hear the shower start. I wait for a while before getting up and making my way to him. His head snaps in my direction when I open the door.

“Babe?” he calls out.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t panic,” I try to joke, my smile faltering a little when he merely turns back around and faces the wall. I notice the still visible red marks on his broad back, imprints from the kendo stick and leather strap beatings he endured tonight.

"I'm sorry, I musta woke you," he says, as I pull off the baggy t-shirt that belongs to him over my head. I swap my silk bonnet for a shower cap and open the door to the enclosure. Stepping inside, I immediately jump away in alarm when the water beating down on him splashes onto my skin. It’s boiling hot.

“Jesus, Ro! You tryin’ to cook yourself?” I exclaim, quickly grabbing the tap, my wrist frantically twisting the knob to adjust the temperature to a less dangerous degree. He hasn’t flinched once. I steer him away from the water, then slip around to his front and wrap him up in a hug that he clearly, desperately, needs. His body stiffens, hesitant at first, before he sags against me and locks his arms around my waist. His face is tucked in the crook of my neck, nestled comfortably like it belongs there. I can feel the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It’s okay. Just keep holding me until you’re ready,” I whisper, combing my fingers soothingly through damp strands of his hair as his grip on my waist remains tight. Being the macho hypermasculine entity that he is, I know he doesn’t like it when I see him like this. But relationships are about sticking together through the good times and the bad. I’ll always be there to see him through both.

“I coulda sworn you won your match tonight. What’s wrong?” I lure him in with a coaxing peck to his shoulder, hoping to quicken his response time.

After several seconds of hesitation, he gives in. “I warned them both,” he starts to vent. “I knew it would come to this. You saw for yourself tonight what happens when you become selfish and greedy. All I ever wanted to do was keep my family together, elevate them and their careers. Those two ingrates turned against me and made me out to be some kind of monster. Conspired with the Elders behind my back and questioned my place as the Head of the Table. Now they’re at each other’s throats and our entire family looks weak! I warned 'em, I told 'em-”

"Hey, hey, hey,” I gently shush him, lifting his face so our eyes meet. My heart sinks from how despondent he looks. “Breathe, baby, breathe. Deep breath.” I wait for him to do so, feeling his chest rise and fall against mine, inhaling and exhaling. But his mind is clearly still on his cousins.

“This is all on them,” he continues. “They refused to see the big picture and now it’s gone to shit.” He licks his lips and his eyes are glazed. “The family wants me to intervene, but fuck that. Not after they tried to destroy everything I’ve worked my ass off for the last three years. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead to me.”

"Don’t say that. Families fight all the time. It’s going to be fine,” I vow, even though I'm in no position to promise such a thing. “Come here." I gently prompt him to turn around, and watch for a few seconds as the less scalding shower stream pelts his shoulders with water. The tribal tattoo adorning the right side of his back is majestic and intimidating up close, and I never pass up the chance to idolize the intricate design. “I want you to relax for me, okay?”

He reaches out and braces his hands on the wall in front of him while I run mine up his back to slowly knead his shoulders, working the tense flesh. His muscles are tight and I do my best to ease them up with my amateur masseuse skills, gleefully aware that I love touching him anyway.

I move down to the middle of his back, and he starts to relax under my touch. As I’m about to retrace my route, I lean in and press soft kisses to his back right before massaging that same spot. Roman exhales again, suggesting he is calmer now, but only just. He’s a tough man to crack, so it feels good each time I become more conversant with his…complexities, if you will. Our relationship is relatively new…We only just met in February this year. I was not a wrestling fan growing up, but I’ve since plunged headfirst into the circus-like controlled chaos that only a pro wrestler is capable of living in. In my defense, it’s easy to dive in when it’s with a man as sweet, charming and criminally sexy as Roman Reigns. Of course, it’s not all rainbows and roses; his prolonged absences, our bitter exes and his psychotic fan girls spring to mind. But I won't change a thing as it’s only made us stronger together. Every day I wonder where he has been all my life, and I want to be with him forever. Yes. I’m in that tight of a chokehold. It’s a whole lot sexier when he’s actually doing the choking.

“You know, other people woulda buckled under the pressure and responsibility long ago. But here you are, standing tall despite the setbacks. That says a lot about you, big boy,” I say to him, my hands still at work. “You’re still the Champ, the longest reign in the last thirty plus years. The twins may have turned their backs on you, but best believe I won’t. I never will.”

Roman scoffs cynically and shakes his head. “Right. Everyone leaves me in the end. Seth. Mox. My ex-wife. Sami. Even Heyman abandoned me once. Now my own cousins.”

“Well, I ain’t none of them,” I answer smoothly, as he turns around to face me.

“I'm not a bad person, Y/N,” he insists, his eyes pleading, as though he’s desperate for me to believe him. I do. I take his hands in mine and stare into his chocolate-colored eyes.

“I know you’re not. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you don’t take shit from nobody. You’re passionate and you stand your ground and fight for what’s yours. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. In fact, it’s sexy to me.”

His eyes twinkle mischievously at my choice of words. “Sexy, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m learning a lot about this sweet, sexy man I’m sleeping with and falling in love with.”

The sudden silence that follows is amplified by the rush of the shower water. The look in Roman’s eyes is so intense that my knees grow weak. It’s not the most picture-perfect setting to utter the L word for the very first time, but witnessing first-hand the ferocity with which he defends his pride and his legacy has sparked a wave of awe and devotion and yes, love…through me that I can no longer keep to myself.

"I'm sorry I came back so late. I needed to clear my head,” he says softly, his hand lifting to caress my cheek. The anger in his voice has disappeared, while his eyes and demeanor are much softer…My little declaration has penetrated his armor. He looks down sheepishly at his feet and wets his lips before speaking again. “I kinda feel like I’ve been neglecting you, too…” he adds.

He’s such a sweetheart. To be fair, he’s made up for it by flying me to London, New York and now Detroit to be with him. The beautiful part is, I know I’m not the only one in love…His actions and gestures lately have spoken volumes. But if he’s not ready to say it back, he doesn’t have to. I just need him to know that he has my heart and I’ll always be by his side no matter what.

Pressing my body more firmly against his, my arms wind around his middle as I leave delicate licks and kisses all over his tattooed pec, right over the spot where his heart beats. I hope every day that it’s me his heart beats for.

“I know how frustrated you are about what’s going on. It sucks to feel like you’re losing control,” I tell him, staring up at him through my long lashes. “I can do something for you, Daddy. I could give some control back to you. I can make you feel better,” I offer, my voice as soft and seductive and as enticing as what I’m proposing. My mouth applies more pressure to his wet skin, and his breath hitches when I suckle the shell of his earlobe. “However you want me tonight, you can take me. Just say the word and I’m all yours.” My hands slide down to scrape his firm backside, and his dick twitches between our naked bodies, the exact reaction I yearn for.

For a long moment, he says nothing, only stares at me with his smoldering gaze. The energy simmers between us, and it boils over when he grabs my face and presses his lips to mine. Instantly my skin prickles and my heart pounds as we plunge headlong into each other. Our heads tilt from side to side, our tongues dance together as the water cascades around us, and I lose myself to the heat of our embrace.

Feeling dastardly, I break the kiss to slip his finger into my mouth. My lips drag along his long index finger, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. I suck on it like I am sucking something else, bigger, and the memory has him groaning deeply, his erection straining impatiently against my belly.

“Get on your knees and do that with my dick,” he orders.

Now we’re talking.

Leaning in for one more kiss, I trail my tongue along his throat and down his torso until I’m kneeling on the tiled floor. I wrap my right hand around the base of his engorged dick and tug gently on it. He lets out a quiet whimper, and it is a massive turn-on to know I can elicit such a response from this specimen of a man. Watching him succumb to me is always sexy as hell.

His cock jumps in my grip when I roll my tongue around the tip. He inhales sharply, moving his hands behind my head, and squirms as I lavishly lick along the underside, teasing him. I luxuriate in his throaty groan as I then slowly make him disappear inside my mouth. I stroke and suck simultaneously, relaxing my throat to take him in deeper with every bob of my head.

"Fuck yeah," he pants, his fingers sinking into my scalp. “Suck my dick, beautiful. Don’t fuckin’ stop...”

Right now, I’m all about obeying Daddy. Staring up at him with hazy eyes, my tongue twirls around the base of his dick again before I switch to more intense suctions, my cheeks hollowing as my mouth glides hungrily up and down his entire length. His moans and gasps echo around the enclosure, causing my pussy to moisten and throb with lust. Gripping the back of my head, he holds me all the way down on him, my lips touching his pelvis. He withdraws and then pushes back in, rolling his hips to go even deeper down my throat. "Shit, your mouth feels so good, babe," he moans, a ravenous look in his eyes. My fingers slip underneath to play with his balls while I suck and tongue him down, and I’m rewarded with another desperate groan. I’m so aroused knowing I’m bringing him so much pleasure.

Suddenly his pace quickens, his hips pumping, fucking my mouth more aggressively. Saliva spills down to my chin as his long, thick cock slides more easily in and out of my mouth. Roman lets out another moan before holding my head down again, exploding down my throat with a harsh grunt. He collapses against the shower wall, catching his breath as I pop him out of my mouth and pat his cock against my tongue. Once upon a time, I used to be uncomfortable letting my exes finish in my mouth. I talked about it with Roman, and he was fine with it. But there was something in me that wanted to please him to the fullest, and not long after our first time together, I changed my mind. It’s an experience I learned to fully commit to, and I haven’t looked back since.

"That was fuckin’ amazing. Come here," Roman lauds, tugging me up on my feet and sweeping his lips along mine. "I'm so glad you were awake." The timbre of his voice, deep and laden with desire, sprouts goosebumps all over my skin.

"I don’t sleep as good without you," I reply, running my fingers again through his hair. He leans down and scoops my right breast into his mouth. I moan as the sensation zips straight to my loins. His hands glide down my back to squeeze and caress my ass. He keeps me tight against him, pressing himself firmly on my stomach. Feeling him so turned on sends more chills through my body.

"You know we ain’t done, right?" he says, “We just gettin’ started, baby girl.”

"I hope so..." I reach behind him to turn off the shower. Handing him one of the bathrobes, I wrap myself in another one and open the shower door, taking his hand and leading him back to the bedroom.

We stand at the side of the bed and he undresses me, dragging the robe off my body. I can’t help but blush as he ogles me like he’s seeing me naked for the very first time. He cups my breasts, rolling them in his hands as he kisses me passionately. I tug his robe down his shoulders as I kiss him, my tongue bossily claiming every inch of his mouth as my own. His hands travel all over my naked body, heating me up with his stimulating caresses. He tells me all the time how much he loves my curves, but this is more than that. He’s prepping me for an onslaught. He is about to manhandle me like the sex god that he is, and my breathing quickens and my loins pool with anticipation.

Roman detaches his lips from mine out of nowhere, a devious smile on his gorgeous face. He shoves me onto the bed, flat on my back right on the edge with my legs spread. I can’t hold back my moan as he strokes his dick while stepping between my thighs. The sight of his muscular right arm flexing as his fingers strum his long, hard cock, makes my clit throb.

Ever observant, Roman notices me staring and smiles smugly. “You like this baby? Want me to jack off for you?” he asks, tugging and smacking his dick a little harder, a bead of pre-cum oozing out the tip, and my thighs clamp together to relieve the maddening pressure between them.

“Dude, no! I want it in me,” I practically admonish him, almost offended that he thinks I want anything else. I’m about to bust right now just looking at him.

His smile widens, and he takes my knees and yanks them in opposite directions. He’s enjoying this, torturing me, making me beg for him. “My little slut is so needy. Don’t worry, baby, Daddy will give you what you want.”

As his face nears mine, I instinctively reach up to touch him, but he grabs my wrists and pushes them back down to the mattress above my head.

"Uh-uh. I got plans, baby girl," he informs me with a brief kiss. He searches around for what ends up being his bathrobe and draws the long white belt off, twisting it around his hands and tugging it ominously. We lock darkened eyes, and his tongue swishes hungrily across his lips.

“Gimme your hands.”

I obey. He takes my right hand first, and then my left, crossing my wrists together and winding the belt firmly around them, before pushing my hands back above my head. I’m flat on my back and all tied up with my ass halfway on the bed, legs spread, naked, cunt exposed and at his mercy. I love it. I love that he trusts me and is comfortable enough with me to explore his kinky side. I trust him, too. I’m proud to be the fucktoy of my Tribal Chief.

“Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he groans, his eyes raking down my prone frame like he’s famished. My breath catches as I watch him tie his wet hair in his trademark man bun. Then, he bends down between my legs, breathes hard on my clit and then sticks his tongue out to lap at my folds. Right away my body jerks, blooming with sensual heat. He starts licking me with longer strokes, working his tongue all over the surface of my pussy lips, then he breaches, jabbing his tongue in and out of me with expert precision. The quiet of our room amplifies the erotic audio between us; my staccato breaths, his lazy slurping, my wet pussy splashing against his deadly tongue. Then, to murder me, he closes his mouth around my clit and starts sucking it lightly. That’s a big ass mouth, and it takes everything in me to not scream from how good he’s working me. He keeps glancing up at me; I know he’s getting off to my moans and my attempts to grind against his face. He takes me hostage, his muscled arms winding around my thighs to hold me down while he feasts. His soft groans against my flesh, the warmth of his breath, the scratch of his beard on my inner thighs…The combined stimulation is toe-curling, with wave after wave of pleasure bombarding me like a thunderstorm.

“Don’t come yet,” he instructs unexpectedly, and I’m about to cry. His mouth feels so damn good. He continues sucking and licking, wreaking havoc on my sensitive core. I grip the sheets tighter as my back arches off the bed. “Fuck, Roman, please!” I cry out, damn near begging for release.

Of course, my pleas are ignored. He twists his tongue inside me, gifting me with more strokes over my pussy and my engorged bundle. The decadent rhythm of his mouth and tongue on me is edging me dangerously closer to a mind blowing nut. Just when I’m certain I’m about to disobey him in the worst way, he pulls away, his full lips glossy and shining in the lonely lamplight by the bedside. I don’t know whether to be upset or relieved. He licks all the way up to my chest and clasps my left breast in his hand, worrying the sensitive nipple between his fingers while sucking my other breast in his mouth.

"Imma fuck the shit outta you," he whispers to me in a rough and raspy voice, his dark eyes gleaming.

His promise is a direct hit to my groin. "Do it, Daddy. Do that shit," I gasp, squirming under his touch.

He brushes our mouths together, and I sigh softly as my own juices melt from his tongue onto mine. Roman stands upright at the bed’s edge, bends his knees and rubs the tip of his shaft along my slick, softened folds. He lunges forward in one fluid motion, his lips parting in a moan as he slowly slides inside me. I bite down on my bottom lip, my eyes glazing over with pleasure when he draws back out, leaving just the tip, before plunging in again with a sharp snap of his hips. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me.

"I'm inside of you, baby. This what you want? Want me to take this pussy?" he asks with another deep thrust, his big dick nestled in my warm wetness, and it’s driving me wild.

"Yes, take your pussy Daddy, fuck me," I plead, my voice catching on the desire and lust washing over me.

With that information, he hoists my legs onto his shoulders and picks up the pace, pushing in deeper and filling me to the brim like he always does. I’ve told him more than once that he belongs inside me, and the pure pleasure in his eyes every time we fuck says he agrees wholeheartedly.

"Shiiit, baby, right there, that feels so good…" I whine, feeling him nudge right up against my hilt. He pulls back for a second, and I watch as he holds my legs open and a thick glob of saliva spills from his mouth and onto my pussy. Before I can fully process this, he slams back into me, more easily now, snatching my breath from my lungs. His fingers grasp my hips as he pounds me, slow and balls-deep, to the point that I’m seeing stars. My restrained hands claw at the sheets above me, searching for some kind of leverage as he dicks me down. He has total control of my body and he’s using that power to make me take every inch of him, literally and otherwise. My eyes squeeze shut, mouth falling open as my chest begins to clog and my head begins spinning from his long, lethal strokes.

His hulking upper body closes the space between us and descends on top of mine, bringing us chest to chest. "Breathe, sweetheart," he tells me, and on command, I draw in a raspy breath, alleviating the discomfort in my chest. His evil little smirk tells me he is enjoying every second of my agony. His arms stretch upwards, brushing over the cotton material of the belt securing my wrists and twining his fingers around mine. His muscles flex and ripple as he keeps pumping into me. He nuzzles the spot where my neck and shoulder meet and bites down on it, making me call out his name.

"Goddamn, this pussy good as fuck. Every damn time," he grunts. His hands tighten around mine as his pounding thrusts switch to salacious rolls of his hips, grinding deliciously against me while he swallows my moans, his tongue slipping inside my mouth for another hot, sloppy kiss. My legs wrap around his waist, my ankles locked behind his back to keep him to me.

"Tell me again, baby. Tell me you love me,” he rasps in the middle of our intense kissing.

“I love you, Daddy, mmm,” I moan back, my heart pounding as hard as he is pounding me. It’s a stunning mix of the emotional high of love and the carnal rush of lust that I’ve never felt before with anyone else.

“Yeah, you love me?” He searches my eyes, as engulfed in the throes of passion as I am.

“I do, Roman, I love you so fuckin’ much...unnhh my god…”

He has moved off of me, seizing my legs from around his waist and shoving my knees into the mattress. There’s no time to miss the warmth of his body as he’s back to his rough, brutal strokes, drilling me over and over, stuffing my pussy with his cock. It’s like the animal in him has been unleashed, months of family strife spilling over and transferred to me via his increasing aggressiveness. As my orgasm builds in my stomach, I flex against my restraints again, my fingers craving to dig into his skin, to sink into him the way he’s sinking into me. With one more suffocating thrust, I break at last, and my eyes roll into the back of my head, my moans ringing around the entire suite as I tremble beneath him. His arrogant chuckle tickles my ears, clearly reveling in the blissful state he’s put me in.

Before I can blink, he grabs my waist and flips me roughly onto my belly, bending me over the side of the bed. Hovering over me, he unties the belt binding my hands, and I assume I’m free. But then, he tugs both my arms behind my back and re-ties my wrists together. I’m still recovering from the shock of my orgasm and this new position when his dick slots back in my cunt, and my mind is wiped blank, a strangled moan escaping my lips. Roman gives a few short, stabbing thrusts inside me before finding a rhythm he enjoys.

"God, you feel fuckin’ amazing, baby, so tight and wet for me. Damn,” he hisses behind me. Using his right hand, he slaps my left ass cheek and jiggles it. I gasp from the pain and the pleasure, making my pussy squeeze around his dick with a force that has us both groaning. My fingers scrape against his pelvis as he keeps his momentum, sliding in and out of me, in and out. Oh, fuck, it feels sooo good! He’s so long and girthy that I feel like I’m being split open, but I melt into submission and take it like the fucktoy that I am.

His husky groans are my soundtrack as he fucks me into the bed at a savage pace, having his way with me. Clutching my ass in large handfuls, he spreads my cheeks open and plunges his dick deeper inside me, forcing me up on the tips of my toes. Using his thumb to scoop up my juices, he circles it around the puckered hole of my second opening, a keening cry tumbles out of me and into the sheets as he pushes it deep into the tight entrance.

“Too bad we forgot the lube, I’da fucked this pretty ass all night long,” he says with another slap on my backside, and I can only whimper in response. Pinned face-down to the sheets, I can feel all of it. His thumb fucking my asshole, his magic cock stretching my other hole wide open, his powerful tree trunk like legs barricading mine against the side of the bed. My body is so riled up that my pussy reacts by leaking all over his cock, the gush of my nectar sending a pleasurable sensation through us both.

“Mm-hmm, make a mess on my dick, baby, keep comin’ all over it,” he taunts me. He lifts both my legs off the floor and onto the bed, arching my back and spreading my knees wide. From there, he wraps his hand around my hip, his fingers pressing into my flesh, and he rocks me back and forth on that big ass dick, making me move with him. We moan together at how good we’re making each other feel. Every sound resonates through my heated body; the inevitable squelches of my dripping cunt, our skins smacking lewdly together, our sex filling the air with a familiar primal scent that belongs to no one but us.

My brain is on sensory overload as he speeds up his thrusts, his balls slapping against my clit as he hammers into my pussy with newfound aggression. The pressure is building inside me at a dizzying, alarming rate, so much so that I use my bound hands to push again at his lower abs. This time I succeed in pushing him off, but only for a second.

“What’chu doin’? Don’t run, c’mere,” he growls, sliding his dick back in me right before it slips out, and I cry out as he impales me hard on his shaft. He spanks my ass hard for my bad behavior. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Take this fuckin’ dick.”

Seizing my wayward hand in one of his, he buries himself in me, deep-diving in my g-spot, making my walls contract around his dick again. My voice is all but gone, I’m that spent. But Roman wants more. He’s an expert at coaxing more out of me even when I have nothing left.

"Tell me who you belong to, huh. Who’s my slut?" he demands, giving my ass an underhand slap.

"I'm your slut," I slur.

"What’chu say?"

"I'm your slut, Daddy," I enunciate with great effort, inebriated in a cocktail of love and ecstasy.

Another stinging smack on my butt.

"Louder."

"I'm your slut!" I bellow, my voice cut off when Roman pins me down by the back of my neck, my cheek pressed into the mattress. This forces a deeper arch in my back, opening me up to be plowed mercilessly by his dick. The pressure of his fingers on both sides of my throat has me struggling for breath. I’m high from overwhelming pleasure right now, and that menacing coil that’s been winding in my belly finally snaps again.

“Ohmygod…ohmygod…fuck, fuck, fuck!” My body explodes again, and I’m shaking like I’ve been possessed by a supernatural entity. I know Roman can feel it too, as he’s moaning and gasping, a handful of my vibrating ass cheek in his grasp because the grip of my pussy is about to break his dick in half. I’m reduced to a weak, moaning mess as somehow he continues fucking me senseless. Then, with a loud, hoarse grunt, he yanks his dick out of me. One squeeze is all he needs, expletives tumbling around my name as he comes all over my ass, warm, thick droplets spilling onto my backside. I can hear the wet, slippery skin on skin contact as he strokes out his nut, and the sound arouses me despite my thoroughly fucked disposition.

“Fuck!” he moans out, leaning tiredly into me, his drained cock mashed against my ass. “Damn, baby. Damn.”

The rest of my lifeless body melts onto the bed, my arms limp on my lower back, my mouth hanging open. I’m barely cognizant of him loosening the belt from my wrists. When he’s done, he seizes my ass cheeks with both hands, slapping them together one last time before walking away from the destruction on the bed. I haven’t moved an inch. My ass is still in the air and my eyes are starting to drift shut. It won’t be the first time he’s fucked me right to sleep. However, before I succumb to the darkness, his deep voice rouses me.

“Don’t go to sleep yet, baby. Come here.”

I force my eyes open and lift my head to search for him. He’s stretched out on the other side of the bed, watching me with unabashed amusement.

“We ain’t done?” I mewl, exhausted.

“Nope. But we’re taking a little break for now. Come sit on top of Daddy.”

That’s a dangerous position to be in, especially as his dick is still hard and covered in layers of my cum. But how can I ever resist my man? With all the strength I have left, I crawl up the bed towards my lover. His brawny arms wrap around my body and ease me on top of him. He grabs his bathrobe and wipes his mess off my backside, before rubbing my back and my thigh with those big callused hands of his. He feathers a kiss on my forehead, my nose and then my mouth, in the sweetest, most tender of kisses. "You're so good to me, baby. I appreciate you so much," he whispers against my lips.

"Anything for you, baby," I remind him, dabbing away the sweat from his forehead with the bathrobe. "Do you feel better?"

"I do." His soft, beautiful eyes gaze into mine, observing me. “I know that you worry about me a lot, and I’m sorry,” he says.

"Don’t ever be sorry. I always worry about the people I love. I just want you to be okay," I answer.

"I know, and that means a lot to me. You have no idea how much you mean to me, baby girl. I think about you all the time...I feel at home every time I’m out there performing for the fans, but coming home to you is always my top priority," he tells me. His eyes shine with emotion. "I love being with you. I love calling you mine and me, yours. I’m so happy you love me, because I love you too baby, so much."

Oh my god. He’s said it. I’m not imagining it this time. Tears spring to my eyes but I quickly blink them away. "I love you, Roman," I breathe, and press my lips to his, grateful to have this amazing man in my life. Our mouths move sensually together as I glide my palms down the side of his face, smoothing out the bristles of his beard. He lets out a throaty moan at my touch, at my kiss. I could stay like this forever, but my baby needs his rest.

“You should get some sleep. You had a long night tonight,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I think you’ve forgot when I said we’re just getting started. It’s your turn to fuck me.”

“Damn, you were being for real huh.”

“Course I was. You’re my little fucktoy, aren’t you?” Two of his fingers rub across my bottom lip before slipping into my mouth, as he hypnotizes me with his smoldering, effortlessly sexy stare. “I can use you however I want, however long I want, as many times as I want. Right?”

I may be fatigued from the barrage of orgasms he’s blessed me with tonight, but I’ve since realized that no matter how tired I feel, I’m still greedy for that big ol’ dick. He’s turned me out and turned me into a raging nympho in the process. I nod thirstily, gasping around his fingers as I feel his dick stiffen against the swollen mound of my cunt, ready for me again.

“Good girl.” His fingers slide from my mouth to join the rest of their counterparts down south. Together, the ten of them gather the supple cheeks of my ass, molding, caressing, a devilish twinkle in Roman’s eyes at the hunger shining in mine. “Recess is over sweetheart,” he announces. “Ride this dick. And this time, I’m nuttin’ all up in that sweet pussy of yours.”

Fuck, I'm such a slut. It’s almost embarrassing, the way my already battered pussy instantly flutters at his low, husky tone, at the thought of getting filled up with his seed. I reach down to grip his cock, sliding the tip along my wet slit to lube it with more of my juices. The shiver of his big body as I stroke him sends a thrill through me. His big hands envelop my hips once more as I lower myself down on his waiting erection, sending a jolt of electricity through our bodies as we begin the eternal, spellbinding dance of lovers all over again.

THE END

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The good girl in me wants so badly to apologize for writing so much smut, but dammit I’m not sorry! Roman is sexy af lol

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Banner made by me. All Roman gifs by @romanreigns. Credit to owners of the other pics and gifs.

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#roman reigns #wwe #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black oc #the tribal chief #the bloodline #head of the table

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queenie-avenue · 4 months

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Don't run. He'll catch you anyway.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> what happens when you try to escape him?

⤻ reader is gender neutral, dark themes, invasion of privacy, taking photos without consent, bullying, manipulation, slightly suggestive themes, typical yandere red flagginess (duh), min-jun is just a freak honestly, not too detailed but a small fic, besides straight up gore I think this is the darkest thing I've ever written

notes: @moyazami , i am so sorry, but i lost your ask. thank god, i took a screenshot before i deleted it. you are such a sweetheart. thank you for the ask, and keep them coming! i want to do the first imagine, but don't worry, i'll also do the second one at a later date! honestly wasn't sure to write out the part where he approaches you again but if anyone wants it, drop a ask, honestly-

The fact that you left was laughable to Min-Jun.

At first, he was shocked that you had actually left, and the reason was clearly because of him. Second, he was sad knowing he was the reason he would not see you anymore. Third, he was angry that you had left him. Who gave you permission to leave? Certainly not him.

Fourth, he projected that anger into scheming.

Sure, you left for another school. However, did you forget? Min-Jun's entire family was rather influential, perhaps not as much as the Samsung family in Korea, but certainly able to pull a few strings here and there. His entire family was full of ministers, civil workers, and some even celebrities with the power to topple the entertainment industry. Did you really think that transferring to another school would allow you to run from his grasp?

"Are you that idiotic?" He whispered under his breath as he schemed.

You leaving the academy was like inciting war and he was going to bring out the full arsenal to pull you back into his arms.

He would hire a private detective to comb through every aspect of your life; relishing in the intimate information the detective would give him. He honestly felt a bit bad about spreading it. Not because he worried for you, but because he wanted to keep all these secrets to himself, claiming ownership of you and every thought you had in the sickest manner. Still, he supposed he could part with this knowledge. After all, when he got you back, he'd be able to learn more about you.

As said before, rumours spread like wildfire. A simple strike of a match is all he needed to turn into a massacre.

Soon, not only people from your school but from your neighbourhood began to whisper about you behind your back. They talked about your nature, some even going as far as coming up with fake rumours about you just to entertain the masses.

It was hell on earth for you. Worse than when Min-Jun tormented you.

Then, it was only one person — a boy whom you had no idea was your academic rival — but now, it was your entire community that had turned against you.

It got worse when pictures of you leaked. How had someone managed to take so many pictures of you like that?

Some immature students even stapled your embarrassing moments to the school board, leaving you to clean them up during lunchtime.

Min-Jun had some friends in that new school you went to, so of course, he heard everything that happened to you. His poor rival, you must be so hurt by all the things happening to you!

Serves you right for leaving me, Min-Jun thought as he looked at the photos of you crying when you thought nobody was looking.

Just a bit more, and he would intervene. He wanted you to feel the pain he felt when you left him. Maybe about a week more, and he would come to your rescue one of these days.

For now, he would enjoy the delicious tears that streamed down your adorable cheeks.

#male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #male yandere #yandere male #yandere fanfiction #yandere imagines #yandere academic rival #yandere oc #anon ask #ask

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sentientcave · 20 days

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Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

Next Chapter >

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem Reader #141 x reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cave Writing #This is mostly gonna be fun and light-hearted I just really enjoy fantasy and I've been watching a lot of DnD content lately #“He's always been reasonable” Kyle lies thinking fondly of his boss - the least reasonable man in the realm #Let me know if you need any content warnings in here but I feel this one's pretty light

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inmyicyworld · 8 months

Text

My everything

Summary: The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

Words count: 6.8k

Warnings: I fucked up the whole timeline sorry, no civil war and no infinity war in my world, avengers live in their tower as a family, my baby Bucky has a lot of issues and regrets, lots of feelings, happy ending as always.

Author’s note: one of my works hit more than 1,000 notes and i’m so so so grateful to every single person who supported me.

I had this idea for a while, and I finally decided to write because I had barely seen any works with this plot. if y’all like it, might as well write the second part with smut🥰

*English is not my first language, sorry if you find any mistakes*

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

“Aren't you fucking tired of this?” Bucky growled as he burst into the common room where Sam, Steve, and Natasha were sitting. "If you set me up on another date, Wilson, I'll break your fucking wings."

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Calm down, cyborg. Look at you, all angry and stressed out; you need to get laid! When was the last time you’ve been on a date?"

Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise as he glanced between his two friends.

"Sit down, Barnes." Nat nodded her head at the couch across from her. Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, as too many feelings were bubbling inside of him, but he obeyed and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now explain what happened.”

"This idiot is trying to set me up again.” He said, nodding towards Sam. "And I told you I'm not interested."

“But why? Don't you want to feel like back in the days and have some fun with pretty women? This Hydra shit clearly wasn’t good for you. You’re too tense and always mad. Go on a date, maybe you’ll find a good girl to spend some time with.” Sam genuinely wanted to help his friend, and he didn’t understand why Bucky was so mad about it.

The look on Bucky’s face was weird. Like he wanted to say something but, at the same time, didn’t want to share his thoughts.

“Are you already dating someone?” Natasha leaned with her elbows on her knees and studied his face. There was definitely something that Bucky didn’t want to say.

Steve looked between the three of his friends, and when Nat asked Bucky a question, it was like a bulb turned on in his head.

"Buck…" Bucky met Steve's eyes, holding eye contact for a few seconds, like they were talking about something that only they knew.

“Hey!” Sam said, waving his hands. “What are you two doing? Do you know something, Rogers?”

“Buck, is it because of her?” The blonde said it almost in a whisper. “You still remember, right?”

“Did you have a girlfriend before the war?” Natasha, as always, understood everything immediately, and it was funny to see how Sam’s mouth fell open in shock.

Bucky clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap, not sure if he should reveal the truth. He had kept it to himself for so long—ever since he escaped Hydra and the memories from the past started to flood his head. It was too painful to think about you. To think about the woman who was his whole life many years ago. He remembered everything, and now he sees you in his dreams almost every night. Sometimes in nightmares, sometimes in the good ones, about the life that you two would’ve had if he hadn’t gone to war.

“What the hell are you hiding from us?” Sam shouted again, trying to get attention.

“I…” Bucky frowns, staring at his hands. “I had a girlfriend... before the army, before the Hydra.” He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Just the thought of you hurt him, making him regret everything. That he left, that he didn’t marry you, and that the universe had this shitty plan.

“And that’s why you don’t want to go out with someone?” Come on, man, how long has it been? 80 years? Get over it. It must have been another one of your girlfriends that you hooked up with when you were young.” He chuckled, looking between his friends, none of whom seemed happy with his choice of words.

"Sam, don't—"

“You sound like an asshole.”

“Get over it?” Bucky didn’t let Steve or Nat finish their sentences before he barked at Sam, looking even more angry than before. “Just another one of my girlfriends? Do you have any idea what the fuck you're talking about, Wilson? " He looked like he was ready to kick his friend right in the face. “She wasn’t one of them. In fact, there was no “them”. In my entire life, I’ve never even touched another woman because I've been in love with Y/N since I was 14. We started dating when I turned 18, and I proposed before I had to go to the war.”

Bucky’s emotions quickly changed as the hot rage turned into a longing for memories and feelings. He felt a lump in his throat, so he reached into his pocket for his wallet, from which he pulled out your old and shabby photo, gently running his finger over your face.

“Y/N was everything to me. She said yes, and I promised her that I would return so we could get married. I imagined that I would spend my whole life with her, you know? I don't need any other woman. I do not want it. I still love her, and I don't care if either of you find it funny.

The room fell into heavy silence. Steve just looked out the window, remembering the times when the three of you went to Coney Island, and he was always the third wheel. You were his friend too, and the aching feeling in his chest was too heavy.

Sam felt a little bit awkward after saying these things about your relationships. He wanted to tease Bucky, not be rude.

Natasha was the one who took the first step when she stretched the arm so Bucky would give her the photo. “You two look so cheesy. She’s really gorgeous.” She smirked, looking at the old black-and-white photo of you two sitting on the bench. Your back was almost lying on Bucky’s body, and his arms were wrapped around you. It seemed like you were talking about something and enjoying the private moment. Bucky had the biggest smile Natasha has ever seen on his face, as he was looking at you with heart eyes.

“Can I see?” Sam finally asked, nodding at the photograph in Natasha's hands. She passed him the photo and Bucky’s move in his place, feeling a little bit uncomfortable about revealing this part of his life.

“You two look cute. Weird to see a smile on your face.” Sam chuckled.

“Where did you find this photo?” Steve leaned closer to the picture, immediately remembering the day you and Bucky took it and the way Bucky has had it with him ever since.

“I took it to the war. Always had it in a jacket, even on missions. She was with me that day on the train. I think Hydra found this in my pocket. When I ran away from there, I found a box with my stuff; the photo was there.”

“Have you… tried to find something about her?” Steve lifted his head, studying his friend's reaction.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know how, but I didn’t find anything. Two years after my fall, there was no record of her. No marriage certificate, no place of residence, no place of work. Nothing. Like she just disappeared.” He shook his head in despair.

“But it's impossible.” Steve frowned, giving the photo back. “A person can't just disappear and leave nothing behind.”

"I don't know," Bucky shrugged, looking back at the photo for a second and then slipping it back into his wallet. "Maybe it's for the best. I don't know how I would come to terms with the news of her death.”

It’s been almost two weeks since that conversation, and luckily for Bucky, Sam didn’t attempt to set him up with anyone anymore.

Earlier that day, Tony announced that his new technology had spotted some weird activity in something that looked like an old and hidden Hydra base. It was pretty much abandoned, but there were signs of small energy consumption, as if something was still constantly working. That’s why the team of Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Tony had to check it out and destroy any possible danger.

After being free from Hydra, Bucky didn’t take part in many missions because the team agreed that it would be better for him to heal and stay far away from triggers. But this base brought up many concerns: it was hidden far away, there was no information about it in nonofficial papers, and even Bucky himself had never heard about it. Tony insisted that someone with knowledge of the Hydra system should go there too.

When the four of them arrived on the quinjet at something that looked like a well-hidden abandoned bunker, they decided not to split up and go through the main and only entrance.

“Be careful; we don’t know that they might hide in here.” Steve said, going in first with a shield in front of him. Bucky and Sam went after him, holding rifles and checking the big and almost empty room.

“They should clean in here, kinda dusty.” Tony chuckled in his usual playful voice.

“It’s not a good time for your jokes, Stark.” Steve was always a little too serious during missions, and Tony really liked pushing his buttons. “I see the light in the other room.” He whispered, carefully opening the door.

“Holy shit.” Sam and Tony spoke at the same time when all four of them entered the giant room.

There were five big glass machines that were a little bit foggy and had a little lightning in them.

“What is this?” Steve ran closer to one of them and saw that there was a man inside. “Oh my god, there is a man in here... It looks like he’s alive.”

“There is a folder called “The Winter Soldier Program” with personal information.” Sam said, picking up a file from the shelf in the corner of the room. “George Harris, 27 from New York. Kathleen Hill, 21 from New York…” He read, mumbling to himself.

“It’s a cryostasis chamber. Hydra used it to freeze me.” Bucky lowered his rifle, coming closer to one of the chambers. Another man. “It lowers your body temperature to the point that you can be kept like that for many years. Hydra– “ Bucky went silent when he got to another glass camera.

“Barnes? Why is there—” Sam didn’t finish his words when the sound of Bucky’s weapon falling on the cold concrete filled the room.

“No-no-no, please, no!” He whispered, moving closer to the glass. He couldn’t believe what he saw.

You were right in front of him, with closed eyes and too pale skin. That was impossible. It’s not you. There was no chance that you somehow ended up with Hydra.

Bucky felt like he was unable to breathe. He tried to inhale some air, but the lump in his throat was too big. The tears blurred his vision; he didn’t hear anything around him, as your almost lifeless body was the only thing that he thought about. You, his sweet girl, somehow ended up trapped with monsters, and he couldn’t do anything to save you from it.

“Bucky!” Two pairs of hands dragged him from the chamber, and the blurry vision of his best friend was now visible in front of him. “Bucky, listen to me! You should calm down, buddy. Just breathe, okay?” Steve deeply inhaled and exhaled to help Bucky, and after a few minutes, he was finally able to speak.

“T-that’s impossible, Steve. She shouldn’t be there! She should’ve found another man and lived a happy life with her family!” He said in a shaking voice, angrily wiping away tears from his face.

“I don’t know how this happened, Buck; I really don’t. But she may be alive there.” Steve supportively squeezed Bucky’s shoulder.

“We can’t just take these people out. We should transport them to the tower and find the safest way to unfreeze them.” Tony said in a serious voice, not joking around anymore. He walked closer to the chambers, studying each of them. “It looks like they are working on their own power, and this one, “he pointed at the one that was dark and with water drops from the inside. “Doesn’t work anymore. The man is probably dead.”

“Are there any chances of getting them out of there alive?” Sam glared at Bucky, who was just staring at your peaceful but haggard face through the glass.

“I don’t know, but me and Banner will do everything we can.”

It took another day to find a way to move four of the still-working chambers to the compound and ten more hours to defrost everyone. and to say that Bucky was completely stressed out and exhausted was an understatement. He didn’t sleep at all, staying in the room near the lab to get all the news as soon as possible. He walked around the room for hours, overthinking everything—what will happen if you die or if you survive? Is it really better for you to wake up and see all the damage that he has done for the past years? To see the empty shell of the person you loved in the past?

“Barnes!” Tony blasted through the doors with a grin on his face. “We did it.”

“You did it?” Bucky’s whole body was buzzing with energy and anxiety. “Where is she? Is she alive? Is she conscious? Can I see her?”

“Wow-wow, calm down. She is alive, but you can’t see or visit her right now. Dr. Cho has to run many tests to find out whether your lovebird is healthy or not.” Tony nodded his head toward the corridor so Bucky would follow him. “We put each of them into a different room, and your Blonde Bestie insisted on putting Y/N into the best and the biggest one. There is a special window through which you can see her, but she cannot see you from the inside. So you can be as creepy as you want to until she gets better.” Stark slapped Bucky on the shoulder to show some kind of support when they stopped in front of the said window.

You were lying on the bed, surrounded by too many wires and monitors. Dr. Cho was standing above you, writing something down, and checking the device near your head.

She said something aloud, probably talking to FRIDAY, and came out of the room.

“Oh, Mr.Barnes, I heard that Y/N was your girlfriend, right?” She smiled, and Bucky slightly nodded, not being able to completely drag his attention from your body. “I’ll tell you this: it’s my most difficult and unique case, but she’s a strong one. Her body heals faster than other people’s from cryo. I believe she’ll be fully awake tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Dr.Cho.” Bucky felt a little bit better now that he had more hope that you could really be back. Dr.Cho gave him another smile and left to check on her other patients.

“I have to find out if these people have families. Did Y/N have someone who might be alive?” Tony asked.

“No, she didn’t.”

“I’ll go, and you, Barnes, will stay away from her for now, understood?” He pointed a finger into Bucky’s face.

“Yes. I’ll just watch from here.”

You were alive. You were awake. Bucky saw with his own eyes as your body started moving and you slowly sat on the bed, confused by your surroundings. He saw panic on your face because you were clearly disoriented and scared to be alone in an unknown place.

As fast as he could, he found Dr. Cho, who was in the room with Steve and Natasha. When he, choking on all the emotions, told them about you, it was a mess.

Dr. Cho and a few other nurses ran to your room to check your condition because you were the first one to open their eyes.

Bucky, Steve, and Nat stood on the other side of the window. Bucky wasn’t able to fully convince himself that it was true that he was so close to him. It felt like a dream, like a weird picture that his brain created to comfort him.

“She’s okay, Buddy.” Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder because it seemed like he didn’t even blink or breathe. “You can see her soon.”

“No.” He mumbled.

“What?” His friend’s head shot in his direction.

“Someone else should talk to her first. Tell her about my past. Maybe she won’t even want to see me after everything I’ve done.”

“I can go and talk to her first.” Natasha softly smiled. She knew the feeling when you’re afraid that someone will leave you because of your past. “I think it’s better for Y/N to first find out that she woke up in the new century and that she was cryofrozen for many years. I’ll tell her that Steve is alive, and then me and you can both tell her about Bucky.”

Bucky just nodded to her words, still not being able to look at anything besides you. He wasn’t sure that after you find out all the truth, you’ll allow him to even be around you, so for now, he tried to memorize you as much as he could.

Since the moment you opened your eyes, everything felt unknown and different. You couldn’t explain it, but something had changed. You didn’t know where you were, what time it was, how you ended up in that place, or who all these people were. You felt scared as too many doctors crowded your room and fussed around, talking about tests and medical procedures.

The young woman who seemed to be in charge was actually really sweet. After only you and her were left in the room, she sat on your bed with a pile of clothes in her hands and smiled at you.

“So, Y/N, my name is Dr. Cho, and I’m here to help you heal faster and without any consequences.”

“Where am I?” Your voice was too raspy and harsh. It felt like you swallowed a glass of sand.

She sighed, looking at her journal. “It’s hard to explain, but I promise that there’s nothing to worry about. You are safe. In a few minutes, someone will visit you to talk about everything and answer any of your questions. Now, I was told to give you these clothes so it would be more comfortable for you. You can change in the bathroom right there; there is also anything you might need like a toothbrush, soap, and so on.” She pointed at the door in the corner of the room.

You stayed silent until Dr. Cho left your room, and then slowly, feeling kind of scared to move around this place, you went to the bathroom to change out of the hospital gown.

The bathroom looked even weirder than the main room; you had never seen such furniture and interiors. And when you unfolded your new clothes, it took you a few seconds to figure it out. It was some kind of soft pants and a large t-shirt. What kind of clothes was it? Yes, they were actually comfortable, but it wasn’t something that you saw in the stores.

While you were brushing your teeth, your brain was working too hard trying to figure out what the hell was going on, until you heard someone calling your name.

“Hey, Y/N, my name is Natasha.” The pretty red-headed woman was standing near your bed with a tray and food in her hands.

“Please, tell me what’s going on. Where am I? Why does everything look so strange here?” You said in a desperate voice, you almost wanted to scream because you woke up several hours ago, but no one told you a single thing.

“Don’t be nervous, honey. Let's sit on the bed; you’ll eat your special meal, and I’ll tell you everything you want.” She was so nice and genuine, so you nodded and sat down.

Natasha placed a tray near you, and you saw that it was your favorite food of all time. You took a bite, and your taste buds were immediately filled with the taste of the meal that James cooked you almost every day. James. It was his recipe. The tears flooded your eyes when all of the memories about your dead boyfriend returned to your head. Yeah, how could you forget that it had been at least two years since he was gone?

“Y/N? What happened?” Natasha’s worried voice distracted you.

“It just reminded me of someone. I felt like I was home, and it hurts me because nothing is the same anymore.” You wiped your tears away, taking another bite.

“I promise you that everything is going to be okay. You are not alone here.” You frowned at her words but still nodded. “So ask whatever you want to.”

“Where am I, and why does everything look so different?”

“You are at the Avengers Tower, located in Manhattan, New York City. I know that might sound ridiculous, but you were in the cryostasis chamber up until now. It’s 2023, and a lot of things have changed in the world; that's why it might be confusing.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, overthinking Natasha’s words. “It can’t be true. I can’t be more than one hundred years old now. And I look the same.”

“This is how cryostasis works—iit freezes the body so it can survive many years without any changes. Now tell me how you ended up with Hydra. What is the last thing you remember before waking up here?”

“Back in the 40s, I was a nurse. My– my boyfriend— he died during the war.” You stopped because of the lump in your throat. It was too hard to bring back these memories because it was the first time you said these words out loud. “He died, and then my closest friend died too, and I just had no one left. I was alone, and I didn’t even know what to live for because all of my dreams about family and a happy life with the person I loved died too.” Natasha put her hand over yours on the bed and gave you a supportive squeeze. “Then one day in our hospital, scientists were looking for people who would like to test new serums. I decided that I had nothing to lose, so me and a few other nurses signed in.”

“Kathleen, Josh, Adam, and Frank, right?” The woman in front of you gave you a sad smile.

“Yes, how do you know that?”

“We found them with you. Adam’s camera was broken, so he died a long time ago, but the rest of them are here too, but, unfortunately, they haven’t regained consciousness yet.”

You nodded. Your food was now done and set aside, and you sat on the bed more comfortably, bringing your knees to your chest. “These scientists were running some tests on us in the lab that they brought us in. It felt weird, and I remember that Kathleen always complained that it was painful. The last thing that happened was that they told us to step into a weird-looking machine that was meant to be a part of some kind of experiment. That’s it.”

“It was Hydra. A terrorist organization that tried to rule the world. They were evil, and you were lucky to get out of there alive.” Natasha pursed her lips. “Thank you for telling me this.”

You two sat in silence for a few seconds until she looked over her shoulder at the weird-looking mirror that took up almost a whole wall.

“Is anything wrong?” You furrowed.

“I have to tell and show you something really important, but everyone is worried about how you are going to react to this.” She studied your face with a weird expression.

“Is there anything more crazy than me being in another century after I was frozen?” You tried to smile, but Natasha just nodded.

“I’ll be right back. Please, try to breathe, okay?” She stood from your bed, took the tray, and left.

Natasha came back, and behind her was the last person you ever expected to see again. You jumped on your feet, feeling like your eyes were lying to you.

“This—this can’t be true... No, Natasha—Steve, you died.” You mumbled under your breath. Your heart rate was way higher than usual, and it felt like you were drowning. You put your hand over your eyes. It’s just a dream. It’s just a weird fucking dream.

Two large hands wrapped around your body, pulling you into the hard chest. “Sh-s, Y/N, breathe, just breathe.” His familiar voice filled your ears, and you started crying harder, gripping his shirt.

“What– how– how is this possible? You crushed the plane into ice.” You shattered, tears running down your face.

“The Super Soldier serum saved me. The S.H.I.E.L.D. found my body 12 years ago.” Steve loosened his arms around you, allowing you to look up at him. He was exactly the same. This blonde hair, these light blue eyes, and that soft smile that he always had for you. “Please, sit back on the bed. We have a lot to talk about.” His face was now more serious. Even though he was extremely happy to get back his second closest best friend, he knew that Bucky was dying without you.

Steve and Bucky both looked at your interaction with Natasha, and it was obvious that everything Bucky wanted was for you to be near him. He looked through that window without any distraction, and his face lit up with a small smile when you tasted the food that he cooked for you and became emotional. He knew that you would appreciate it.

“About what?” You wiped your face with the back of your hand and sat down, holding Steve's hand. Natasha, who was still standing in the middle of the room, passed him a thick folder and left. Steve sat near you and gave you a supportive smile.

“Bucky.”

You froze and snatched your hand out of his.

“Steve, no. Please—” You wrapped your hands around your body, as if you were instantly trying to hide from the pain that was aching in your chest. “Please, don’t hurt me anymore. I can’t handle that. Talking about him w-when he’s not with me anymore.” The sods started to get out of you, and you hid your face from Steve’s soft and apologizing eyes.

“He is alive.” Steve’s hands fell on your shoulders, and he lowered his head, trying to make you look him in the eyes.

“Don’t lie to me! He is dead; I saw the reports; I got the letter from Phillips saying that he’s sorry for our loss!” You particularly yelled at your friend.

“Y/N, listen to me, okay? Bucky is alive. He is here. Behind that door, he’s watching us right now.” You were shaking your head in denial.

That was impossible. You knew all this story; Steve himself told you what happened that day. There was no chance for Bucky to survive the fall from that height in the middle of nowhere. Yet here was Steve, sitting right before you. His big blue and soft eyes were looking into your eyes, and you didn’t see a single sign of hesitation or lying in there. He was so genuine that you wanted to believe that your boyfriend was, in fact, a few meters away from you.

“How? And why? James– he would’ve been with me if he were alive. Why isn’t he here?” You sobbed, and then the realization came to you. “That food—the food that Natsha brought me. It tasted exactly like he made it.”

“Bucky thought that it might comfort you. He found you in that laboratory, he has been near you since that day, and he saw that you were scared and disoriented when you woke up. And that's why I am here. Bucky insisted that I should talk to you first and tell you everything. He is afraid that you might not see him anymore after finding out everything that is written here.” Steve picked up the folder and put it on your lap.

“The Winter Soldier” was written on top of the old-looking piece of paper, and for some reason you felt something weird in your chest.

“I want to let you know that whatever is in here, it cannot make me hate him.” You mumbled, hesitating to open the folder. “What’s in there, Steve? Tell me everything.”

“These are the papers that S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra had on the Winter Soldier. Everything that happened to him: experiments, torture, assassinations, crimes. This is what happened to Bucky after the fall. This is what Hydra did to him over these years.”

You felt a lump in your throat when you opened the first page and saw Bucky’s photo from the army. But nothing prepared you for everything you read and saw after that. He wasn’t even James or Bucky anymore. He was a Soldier. An Asset. Someone without an identity. All the detailed descriptions of the medical procedures, brainwashing, electroshock, torture, and punishments with attached photos made you want to vomit and cry hysterically. You couldn’t stop crying when your shaking hands took a picture of the love of your life sitting shirtless and unconscious on some kind of stool with wires attached to his head.

How could someone do that? How could someone torture a person almost to death and then just write about it like it was a fucking dairy?

“His arm, it’s metal. Why is it made from metal?” Your teary-red eyes shoot back to Steve’s face.

“Bucky lost it during the fall. They gave him a new one, but it causes him a lot of pain. Physical and mental.”

“I don’t— Steve, I don’t understand.” You took another picture with Bucky standing in his full black costume and a mask, not a single emotion on his face. “Why did they do this? For what?”

“Hydra wanted to have the perfect asset. Killing machine. To commit crimes, kill unwanted people, and basically rule the world.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking at the floor. “They made Bucky the best. They completely cleared his head from the memories of his past; they trained him to be invincible and invisible. They had a special combination of words to control him, so he would always come back and do as he was told.”

You closed the file and moved it aside, closing your face with your hands while you were crying.

“And he thinks that I can reject him?” You whispered.

“Y/N, please try to understand what such things can do to your brain. Bucky goes to therapy, but he probably would never be able to fully heal from this experience.” His hand fell on your shoulder and squeezed it slightly. “Bucky always was a good person; that's why right now he feels so much guilt that it’s unimaginable. Even if nothing of this is his fault, he can’t forgive himself for these murders and damage. He has PTSD, nightmares, and a lot of trust issues.”

“I understand, but I would’ve never rejected him. He’s everything that I had, and when I lost him, it felt like hell.” You took a deep breath, looking Steve in the eyes. “Please, let me see him. I need it, and he needs it too.” Steve’s eyes softened at you. He almost forgot the love that his two best friends had for each other.

“Give me a minute, okay?” He smiled, kissed your head, and left your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You were really going to see the man that you thought you had lost forever in a few seconds. It was almost three years for you, but almost eighty for him. A wave of anxiety washed over you when you thought that maybe he doesn’t feel the same anymore and doesn’t have the same feelings as you do. You almost went down a rabbit hole until the door started to open.

You slowly stood up, feeling a little bit uneasy. Even though you and Steve were just talking about it, seeing Bucky alive felt unreal. Your eyes were sliding up and down his face to remember every little part. He looked different, more mature, with a broad chest and shoulders and long, silky hair.

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his ears, and his mouth was completely dry while you were observing him. You had tears in your eyes, and your lower lip was trembling when you tried to hold yourself from crying out loud. You were in some baggy clothes that Nat found for you, but you still looked fucking gorgeous. Still the most beautiful girl on the whole planet.

“Doll…” Bucky’s raspy voice filled the room, and it was everything you needed.

In just a second, you ran to him, falling right into his body. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, and your face hidden into his neck.

As soon as Bucky finally hugged your smaller body and felt that it was real and that you were real, he broke down. Every last piece of strength went through the window as the tears rolled down his cheeks, probably soaking your t-shirt.

He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for your forgiveness for all of the awful things that he had done. He didn’t deserve you anymore, not with this much blood on his hands. But Bucky couldn’t do what he wanted because your grip on him was so strong that he wasn’t even able to move away for an inch.

“James…” Your quiet voice filled his ears, and it sent shivers down his spine. Only you and his ma called him that, and he missed it so fucking much.

Bucky’s hands moved from your waist a little bit lower, and you viewed it as an opportunity to get even closer. Your legs instantly wrapped around his body, and Bucky, making sure that you wouldn’t fall, went to the bed and sat down with you on his knees.

“I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve done.” He sobbed, shaking his head. You pulled away a little bit, finally meeting Bucky face-to-face.

“Don’t you dare apologize for the things that you weren’t able to control, James!” Your voice suddenly became rough, filled with so much anger toward the people who hurt your precious boy. His hand on your waist tightened, and you slid your own to cup Bucky’s face. “I want to kill every one of them. Everyone who hurt you, who punished you,” Soft fingertips traced the delicate skin of the templates where, as you remember from the photos, wires with electricity were placed. “You didn’t deserve to go through this, James. I wish I was there for you.”

“You were always with me. Even when they wiped me, I still had someone in my head. A woman with a soft voice, who told me that I'm strong and that it will end soon. I would’ve died without it.” You both were looking into each other's teary eyes, both feeling too much love and desire.

Your head slightly tilted towards his, connecting your foreheads, and for a few seconds, it felt like home. Like nothing happened and you two were just having a lazy morning in bed.

The calloused hand on the side of your face brought you back to reality. Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes were looking into yours, and, sharing one thought, you both moved closer and connected your lips. The kiss was so soft, slow, and gentle, like you had the whole time in the world. It was this type of kiss that said that you both were there and alive. It was a reminder of the love that you had for each other. Reassurance, that no matter what, you will be there.

“I missed you so fucking much, doll. Since the day I first remembered everything, all I could think about was you. Even tried to find you, but there was not a single document. I started to believe that you just found a man, changed your last name, and moved away from that mess.” You were so close to each other, not wanting to split up even for a second. Your hands were moving up and down Bucky’s hard chest while he was rubbing the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you joking, James? No one was able to replace you. The only people I talked to during that time were your mom and Becca.” His facial expression slightly changed at the mention of his family, and you placed a soft kiss on his stubble cheek. “I should’ve been the one who took care of them, but I was nothing without you, and Winnie almost made me move in with them. That’s why I jumped at the opportunity to be a volunteer for these tests.”

Bucky shook his head, his eyes again full of regret and pain. “I hate that it happened because of me.”

“At least I’m here right now. With you.” You smiled, sliding your hand into his dark, long locks. “You know, James, you look really good for someone who’s older than one hundred years old. I like your hair. And stubble.” His eyes rolled back at the feeling of your nails on his scalp. It had been so long since someone touched him without an intention to hurt him, and the realization of that made your heart swell with the need to take care of your boyfriend.

“You know that you’re one year younger than me, right?” Your favorite little smirk in the whole world appeared on Bucky’s lips, and you smiled, moving a little bit closer to his body. The metal hand on your waist tightened, and you realized that you hadn't seen it in person yet.

Your right hand reached behind you, grabbing a hard wrist that was covered in leather. Bucky’s body immediately froze under you, and his eyes snapped open.

“Doll, no… You don’t have to...”

“I want to. Give me your hand, James.” You said without any hesitation. Bucky looked you in the eyes for a few seconds, but then brought his metal hand between your bodies. “It’s just me, okay? I’m not scared, and I want to know everything.” You wrapped both of your hands around his hand and then gently started to take off the glove.

The dark metal with beautiful golden stripes was shining under the bright light of the room. Your mouth slightly opened when you moved each finger with interest. Your gentle hands slid higher, rolling up the sleeve of the red henley Bucky was wearing. It was so smooth, without any sharp details, just an amazing and mind-blowing mechanism.

“That’s so beautiful.” You mumbled in awe. Suddenly the plates under your hands moved, and a quiet whirring sound filled the room. You shot your eyes back at Bucky in shock, only to see that he was already looking at you with so much love that you almost melted. “Did you do that?”

“It’s a new arm, not from Hydra. It reacts to my emotions. No one ever touched it without any fear.” You almost missed that last sentence, but the hurt in Bucky’s voice made you grab his face with your hands to get his whole attention.

“Listen to me, James. I’m not afraid of you. I won’t reject you. You are everything that I want. You still have the biggest and kindest heart of the guy that I met many years ago, and I’ll do everything to prove to you this.” The metal hand carefully touched your hand on the side of his face. “I love you. I love you so much, James.”

“I love you too, Doll. More than anything in this life,” Your lips crushed into each other, now sharing a more passionate and deep kiss. You slightly tilted your head, allowing Bucky to part your lips with his tongue and playfully bite you. It was almost too overwhelming, and you both were completely lost in each other until you finally needed to breathe.

“Stay here with me, please. I don’t want you to leave.” You whined, trying to push your big and strong super soldier onto the bed.

“I won’t leave, baby.” He chuckled, allowing you to push him back. You happily giggled and laid near him, interlacing your bodies together.

You two were just staying in your own little bubble on your bed for what seemed like forever, talking about everything and nothing at the same time, until you finally fell asleep, feeling happy and peaceful in each other's arms.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #one shot

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ginnsbaker · 9 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (17-II/22)

Chapter summary: You up and left the night you found out about a bitter truth. And then you and Wanda come to an understanding on how to move forward.

Chapter B word count: 8.5k | Warnings: Angst, Smut, Profound Sadness | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: There's still angst ahead, be warned. This is my all time fave part to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did :) P.S. Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars is such an old and a bit overrated song, but I envisioned this part with this song.

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Eighteen

Seventeen - Part Two

“Suspended?” Wanda repeats incredulously at your assistant. Her mind spins, thinking about the last several days when you've been mysteriously silent. Every call she's tried to make has gone straight to voicemail; every text she's sent is left unseen, hanging in the balance.

It feels like you've dropped off the face of the Earth, a sensation all too familiar to Wanda. It's like you've once again disappeared from her life without any warning, leaving her in a state of worry and confusion.

Her gaze falls back on your assistant, Martin, who just nods apathetically, his bony fingers carefully balancing a tray of coffee. His casual, nonchalant manner seems to strike a nerve with her, agitating her more than she'd like to admit.

“Sorry, Ms. Maximoff,” he says in a flat, apologetic voice, “She's not been around, hasn't been taking calls or replying to messages from our human resources.”

Wanda's eyes flicker from the reception desk to your office, her heart throbbing with concern and confusion. The glass pane of the office door merely reflects a distorted image of her, nothing of what it concealed inside. “But she's the boss here…” she lamely objects, her voice trailing off.

“Yes, and she suspended herself, apparently,” he replies, shrugging. “In essence, she's on a sabbatical, if you prefer.”

“Did… Did she inform you or anyone here why?” she manages to ask, trying desperately to figure out something–anything.

Martin sighs, placing the trays on his unruly desk. “Wish I knew, really. But she left with only two words 'personal reasons'. That's all we got.”

Wanda stands frozen, questions swirling in her mind, none finding an outlet. Her eyes moisten, and she swallows hard, her worry for you amplifying every second. She scans the room one more time, a futile effort to find answers.

“The last time I saw her,” he starts, his voice breaking her trance, “She seemed...off. Like she was wrestling with something. Something big.”

Her heart lurches. The last time your career was put on hold was when the two of you had to navigate through the tangled mess of divorce proceedings. If even your assistant has noticed that something was amiss, it must mean that whatever you're going through is truly serious, enough to have disrupted your usually composed work life.

“If she calls in, could you let her know that I came by? And that I need to speak to her urgently?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

Martin nods, his face softening for the first time. “I will. And if I hear anything, I'll let you know.”

With a sigh of resignation, Wanda hands him her card and manages a small, tight-lipped smile as a parting gesture.

Yes, you've disappeared on her before, but this time it feels different–a gnawing worry eating at her gut that she can't ignore. She knows it's not like you to abandon your responsibilities, not without a strong reason. You no longer have Natasha–or Yelena, for that matter–to turn to which makes it all the worse.

She needs to find you.

***

“She’s not home,” the words ring out, echoing in the grandiose lobby of your apartment building.

The statement is identical to the one she had been fed two days prior.

“Can I go up to the apartment?” she implores, searching for an excuse for them to let her in. “I... I left my purse there.”

But the concierge, rigid in his protocols, shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Miss. Without the tenant present or without their explicit permission, I can't let you in.”

You're not at your office. Not at your apartment. Your absence is a gaping void, pulling her to the brink of panic.

“But you don't understand,” she retorts, her voice stronger now, her fear manifesting as assertiveness. “I need to find her. No one has seen her in the recent week, and she's not answering her phone. I need to...I need to make sure she's okay.”

“Rest assured, she’s fine. She recently got in touch with us about the utility bills,” he assuages.

But it does nothing to quell her rising anxiety. Sure, you might have called about the utility bills, but that was a routine chore, something that could be done from anywhere, even automated. It didn't necessarily mean you were okay.

Wanda sighs, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ease the throbbing headache brewing there.

“Did she say anything else?” she asks, desperation tinting her words. “Anything at all that might indicate where she is?”

He shakes his head, his expression distant and almost uncaring. “That was all.”

Her shoulders slump, her heart heavy, but her resolve unwavering. If she had to overturn every stone in the city, knock on every door, she would. She needs to know that you're safe.

Because even if the world believes you're okay, she knows better.

She knows you.

Later, that very same night, Wanda finds herself pacing restlessly in her living room like a caged animal. The worn floorboards creak under her weight as she tirelessly traces the same path over and over, her mind swirling, imagining the worst.

In her desperation, an idea occurs to her.

Natasha.

Their last conversation had been a little more than a week ago, but it had been far from pleasant. Accusations and blame were tossed around like grenades, and Natasha had left with a bitter parting shot.

She glances at the old wall clock. Late. Very late. But time has lost its meaning to her lately. It's been nothing but a constant reminder of your absence, every ticking second a chime of worry.

Chewing on her lower lip, she finally makes up her mind. She picks up her phone, her fingers trembling as they navigate to a contact she hasn't dialed in ages. She stares at the screen for a moment, then pushes the call button.

The dial tone drones in her ear. She waits, each ring echoing the magnitude of her worry. She needs to find you. And for that, she needs Natasha to pick up.

Wanda's breath catches in her throat as she waits, clutching the phone with trembling hands. The apartment feels still and silent, the only noise is that persistent, mocking ring.

Just when she's about to end the call, the dial tone stops. A beat of silence, then–

“Wanda?” Natasha's voice is clipped, cold even, but Wanda can't help but feel a surge of relief at hearing it.

“Natasha,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “I need your help.”

There's a pause on the other end, long enough for Wanda to feel a pang of doubt. She can almost see Natasha's face, the guarded expression that's become her default since the fallout.

“Why should I help you?” Natasha finally asks, her voice devoid of warmth.

“Because it's about her,” Wanda replies, her words tumbling out in a rush. “She's missing, Natasha. She's not at her apartment, not at work, and she's not answering her phone. I've tried everything. You're… you’re my last hope. Please.”

There's a long silence on the other end, the tension so thick she can almost taste it. Wanda can feel her heart in her throat as she waits, hoping against hope that Natasha will put aside their differences, their painful history, and help her find you.

Then, Natasha sighs, a sound that's both vexed and resigned. “Give me a few hours, Wanda,” she says finally, her voice laced with reluctance. “I'll see what I can find.”

Wanda manages a small, grateful nod, even though Natasha can't see it. “Thank you. I–I'll wait.”

The line goes dead, leaving Wanda with her worry and the late-night silence of her apartment. She drops onto the worn-out couch, her eyes fixed on her silent phone, her mind filled with thoughts of you.

But it turns out, she doesn't have to wait long. Five minutes later, her phone vibrates on the coffee table, startling her. Picking it up, she sees Natasha's name flashing on the screen.

That was peculiarly fast.

She answers it, her heart pounding.

“Why didn't you call her mother?” Natasha's voice is sharp, impatient.

Wanda blinks, visibly thrown off. “Her...her mother?”

“Yes, Wanda. Her mother!” Natasha sounds incredulous, exasperated. “She's in Montauk. She's been there for the past week. Her mother just confirmed it.”

Wanda's heart drops, a mix of relief and shame washing over her. She hadn't thought of calling your mother. In fact, she's been avoiding the idea altogether.

“I...I didn't call her because... because she blocked me,” Wanda admits in a small voice. “After she found out about my infidelity, she blocked me.”

There's a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh. “Well, now you know,” Natasha says, a hint of softness creeping into her voice. “She's in Montauk.”

With that, the call ends. Wanda is left staring at her phone.

She wastes no time buying train tickets for the following day.

***

Years have passed since Wanda last tread the well-worn path leading to your childhood home.

The once vibrant paint now peels and fades, no recent attempts at refurbishment have been made, and yet, it retains a charm that's impossible to overlook. Sitting all by itself on the beach, it's about the most peaceful spot Wanda's ever known.

She's always loved coming to your place in Montauk, even though she's acutely aware that your mother's affections for her have always been less than warm. But as she stands there now, the salty sea breeze tugging at her hair, she looks up in awe.

Her gaze is drawn to the attic window–your old bedroom. She imagines you might be there. She wonders if you're asleep, tucked away in a corner where your bed is and always will be. She thinks about what you might be dreaming of. Are they good dreams? Or the kind that makes you wake up in a cold sweat? The thought of you being troubled, even in sleep, makes her heart ache.

She wishes she could be up there with you, could slide into the room and sit down next to you. She'd love nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to pull you close and wrap you in her arms. She'd whisper in your ear, tell you that everything's going to be okay. “I'm here,” she'd say. “And I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

But for now, she's stuck at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at that attic window. So with a sigh, she tears her gaze away, and turns back to the front steps. Eventually, her feet lead her to them, but she pauses, a knot of nerves twisting in her stomach. This isn't like the other times she's visited. There won't be a warm welcome from you, just the cold, guarded reception from your mother.

Taking a deep breath, she squares her shoulders and climbs the steps, her hand hesitating briefly over the door knocker. For a moment, she's tempted to turn back, to avoid the frosty confrontation. But she knows she can't. She's here for a reason.

The lingering echo of the knock seems to hang in the air before it's swallowed up by the constant rhythm of the sea. Then, the soft sound of footsteps resonates from within. Her pulse quickens in response. Fixing her eyes forward and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she readies herself for the encounter.

As the door creaks open, the familiar face of your mother appears. But her expression isn't the stern, guarded look Wanda has come to expect. Instead, her eyes hold a sense of knowing, as if your mother has been expecting her for a while now.

Wanda’s well-rehearsed words hang in her throat, momentarily lost amidst the surprise. But she quickly regains her composure, preparing to speak, when your mother breaks the silence.

“Took you long enough,” she says, her voice softer than Wanda remembers. “Come inside, dear.”

Taken aback, Wanda can only nod. She smiles politely at her in return as she steps across the threshold.

Soon enough, Wanda finds herself seated at the worn kitchen table, as your mother moves with an ease born of years spent there, preparing an early dinner. The scent of food simmering stirs the air, joining the comforting aroma of tea brewing on the stove.

As she cooks, she fills Wanda in on what’s been going on with you lately.

“She's been upstairs, in her old room, for days now,” she shares, nodding towards the ceiling as if it would help Wanda see you. “Doesn't come out much. Sometimes I hear her... crying, then nothing. She won't talk to me, no matter how much I try.”

Her usually steady hands reveal a hint of tremor as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I'm scared,”she admits, making brief eye contact with Wanda.

“I've been thinking... maybe it's about you.” she adds after a moment.

She doesn't say it like she's blaming Wanda, more like she's just trying to make sense of things. It leaves Wanda silent, turning the possibility over in her mind.

The kettle whistles, breaking the heavy silence. Your mom pours the hot water into a teapot and then turns to Wanda. “Tea?” she asks, like this is just any normal day.

“I’d love some tea, thank you,” Wanda responds, giving a brief nod. She takes the warm mug offered to her, the heat seeping into her palms. Afterwhich, she reaches for the jar of honey and adds a dollop of it in her tea.

As your mom settles down across the table, an uncomfortable silence fills the kitchen. The only sounds are the soft humming of the fridge and the occasional clink of a spoon against a cup as your mom stirs her own tea.

They just sit there, silently looking at each other over the worn kitchen table. Wanda takes a sip from her mug, feeling the tea's heat spreading through her, a pleasant contrast to the chilly November air that's started to creep into the house.

Every sip, every moment of silence, makes Wanda more aware of the pressing need to apologize to your mother. She's hurt you, her own daughter, and if what your mom suggests is true, she may even be the reason you've up and left your life in Manhattan.

Finding the courage, Wanda finally speaks up, her voice shaky but sincere. “I understand this may not change anything,” she begins, “But I need to apologize... for the pain I've caused. For betraying your trust, and more importantly, for betraying Y/N's.”

She can feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes, but she forces them back. This isn't about her pain; it's about yours, and perhaps your mother's too.

“I wish I can go back,” Wanda admits, her eyes falling shut to keep her tears at bay. “And undo everything.”

She pauses, collecting her thoughts before continuing. “I’ve done a lot of self-reflection. I've looked into the mirror and didn't like the person staring back. I was... I am... deeply flawed. But I'm trying, I really am. I've started therapy, trying to understand and learn from my past mistakes.”

Wanda takes a deep breath before proceeding. “Your daughter...she deserves the world. And I know, in your eyes and perhaps even in my own, I don't deserve her. But what I'm asking, I guess, is not for you to forget or to absolve me. It's for another chance. A chance to prove that I can be better. That I can make things right with Y/N. I’m asking for your blessing, should it be possible for us to try again.”

After her heartfelt confession, your mother just quietly sips her tea, her gaze steady on Wanda. The silence is deafening, broken only by the regular ticking of the kitchen clock.

Wanda squirms under the silent scrutiny, but she doesn't look away. Instead, she meets your mother’s steady gaze, even if her own eyes are red and her vision is blurry.

“I… I know actions speak louder than words,” she adds quietly, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “And I'm ready to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it may be, to show you... to show Y/N, that I am capable of change, of being the person she deserves.”

Then, it's quiet again.

The silence stretches on, and just when Wanda thinks your mother might never respond, she sets her tea down and begins to speak. But it's not a direct answer to Wanda's plea. Instead, she starts to tell a story.

“You know, Y/N was always a deeply emotional child,” she begins, her voice soft and her eyes distant, lost in memories. “She had this incredible ability to love, to pour all of herself into someone or something. She trusted easily, loved fiercely.”

She pauses and takes a slow breath, her gaze turning sadder. “And because of that, she often got hurt. People took advantage of her kindness, her unwavering loyalty. They saw her love as something to exploit rather than treasure.”

Wanda blinks in surprise when your mother extends her hand, clasping hers firmly on the tabletop. The unexpected touch all but strikes a chord.

“She's been through a lot, Wanda. Her heart's been bruised more times than I care to count. But she still loves with all she has, still trusts, even when she's been betrayed,” she says. “As her mom, all I ever wanted was for Y/N to find genuine happiness.”

Tears well up in Wanda's eyes, spilling over and trailing down her cheeks in crooked streams. With her free hand, she wipes them away hastily, while her other hand clings to your mother's in a gesture of guilt and a plea for forgiveness.

Your mother waits for Wanda’s wracking sobs to subside, before she gently lets go of Wanda’s hand and then looks out the window, her eyes turning steely.

“I don’t doubt your sincerity,” she tells Wanda. “But what I need is to see that light in her eyes again, that joy she used to have. If you can help bring that back to her, then we can talk about forgiveness.”

Wanda can do nothing but nod as she accepts the challenge of the task.

Your mother slowly rises from her chair, gathering the empty mugs on the table. “I've prepared dinner for tonight,” she says. “You can serve it when you're both ready.”

Wanda looks up, her eyes reflecting her confusion, “You're not staying?”

With a soft smile, your mother shakes her head, “I'll give you two some space to talk and sort things out. I'll be staying with a friend tonight.”

The offer leaves Wanda momentarily stunned, but she recognizes the trust and faith your mother is placing in her. It's a responsibility she doesn't take lightly, and she nods, hastily pulling herself together.

“Thank you,” Wanda says, her voice soft. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

Your mother reaches out to touch Wanda's arm, her eyes filled with understanding.

“Just do right by her,” she says.

After your mother grabs her purse and car keys, she leaves, the door closing behind her with a quiet click.

Wanda is left standing in the empty house. She looks around thoughtfully, the smell of the cooked dinner still lingering in the open space. Then, her eyes stray upwards towards the attic. She can't help the nervous flutter in her stomach as she thinks about what awaits upstairs.

Taking a deep breath, she firms her stance and prepares herself to face you.

As Wanda navigates the familiar hallways of this house, she's assaulted by a flurry of memories.

Most vivid of all are the memories of your bedroom during your college years. That sacred space where you both had surrendered to your desires, the place where you both discovered each other in the most intimate ways. The countless nights when whispers and soft sighs were swallowed by the plush pillows, the sheets a tangled mess of sweat and evidences of pleasure.

Each memory, each recollection, sends a shiver down her spine. She remembers the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the way your eyes would darken with desire. She remembers the feel of your body against hers, the thrill of being the only one to see you unravel.

She remembers the way you’d moan out her name. The way your breath would hitch when she touched you, the way your fingers would trace patterns on her skin. The way you would look at her, as if she was the only one that mattered, the only one you saw.

Chiding herself, Wanda shakes her head, a blush coloring her cheeks as she catches her mind in the gutter. While she terribly misses you, aches to be with you, this isn’t about her longings or her desires.

No, this is about checking on you. It's about making sure you're alright and not alone. That's the priority, and it's what keeps her focused right now.

Moving towards your room, Wanda raises her fist to knock, but as her knuckles make contact, the door creaks open on its own accord. She freezes, the noise sounding overly loud in the deafening silence of the house.

The sight that greets her makes her breath hitch. There you are, asleep in your bed, your back to her. Curled up under your Star Wars covers, you seem so small, so vulnerable. A small smile pulls at the corners of Wanda's mouth, seeing you cocooned in remnants of your adolescence–the old covers, the posters lining the walls, the trophies gathering dust on the shelves. It’s endearing, and so quintessentially you.

Wanda carefully slips off her shoes, setting them neatly next to your own pair by the door. The room is quiet, save for the soft sound of your steady breathing. She doesn't want to disturb your peace, doesn't want to pull you from what seems to be a rare, restful sleep.

With cautious movements, she edges towards the bed, lifting the corner of the blanket. As silently as she can, she slips under them, feeling the familiar warmth they hold. She shuffles closer to you, wrapping her arms gently around you from behind. Your body is a comforting presence, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her own worries.

As if on cue, even in your sleep, you move closer to her. You shift backwards, snuggling into her arms as if your body remembers the familiarity of her presence.

Closing her eyes, Wanda allows herself to relax for the first time in days. The constant worry, the relentless anxiety of the past week begins to ebb away. Here, holding you, she finally allows herself to succumb to her own exhaustion.

A while later, beneath your lids, your eyes move restlessly. And like the recent days, it's the same nightmare that haunts you. Wanda, lying motionless in a hospital bed, a sight that sends cold tendrils of fear winding around your heart.

In your dream, you're a phantom, invisible and unheard. You're screaming, pleading, shouting for someone to hear you, to help her. But your voice, your presence, goes unnoticed. You watch helplessly as her heart rate dips, her once vibrant life draining away before your eyes. And then the dreadful flatline–

With a start, your eyes fly open. The world spins for a moment before settling down. In your sleep, you've moved so that Wanda now lays on your chest, sleeping soundly. Your arms are wrapped securely around her, a protective gesture that feels as natural as breathing.

As your eyes adjust back to reality, your mind doesn't quite catch up in time. For a moment, you believe this too is a dream. But in this one, Wanda is safe, wrapped snugly in your arms, far away from any harm. With gentle fingers, you start brushing through her soft hair, the familiar motion soothing. You find yourself slowly massaging her scalp, a habit from the good old days.

The gentle motion stirs Wanda, her eyes fluttering open to meet your startled gaze. As she squints up at you, drowsy and slightly confused, the pieces fall into place for you. This isn't some surreal dream.

Wanda is actually here, with you.

“W-What time is it?” Her question is barely a whisper, the words escaping her in a quiet, sleep-addled mumble.

Your response is a knee-jerk reaction, a surprise that compels you to pull away. But there's nowhere to retreat, no room to distance yourself from the reality before you. Trapped between Wanda and the wall, in the confined space of the single-sized bed, you have nowhere to go.

“W-Why…” you begin, your voice coming out raspy from sleep and shock. Your eyes dart around as if seeking an escape.

Before you can finish your sentence, Wanda’s hand reaches for yours, her fingers curling reassuringly around your wrist.

“Hey, it's me. You're okay,” she murmurs softly, but you remain tense, suspicious.

You don’t try to scramble further away, but you remain tense under her touch.

“Why are you here?” you finally manage to get out, your voice trembling slightly. “You shouldn't be here. You need to go.”

Wanda looks jolted at your words, her eyebrows shooting up. “Go?” she echoes, incredulity seeping into her tone. “Why would I go? You've been missing for days. I've been worried sick.”

Your heart aches at the crack in her voice, a clear indication of her sleepless nights, but the need to protect Wanda from you overpowers your sympathy.

“I can't...I can't tell you why,” you stammer out, hugging your knees to your chest, using them as a barrier between you and her.

Wanda's grip tightens around your wrist. “Why not?” she insists, her voice laced with frustration. “You can't just disappear and expect me to leave when I finally find you.”

“Because you’re not safe,” you say, avoiding her eyes.

“But why?” She pushes, her voice shaking with worry. “What do you mean I'm not safe?”

You struggle to find the right words, your throat dry. “You just... you just aren't, Wanda. Please, just leave.”

Her eyebrows pull together as she stares at you, as she searches your face for some explanation. Then, a name flickers across her expression, and her body goes rigid.

Pietro.

Shit.

What did he do?

“Y/N?” Wanda utters slowly. “Did you… Did you find out about my–”

“Yes,” you cut her off. Not wanting to hear from Wanda herself what–

What you’ve put her through.

The memory of the hospital report you secured after you found out, the graphic details of the picture that was sent to you—they've been haunting your nightmares for days.

Your hand slips out of hers as you awkwardly sit up, pressing your back against the unyielding concrete with a wince of discomfort. Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide and her lips parted, as if she's just now realizing the gravity of what you’ve been really dealing with.

“I found out, Wanda. About the pills,” you say quietly, your voice shaking. “The night I left...you overdosed. And I–I didn't even know.” You run a hand through your hair, frustration and guilt making you feel sick.

“That's why you can't be here, Wanda. That's why you have to leave. Because I can't... I can't be the cause of your pain anymore.”

Wanda looks at you for a moment, her expression unreadable, then, as if a switch is flipped, her expression crumbles.

Despite all the tears she's already shed over the past week, she finds that she's not done yet. She's cried so much she thought she had nothing left, but there's always more when it comes to the pain you're both in.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you firmly. She says it like she's trying to drill it into your head, her jaw set, teeth clenched. She wants you to believe her. She needs you to believe her.

It's not your fault.

The dam holding back your own tears finally gives way. “How can you say that, Wanda?” you choke out, your voice shaking as much as you are. “I have proof that I almost killed you!”

But Wanda just shakes her head, stubborn as always. She won't accept what you're saying, won't see the truth of the matter. And so, you switch tactics.

“Why are you still here, Wanda?” you ask, your voice suddenly cold. “Why are you still looking for me? Why do you act like you still...care? Is it guilt? You cheated on me and now you're stuck with me out of pity? Do you pity me because you got the good side of this mess?”

Your words hang heavy in the silence that follows. Wanda just blinks at you, her eyes wide and shock clearly etched on her face. She pulls back slightly, her face flushing with a mix of hurt and anger.

“You think I pity you?" she whispers, her voice shaking with the intensity of her emotions. “You think this is guilt?”

But before you can answer, she's already shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears again. “No, you're wrong. It’s not pity, it’s not guilt. It’s...it’s…”

Her voice breaks off as she clutches the fabric of your shirt in her fists. “It’s because I love you, you idiot,” she finally admits, her confession plunging the dagger further into your beating heart. “Despite what they say…despite all of it, I still love you.”

It's raw and painful and beautiful all at once, but it also scares you more than anything. Because if Wanda still loves you, despite everything that's happened, then you're going to have to fight even harder to protect her from yourself.

“Wanda, I…” you try to protest, to explain, to push her away, but your words die in your throat when she suddenly crashes her lips onto yours. It's fierce and demanding, full of so many unsaid words and bottled-up emotions.

Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer while one of her hands finds its way to your hair, holding you in place. She's practically clinging onto you, as if she's afraid you'll disappear again.

Your initial shock fades away as the kiss deepens. You melt into her, your resistance collapsing. Your arms instinctively go around her waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between you.

Everything narrows down to the sensation of her lips moving against yours. The kiss is intoxicating and it's not long before you find yourself giving in, the guilt and fear momentarily forgotten.

What you’ve put her through.

But the words flash behind your eyes again. You can't help but question if this, the intoxicating sensation of being with Wanda Maximoff, can absolve you of it all.

Your thoughts whirl, but Wanda seems to know exactly what you need. She breaks away just enough to capture your hands, bringing them to her flushed cheeks.

And then, with her eyes closed, trusting, she whispers, “You’re not hurting me, Y/N.” Your hands tremble as they stay on her face, moving cautiously, as if she's a fragile piece of glass that might shatter under your touch.

When Wanda opens her eyes, you're struck by their clarity, their luminosity. “See?” she whispers. “All I feel is how much you love me. I–I know you do…”

In the next beat, she's guiding your hands lower, slipping them beneath her shirt to rest against the warm skin of her waist. Without thinking, your fingers begin to move, massaging the soft dips of her stomach, tracing the familiar curves and lines of a body you've known and cherished for years.

“All I feel is your warmth. Your tenderness,” she murmurs, a slight catch in her breath as your hands start to move upwards, brushing aside her bra to gently cradle her breast. “Your desire. Your love that nurtures me, makes me thrive,” she finishes, a small gasp escaping her as she feels herself responding to your touch, her nipples hardening against your palm.

“So, please, Y/N,” she cries desperately as you wordlessly make quick work of removing her shirt and bra. “Please don’t make me go. I need you.”

It's hard to resist her, especially when she looks at you with such pleading eyes. You’ve always had a difficult time saying no to Wanda, and this moment is no different.

After shedding your own shirt, you pull her close, the skin-on-skin contact sending sparks through your veins. For a moment, everything else fades away. It's just the two of you, tangled together in a cocoon of your own making.

Your resolve wavers, then collapses. You can't deny her, not now, not ever.

Taking a deep breath, you lean in to press your forehead against hers. “I want to make you feel good,” you say, and before Wanda can utter her agreement, you press your lips against her delicately.

The kiss is slow and tender, a gentle exploration rather than a heated demand. It's a promise, a vow to take your time and be mindful of her needs. You want to make up for all the hurt you've caused her, and this is where you'll start.

Without breaking the kiss, you carefully guide back down on the bed. Your fingers dance over the button of her jeans and when you can't proceed without breaking the kiss, you do so reluctantly. Wanda lets out a soft whine at the loss of contact, her impatience showing as she moves her hips to aid you in removing her pants. Once she’s left in just her underwear, you take a moment to appreciate the sight before you.

Wanda, naked in your teenage bed, her skin flushed and her thighs pulled together to relieve the delicious ache in between them. And your instinct is to worship every inch of her until she’s calling out to another higher power in the midst of your care.

Growing restless, Wanda eases herself off the bed, just enough to clasp the nape of your neck, drawing you back to another sweet entanglement of her lips.

This time, you get lost in the moment, letting your tongue outline the shape of her mouth, tasting the mix of her salty tears and the sweet remnants of her honeyed tea. You leisurely familiarize yourself with her, navigating the familiar paths inside her mouth, until the top of your thigh accidentally bumps into her clothed center.

The sudden touch makes Wanda gasp. Her head rolls back, her eyes tightly closed, and you press into her again–harder. You watch as her mouth forms the perfect 'o,' each quick, sharp puffs matching the rhythm you’ve now set with your hips. Your hand trails down from the nape of her neck, across the delicate expanse of her shoulders, before settling on her waist, using it as a leverage to drive harder into her.

“Y/N–P-Please…” Wanda's plea hangs in the thick air between you two. She doesn't know exactly what she's asking for, only that she'll lose her mind if you don't act soon.

Knowing what she needs, you push her thighs apart and lift them towards herself, until her knees are almost touching her shoulders. Grabbing her bottom, you tilt her hips slightly upwards, slotting your thigh directly over Wanda’s cunt.

And then, without warning, you lower down to start driving your leg into her soaked core.

“Baby, what are you–oh, fuck!” Wanda can't hold back the scream that's torn from her throat.

Your fingernails dig sharply into her ass as you encourage her to fuck your leg. Your arms are working hard, holding up the lower half of Wanda's body at the precise angle you need. You duck your head to suck on the hollow of her throat, making Wanda squirm as she encircles her arms around your shoulders, keeping you in place.

While you continue to maintain your rhythm, her slippery underwear—the lone piece of clothing she still has on–becomes too drenched that they slide right into and get stuck between her pussy lips, the folds of the fabric adding a pleasurable friction to her clit. At this moment, you decide to let your mouth venture further down her torso until it finds a hardened peak, and you waste no time immediately nursing on her teat.

In a matter of seconds, Wanda feels the familiar coil in her belly. Her escalating cries, coming in sharp bursts, echo in your ear, a clear indication of the inevitable. She wraps her legs around your waist as her breathing becomes more frantic, encouraging you to plough into her mercilessly. On the next thrust, your hand releases its grip on one of her buttocks to push her panties aside and pump two fingers into her without preamble, before switching your mouth to her other nipple, giving it the same furious attention.

“Fuck, I’m–nnnghh!” Wanda yelps, and all it takes is one more slam of your hips before Wanda's entire body stiffens, her back arching into a perfect bow. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from closing your teeth around her areola as you feel her continue to buck against you, riding the final waves of her high.

Moments later, you finally let go of her nipple with a wet pop when she weakly tugs at the back of your head, and you gently lap at the reddened area, tending to it with soft kitten licks. Once you’re satisfied, you climb back up to softly kiss Wanda’s closed eyelids, feeling her body slacken in your hold as she slowly recovers from her orgasm.

You continue to sprinkle a few more kisses randomly across her face, until her giggles ripple through you, the sound of her laughter chiming like bells in your ears.

“Good?” you ask while still inside her, your other hand caressing the curve of her cheek as you gaze into her eyes, ensuring she's completely comfortable in every way.

Wanda bites her lip and nods, a blush coloring her cheeks as she basks in the intense attention you're showering her with and the weak, come-hither motion of your fingers still inside her.

“Good,” you say with a soft smile, and then Wanda’s breath catches as your eyes darken once more, pulling your fingers out of her carefully before licking them clean. “Because now I want to taste you.”

“But you haven’t–”

“This is what I want,” you calmly assure her. In reality, you want a number of things. You want to apologize to her. You want to feel that she’s there with you. That she’s alive, even if she’s a puppet on a string, at the mercy of your mouth and fingers.

You want to erase the image seared into your mind of Wanda, lifeless and cold.

Wanda smiles at you, and you respond by leaning in to give her a gentle kiss, a silent promise that it’s not because you’re merely rejecting her touch. What you really want is to love her right now, and perhaps see her let go and lose herself in the moment.

Slowly, you start to trail kisses down her stomach, stopping just above her navel to playfully swirl your tongue within it, eliciting a reaction from Wanda as she arches her body upwards, offering herself to you. As you continue, your hands glide her underwear down her legs, before casually discarding it somewhere behind you.

Instantly, her scent fills your nostrils, making your mouth water. You fight the urge to dive right in, not wanting all of this to end too soon. You follow the smell of her arousal to its source, your nose skimming over the area above her pubic bone, the apex of her thighs, anywhere but where Wanda’s gushing out in need.

Wanda feels an urge to beg you to stop teasing, but she understands that's not what you're doing. She recognizes why you're taking your time, even though the deliberate pace is making her grow more frustrated by the second.

As for you, emotions well up inside as you discern that Wanda is surrendering to you, reminding you of your ability to make her feel good, to make her happy, and it's taking all your strength not to crumble and break down in front of her.

Even amid the heavy fog of desire, Wanda experiences a rush of gentle affection when she feels your fingers intertwining with hers, providing her a comforting squeeze. But Wanda should have taken that as her warning, when in a split second, she feels your tongue dart out to taste the length of her.

Wanda's head lolls to the side, her eyes tightly closed. She hadn't anticipated that the buildup would be this intense, that such a simple move would drive her crazier than usual. She whimpers as you lick her languidly, almost reverently, as if you’re memorizing her taste and every crease and every sound your tongue elicits.

This time, when Wanda reaches her climax, it's more than just the physical sensations pushing her over the edge.

It's your smile that she feels brushing her dewy skin, it's the hums of approval you're voicing, it's the way your eyes lock with hers, absorbing her every reaction, in sync with her sensations and emotions.

The way you’d rest your head on her stomach while catching your breath.

Much like how it was when loving her was something you were so proud of.

As midnight approaches, you finally give in to Wanda's pleas for you to stop. She's come more times tonight than ever before in her life, and with her stomach growling in hunger, all she can think about is the beef stew your mother left in the kitchen for both of you.

She extracts her tired body from your secure hold, and dresses herself in comfortable silence, while you sit on your bed, confused and not knowing what to do with yourself now that you’ve accomplished your mission of making Wanda come a record-breaking six times.

Wanda stretches languidly, much like a cat, her bones making small popping sounds that draw a soft moan from her. She then tells you that she'll warm up the dinner you were meant to have and bring it back up to eat in the room.

As she makes her way to the kitchen, the rich, comforting aroma of the beef stew your mother had prepared earlier that evening wafts into the hallway, causing her stomach to complain louder.

Approaching the stove, she finds the pot still sitting there, the stew inside cooled. She turns on the burner underneath, and waits for it to heat up. All the while, her thoughts continue to race. She wonders if giving herself to you tonight has somehow provided you with the comfort you needed after finding out about her overdose on the night you left.

Did it reassure you to see her not just alive, but right there with you? Did the intimate connection help to ease any lingering fears or guilt from that night?

Once the stew has warmed enough, she ladles it into two bowls and carefully makes her way back up the stairs. As she nudges the bedroom door open with her foot, she's met with a sight that warms her heart. You're sitting there, now modestly dressed in a pair of pajamas, looking far more composed than when she'd first walked into your room earlier in the evening.

Your hair is neatly combed back, and the lines of worry that had marked your face earlier have faded, replaced with a serene expression.

However, your eyes tell a different story. Something significant has shifted, and she can't quite put her finger on what it is.

“Will you set those down for a moment? I need to tell you something,” you tell her, your voice eerily calm. It sends a ripple of unease through her, yet she does as you ask.

Quietly, Wanda places the bowls of hot stew on the nearby dresser. The comforting scent of the dish wafts through the room, yet her earlier hunger has been replaced by an uneasy feeling that ties her stomach in knots. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside you, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

You take a deep breath before you begin, as if you're preparing yourself as well for what you have to say.

“I… I'm not sure how to go about it, or even why I'm doing it, but... you should hear this,” you start off.

“Last week, I... I tried sleeping with a stranger because I wanted to understand, to put myself in your shoes,” you continue, not waiting for her response. Wanda is quiet as she listens to your confession, each word slicing through her like a blade.

“I wanted to feel... what it was like for you when you chose him. When you chose him over us, over what we had,” you say, your voice wavering slightly.

Wanda can hardly breathe. “Y/N…”

“I couldn't do it,” you blurt out, your words spilling over one another in your haste. “Even though technically, we aren’t together, I… I couldn’t be with someone else,” you say in a choked half-sob, half-laugh that pushes Wanda dangerously close to a fresh torrent of feelings.

Tears flow freely down your cheeks now, your nose sniffling from the congestion. You sniffle, struggling to draw in breaths through your mouth to compensate for the hindered airflow.

“How?” you force out the question, your voice filled with aching pain as you look at Wanda, your face contorted with sorrow. “How was it so easy for you?”

Wanda doesn't have an immediate answer to your question, instead, she just looks at you, her heart breaking with every sob that shakes your body.

“It wasn't... it wasn't easy,” she finally stammers out, her mind frantically revisiting the long weeks she spent with Calliope, trying to unpack her baggage and find something, anything, that might ease your pain. “Nothing about this has been easy, Y/N.”

But she knows it's not the answer you want.

“I wish I had a straightforward answer,” she starts, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I wish I had a valid reason... something. But I don't... I just... don't. You were–are–everything to me, Y/N. You’re patient, loving, caring. You deserved so much better.”

She can't justify her actions. She can't explain why she risked the one person who loved her unconditionally. And it's a different kind of torment, the understanding that there's no satisfying explanation, no logical reason for her betrayal.

“I don’t trust you,” you admit to Wanda, a deep sorrow seeping into your voice.

“Y/N, I…” Wanda starts, but you raise your hand to silence her.

“Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me,” you cut her off, your voice a broken whisper. “But every time I see you, every time I'm around you, it's like... it's like I'm back at square one,” you continue, your voice strained. “I don't know if I can ever trust you again, Wanda. And worse, I don't trust myself around you.”

Your gaze drops to your lap, where your hands are tightly knotted together, knuckles white with the effort.

“And I don't know if this feeling will ever stop,” you add, more to yourself than to her. “I'm just so tired of it all. Tired of feeling this way, tired of... going around in circles.”

Wanda swallows thickly, her throat constricted. Her heart feels like it's being ripped apart at the seams as she watches you, so vulnerable, so hurt. All because of her.

“I...I could never have done that to you.” you tell her with finality.

“I know,” she answers, her voice filled with an emotion so raw it makes your chest tighten. “I know you’d never do anything to hurt me like that. It's... it's unbearable, Y/N. But I... I'm so sorry. I want to try, if you're willing... I want to earn your trust and forgiveness.”

“I need to earn your trust back,” Wanda corrects herself quietly, cowering, expecting you to laugh in her face with how delusional she is for begging you the one thing that she already destroyed. “I know it won't be easy, and I don't even know if it's possible, but I have to try, Y/N. I can't... I can't lose you again without even trying.”

A part of you rebels at the idea, reminds you of all the reasons why you should harden your heart and walk away–for the sake of you both. Yet, another part, a larger part, doesn't want to. Despite the hurt and betrayal, despite the broken pieces, you still care for her.

You want to trust her again. You want to be in love in the purest sense.

(You’re already in love, you just want to stop questioning it.)

“I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy to deal with,” you warn her, your voice thick with sincerity. “I can't just... sweep all of this under the rug, Wanda.”

“I can handle that,” she replies with a soft smile, her voice full of certainty.

“Can you really?” you question, disbelief plain in your tone. “What if you blindside me again? What if I do something that would put you in harm’s way again?”

Wanda nods knowingly. “Which is why we can't do this by ourselves alone.”

“What do you suggest?” you ask curiously.

“That we seek professional help.” she says without hesitation.

“Professional help?” you repeat, slightly surprised. You hadn't considered this avenue, but the complexity of your situation seems to call for it.

Her practical approach impresses you, her willingness to explore different ways to mend things. The idea of exposing your deepest emotions to a stranger in a clinical setting is intimidating. But if Wanda is willing to do it, to unpack everything and lay it all out in the open like a defenseless soldier in a middle of a battlefield, then–

“Okay,” you say finally.

“Okay?” Wanda looks up at you with wide, expectant eyes, making her look so innocent like a child.

You nod, your lips curling into a tentative smile. “I guess… we could try.”

A watery smile flickers on Wanda's face as she carefully circles her arms around your neck. You reciprocate her hug, hesitant at first, but then with more confidence as you both meld back into each other. For a while, you simply sit there, clinging onto each other, until Wanda’s rumbling stomach shatters the moment.

Chuckles bubbling up, Wanda draws back from your hold and says, “Should we get to that stew now?”

Grinning, you give a playful snort and rise to fetch the bowls of warm stew yourself.

Then it hits you, the real fear isn't the dread of her repeating the same mistakes nor the risk of hurting each other again.

No, it's the idea of her being here with you, and not putting in the effort to make things right.

And that, you decide, is something you don't think you could live with.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader

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daechwitatamic · 1 month

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 15 | KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: angst, kissing, not explicit penetrative sex wc: 5k

All of you need sleep. You and Namjoon had pulled an all-nighter in his grandfather’s office last night, writing the countercurse. Taehyung had spent the night, as he does every night, fighting to get out of his rooms, trying to hunt. Probably Jimin slept, but he’d also just fought off at least four Score soldiers.

Taehyung offers to let you sleep in his quarters, but you decline, wanting to practice the countercurse in private, work on the phrasing, and sit alone with your decision.

When his face falls, you step closer, pressing your palm to his cheek. He closes his eyes, exhausted, and leans into the touch.

“You should sleep,” you tell him gently. “Do you want my help?”

He shakes his head, and you lower your hand.

“No,” he says. “The cabinet is about to meet to discuss this morning’s attack. I imagine… Seokjin’s father will be arrested. Or, at least, an attempt will be made.”

“Have you heard from them?” you ask, meaning Seokjin and Jungkook.

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’ll find out soon enough - either they’ll be listed among the dead soldiers, or they’ll have gotten away. I don’t know anything yet.”

“Let me come back tonight?” you ask. “I want to know what’s happening.”

You’re not sure why you feel so tentative about it, after everything you’ve gone through together. You know by now that he wants you there. But it still feels, in your bones, like you’re stepping into a role that doesn’t belong to you, that you should not be allowed to claim.

“After supper?” he suggests. “Will that give you enough time?”

You shrug. “I would certainly hope so.”

You spend the rest of the day in your own rooms; Namjoon paces, anxious over Satuel.

“I think she’ll be okay,” you try to reassure him. “Taehyung’s a strong healer. Her speaking to us was a good sign.”

After a while, you rise and go to take a shower. You have dried vampire blood caked on your hands.

—

You go to Taehyung’s rooms earlier than planned. You meant to wait for him to summon you, but you are - like Namjoon - itching to find out if there’s news about Satuel, news about Seokjin, news about the attack. You’re itching to let the prince wrap his arms around you, to find comfort from the horrors you’d faced together only hours ago.

You’re surprised when Namjoon waves you off, surprised again when Dansoo agrees to escort you to the prince’s wing without an invitation.

Things are changing around here, you realize. People are starting to treat you like you belong in the prince’s rooms, like it’s natural for you to be there instead of in your own space.

When his personal guards open the door to let you in, you expect to find Taehyung on one of the couches, long legs stretched before him. Instead, his front room is empty. You continue on, calling his name, peering into the bedroom where you’d slept after your first night - and morning - together.

It’s empty as well.

You find him in what looks like an office, tall bookshelves flanking a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the sea. Taehyung stands with his back to you, head bowed, one hand played flat on the wood of the desk at the center of the room, his other hand buried in his hair.

“Taehyung?” you say quietly, taking a single step into the silent room.

He doesn’t turn. His shoulders shake. In the quiet, you can hear him take a shuddering breath.

“Tae?” you venture. You’re scared, suddenly. Did Satuel not make it? Seokjin, or Jungkook? Has Taehyung’s plan fallen apart before it could even begin?

When he turns, his eyes are red-rimmed and jet-black.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in a whisper. You’re so scared of the answer you can barely speak.

“I can’t do this,” he tells you, hoarse, almost sounding like his cursed self.

You step forward slowly, regarding him. “Which part?” you ask.

He shakes his head, chest jumping as he struggles to control his breathing. “Any of it. All of it. I’m not… I’m not smart enough for this, I’m not capable enough - I thought I could just wipe out hundreds of thousands of years of my people’s way of ruling and just… make my own?”

He starts pacing, and you watch him, worry starting to churn behind your belly button.

“Your plan is good,” you say firmly. “It’s good, Taehyung, and it’s important.”

“What if it fails?” he asks you, his voice breaking like shattered glass, littering the carpet between you. “What if I take power from my father, rip down tradition, and it just leads to more killing, more centuries of war? What if all I accomplish is the ruination of my house?”

“Then we try again,” you say, overcome by the urge to sweep up his fractured pieces and cup them in your bleeding hands. “If the first try fails, we step back and figure out a new way forward. That’s what you’re forgetting, Taehyung - you’re not alone. You’re not doing this on your own.”

He looks at you, unchanged, unconvinced.

“You want something better for everybody - something more fair, something that keeps your father’s actions from ever happening again. You’re willing to focus on what’s right, not what’s best for you… and people will see that. People will support you. If you’re forced to try another way, you’ll have the other houses behind you.”

“And if I succeed?” he counters, his expression hollow, his voice shaking. “I promised everyone justice. What if, for my father… justice means death?”

“You’ll be King by then,” you whisper. “Can’t you make sure that doesn’t happen?”

“That’s what I’m fighting against!” he shouts, a fist slamming the desk beside him before coming to cover his mouth. He bends around it, caving in with grief. Your hands itch to reach for him, to pull him close, to soothe his hurts. “If I am being fair, if I am being good, and right, and all that other bullshit you just told me I stand for - wouldn’t I let him face the justice he deserves?”

You don’t answer this. You don’t think you should.

He lowers his fist, meets your eyes again. Tears leak gently over his cheekbones, and you feel yourself welling up in response.

“I know what he did was terrible,” Taehyung whispers, still hoarse. “But he’s my father, and I love him. How can I be the one demanding he go to trial? Even if he lives, how could he ever forgive me?”

You close the space between you, unsure if he’ll allow you to comfort him. To your surprise, he lets you wrap yourself around him, leans his head into the crook of your neck and continues to cry silently, his hands coming around you to cup your shoulder blades.

You run a hand down his back slowly, again and again, and say nothing. When his breaths shudder less, you lean and press a kiss to the back of his head.

“You gave him the chance,” you point out. “He chose to continue. He knows he was wrong. He’ll know you’re trying to be a good king, even if it makes you an imperfect son.”

He lets out a watery laugh. “I’ve always been an imperfect son. I came to peace with that hundreds of years ago.”

“It’s your choice to make,” you tell him gently. “I’ll support you either way.”

His laugh turns a little bitter, but he removes himself from your neck and sits tall again, still leaning against his desk, you standing between his legs.

“Seokjin won’t,” he says darkly. “If I pardoned him, showed him any mercy at all, I’d lose all the Scores. Other families, too. There’s only one right move if I want support. It just happens to suck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching up to smooth down his hair, to brush tear-tracks away with your thumbs. His eyes are still as black as tar; he’s too distraught to worry about changing them. “I’m sorry everything happened this way.”

He sighs, as if to say, me too.

You hold each other for a while longer. Outside the large window, night falls in full, leaving you two standing in the dim light of one little desk lamp.

“What happened today?” you ask finally.

He untangles himself from you and leads you by the hand back to his main room. You settle on one of the couches there, and he rubs at his face, as if he can scrub away the exhaustion, the hurt, the uncertainty.

“My father sent an Officer to arrest Seokjin’s father. They couldn’t find him - he wasn’t there. I haven’t heard from Seokjin, but he’s supposed to meet with me in a few days to discuss my next steps.”

“They won’t arrest him?”

“He’s not his father,” Taehyung says darkly. “Just like I’m not mine.”

“So then… what is the next step?”

He shakes his head, hating every second of this. “In the morning,” he says, voice full of defeat, “you’ll help me blackmail my father.”

Your brow furrows. “I thought you said he’d agree to transfer power.”

Taehyung grimaces. “He wants what I’m offering. I think he’ll agree. But in case he gives us a hard time… you’re my secret weapon.”

You give him a look. He answers it with a wry smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re going to tell him you won’t counter the curse unless he gives up the crown.”

“Taehyung!” you gasp. “I can’t do that! You want me to say that to him? The King?”

“I do,” Taehyung says seriously. “It might be the only bargaining chip we have.”

“I can’t,” you whine. But you know you will. You’d do anything Taehyung asked you - as if that wasn’t already clear by the way you’re willing to toss away your mortal existence for his life.

“We don’t have another choice,” he says grimly.

You sit in silence for a little. You’re thinking about the gravity of what you’re about to do - to back the king of Infracticus into a corner, to essentially blackmail him into giving up the crown. Then, helping Taehyung dismantle the monarchy.

God.

“There’s something else,” Taehyung says, pulling you from your thoughts, his voice tight.

“Oh?”

He’s shy, suddenly, avoiding your gaze. “One of the things I’m promising… in exchange for the crown. Part of Father’s motivation when he choreographed all those attacks was… he’s worried about the bloodline. He’s worried I won’t marry, won’t carry on our name. So, in exchange for him transferring the crown to me, I’m promising him that I’ll marry.”

Your heart doesn’t drop to your feet; rather, it dissipates into nothing, leaving you a shell full of unmoving blood. You stare at him, unable to make a peep.

He shifts. “I don’t want you to feel stuck, or trapped, or pressured,” he says, finally peeking up at you. “And it’s important to me that you know that I’d want this even if we removed everything - the curse, my plan for after, all of it. But… I’d really like to walk in there tomorrow and promise him that someday, soon… I’ll marry you.”

“Taehyung,” you whisper, but he doesn’t say anything else, just opens a small, velvet jewelry case that looks about as old as he really is.

“If something changes later, we’ll deal with it,” he says, reading your mind. “But I’ve been alive for six hundred years and never wanted someone at my side the way I do with you.”

The ring is silver, the jewel a deep blue - Rune house colors. You reach for it with shaking hands and then stop, looking up at him.

“I -” you stutter, “I can’t - I don’t deserve this. I’m -”

“If you say you’re nothing to me again, I swear -” he threatens, mouth pulling into a frown.

Your shaking fingertips trace the jewel. “Are you sure?” you ask him, hushed, afraid of his answer.

“If you aren’t with me,” he says seriously, “then I don’t even want to see the other side of this.”

“Okay,” you say, meeting his eyes, hands leaving the velvet box and reaching for his hands instead, needing to be closer, needing to feel him. You feel breathless, dizzy, out of body. It’s like someone else is pushing the words out of you when you breathe, “If you’re sure, then… yes. Yes.”

He kisses you, deep, a hand lingering near your jaw, reverent. “My love. My venefici,” he whispers, kissing you between each title. “My Queen.”

You shoot him a wry smile. “Not yet,” you say.

You spend the night in the prince’s bed. When the clock ticks into tomorrow and the beast curls its lip at you, you kiss him on the nose, call him by his name, and tell him, “Ask nicely.” When he’s done, tongue pressing against the tender wound he’d made on your throat, he wraps you in his arms to sleep.

—

King Sunjae seems to know that his son is up to something. As soon as he enters the room - the same small place you’d tried the previous, failing counter-curses - his eyes are narrowed on you and Taehyung, expression cloudy.

“You requested an audience?” he asks, mock-politely, a sneer all over the words.

“I did,” Taehyung says evenly, his palms pressed flat to the tabletop. You know he’s nervous, know he spent most of the morning practicing with you, rehearsing what he wanted to say. “I came to make a deal with you.”

“A deal,” the King repeats coldly. “I thought we already had a deal.”

“You broke it,” Taehyung says flatly, no room for argument. “I consider it null and void.”

The King lets out a sarcastic whiff of a laugh. “And yet you’ve come to make another.”

Taehyung shifts beside you, his own tone growing chillier. “Not without insurance.”

King Sunjae’s eyes narrow again. “Explain yourself,” he says, a command.

“I’m offering you the same promises I made last time,” Taehyung says, just like you’d practiced together. “A marriage - eventually, an heir.”

The King scoffs, coming very close to rolling his eyes. “You strung me along with that little lie for a year, Taehyung.”

“I’ll let you set the date,” Taehyung counters, and you thrill a little watching the King stiffen as he starts to put the pieces together. “We’ll wed as soon as you want us to.”

The King’s eyes flash to your hands, alighting on the deep blue jewel adorning your finger. You smile beatifically at him. He has no idea how much you’re about to piss him off.

The King’s eyes flash back to Taehyung. “And in exchange?” he bites, as if he already knows, can already intuit that this is a deal not in his favor.

“The crown,” Taehyung says coolly, and you’re filled with pride so strong you want to reach for him, but you clench your hands into fists at your side instead. “You’ll transfer power to me now, and my Queen and I will take over ruling - effective immediately.”

The King stares at him, incredulous, clearly calculating. You watch it all over his face as he tries to find the catch - it’s like offering a fish in exchange for a house. He knows Taehyung’s not stupid enough to walk in here with that bad of a suggestion without, as he’d said minutes ago, some kind of insurance - and he’s trying to figure out what it is.

“If you agree,” you say, trying to match Taehyung’s cold tone, the way you’d practiced in his rooms, “then we’ll set a date for Prince Taehyung’s coronation and begin the preparations.”

King Sunjae sneers. “And if I don’t agree?”

You shrug. “Then I won’t counter his curse.” Insurance.

For a second, you think he’s going to attack you. Taehyung must, too, because he pulls you away from the table, just behind him.

King Sunjae manages to control himself, letting out a hissing breath between his teeth. Jaw still clenched, he manages, “Then I’ll hire someone else.”

“Good luck,” you say, though it’s harder to sound tough now that Taehyung’s tugged you behind him. “You might have trouble finding someone else willing to end their life to save his.”

The King isn’t stupid. He’s lived in the magical world for centuries longer than you have. He knows what you’re saying. He knows what it means.

His face darkens. The three of you are silent for a long time, Taehyung’s hand still protectively wrapped around your forearm, his eyes on his father’s.

The King must know he’s got no move. Taehyung has him in checkmate.

“Let me speak to your mother first,” he says. It’s a request, and a command, and, somehow, an admittance of defeat.

“I’m glad you’ve seen reason,” Taehyung says stonily.

The King stares at him, long and hard. Nervously, you shift behind Taehyung, the King’s glare coming in and out of view.

“And what will become of me after?” the King asks. “My spies tell me you’ve been running around using words like justice. Will I be facing justice, my son?”

The words land like knives. You remember Taehyung last night, mourning his father’s life, mourning their relationship.

“You will,” Taehyung says steadily. “And so will I.”

The King closes his eyes, just like Taehyung does when he has heard something he hates. Like father, like son. “Go,” he says, flapping a hand towards the door. “Go, you fool, and I don’t want to see you again until I call for you.”

—

When his father does send for him, Taehyung convinces you to stay behind.

He feels like a teenager again when he goes to his parents’ wing, ready to be scolded. He wishes he had brought you, despite the danger, just because having you at his side helps ground him, makes him braver.

They don’t speak to him when he arrives, just watch him with unblinking eyes and matching frowns.

“This would have happened eventually,” Taehyung says, by way of greeting. “It’s just sooner.”

Neither of them respond to this.

They sit around a large table, and stiffly, formally discuss the specifics. The coronation ceremony will take place in a week, to make time to prepare for celebrations. The King and Queen will send a joint statement tomorrow, announcing the news. To the public, this will be a planned and welcomed decision.

“When will she cure you?” the Queen asks, a bit of a bite on ‘she’.

“As soon as the crown is on my head,” Taehyung bites back.

“And the wedding?” The King asks, eyes narrowed.

Taehyung shrinks a little. “I’d like to give her time to… heal, and adjust, after turning. So… after?”

His parents look at each other, a silent conversation between partners of hundreds of years.

“As soon as she’s able, we’ll all meet together to discuss the timeline,” the Queen says finally.

Taehyung hates how much this feels like bargaining, how much it feels like asking permission.

Soon, though, he reminds himself, it won’t matter what they decide. Once the crown is his, he can do what he wants.

It’s not as comforting as he’d like.

“I want you to understand something,” Taehyung says, as it becomes clear that everything that needs to be decided now has been handled. His parents look back at him, disinterested.

Taehyung wonders if a day will ever come where they forgive him.

“When I asked you why, a year ago,” he says, pressing forward, looking at his father, “you said it was for us. For the Runes. I want you to understand that I’m doing this for our house, too.”

“Destroying it?” the King clarifies sarcastically.

“Stabilizing it,” Taehyung counters hotly. “Making it stand for something. Making sure all of us, all of Infracticus, don’t turn back into the thing we left behind.”

“So noble,” the King scoffs.

“We’ll be better for this,” Taehyung says. He hopes it’s a promise he can keep. “All of us.”

—

You go home.

This time, with permission. This time, with Namjoon.

This time, knowing you’ll be right back.

You have to go - you have things to handle: a job to quit, an apartment lease to break, belongings to sell or donate.

You work everything out with Taehyung the day before you go. While he’s helping his mother plan a coronation ceremony, you’ll be emptying years of belongings into garbage bags.

“Where will I stay when I come back?” you’d asked Taehyung, one sleepy morning, as you lay between his arms, your mind skipping ahead to plan your time above.

“Where do you want to stay?” he’d asked, his voice like honey, seeping over you just as slow and sweet.

“In a sea-side house with a turret,” you’d replied, and he’d giggled, pulling you close, remembering this joke of yours.

“Considering the ring…” he’d said, when he let you go again. “It would be appropriate to give you your own wing in the palace, for now.”

When you’d opened your mouth, he’d cut you off. “Don’t tell me you don’t deserve it. Maybe I just want my venefici close.”

You’ve gotten used to hearing the term as an honored position, and not a wound.

So now you’re here, in your old apartment, deciding what few things are worth bringing back to the palace. Namjoon, as far as you know, is just getting a few days off - time to see his family, his friends. He’ll return to Infracticus with you before the coronation.

You miss Infracticus the whole time you’re gone. You miss the ancient, mysterious palace corridors. You miss the roaring ocean and the amarisca. You miss the impossibly purple sky.

You miss Taehyung’s voice, his hands, his mouth. You miss his smile, his laugh, his heavy gaze.

You even miss Satuel and Dansoo.

You cave on the second night and ask Namjoon if he wants to get a beer.

“Sorry, with my family,” he sends you back. He follows it quickly with, “you’ll be back in no time”.

Not soon enough, you think.

—

Your return to Infracticus is a jarring experience, a stark opposite from the first time you’d passed through the Ostium.

Then, it had been in the dead of night, sneaking in under heavy cloaks.

This time, you and Namjoon are greeted warmly, brought into sparkling sunlight, where a coach waits.

“Welcome, sperasa,” the Ostium attendant says, and you look at Namjoon with wide eyes.

“What?” he asks, as you climb into the coach. “What’s wrong? What did she call you?”

“Betrothed,” you tell him, eyes still wide.

The coach takes you to the palace’s front entrance. You’ve never come in or out of the palace this way before, and it’s unnerving. You feel like a spectacle, but Taehyung greets you in the majestic, open atrium. He sweeps you into his arms, kisses your head, doesn’t seem to care that there are members of the court families milling about.

“I suppose I’m not a secret anymore,” you murmur.

“No, my love,” he says, smiling down at you. “You’re not the human here to break my curse. You’re the Highest, here to marry her hunter.”

“Cheesy,” you complain, but you’re smiling, your cheeks hot.

“And true,” he says, looking at you sideways.

He brings you to your wing - your wing - of the palace, eager to show it off. Namjoon tags along, smiling openly, out of curiosity.

“You might as well get used to them,” Taehyung points out as he leads you up the staircase towards your new set of golden doors. “After you turn, these are the rooms you’ll be recovering in.”

A shiver runs through you, equal parts thrill and terror.

—

Taehyung grew up knowing he’d be king someday. As a small boy, he’d been taught to conduct himself as a prince. As a young man, he’d been taught to think of the greater good, to be fair, to be wise.

Two out of three, he figured, wasn’t bad.

He’d imagined his coronation thousands of times. He’d imagined whose faces he’d see in the crowd, the music they’d play, what they’d eat, what he’d wear.

He’d never once imagined that he’d wake up, his final morning as Prince of Infracticus, to a smile on his lover’s face. Yet here you are, smiling at him, reaching up to cup his cheek as you kiss him gently.

“Maiesti,” you whisper reverently, a slight tremble to your voice. You say it again when he presses your knees wide, sinks himself deep inside you, rocks against the heat he finds there. Maiesti, you say, but it’s his name you gasp when you come around him, his name you breathe when he pierces the skin above your collarbone, watching the hollow space there fill with crimson.

He knew he’d have a team come make a fuss over his appearance - setting his hair just so, holding up top after top to his chest before pulling them away in search of another. He’d never imagined he’d spend that whole time wishing you were still in the room with him, giggling at the worst options, catching his eye in the mirror.

“Bring my sperasa to my rooms as soon as she’s ready,” he tells his staff. “I want her with me.”

When you appear in his doorway, it takes his breath away. How they’ve done you up, the gown they’ve draped you in - you could pass for Infracti. You could pass for a Queen.

He almost ruins the whole thing by throwing himself at you.

He’d imagined the crowd hundreds of times - all the court families in place. He’d never imagined how he’d heave in relief to see the Scores in attendance, Seokjin at the front, as he belongs. The throne room is full to the brim with Infracti from all the influential families dressed in finery.

His parents sit in their thrones at the front of the room, waiting for him to approach. He’d never imagined that on the day of his coronation their gazes on him as he approached them would feel chilling rather than proud. And yet.

He’d never imagined that the thing that calmed him might be a witch’s hand slipping into his as he walks to the front of the room.

You walk slowly, hand in hand, up the center of the room. Taehyung can feel your pulse slamming in your palm, can hear your heart screaming in fear, can smell your nerves. He gives your hand a squeeze. He’s not sure what’s scaring you most - the crowd of monsters, everyone’s attention on you, or what’s going to happen at the other end of the room. But he’s here- he’s here, and he won’t let anyone touch you.

They’d used you as a cover - to distract from the untraditional transfer of power, they’d announced the engagement. To the court families, it looked like Taehyung was taking power early in conjunction with his nuptials, accepting the crown early to start his rule with his new Queen. It was a good lie. Hardly a lie at all.

Taehyung had imagined his coronation hundreds of times. He’d always imagined this walk alone.

It’s so much better this way.

At the front of the room, he turns to face his people. You step to the side, and Satuel comes to flank you, as planned. Taehyung knows Jimin is nearby too, just in case.

One of the Elders runs the ceremony, standing at a podium to read ancient Infracti out of a book the size of a toy poodle, its yellowed pages flaking. Taehyung tunes it out, floating pleasantly as his eyes skim the crowd. He spies Jimin and Jungkook, and his eyes catch on many of his father’s cabinet members. He wonders absently if any of them will be in his cabinet, or if he should start from scratch.

Eventually, the crown is placed on a dais. He turns and places a hand on it, the cool metal spikes poking into the skin of his palm. His father rises and comes to face him, placing his own meaty hand on the crown.

His father’s black eyes bore into him, and Taehyung wants to wither.

I’m sorry, he wants to say.

You did this to yourself, he wants to point out.

I gave you the chance to stop.

I’m going to do a better job than you.

None of it matters. The Elder is saying the archaic words, Taehyung’s father hates him, and time ticks on.

The crown is lifted, placed carefully on Taehyung’s head. It’s cold and heavy and he can’t wait to take it off again, but he can’t think about that right now. The Elder is speaking, declaring, “Taehyung of Rune, King of Infracticus,” and it feels like the whole fucking room is holding its breath.

This is the moment. His people will either accept or reject him.

In the front row, Seokjin slides to his knees and bows.

The Scores follow. Then the Cleaves. Then, Taehyung’s own house, the Runes. The other houses fall one by one until the only eyes still on Taehyung are the Elder’s, his parents’, and yours.

You settle on your knees, that silver slip of a dress pooling around you, and you bow deeply.

“My King,” you say. “Maiesti.”

When everyone has risen, Taehyung faces his people. He takes one last, desperate look at you. He steels himself, and calls for the arrest of his father.

Then, he leaves his people to feast and revel, and leads you through a passageway behind the imposing thrones.

He will have no more nights as prince. He will have no more nights as a beast, either.

You’ll break his curse tonight.

Through the narrow, stone passageway, he leads you by the hand.

He leads you to your death. <- Prev |

thanks for reading :)

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literaryavenger · 2 months

Text

Captain America: Civil War - 4

Summary: You make it to the airport but it looks like you're gonna have to fight your way out. Thankfully, Steve called some backup.

Pairing: Avengers x Reader, slight Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Descriptions of injuries. Language. Mentions of Y/N and Y/N/N (=your nickname). My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: It took me a fucking long time to write this, I hope I did the airport scene justice. Here's to hoping the next chapters don't take me as long to write! I did my best, enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You get to the 6th level of the parking garage at the Leipzig/Halle airport and Steve parks next to a van and you all get out.

Steve gets closer to the van, followed by Sam while you stay behind with Bucky, both of you leaning on the car as you stand on the passenger’s side to be able to see over the car because you’re just that short.

You hear a little snicker from Bucky and look at him with your eyes narrowed as he seems amused by the sight but doesn’t say anything. Your attention goes back to the van as Clint loudly opens the side door.

“What timezone is this?” Scott asks, clearly disoriented as he gets out.

“Come on.” Clint encourages him and pushes him slightly towards Steve. “Come on.”

Scott walks to Steve and shakes his hand with an amazed look. “Captain America.”

“Mr. Lang.” Steve politely says as he shakes his hand.

“It’s an honor.” He says in awe. “I’m shaking your hand too long.” You try your best not to laugh as Scott fangirls over Steve.

“Wow! This is awesome!” He turns and sees Wanda and, in the same cheery voice, says “I know you, too. You’re great!”

Then he turns back to Steve and feels his shoulders saying “Jeez.” and you can’t help but giggle, seeing the scene and everybody’s reactions that go from amused to confused while Scott continues talking.

“Ah, look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so… thinks for thanking of me” He says and you giggle more while looking at Bucky to make sure you heard right and his face is as confused as you feel. You turn back to Scott as he says, “Hey, man!”

Sam tries to play it cool by saying “What’s up, Tic Tac?”

“Uh, good to see you.” Scott says, seeming a little confused at the nickname but deciding to blow past it. “Look, what happened last time when I-”

“It was a great audition, but it’ll…” Sam interrupts him, shaking his hand with a chuckle. “It’ll never happen again.”

“It was hilarious!” You comment somewhat loudly and everyone turns to you, Sam glaring while Scott giggles quietly as you wink at him and wave at Wanda and Clint.

“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve brings everyone’s attention back on the matter at hand before you and Sam start bickering.

“Something about some… psycho-assassins?” Scott says innocently and you keep in your laugh, hoping Bucky is not offended by Scott’s description of the Winter Soldiers.

“We're outside the law on this one. So, if you come with us, you're a wanted man.” Steve warns him.

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Scott says casually and you grin. Dude is pretty cool.

“We should get moving.” Bucky says.

“We got a chopper lined up.” Clint says to the group, just as the PA starts announcing something in German, which you fortunately understand.

“Dies ist eine Notsituation." You frown. Emergency? “Alle Passagiere müssen den Flughafen sofort evakuieren.”

You’re about to translate when Bucky beats you to it. “They're evacuating the airport.”

“Stark.” Sam says and you roll your eyes. Yeah, that makes sense, that dramatic diva.

“Stark?” Scott echoes, sounding surprised and not in a good way.

“Suit up.” Steve says in his Captain voice and you know better than to disobey.

Steve is in his uniform now as he strides through an underpass, then jogs onto a private runway, heading for the chopper when an electro-disabler slams onto the chopper and Steve looks up.

Tony and Rhodey, both in their Iron Man and War Machine suits, descend and land in front of Steve.

You’re in the terminal with Bucky and Sam as the latter scans the airport to find their Quinjet. You can’t really hear what the others are saying, but you can hear Steve through the earpiece.

“Hear me out, Tony.” Steve tries to reason. “That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this.”

You see T’Challa leap over a truck and after a moment Steve says “Your highness.”

You can see Tony talking, you assume trying to get Steve to surrender, before you hear Steve again. “You're after the wrong guy.”

Tony says something else you assume to be about Bucky because of what Steve answers back. ”And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't.”

You can see Natasha talk next and then Tony makes a face and you know he’s done, then you can hear him yelling “Underoos!” through Steve’s earpiece.

Suddenly you see a guy in a red onesie swing in and shoot what looks like webs at Steve, stealing his shield and binding his hands before landing on top of a truck a little wobbly.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at Sam to your right but he’s busy with Redwing so you look at Bucky next to him and he looks just as confused as you do. He meets your eyes and raises an eyebrow in question but you simply shrug and look back at the scene when you hear Steve say. “You've been busy.”

Tony tries his hardest to reason with Steve while, as planned, the Captain patiently listens to him while Sam looks for their Quinjet. “You did that when you signed.” He answers calmly at whatever Tony said.

You can see Tony pleading with Steve, and you almost feel bad but are snapped out of it when Sam finally talks. “We found it. Their Quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway.”

You see Steve raise his arms and one of Clint’s arrows flies through the air and breaks the webs on Steve’s hands, freeing him. “Alright, Lang.” Steve says and Scott enlarges, taking the shield from the guy with the red pajamas with a flip and giving it back to Steve.

“I believe this is yours, Captain America.” Scott says and you chuckle. Dude has a serious man crush.

The two men next to you look confused at what is so amusing, and you merely roll your eyes and say “come on.” as the three of you start running.

As you’re going through the terminal, you see the Spider-man dude stick to the glass outside and all three of your attention goes to him.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky asks as you run.

“Everyone’s got a gimmick now.” Sam sounds really annoyed and obviously you have to tease him.

“That’s a person, not a metal bird, Wilson!” You say.

“Don’t bring Redwing into this!” He yells back, glaring at you as he runs.

“You brought Redwing into this!” You snark back and, before Sam can say anything, Spiderman breaks through the glass towards the three of you, Sam tries to protect you and that causes you both to go crashing into the wall.

You can see Bucky throwing a punch but Spiderman catches his fist easily, shocking all three of us while shouting “You have a metal arm?! That is awesome, dude!”

Sam goes flying into Spiderman and takes him away, while you approach Bucky.

“Did that sound like a kid to you?” you ask him, still looking after Sam and Spiderman.

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.” He says starting to go after the other two.

“Matters a little…” You mumble while following Bucky.

You can hear Wanda and Clint talking through the comms, to Tony you assume when Wanda says “You locked me in my room.” and then you hear Clint say “made you look.” just as you see through the window all the cars flying down thanks to Wanda’s magic.

Spiderman wings through the rafters in the terminal, chasing Sam who flies backwards firing shots. Spiderman stops on a high beam and just then Bucky throws a giant piece of metal at him.

You can hear Spiderman yell back “Hey buddy, I think you lost this!” before throwing back the piece of metal, causing Bucky to cover you with his metal arm while it flies back, thankfully missing you both.

Sam takes the opportunity to kick Spiderman and try to bring him down, but Spiderman swings again and webs Sam’s wings, which sends him crashing to the floor. As he gets up, Spiderman webs his hands to the railing behind him and then sticks to a column and starts nerding out about Sam’s wings as you run to help Sam, Bucky right behind you.

You’re too focused on Sam to notice Spiderman swinging towards him at the same time that you get to him, luckily Bucky wraps his arms around you as all three of you crush into the railing and down to the floor on the level below.

As you all land Spiderman quickly webs Sam’s arms together, Bucky’s metal arm to the floor and then your arms, sticking you to Bucky since he was still holding you with one arm as you basically landed on him.

While Spiderman talks over you, you can faintly hear Sam messing around with his gear and you hope he’s doing something useful. Just as Spiderman is about to shoot webs again, Redwing attaches to his wrist and drags him off.

After a beat of silence Bucky says “You couldn’t have done that earlier?” to which Sam answers “I hate you.” and you roll your eyes and say “God, you two are children.”

You do your best to grab your pocket knife and, after a moment of struggling, you succeed then cut the webs off of you and Bucky with a little difficulty. You get up and cut the webs off of Bucky’s metal arm before going to Sam and helping him out of the webs too.

Your heads all snap to the window when you hear the sound of an explosion and can see it just as you hear Scott through the comms saying “Oh, man. I thought it was a water truck. Uh… sorry.”

You frown and turn to Sam and Bucky. “That can’t be good. Let’s go.” The three of you run out of the terminal as fast as you can and when you get outside you meet up with Steve, Scott, Clint and Wanda, all of you running towards the Quinjet.

“Come on!” Steve yells, but your run is interrupted when suddenly a yellow laser makes a line in front of you and you’re all stopped in your tracks. A fucking laser. You look up and see Vision hovering over you.

“Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you're doing is right.” He starts while the rest of Tony’s team gathers around him. Tony flies in while holding Natasha, Rhoday flies T’Challa and Spiderman swings down with one of Dora Milaje, T’Challa’s personal guards, that you saw at the FBI bunker and you think her name is Ayo. “But for the collective good you must surrender now.” Vision finishes talking and there is a moment of silence where you all just look at the opponent directly in front of you, which in your case is Ayo.

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam asks.

“We fight.” Is all Steve says and you hesitate for a second looking at him and then at Ayo.

“Anybody wants to switch?” You ask while looking at your teammates, some look amused but Steve kind of glares at you. “No? Alrighty, then.” You look back ahead as you all start walking, then jogging faster and faster until you’re full on running towards the opposite team.

Tony, Rhodey, Sam, Wanda and Vision take flight and then the first sound that can be heard is Tony’s fist meeting Steve’s shield.

Clint shoots an arrow at Vision that dodges it, Sam bumps into Rhodey mid-air, Scott shrinks and jumps on Natasha, Wanda shoots her magic at Peter while he shoots webs at her and T’Challa straight up jumps onto Bucky.

You lose track of what everyone else is doing once you come face to face with Ayo, who loses no time hitting you with her spear but you luckily dodge it, throwing a punch of your own that she easily avoids. The only thing you can tell is that Nat and Clint are near you fighting, and so are Bucky and T’Challa.

You take out your extendable baton, glad that Clint suggested it, and try to hit Ayo repeatedly, but you miss everytime. You’re getting frustrated when you finally land a hit to her cheek and grin, but you quickly regret it when she kicks you hard on the ribs, sending you flying back.

Ayo jumps on you and raises her spear right over your face, but before she can hit you Wanda sends her flying back far away from you.

You don’t have time to thank her when she’s throwing Natasha off of Clint and into a metal container.

“Geez, Wanda, go easy on them.” You tell her and she gives you a pointed look, before looking at Clint and saying “You were pulling your punches” before walking away.

You and Clint exchange a look but you get distracted by T’Challa throwing Bucky into a container near you. You get into action right away and just as T’Challa is about to claw at Bucky, you push the supersoldier out of the way and you both go stumbling to the side while Wanda throws T’Challa into a big metal container far away from you.

You and Bucky roll a little and, when you stop, you end on top of him. He looks up at you and whispers “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Soldier.” You wink at him and get up, helping him up too. Wanda joins you with an amused look on her face.

“Still think we should go easy on them?” She asks smugly, and you merely roll your eyes.

You’re thankfully distracted by Spiderman knocking Steve off his feet but when you go to help him, you’re intercepted by Natasha.

As you start doing hand-to-hand combat with her, you can hear Scott calling Clint “Arrow Guy” and you almost chuckle, but don’t let it distract you because you know Natasha could seriously hurt you, although it seems like she’s going as easy on you as you are on her.

“Nothing’s changed between us, right Tasha?” You ask, concerned about your friendship as you keep fighting, though it almost feels like any other sparring match you’ve ever had.

She laughs and nods. “Nothing, Y/N/N”.

You grin at the nickname and say “Good” before kicking her a little harder than you’ve ever had and sending her flying back, then you run to Steve and get to him as he points at himself and says. “Brooklyn.”

You frown at him and then look at Spiderman with one of those giant metal walkways people use to get to the planes and your eyes widen.

“That seems a little excessive.” You say, looking back at Steve.

“He’ll be fine.” Steve says shortly and starts jogging away, signaling to you to follow him, which you reluctantly do.

You and Steve are running when you hear Scott say “Uh-oh” through the comms and you frown. “Are you okay, Scott?”

You can hear him panting freaking out, saying “Oh boy. Whoa!”

You and Steve are joined by Bucky as you’re hiding behind some containers and you’re about to ask Scott if he’s okay again when Bucky talks and you turn to him. “We gotta go. That guy's probably in Siberia by now.” You can't help but think how fucking blue his eyes are.

“We gotta draw out the flyers.” Steve says, snapping you out of it and you make up your mind.

“I'll take Vision.” You tell him “You two get to the jet.”

You know Steve’s about to argue when Sam cuts in “No, you get to the jet! All three of you!” He says through the comms. “The rest of us aren't getting out of here.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.” Clint chimes in.

You and Steve look at each other and it’s like Sam can sense your hesitation as he says “This isn't the real fight, guys.”

“Alright, Sam, what's the play?” Steve says, his eyes darting between you and Bucky.

“We need a diversion, something big.” he says and you try to think about what you could do.

“I got something kind of big, but I can't hold it very long.” Scott offers “On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half… don't come back for me.”

You frown and look at Steve and Bucky who seem just as confused as you do. “He's gonna tear himself in half?” Bucky asks.

“You're sure about this, Scott?” Steve asks into his comm.

“I do it all the time. I mean once… in a lab. Then I passed out.” He tries and fails to reassure you.

“That doesn’t make me feel better, like at all.” You say looking from Bucky to Steve, who seem to agree.

You can hear Scott mumbling “I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the BOSS!” to himself and then suddenly he grows into a fucking giant of 60-65 feet.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You say almost in shock.

“I guess that's the signal.” Steve says and starts running towards the jet, you and Bucky following closely.

You can hear Sam saying “Way to go, Tic Tac!” as you run, going past Scott, who stops T’Challa from following you by kicking a bus into him, then Rhodey almost gets to you, but he’s stopped by Wanda.

The three of you are getting closer to the jet when a tower starts falling over the entrance, courtesy of Vision, but Wanda keeps it up with her magic for you.

As you pick up your pace and approach it, you’re stopped by a spear landing right in front of Bucky, missing his foot by a centimeter.

Ayo is about to jump on Bucky but before either him or Steve can do anything to stop her, you throw yourself on her, sending her stumbling back and to the ground, enough distance between you that you have the opportunity to look behind you at Bucky, Steve just behind him with a look that’s both impressed and shocked at your reflexes.

“I got this. Go.” You tell the two men even though your eyes are fixated on Bucky.

“Are you sure?” he asks you with a hint of worry and you grin.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Sergeant.” Steve smirks and nods, moving towards the jet again, but Bucky hesitates. You know Wanda won’t be able to keep the path clear forever so you try to reassure him.

“Go, I’ll be fine. Go!” You yell the last word, which seems to snap him out of it and he turns around with a nod, running at full speed towards the Quinjet.

You turn around just in time to see Ayo running towards you, but this time you’re not fast enough and she sends you falling back. You quickly get up and do your best to keep her occupied while the tower that Wanda was keeping up falls to the ground.

Or, more accurately, you're taking her punches while landing little to none yourself.

Ayo gets distracted for a second when she sees Natasha stunning T’Challa and that’s enough to give you the opportunity to take the upper hand and take her down. Unfortunately you don’t notice how close the two of you are to her spear but then again neither does she.

You see Giant Scott get taken down and, while still holding Ayo down as best as you can, you say worriedly through your comm “Scott? Scott, talk to me, are you okay?” There's a pause while you hold your breath and then he says “Does anyone have any orange slices?” And you let out a breathy laugh, both amused and impressed by his resilience.

In the time it took you to check on Scott, Ayo managed to get a hold of her spear, almost driving it through your arm. Thankfully she misses, though it still leaves a pretty deep cut.

Your eyes widen and as you get off of her she wastes no time to go help T’Challa. You lay down on the ground while holding your arm where the cut is and can see the Quinjet taking off so you let out a relieved sigh.

You sit up and, when you see Vision going to Wanda, you smile and get up to gocheck on Scott.

“You alright, big guy?” You ask him as you approach him with a little bit of a limp and he nods chuckling.

“I am. Are you alright? “ He eyes your arm and you nod. “I’m fine.”

Clint approaches you and wraps an arm around you to help you stay up, knowing you’re not gonna ask for help but he can clearly see by your quickly paling face that you need it.

You look towards the Quinjet and your eyes widen when you see Rhodey quickly falling down, Tony and Sam both diving to help him. “Shit…”

You all watch in shock as he hits the ground, Tony lands right beside him and then Sam lands a little further away. You can hear Sam saying “I’m sorry.” right before Tony shoots him and he goes flying backwards.

“SAM!” You yell and try to start making your way to him even if he’s far, but Clint holds you back with his arm around your waist, Scott’s hand on your uninjured arm.

You hold your breath until you hear the faint “I’m okay” in your ear, followed by Sam’s grunts and you relax, mumbling “Thank fucking god…”

You look around the airport, all the destruction and the people you still love despite it all.

Steve and Bucky made it out of here, so you won. At what cost though?

You can just hope this was all worth it.

Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes @aki-ham @mary-jinx @abbyyourlocalmilf @selcouthial @esposadomd @americaarse

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